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[slavophile]

@william.clayton-queen | ■ ▲ ◌ ▼

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[slavophile]

If tacos become a definite then yes. If there's an aftershock and I die eating tacos. I will haunt you every time you visit Mexico.

[wittingly]

Then I'll take a permanent siesta there and drink with your ghost

[slavophile]

As long as it doesn't become something overwrought and erotic. I don't have Patrick Swayzee's cheek bones and Whoopi Goldberg is dead when I'm from or, much older when I was just from. Possessing her wouldn't have the same effect.

Random question. Would the place we get tacos require clothes.

[wittingly]

yes the taco stand prefers to serve people when their genitals are politely tucked away behind fabric

please never talk about your erotic ghost and dead whoopi goldberg in the same sentence again

[slavophile]

I finally realized it. I'm worth jerking off and crying over. My life may have found its meaning.

Relax, I'm a professional. I'm also getting dressed. Are you in your cubicle-like area or are you already out?

[wittingly]

if i do it at the same time i can use the tears as lube and it's just flat out efficient

I'm out at a bar, not red wings, I'll send over the coordinates

[slavophile]

Or effulgent?

I will follow the coordinates.

[wittingly]

great definition, terrible sounding word
see you there.

[slavophile]

( They're not in Antarctica anymore and yet William still can't seem to get warm. His coat is heavier than it should be for both the night air and the venue Ian sends him to. But, don't tell him that. He feels cozy. Maybe the chill comes from the close Earthquake call.

Either way, he's joining Ian in media res, so he has no idea what's waiting for him when he opens the door. He scans the bar for his hair first and then his height. Letting the door close behind him, he joins Ian at the table he's sat at.

Does he - hug? He stands for a second, smiling and then decides, yeah, okay, he'll lean in for a hug. )

[wittingly]

[ Yeah, sure, alright. Ian's normally a hugger, he's got no qualms with physical contact by nature. This time he's careful, though, to position arm over shoulder and sleeves where skin would be, so as not to trigger the empathy bond.

Didn't care about that when they were kissing, didn't care about it while they were having sex, but right now...

There's stuff he wants to keep to himself, not even let on a hint that it's buried under the surface.

So he smiles wide, and he pushes a drink over. ]

You know how you're always like I'm not much of a drinker and then I make you drink straight tequila and it's like the worst thing you've ever tasted?

[ Well. Please allow him to make up for that with something that looks red and orange and pink. ]

[slavophile]

( He -- just looks down at the mixed drink, nodding. He smirks, too. )

I take straight tequila just fine. ( But, as his hand wraps around the glass, he brings it up, knowing he's exaggerating. ) I appreciate that it's tropical. ( Festive. ) Are we drinking away this earthquake?

[wittingly]

[ That, friend, is a tequila sunrise. It is the exact opposite of antarctic vomit. ]

We are definitely drinking away the earthquake.

[ He'll bring his beer mug up to gently clink against the glass.

Cheers.

He's also drinking away this entire fucking afternoon, but that's more of a him thing and not a them thing. ]

[slavophile]

( He will suck that straw to it. It's delicious. Even though it has a hint of the acid that is tequila, he likes it. One day you'll remember or care that he prefers vodka, Ian. )

I'm still cold. Like. Even after my scalding hot shower. Is the cold just staying with you? I thought Russia was cold.

[wittingly]

[ For what it's worth, he's got a long sleeve shirt on under that flannel, and a sleeveless undershirt on beneath that, so Will's not alone.

He sighs. ]

I'm from fucking California. I wasn't made for sub-zero temperatures.

[slavophile]

( Setting his glass down, he yawns, closing his eyes, stretching back. )

I'm only going to make it through one or two of these and two or ten tacos.