we need to talk about your life insurance policy and also what the fuck.
[ But just to be an asshole, he's taken the floor out in front of the door so it's a nice wide hole to the floor below, and a happy stretch of monkey bars over the top bridging the gap. The convenience of living over the maintenance rooms, no downstairs neighbor to balk. ]
[ But just to be an asshole, he's taken the floor out in front of the door so it's a nice wide hole to the floor below, and a happy stretch of monkey bars over the top bridging the gap. The convenience of living over the maintenance rooms, no downstairs neighbor to balk. ]
[ Only takes a couple seconds for the door to swing open, and for Ian to greet him brightly. ]
Hey, man!
[ A little nod gesture. Come on in. Nary a single word about the enormous fuckoff hole out front. Nothing to see here.
On the coffee table in front of his couch, some obvious V1 bong designs out of what what seems to have once been tequila bottles. Reduce, re-use, recycle. ]
Hey, man!
[ A little nod gesture. Come on in. Nary a single word about the enormous fuckoff hole out front. Nothing to see here.
On the coffee table in front of his couch, some obvious V1 bong designs out of what what seems to have once been tequila bottles. Reduce, re-use, recycle. ]
[ He beams at welcome mat. Takes a second to stick his head out the door, there's some scrapey thumpy scratching noise, and then he pops back in to close it behind him.
He's got that enthusiastic kind of energy he usually only gets about new projects or, once, a monster bat. Has him flopping down too enthusiastically on his couch, jostling the the little pleasant pot paraphernalia tray he'd had on the middle cushion. Ladies and gentlemen, the professional is back. ]
Dude, you have no idea. I tried to take up glass blowing once back home. One time, and never again. At least woodworking won't burn your fucking hand off.
He's got that enthusiastic kind of energy he usually only gets about new projects or, once, a monster bat. Has him flopping down too enthusiastically on his couch, jostling the the little pleasant pot paraphernalia tray he'd had on the middle cushion. Ladies and gentlemen, the professional is back. ]
Dude, you have no idea. I tried to take up glass blowing once back home. One time, and never again. At least woodworking won't burn your fucking hand off.
[ And that catches Ian's attention enough to have him pause mid-way through twisting the top of an herb grinder. It's like he's checking for a second to make sure he's not getting screwed with — never heard of the Beatles — but no, this one actually seems legit. ]
Wait, so...
[ On comes the creeping absolute delight that only a stoner experiences when getting someone who doesn't smoke weed to smoke weed, particularly for the first time. ]
You, like. Arm wrestle sharks and blow up, I don't know, banks, and raid tombs and summon the Mummy on accident, but smoking weed is like...
[ A little gesture to his head, fingers out, explosion sound. Mind blown. ]
Wait, so...
[ On comes the creeping absolute delight that only a stoner experiences when getting someone who doesn't smoke weed to smoke weed, particularly for the first time. ]
You, like. Arm wrestle sharks and blow up, I don't know, banks, and raid tombs and summon the Mummy on accident, but smoking weed is like...
[ A little gesture to his head, fingers out, explosion sound. Mind blown. ]
[ Nate's lack of amusement only seems to encourage his, and the smile never fades as his chin dips back down to focus on his well-practiced smoke prep ritual. ]
Yeah, okay, you got me there. Usually way less shooting in my line of work. As in, like, none.
[ Much less compressed nitrogen, but that one's a nonzero amount. ]
It's also horrifying that you got fucking shot at, by the way, in case I haven't mentioned that. Just so it's on record.
[ A pointed glance up through whatever hair's fallen in his face.
And then he kindly offers over the product of his handiwork, because it is Customary to let the underexperienced go first. ]
Yeah, okay, you got me there. Usually way less shooting in my line of work. As in, like, none.
[ Much less compressed nitrogen, but that one's a nonzero amount. ]
It's also horrifying that you got fucking shot at, by the way, in case I haven't mentioned that. Just so it's on record.
[ A pointed glance up through whatever hair's fallen in his face.
