On the plus side, the wizard only tries to kill them once a year.
"Good t'know. I remember the scratches. Didn't think my nails were that long."
Says the guy with a prosthesis that grinds people to death via rip-cord. Engie moves and brushes next to Spy to grab the last few chips and dump out a couple of ashtrays. He glances up at the man at the new question, though, and shakes his head.
"As far as I've checked, fine. I mean, I ain't paralyzed myself into a leg cramp with a charlie horse and a hard-on all over again. So that's sayin' something, right?"
Half the reason this was difficult was because Dell was a subtle flirt; all humor, politeness, southern charm, but obviously interested. It worked for him, usually. But he's well-aware he's not going to fool a man who's a hell of a lot better at being seductive than he is.
He's not aware, however, of the way his voice drops low, and how all his little gestures punctuated themselves with small smiles that betrayed his modesty. He flashes one as he turns back, sets both trays down on the poker table, and leans back the orange round-backed chairs (1968 is here to stay), arms crossed.
"Still don't remember that night, but whatever-the-hell personas we took on drunk had a hell of a time. Hopin' that's outta my system."
That's a polite way of saying: Drunk You and Drunk Me are wild.
no subject
"Good t'know. I remember the scratches. Didn't think my nails were that long."
Says the guy with a prosthesis that grinds people to death via rip-cord. Engie moves and brushes next to Spy to grab the last few chips and dump out a couple of ashtrays. He glances up at the man at the new question, though, and shakes his head.
"As far as I've checked, fine. I mean, I ain't paralyzed myself into a leg cramp with a charlie horse and a hard-on all over again. So that's sayin' something, right?"
Half the reason this was difficult was because Dell was a subtle flirt; all humor, politeness, southern charm, but obviously interested. It worked for him, usually. But he's well-aware he's not going to fool a man who's a hell of a lot better at being seductive than he is.
He's not aware, however, of the way his voice drops low, and how all his little gestures punctuated themselves with small smiles that betrayed his modesty. He flashes one as he turns back, sets both trays down on the poker table, and leans back the orange round-backed chairs (1968 is here to stay), arms crossed.
"Still don't remember that night, but whatever-the-hell personas we took on drunk had a hell of a time. Hopin' that's outta my system."
That's a polite way of saying: Drunk You and Drunk Me are wild.