forum No idea what to call this (anyone can join) (FINISHED)

Started September 30, 2020 by Deleted user

tune

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“Hallo. May I come in?” He asked, also not breaking eye contact.

Nyx, faintly amused, watched, and then noticed that Beckett's wrist was red and puffy.
"Are you all right?" she asked. "Your wrist, I mean. It looks hurt."

"Sure thing! I made steaks! Want one?" He asked

"I'm fine!" Beckett insisted. "I mean, I'm sort of fine. I will be fine, anyways."
He tugged his sleeve down, trying to keep from wincing.
"I've had worse," he shrugged. Well, not worse in the broken bone sense, but still. He'd endured worse than some broken bones.

“Hmm,” Ivchenko considered it, then shook his head. “I just ate, so no.”

"Are you sure?" What's wrong with you, Nyx? You usually don't care about complete strangers.

"Come on in!" He said, walking back.
He ate his steak gracefully and with tact

"I'm sure," Beckett said, forcing a smile. "There's nothing wrong with me, okay? I'm fine. I'm fine."
Repeating words? Really? Way to show her how 'fine' you are, he thought bitterly. Stable people totally repeat the same sentence twice in a row. That's not a sign of some sort of latent issues at all.

"Yare yare…" He said, after swallowing some food.

"All right." Nyx turned back to her food; she cut her steak into four strips, then bit off the end of the first one. For someone in such a dainty dress, she didn't eat daintily.

Ivchenko strode in, arms folded behind his back. He looked across the group that was presented in the room currently, then took a spot by the wall. The man paused as to fix his hat, then went back to leaning against it. “Interesting place you have here.”

"Thank you!"

"I don't suppose," Nyx said, "you have any ginger ale?"

"Ale? I want ale!" Peppermint bounced excitedly at the mention. "None of my big brothers or sisters let me have ale, and it's not fair!"

"Ginger ale," Nyx said gently. "It's a soda."

"That sounds boring," Peppermint sighed. "I want regular ale. Big Bro Katakuri drinks it all the time! He says it makes other people drunk, but he doesn't get drunk. That's 'cause he's got a high tol-er-ance."

"I have every drink known to mankind in my fridge."

"Woah woah woah, someone lets you drink ale?" Beckett said. "You're like four. Why're you drinking ale?"
Wherever this Peppermint kid was from, the rules must be very different. He was from Wisconsin, for God's sake, and hadn't been around alcoholic elementary schoolers.

"I had it once," Peppermint declared proudly. "Only a sip, but I had it once. And I'm not four, I'm seven! And that makes me older than six of my brothers an' sisters!" The girl proudly held up six fingers. "And younger than… seventy-something! I don't have that many fingers, though."

Nyx got up, her dress swishing around her ankles, and grabbed a can of ginger ale from the fridge. It was getting crowded in here, and she didn't like it.
"Is it all right if I finish this in my room?" she asked, holding up her plate.

"Just don't get the bed dirty and make sure to return the plate!"

"Probably for the best that you don't have seventy fingers," Beckett said with a shrug. "Your hands would have to be huge, wouldn't they? And imagine trying to button a shirt, or tie a tie, or hold a knife. It'd be so inconvenient, you know? And imagine trying to buy gloves."
Honestly all of the hand talking was just making him more attune to the pain his was in, but he tried to ignore it.

Nyx raised an eyebrow. "I don't eat in bed."
With that, the burgundy-cloaked vision whisked herself off to her room, privately wishing Vozreal could have seen her in it for longer. Oh well.
Once in her room, she sat down at the desk, turned the lamp on, and began to eat, popping the tab on the can of ginger ale. The mere sound brought back memories. Anne had smuggled it in occasionally; for Nyx, Phoenix, and Seven, it had been a rare treat, a change from water and orange juice. To Nyx, it tasted like home.

Peppermint giggled. "And imagine trying to hold a gun!" With that, the girl pulled the gun out of her belt. "It's hard to hold it normally, with seventy fingers, it'd be impossible!"

"You'd accidentally shoot someone every time you picked it up," Beckett said with mock-seriousness. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed these purposefully absurd conversations. If he'd asked Casey about the difficulties of having seventy fingers per hand, he'd have gone ignored.