🎵 Believe it or not, Hugh isn't at home 🎵 🎷 Please leave a message at the beep 🎷 🎶 I must be out, or I'd pick up the phone 🎶 🎺 Where could I be? Believe it or not, I'm not home! 🎺
Oh. [Momentary disappointment.] I really should've guessed that.
[Look, this place isn't exactly crawling with T-1000s or 800s or Kristanna Lokens (a real weakness in the world building, if you ask him), but there's definitely haunted offices and, uh... evil vending machines. Things that deserve to be shot, with really big guns.
Wade sits straight up instantly.] The machine is working! What do you want me to do, sexually harass it to go faster? [His legs are going supersonic now as they swing.] You'll really make me a gun?
[His brown eyes are big and wide, and he's looking like someone whose daddy finally brought him that G.I. Joe he wanted for Christmas.] A big one? A biiiig one! I'm thinking giant lasers, a little power dial, and a cupholder. [He slides off the cabinet to attend to the coffee -- Cable's first. Offering him a gun is no little thing, okay?] Is that three creams or four?
If you think that'll work. [Cable mutters under his breath at Wade's suggestion, then nods at his question. His animated expressions have become a little endearing to Cable. Particularly the way his eyes light up.
Makes it hard not to smile, but he resists.]
You're getting a regular gun made out of scrap. Until we can afford to buy better materials. ["We" because they're in this together.]
[He probably shouldn't have said that, because Wade's instant response is "it couldn't hurt" and sticking one of his fingers enticingly in the closest hole in the coffee machine. Which does sear the skin on his finger off, but it only smells faintly of burning human skin, and it's barely detectable over the smell of the coffee.
Wade's lips only minimally come to a pout. His eyes are still bright and shiny, though.] Okay, deal! Though I really think we can push the cupholder idea.
[It's without too much of a flourish that Wade actually pours Cable a cup of black coffee (like anyone would've guessed otherwise), and then one for himself -- though this one gets a splash of maple syrup in it.
It's not about being a stereotype. Some things are just delicious. Stop judging him.
He falls back onto the edge of the bed, stretching his long legs out.] Here. Look, I figure on my days off I can jumpstart our supply and kill a few raiders out in the Fringes. God knows there's gotta be, like, tribes of them. Half of them are probably cannibals; I'd be doing the culinary world a favour.
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[Look, this place isn't exactly crawling with T-1000s or 800s or Kristanna Lokens (a real weakness in the world building, if you ask him), but there's definitely haunted offices and, uh... evil vending machines. Things that deserve to be shot, with really big guns.
Wade sits straight up instantly.] The machine is working! What do you want me to do, sexually harass it to go faster? [His legs are going supersonic now as they swing.] You'll really make me a gun?
[His brown eyes are big and wide, and he's looking like someone whose daddy finally brought him that G.I. Joe he wanted for Christmas.] A big one? A biiiig one! I'm thinking giant lasers, a little power dial, and a cupholder. [He slides off the cabinet to attend to the coffee -- Cable's first. Offering him a gun is no little thing, okay?] Is that three creams or four?
no subject
Makes it hard not to smile, but he resists.]
You're getting a regular gun made out of scrap. Until we can afford to buy better materials. ["We" because they're in this together.]
No creamer. No sugar.
pls inbox stop hiding my sexy cable tags
Wade's lips only minimally come to a pout. His eyes are still bright and shiny, though.] Okay, deal! Though I really think we can push the cupholder idea.
[It's without too much of a flourish that Wade actually pours Cable a cup of black coffee (like anyone would've guessed otherwise), and then one for himself -- though this one gets a splash of maple syrup in it.
It's not about being a stereotype. Some things are just delicious. Stop judging him.
He falls back onto the edge of the bed, stretching his long legs out.] Here. Look, I figure on my days off I can jumpstart our supply and kill a few raiders out in the Fringes. God knows there's gotta be, like, tribes of them. Half of them are probably cannibals; I'd be doing the culinary world a favour.