driftfleet | five ○ voice / action

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five ○ voice / action

Who: Caesar & u
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: Marsiva, kitchens & gym!
When: Ostensibly 11/15, but really whenever

[His voice sounds muted, almost bored, but anybody who actually knows him might be a little worried at the lack of underlying irritation there. There's the clank of pots and pans in the background, also muted.]

Since we're stuck here for the foreseeable future - I understand that people are coping. [As people do. For what good it does.] I don't have the proper augment, but I know how to cook if anyone wants to learn. I don't have anything else to do. [Besides watch The Princess Bride on endless repeat.]

[. . . And then, almost as an afterthought:]

I can fight, too. If anyone wants that.

[Find him in the kitchens, or the gym on request. Close CR can assume a delivery of a comfort food of their choice.]

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[he lifts his arm, propping it up on the table, high enough to give Caesar an apathetic thumbs-up.]

S'fine. You're a sweetheart.

[mmmmMMMmmm]

[His ears go a little pink again. Right when he was just starting to feel sort of normal again, too, damnit. Hesitantly, he wipes his hands on a towel and shakes his head a little, to hang his hair over his eyes until he can make normal facial expressions.]

It's . . . no trouble.

[Well, it is, but that's kind of the point, so. Ugh. Whatever. This is so confusing and weird and difficult.]

[he wouldn't have thought to make it weird if Caesar wasn't such an easy target. he would have been content to sit there with his face pressed against a flat surface in exhausted apathy.

but this is... the kind of thing that Robin just can't resist. this is how he gets in bar fights. this is why his best plans end up failing. Robin is a dumbass who can't keep his mouth shut. so after a measured pause, he sounds... a little incredulous, but mostly amused.]

... Are you blushing?

[What sin did he commit to deserve this, for God's sake. He punches the center of the dough and pushes it into a ball, drops it in the bowl he had set out, covers it with a cloth, rests his hands on his hips. Which does nothing to change the overall impression of slightly-flustered-pretty-irritated-but-not-doing-anything-about-it.]

What's your point.

[Look, at least he's not denying it. He's not that much of an idiot. Right now this precise second, anyway.]

Nothing... [oh, no. it's just more fuel, for him.] It's just cute, is all.

[sCREAMS]

[Well if he wasn't blushing before he is now. Why does this - why is this happening, how does the script get flipped so easily, why does it get to him like this? Ugh.]

No. It's not.

[. . . A quality retort.]

It is...

[don't look back, Caesar, or you'll see that Robin is grinning from ear to ear... his face still pressed on the table...]

[He doesn't even have to look. He knows. He can hear that grin. So instead of looking he's just going to slam around in the fridge for a moment or two, get his ingredients out. He glares at them all. Fuck these eggs in particular.]

[Once he's slammed the door closed again:]

Don't fuck with me.

[he will MEET YOU IN THE PIT]

[.........]

I dunno, sounds like you'd like that.

[robin, no.]

You couldn't handle it.

[. . . oh. Yeah. That is not going to work, but good try, son.]

[...he cackles. the rest of his rude laughter is barely stifled after that, as he shoves his face down against his arms. it quickly becomes clear that he's either lost this battle, or lost his fucking mind.

he's cracking up over this, lost to the midst of a proper giggle fit. by the time he gasps up for air, he has to wipe tears away from the corners of his eyes...]

Oh Gods, I am so fucking happy right now... [sounding breathless, still grinning.] You're the best...

What the fuck.

[Why is everything about this so weird. He leans against the counter and just watches Robin with a bemused expression for a few moments, before . . .]

[Yeah, he reaches over and cuffs him on the back of the head. It's affectionate, but absolutely not gentle.]

Glad you're having a good laugh at my expense.

Ha-- [and he gets hit on the back of the head. he winces, but doesn't seem to mind all that much when he straightens up again.] I didn't know you swore so much, either! It's funny.

Only sometimes.

[Just. Gonna shove his head forward so his nose is squished against the table, yep.]

Hh... Hey...

[he is surprisingly (or maybe not, at this point) easy to push against the table. his nose is squished. it's rather silly, but at least he's not smiling anymore.]

No? Not good?

[Holding him there for a little bit, yeah . . . and then that appears to be all. Caesar flops down across from him and starts measuring flour into a bowl like nothing even happened.]

Could be worse. It could've been Cici again.

[Is that covert permission to carry on with whatever weird bullshit? Could very well be.]

[ah. for as stupid as this is, this is a language that Robin very much understands. he's extremely comfortable with it. the swearing, the violence, even his getting flustered--it reminds Robin of some things he's very fond of from back home.

so, he's finally comfortable here, lifting his face up from the table and rubbing his nose. he's tired and hungry and worn to the bone emotionally... but this is safe, and nice, and the comment makes him laugh like nothing was ever strange.]

You really didn't like that one, huh. I thought it was clever...

Hmm.

[It's a good way to avoid all the feelings, isn't it. This is playing, right? It's something he's learning to do, playing on an even field, safe and normal. Normal-ish. As normal as it gets.]

You have to earn nicknames, pettirosso.

[he chuckles about that even though he really shouldn't, resting his tired face on his hand.]

Don't go starting that again, sirreyr.

Don't tell me what to do.

[Where did the rest of his dry ingredients go . . . oh, there. He shoves a bowl with half a stick of butter in it in Robin's direction.]

Melt this.

[touchy, isn't he... but his smarmy mood is once again interrupted as he frowns down at the contents of the bowl.]

What do I look like, a microwave?

[The flattest look in the universe.]

Put it in the microwave. Or use your laser eyes, I'm not particular.

I don't feel like getting up.

[he slides uselessly back down against the table, though he continues to keep his eyes narrowed at the bowl. maybe he does have laser vision, and he's powering up...

or not. he puts his head back down, twirls his finger aimlessly, and mumbles some line of ancient language (Gera, da gat'l myl ca'am, sirn selhem sersta jamelt'z). nothing appears to happen, though if Caesar is observant enough, he'll notice the top of the bowl is giving off warmth like it'd just been taken out of the dry cycle of a dishwasher or something.]

[. . . Hm.]

[He probably should be irritated. But when he puts his hand close to yank the bowl away, he has to pause when he feels that warmth. It's - magic? Some kind of magic.]

[Curiously, he looks up at Robin with wide eyes.]

That's not much.

[But it's pretty cool anyway.]

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