And then he kindly offers over the product of his handiwork, because it is Customary to let the underexperienced go first. ]
[ The truth of it is his smoking died off tremendously sometime in his mid twenties, from a purely comparative standpoint. It became more of a once or twice a month with his TA kind of habit, right up until the end of the world. Luke may be one of the smartest humans Ian's ever met, it's a crying fucking shame he didn't believe in his ability to succeed as much as Ian did. Not that it wound up mattering, of course, but his brain found other fantastic applications in the form of a - setting up amazing (often too severe in Ian's opinion) perimeter defenses and b - cross-breeding marijuana in a greenhouse made primarily of plastic sheeting. God bless him. The hours between 9 p.m. and 7 a.m. were the fuck it hours, and there's surprisingly little to do sans electricity or metal.
Also, Ian's coping mechanisms were shit. Largely still are. ]
Gesundheit.
[ He says lightly, because he's never heard of thuốc lào and it's a classic, timeless joke.
Impossible to miss that expression considering how raptly Ian's studying him for a reaction; interesting that he seems to find more displeasure in that than Ian's ever seen him have knocking back any kind of hard liquor. ]
Is it a taste thing or a throat thing?
[ That expression; asked while holding a hand out to relieve Nate of his burden. ]
Also, Ian's coping mechanisms were shit. Largely still are. ]
Gesundheit.
[ He says lightly, because he's never heard of thuốc lào and it's a classic, timeless joke.
Impossible to miss that expression considering how raptly Ian's studying him for a reaction; interesting that he seems to find more displeasure in that than Ian's ever seen him have knocking back any kind of hard liquor. ]
Is it a taste thing or a throat thing?
[ That expression; asked while holding a hand out to relieve Nate of his burden. ]
[ It's not like he's gonna take personal offense to it, he didn't create the taste or feeling of smoking pot. Nobody really likes it, except those exceptionally too-extra stoners you meet from time to time who get all braggy about it for some reason.
Ian does cough toward the end of his, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the hit and everything to do with the offhanded mention about almost dying. ]
Jesus, are you serious? Man, if I knew that I would've made you a fucking... scone or something. I'm sorry.
[ And thus Ian enters quick problem solving mode, short term and long term solutions. Step numero uno is to set the bong down and head to the kitchen to harvest a couple of ice cubes to drop in. It's not gonna solve it, but it could help. They won't make tobacco flavoring anymore but he can probably swap out SunnyD for a few weeks and mess around with flavoring drops. Really, though, it's gonna have to be a baked goods situation. That's the best answer here.
But anyway, back in his seat and with the bong nudged gently in Nate's direction on the table — for whenever, no pressure — he's gonna work on fishing out his MP3 player and flipping through it absently while he focuses on the more important part of this conversation. ]
What the fuck happened?
Ian does cough toward the end of his, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the hit and everything to do with the offhanded mention about almost dying. ]
Jesus, are you serious? Man, if I knew that I would've made you a fucking... scone or something. I'm sorry.
[ And thus Ian enters quick problem solving mode, short term and long term solutions. Step numero uno is to set the bong down and head to the kitchen to harvest a couple of ice cubes to drop in. It's not gonna solve it, but it could help. They won't make tobacco flavoring anymore but he can probably swap out SunnyD for a few weeks and mess around with flavoring drops. Really, though, it's gonna have to be a baked goods situation. That's the best answer here.
But anyway, back in his seat and with the bong nudged gently in Nate's direction on the table — for whenever, no pressure — he's gonna work on fishing out his MP3 player and flipping through it absently while he focuses on the more important part of this conversation. ]
What the fuck happened?
[ He ultimately settles on one that has him way too amused with himself, a tiny playful smirk quirking up at the corner of his mouth as it plays out of the headphones-turned-quiet-speakers. It's a little tinny, but he's of the strong belief that you can't really substitute listening to music with somebody out loud no matter how much fancier brain implants are.
His amusement doesn't last long when faced with the story Nate's telling, and that smirk fades out quickly into a deeply knitted brow. ]
Dude, what... the fuck is your life? Seriously, like, every anecdote you've got is the most horrifying shit ever. You're legitimately making my apocalypse look like a McDonald's ball pit.
His amusement doesn't last long when faced with the story Nate's telling, and that smirk fades out quickly into a deeply knitted brow. ]
Dude, what... the fuck is your life? Seriously, like, every anecdote you've got is the most horrifying shit ever. You're legitimately making my apocalypse look like a McDonald's ball pit.
