ghostthatlingers | Sanctum IC Contact

Military style readiness, none of that girl saying she'll be right down and an hour later she's all dressed up. And smart. No, he wasn't going to spend all their money, thanks, but she'll be sure to put him on a short leash. ~~Wonder if that'll ever be literal.~~

In fact, he's excited now. It's kind of...normal. Which should be boring, but it's completely different, which is fucking awesome. It's not alone in a base. It's not a box canyon with assholes (his assholes, but assholes) and dumbass plans. It's not the fucking Meta and Wash and fucking other Freelancers. It's not the future, it's not the past, it's not bombs, it's just here, where they are, together.

Playing laser tag and going shopping. Making breakfast and sleeping together.

If this is what the god damn apocalypse is like, he has no problems with it so far. It can stay like this for all he cares.

Most of the bullshit she's dealt with all had to do with previous baggage. The place itself, despite the screwing with the human body they gave her and the surveillance everywhere, almost felt like a vacation. A vacation that includes at least one person she could do without, but if things were perfect, she'd be sure it's a dream.

It isn't long before they're out the door. She has her glasses stashed in a pocket somewhere and her usual amount of concealed weapons in case someone or something decides to cause them trouble. It's weird enough going without her armor and she's grateful York ensured she doesn't have to go without a weapon, too.

"Which district is the laser tag place?"

"Here, actually. Too classy for two--sounds like farmland and cowboy truckers or whatever. Not classy enough for one, because rich-ass bastards." Don't worry, little lady, he'll lead the way. The power of maps + glasses. "I am not gonna get us lost. If I get us lost, you are totally allowed to hit me, but only a little bit, and above the belt."

Sure, it's still cold out, and there's still snow, but it's not hellscape, and it beats walking across the city or seeing what public transport is operational. His legs might start to kill him once today is over. It's been a long time since he's had actual muscle to deal with.

That's a pleasant surprise. Not only is he handling the navigation, but this place can't be too far from their house if it's in the same district. "I don't pull punches. You get us lost and I'm not making any promises that you won't feel it tomorrow."

She's getting a good feel for their neighborhood and she studies the buildings and landmarks as they go past. "When we go shopping, we need to pick up some beer and tequila for later."

He's being the MAN, okay? That's not a thing he will say out loud. ...Right now. Maybe later when he's looking to spark one of their usual bitchy little catfights, but hey, it's also kind of nice to not have that kind of banter all the time. Even when he knows it's not always meant.

"Okay, but I'm serious, above the belt! You leave my balls alone or you're relying on your own damn hands for a week."

Hm, alcohol. Good call. "Ah, all the necessary ingredients to stock in a kitchen. We can have a real damn party then."

"You didn't complain the last time I hit you below the belt." The remark is casual and she keeps her gaze forward. And no, it's not his balls she's talking about.

"You can play bartender later, just don't expect any tips."

"If I start flipping and spinning bottles around and setting drinks on fire in spectacular, fucking awesome fashion, do I get tips then? I take cash, credit, and sex." He leans in, and she can definitely feel the sly grin radiating off of him. Aren't you glad Tucker isn't here?

"I'll think about it, but if you break even one bottle trying to pull that shit it's coming out of your pay." She matches that grin with a smirk of her own and is quick to try to flick him on the nose. Don't you know not to get too close to half-shark women?

Call him a glutton for punishment. He promises not to be too schmoopy or romantic while they're out in public. Maybe just enough to embarrass her. But not enough to get bitten by the shark part.

Look, it's a line that he's been trying to figure out how to walk for a long time. It's not an exact science. Women never are. "So you're saying no drinking all the tequila before throwing bottles around. Not as much fun. But hey, I break any bottles, I'll clean it up. Or I'll convince someone else to clean it up. Oh shit, we have to clean a house when shit gets dusty and dirty." What a realization to have. "That's practically like cleaning a base!"

It is a fine line to walk. She's never been one for PDA and she has no trouble reminding him of such things if he tries anything funny.

She's about to say something when he has his sudden epiphany and she feels the need to set the record straight. "You mean you have to clean the house. Right now, I'm paying for everything. I'm not cleaning shit." If that's not incentive for him to go find work, she's not sure what is.

