driftfleet | .06 you give love a bad name

Entry tags:

.06 you give love a bad name

Who: Rogue
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Yup, in a station bar and back on the Vanquish
When: Forward-dated to Valentine's Day

[It dawns on Rogue slowly that it is actually Valentine's day and her romantic feelings have been completely unaffected. When it does, she can't help but let out a whoop and rush to celebrate. Find her (a) in a middle-range bar on the space station, getting a little tipsy and flirting with basically everything that moves just to go NOPE and walk away, because SHE CAN, TAKE THAT.

At some point, she even makes a video post:]

Best. Valentine's Day. Ever.

[She holds up a hand, and in that hand is a glass of champagne. She toasts to the network.] Thanks, Atroma, for makin' this Valentine's Day kiss free.

[After all, the Malnosso had never let a February 14th go by without experimenting egregiously with Luceti's inhabitants.

And so, (b) later on and feeling a bit tipsy, she is back on the Vanquish. She has purchased chocolates and roses for everybody. She is setting them out in the kitchen with little cards, hoping she's got everyone's name right because they have approximately a zillion more people right now.

Much, much later, probably around the time sobriety starts, she'll remember something about 'tempting fate' and wish she'd kept her mouth shut -- but right now? Best. Valentine's Day in years.]

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[Never a dull moment in the kitchen. Eugene's getting used to that. But Rogue being the one to being the weirdness? Well. That's a treat.

He hangs in the doorway, watching her work with a bemused expression. And yes, that is an open bottle of champagne in his hand, thanks for asking.]

So did you rent a truck to get all this back here, or ... ?

Giant bags. [Thumbing over her shoulder at them. But hey, since you're here... these are for you. Aren't they awesome? And the box of chocolate, but carrying that over too is kind of awkward, so Rogue just picks up the dozen roses and comes over to dump them in Eugene's free hand.] Happy Valentine's Day.

[And yes, she does look way too happy for someone who - as Eugene knows - knows that her significant other is being held by Atroma and has failed to retrieve him despite spacing herself. So.]

Well I guess someone's been eating her Wheati- woah, hey.

[Those sure are roses. Gorgeous, only mildly unnaturally-coloured (are they? this is an alien planet) roses, and he lifts the bouquet give it an appreciative sniff.]

Wow, thanks. Let me uh- find something to put them in.

[Looks like the crutch is just staying leaned in the doorway - which honestly, wouldn't do much if he didn't have a decent buzz going already. As it is, it halves his speed, and he very carefully sets both roses and bottle down as he sets to searching his store of hoarded empty containers for something of suitable dimensions.]

You know, I didn't pin you for a big Valentine's type.

You have no idea. [The Sahara has nothing on her tone. She watches his movement -- how long had he been using the crutch?] Gotcha chocolates too.

[In his defense, he has upgraded to one of those fancy arm-brace crutches that's really more of a souped-up cane than anything. Not that the old wooden one with its duct tape and suspicious stains wasn't well loved, but with the prosthetic leg it's more about support than having something leveraged to take most of his body weight when needed.

He looks back over his shoulder, eyes lighting up with delight at that. Flowers are great, but chocolate. He is still making up for years of deprivation.]

Ok, either you're bribing me or there's a special event I don't know about. What gives.

It's Valentine's. [She ticks it on her fingers with gloved hands. One] A holiday full of commercialism an' candy. [Two] An' no one's messed with anyone's heads. [Three] Makin' today remarkably kiss free. [Four] An' tomorrow even better. [Five. Post experiment regrets were the w o r s t.] So I felt like celebratin'.

Well, sounds fair enough to me. Never a bad time to celebrate a distinct lack of mind control.

[Stuff he really wishes he could say without a tinge of earnestness but. Well. The weird stuff hadn't entirely ended at the dead walking. He finds a reasonably pretty blue glass jar and brings it down to fill with water, grabbing the kitchen shears to trim the stems while the tap does its thing. It's better to have something to do with your hands when you're asking delicate questions, he feels.]

