Muse is never happy. Mun is trying to be a responsible adult (kind of...) [SO:TL]

[scout_tactical]

I get that you're trying to do your best - between slacking off and playing with your little dragon things, which is cute and probably addictive, but I digress.

[Yeah, we all know you and your little tangents by now, Johnny. Get to the point.]

You talked about having some time to yourself. Which I imagine that means you're eventually going to let me out of my pen on a more unlimited basis than this? Maybe?

I'm getting stir crazy, here. I know you're just going to throw me into a whole bunch of shit again, but it's honestly better than just... sitting here.

Get your ass in gear. Seriously.

Comments

[scout_tactical]

I didn't know... I... it was my first time with Delta. I was... I was the rookie. You can't jeopardize the mission when it's your first goddamn one.

I couldn't tell him no. I wanted this. Needed it.

[It's such a small sounding admission. Lugo curls in on himself in the shadowy alcove, hugging his knees. A few moments to catch his breath and he's already starting to realize just how shaky his arguments are, just how alone he is, and how desperately he wants the company of someone who understands him, knows what he's been through. And considering just what he's dealing with right now, he realizes that this man is the closest thing he has.

He doesn't want to leave. Yet he hates the Radio Man. He killed the guy, for chrissakes. He still doesn't know the man's name.]

My name's John. Not a military man anymore. Not Delta. Nothing. All that's gone now. I've got jack shit.

[keepitclean]

[The fuck's the kid giving him his name for? Whatever.]

Are we playing hide and seek, or is this just another thing your best bud forever and commander in chief told you to do? Because I'll tell you one thing, friend: I am not getting up to come after you.

[There's something going on in the voice of the kid alias Lugo alias John alias Shot-you-in-the-face, but he doesn't think much about it. People are always feeling things. Always breaking down, and boy, hasn't be been there? Ahaha. That's the price of being human. And causing massive amounts of destruction; it's the price of that, too. Just a thing you go through.]

This is a very nice couch. Sofa. Say, John. Do they say 'couch' or 'sofa' where you're from? Or are yours 'davenport' people?

[scout_tactical]

[It's very, very quiet for a time, so quiet that it seems like Lugo may have slipped off, probably, but eventually there's the soft scratch of a boot heel, the creak of worn leather. He starts to speak, then falls silent, thinks for a moment, replies carefully, though his voice is still small and quiet.]

Old people say 'davenport'. It's a couch. Sometimes a sofa. It all depends on the situation, you know?

I'm... I'm... twenty-seven years old. I'm not a kid. But I'm not an old man either.

[It feels weird answering a question like that... almost like making small talk with a woman when he's not got a whole lot left to say... or maybe it's a little like talking in bed... right after a good night.

He doesn't really want to think of that, gags quietly. Even if it's a weak joke, Lugo still lets it fly.]

And if you're planning on asking me to dinner: no.

[keepitclean]

[He's nearly given up on Lugo - 'it's just you and me now, Couch' - when the answer comes. And, all right, there's a little relief at that. He's skilled at keeping himself occupied, but it's always better having someone else to play with. Keeps some of the, ah, ghosts at bay. AND Lugo's even playing along now. That's great! That gets a big ol' grin.]

Shit, I had a nice place picked out and everything. They make ribs like you wouldn't believe. I thought, you know, candlelight dinner, maybe a walk around the empty space here, then we go back to my place... [He looks around, shrugs.] My couch, and call it a night. Or do I say 'davenport'? Since I'm so old.

It's not a bad davenport.