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[youngtimer]

NeverAcorned - Standard UN || HoratioV - Fog/Lighthouse UN || 5ofDiamonds - Casino Business || Odyssean - Anonymous/Sock UN

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, NEVERACORNED. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 208.52.15.25 *** NEVERACORNED has joined 208.52.15.25 <NEVERACORNED> This is the private channel for Horatio Hargreeves. Leave me a message and I'll reply as soon as I can. If this is related to the Lucky 38, please start your message with a '38' so I can prioritize. <NEVERACORNED> Spammers will be banned, IP tracked, and have their index fingers broken. Have a nice day. :)

Comments

[youngtimer]

[he coughs]

Let's just say her comment wasn't age-appropriate.

[gothicgambit]

[For you or for me? She almost asks.]

Will you ever stop treating me like a child? I am older than you, physically at least.

[youngtimer]

It's not that I'm treating you like a child, it's more like I don't appreciate her treating this as a hook-up opportunity. There. Y'happy?

[gothicgambit]

[She is. If the instant glinting satisfaction in her eyes and almost feral turn of her smile. Oh no- winding up Five is surprisingly fun, and that might get her in trouble. She decides to disengage before she makes it worse and he kicks her out. The nerve is noted though, with a careful kind of precision that she tucks away to take out and examine under better lighting later.]

Because I upset you? That would be childish.

[Celeste moves to stand, but puts her palms on the table to lean forward as she does.]

I'd best get shopping then, if expectations are so high. Good day, dear. Dolores.

[She half-bows to the mannequin and makes her exit.]

[youngtimer]

You see that? "Dear".

[his nostrils flare a little and he rounds on her.]

You know what? I think you get your own room, now, Dolores.

[he picks her up and whirls toward the back of the room, opening the neglected linen closet and dumping her unceremoniously inside on the pile of sheets and towels.]

Got all the amenities.

[and with that, he's going to make himself a pitcher of margaritas. or two. or three. anything to drown both her and the prospect of an impending ... dare he even - no. he won't even THINK the word 'date'. fuck that. it's intel. that's all it is. ever. forever. there's no chance of that for him, not ever, not now, not before, not anymore. and how dare that lump of molded vinyl and paint even think of teasing him with the hope of it?]

Jealous bitch.