How dare you show you care. Frankly, man, I won't stand for it.
[ The absolute worst, most effortless impression of offense anyone has ever done. It isn't just humor that has him failing to commit, it's...
Well it's kind of flirting around a more serious sentiment. Makes it hard for him to decide exactly how he wants to handle this, to determine where the line falls between being too awkwardly sincere or too irreverently dismissive. Trying to pick and choose because too much of one might mean driving someone away, and he's fucking terrified of that. Alternatively, it might also mean opening himself up too much so that when something else drives them away it sucks harder than it already would have. It's probably easy for other people, he thinks, to react to this kind of thing. To just... have a normal goddamn conversation and be themselves authentically during moments of emotional intimacy without overthinking it.
He spends a couple of seconds cursing himself, frustrated, negotiating some kind of balance before he ultimately decides to just be blunt. ]
Seriously, I'm not... good at this. Any of it. Just-- so you know, no amount of gratitude-straining or... anything else is gonna make me excommunicate you. I'm-- I genuinely don't know how to react to it, it's baffling as fuck that you give enough of a shit to do it, so if it seems like I'm being... weird about it, it's just that. Not that I don't... like it. Hell, even saying all of this has me freaking myself out, so don't expect anything out of me aside from knock-knock jokes and catchy commercial jingles for like a week.
[ The absolute worst, most effortless impression of offense anyone has ever done. It isn't just humor that has him failing to commit, it's...
Well it's kind of flirting around a more serious sentiment. Makes it hard for him to decide exactly how he wants to handle this, to determine where the line falls between being too awkwardly sincere or too irreverently dismissive. Trying to pick and choose because too much of one might mean driving someone away, and he's fucking terrified of that. Alternatively, it might also mean opening himself up too much so that when something else drives them away it sucks harder than it already would have. It's probably easy for other people, he thinks, to react to this kind of thing. To just... have a normal goddamn conversation and be themselves authentically during moments of emotional intimacy without overthinking it.
He spends a couple of seconds cursing himself, frustrated, negotiating some kind of balance before he ultimately decides to just be blunt. ]
Seriously, I'm not... good at this. Any of it. Just-- so you know, no amount of gratitude-straining or... anything else is gonna make me excommunicate you. I'm-- I genuinely don't know how to react to it, it's baffling as fuck that you give enough of a shit to do it, so if it seems like I'm being... weird about it, it's just that. Not that I don't... like it. Hell, even saying all of this has me freaking myself out, so don't expect anything out of me aside from knock-knock jokes and catchy commercial jingles for like a week.
[ Nate sits up and Ian pivots a little, twisting from forward to side facing with his knee folded perpendicular to the floor and spilling over onto the center cushion. It makes for a stable temporary base for the bong, momentarily forgotten and resting still.
It's completely, totally charming. It's the sincerity and the hand movements, but it's also just... the explanation itself. It's kind of magical sounding, actually, the whole picture Nate paints. Shangri-La and jungle sunrises, and Ian's also picturing a probably wildly inaccurate image of old ruins and sunbeams and dust.
And you know what, about being inaccurate-- ]
You should show me sometime.
[ Just floating the idea. In case it isn't clear, he nods vaguely at Nate's hands where they hover. ]
With the... thing. The memory thing.
[ Outside of nonconsensual dreams, he's only shared a memory once or twice. Experimental, for the most part. He knows how it works, it might be cool for stuff like that.
It also makes people super fucking uncomfortable, so he's deliberately casual about the request rather than demanding. ]
It's completely, totally charming. It's the sincerity and the hand movements, but it's also just... the explanation itself. It's kind of magical sounding, actually, the whole picture Nate paints. Shangri-La and jungle sunrises, and Ian's also picturing a probably wildly inaccurate image of old ruins and sunbeams and dust.
And you know what, about being inaccurate-- ]
You should show me sometime.
[ Just floating the idea. In case it isn't clear, he nods vaguely at Nate's hands where they hover. ]
With the... thing. The memory thing.
[ Outside of nonconsensual dreams, he's only shared a memory once or twice. Experimental, for the most part. He knows how it works, it might be cool for stuff like that.
It also makes people super fucking uncomfortable, so he's deliberately casual about the request rather than demanding. ]
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