Your boyfriend's still MIA, then?

Yeah. [Rogue glanced away, frowning and shivering at the same time. It didn't take much more than that as a reminder of what had happened when she went looking to make her feel cold. But no one really needed to know about that.] But he ain't gone. So it's just a matter of time, probably.

It definitely is. The people love a dramatic reunion, right?

[It's a thought that's kept him going, more than a few times. He finishes arranging the roses and leaves them right there on the counter, brightening that empty spot of counter next to the protein paste dispenser, and takes another healthy sip from his bottle of champagne.]

This is pretty awesome of you though. Like, I get celebrating, but for all this you probably could've had a five-course extravaganza on the top floor somewhere.

By myself? No thanks.

[Eugene, why are you drinking out of a bottle? That is... a bad sign.]

Besides, it looks like ya got a celebration goin' on all by your lonesome as well.

[A nod to that bottle.]

Oh, this? Nah. Just having a relaxing evening in.

[Alone. On Valentine's day. Right.

Either way, his patter's smooth enough as he heads over to the table, intent on exploring the rest of the bounty Rogue's brought home.]

Champagne, takeout - distinct lack of action movies, but no one said the ship was perfect, right?

No, nobody said that. [Watching You now, Eugene. Rogue is either too sober or not drunk enough for this, but this is the feeling of quiet waiting for the other shoe to drop as she tries to figure out just if she should push the married man who'd been separated from his husband for too long or if she should just leave him be to let him cope.]

[He's admiring the rest of the flowers and casually taking another nip from the bottle when he catches the way Rogue's looking at him and pauses, looking at her a few pensive, thoughtful moments before smirking crookedly.]

Okay, I give up. What's the look for.

Tryin' ta decide whether ta give you space or hound ya mercilessly.

[Well, at least she's honest.]

[This sounds like it might take a bit, and he has a seat, still completely lost. Is it something he did? The moonshine still hasn't exploded, and the kitchen's still in good working order, so he's having some trouble imaging what he could've done to upset her.]

I . . . honestly have no idea what you're supposed to be hounding me about.

[She hoists herself up onto the counter and just looks at him for a moment.

She does him a favor, then, and makes it a little more general than she'd planned.]

If you're really okay or not.

-ah. That.

[He looks at the bottle, then. Really looks at it. And yeah, this doesn't look good, does it. But he owes her some honesty, if nothing else, and he sets the champagne down among the flowers and the chocolates with a slow sigh, leaning his elbow against the little postcard of clear table that remains.]

I'm not having a crisis? Which . . . basically counts as okay, back home. [He musters up enough of a smile to show that that's a joke. Kind of.] I'm sorry if I'm acting like an emotional time bomb about to go off. That's not what I'm going for, promise.

[She can understand about that bit about not having a crisis. Rogue hesitates, and something about her gaze goes a little distant. She's making up her mind and then she taps deliberately into Logan's psyche. If she's making this choice she wants to be sober for it.

...and yes, it appears she is making this choice.

She moves forward to lean against the counter across from him, not remotely in Eugene's personal space, but closer. At hand.]

I think you're entitled ta act like an emotional time bomb. The alive-but-not present thing... [She shakes her head.] It's a killer. I think you're entitled ta grieve about it. I just think... well... I've learned that this [a gesture to the champagne] only does so much. 'Course, everythin' only does so much, there's no cure for it, but -- some things work better'n others. You wanna talk 'bout it?

[She will sink right down to sit on the kitchen floor and get drunk again with you, don't doubt it.]

[Just when you think you know a lady. He could have sworn Rogue would be the time to let sleeping and emotionally gutted dogs lie, but . . . apparently not. He wouldn't say he's grateful for that, not exactly, but something in his relaxes, just a little, all the same.]

I guess I should, huh. Now that I'm in the wandering-the-ship-with-champagne stage. Unless you can think of something that works better than talking?

[A guy can dream.]

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.06 you give love a bad name

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