"...Well nothing's dirty yet, so I don't have to do shit yet." Ha ha! How about that?

Which doesn't mean he isn't gonna bitch about it (he totally is going to get work, but hey, he's not the one who decided to have a day out) all the way to the fucking laser dome or whatever not-fancy name it wants to call itself. If Tex wants to be his sugar mama--but, like, a really stingy one--then he's got no complaints...

He's only going to get snark in return for the bitching. While she's frugal, not stingy thank you very much, she doesn't have much else she's doing with her money. York gave her the weapons she needs to get started and has promised her anything else she could need. Unless she wants to get some surgery done for cybernetic upgrades or whatever they do here, but that won't happen for a while yet.

She shells out the credits for both their entrance fees into the place and she waits until they're in the set-up room to make her demand. "Different teams. I want to see if you can even play anymore."

"...No,you just want any opportunity you can get to shoot me in the back. How is that any fun?" Oh wait, that's fun for her. "Okay, bitchcakes, if I manage to get even one hit on you, you're paying for lunch too."

"Bring it on, asshole. If you land two shots, I'll even buy lunch at a D1 place." That's how confident she is that he'll fail miserably. "If you don't land a single shot, you're carrying everything we buy later."

"What--you're gonna make me carry all your shit anyway, how is that a bet?!"

But fuck, he'll take it. D1 here they come! "Good luck not spending all your money, asshole! I'm gonna order the most expensive thing off that menu!"

Sure is a lot of confidence for someone who can't shoot straight to save, well...anyone's life. But hell, isn't half the fun actually playing? (The other half is winning and rubbing it in faces.)

Oh, she wins. There's no doubt that her score is higher than everyone else in the arena. The troubling part is that for all the trash talk and confidence that she isn't going to pay for shit, he manages to score one point on her. A point off of her at the last possible fucking second.

Anyone else watching would be incredibly confused as to why the person with the top score is this pissed off, but she is. Tex never was a graceful loser, not to Church. "How the hell did you manage that?"

And Church is not a graceful winner. "It's alllllll skill, baby! WOO! I fucking nailed your ass! Guess who has to pay for lunch--hint: not me."

How did he do it? No one will ever fucking know. But it happened. "Suck on that, Freelancer bitch!" Don't let him do an awkward victory dance/hip gyration. The fact that he's got the lowest score and that his team lost doesn't even matter.

It was only one shot, but dammit. She knows she's better and she got plenty of hits in on him. This doesn't stop her from being ready to jump right back into the laser tag arena.

"We're going again. Stay on that team, you're not getting a shot on me this next round."

"Oh what, you want me to hit you again? Hell yeah we'll go again! You're still paying for lunch, no best two out of three."

Of course, Church spends the majority of the next round being mercilessly hunted from the shadows, and he jumps at any flash of color once he figures that out. No, shooting blindly does not help.

Still doesn't override the fact that he managed to hit her once that one time. Bitch.

Paying for lunch is an afterthought at this point. There's no real reason to her decimating Church in this round except to feed her ego and she feels that the outcome of this match is what the first one should have been.

"I knew it was a fluke," she says smugly as they step out of the arena.

"Still hit you. See, that second time? You knew I was a threat. You had it out for me!" Doesn't she always? "And that's why I didn't get a point that time." He will hear no arguments otherwise. None.

"I bet you weren't even aiming for me the first time. And since you couldn't hit me again, we're going to the cheapest place in the district for lunch." Okay, not really, because even she doesn't want to see what passes for terrible food in this city. She'd like to enjoy eating.

"Fine. But you still can't deny that I totally shot your ass. And it was awesome." The shot or the ass? Both. Both is good. "After that, anything will taste like victory. Sweet, delicious victory."

"Yeah, we'll see how long you think that when you're eating a dressed-up MRE." Careful, Tex. The more shit she talks, the more she might actually have to go through with it. "You're still carrying everything later."

"Yeah, okay, you go off to the militia and pay them for some MREs and make that your lunch. I'll wait." He elbows her playfully. "Even my robot senses can tell me that stuff's probably more toxic than Command'll admit."

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