Dancin until dawn.

[robotdick]

[The hardest part about keeping a secret is the waiting around. Nick's better at surprises and delayed gratification than most, but even he's having a hard time keeping a lid on this one. It takes planning, though, setting up a really romantic evening, even one as juvenile and silly as this. Thankfully, between Ellie and the Vaultie's pack-rat tendencies, Nick's managed to set up something genuinely pretty nice.

Nick had thought about clearing out the upstairs, but the odds of Hancock just wandering up there were too high. Instead, he cleared out the floor below theirs and went to work. The decorations were top notch, he'd figured out how to get SNOW to play music down here. Had set up spotlights, metallic streamers, the whole nine yards.

No high school prom had ever looked more prom-like. Vaultie had even provided balloons.

He had the whole thing sewed up, prom, romantic food, he even wore the nice outfit that the Vaultie had given him. All he required now was Hancock.

Nick tried to remain inconspicuous as he meandered through the Old Statehouse, but he was dressed to the nines. The look Farenheit gave him was longsuffering, but she didn't say anything otherwise. When he finally got to Hancock's door--he knocked and adjusted his tie.]

Comments

[chem_break]

[ Of course Evaris will help you Nick, you don't even have to ask. As aggressively altruistic as always, the Not-Quite-a-Vaultie provides above and beyond the synth's requests. Decorations? Certainly, here's 300 balloons. Metallic streamers, galore. White icicle Christmas lights (specifically, those are a must), and a fog machine. What, no? No fog machine? Fine, he'll scrap it for parts.

Snacks? Absolutely, the mad science this dude can do with a pot over a fire. Drinks? Sure, here's every variety of Nuka Cola, and Vim, a (metric) boat load and a half of booze, and classic punch inside a giant mutant melon bowl that is certainly not spiked but extremely Refreshing. Plus a small mountain of ice, but you gotta chip that yourself dude come on now.

Music? No problem, already installing the same massive stereo speakers as in The Third Rail, because clearly he already has schematics for those laying around no big deal. That's not a stage, don't be so over dramatic, it's just an extremely fancy karaoke bar.

Somewhere amid the Vaultie's extremely fucking manic re-do of the floor beneath Nick and Hancock's flat, the version of Snow currently operating Neon Flats will kindly provide the synth a little context. Aspects of Synthetic Neural Operating Window Version 2 still exist in the Gen 3's hardware; it repaired vital parts of his OS, and can't separated without irreparable damage. One of Snow's original functions, a task they took and valued and cherished before even coming to know Themselves, was interior design.

Specifically, Snow had been tasked with designing Neon Flats. They are the architect behind Nick's snazzy flat, those crisp neon lights and mini-fridge night-stands that he and his paramour so much appreciate and enjoy.

So Evaris (with his one green eye and his one white braid) are doing a Thing now, please forgive the bordering obsessive dedication to the task.

That's gotta be why the extreme excess of effort here, right? No additional, Glowing Green reasons could possibly exist? ... Anyway.



Over at The Old Statehouse, Hancock is doing Taxes. There's an ashtray brimming with several variety of spend smoke butts, a glass that's empty and a bottle of whatever Charlie gave him that's half-way there. There's even a few scattered ceramic cups, implying someone cooked up something at the coffee station downstairs and brought it up here, too.

The ghoul sighs to himself as he attempts to balance his books-- the keys of his terminal clacking with his mounting irritation at the numbers on his computer's screen. ]

C'mon Allen you're killin' me here...

[ He mutters to himself, trying to make 100 caps into 500 is going to take some-- well, that's just a couple bounties, right? He can probably cover that himself if he goes out and does the actual work. Not an impossible bridge to gap.

Besides, he's the one who cut his own stash of Cognitive Cocktail in half. That's the math he's trying to balance out, because one of his two remaining shots is due to go to Fred soon, which means--

There's a knock and Hancock shoves himself up from the desk, striding away from his computer like it offended him and he has to step back before he decks it. If this is Fahrenheit, he's gunna send her on a run to snag a handful of of righteous bounties for him-- ]

Oh-- Nick, hey, I need to grab a couple-- [ Record scratch. Hold on. Nick looks... fancy. The blunt wolfish attraction is the first expression to flicker across the ghoul's face, followed by mildly concerned befuddlement. Had he forgotten something, here? ]

Are... we supposed to be dancin, tonight?

[ A wild guess, while his smile is faintly reluctant for a fraction of a second. He should solve this issue--

He can leave it for later.

He wants to see why Nick looks so especially dashing this evening. ]

Don't tell me I forget about those Lindy lessons? Told ya I got a brain like holey cheese... er, pretty sure I did.

[robotdick]

[Watching Hancock drop a frame or two is a thrilling happenstance and it boosts Nick's confidence in this plan by leaps and bounds. Hancock looks harried, but he usually has that expression on after a few days working away at that terminal.]

Yeah, actually--I figured I'd see if you wanted to step out tonight? I know a spot and it's been a while since we danced.

[Nick, in all his old fashioned glory, has been holding a corsage in one hand. Not too many types of flower in the wasteland, but he's snatched up a few. He's got a couple affixed to the lapel of his coat. He clears his throat and offers up the floral wristband. It's a little awkward, but it's a required step for a prom.]

So what d'you say? Be my date?

[chem_break]

You kiddin? Get me the hell outta here-- if I never see a godamn number again in my life, it'll be too soon

[ His exasperation plays second fiddle to his jubilant appreciation, here; he's already shedding his stress and fatigue like a snake shucking and old set of scales; suddenly soft and flexible and ready to wriggle.

He thinks to ask what new spot Nick could have possibly discovered-- but the guy goes and offers him an actual corsage (Hubflowers? His Fucking Favorite Flowers, probably because you can make Psycho out of them) and asks like it's a whole formal affair. Very romantic, and Hancock's grin goes crooked with overflowing delight. ]

This some kinda formal affair? Got me feelin' kinda under-dressed all the sudden...

[ an odd comment from a man constantly dressed in historical cosplay, and a token complaint; it's more a vehicle to pass Nick his surprised and appreciative approval by tone alone. Hancock shuffles his sleeve (coast and ruffles) down his wrist a few inches and offers his hand to Nick, so he can fasten the band of flowers upon it as the tradition of corsages dictate. ]

Ya think I should hop over to Neon Flats real quick to change? Got that Silver Shroud get up Var gave me... and that red dress too, come to think of it. Maybe both? How far we walkin? Heels ain't so kind outside'a VR

[robotdick]

Yeah, I think we can make a stop back home.

[Nick confirms as he finishes fastening the corsage onto Hancock's wrist. It's a ridiculous tradition, but the hubflowers look great and it all aligns almost uncannily with the memories in his head that Nick recorded. Nick (the synth) steps aside so Hancock can flee his office and then follows right after as they head to and down the stairs.]

And I can't say I'd object to the heels, but you sure you want to lindy in them?

[Nick had envisioned Hancock in that red sequined dress while planning this. It wasn't a dealbreaker if he wanted to wear something else, but the idea of that dress under the fancy icecicle lights and makeshift disco ball? That sends his mechanical heart all aflutter. Farenheit gives him the same longsuffering look as they exit the building and Nick has the good grace to look a little sheepish about comandeering the mayor.]

[chem_break]

Nice-- always appreciate being the best dressed guy in the room-- no offense Nick, you're a close second

[ Hancock is more than happy to abandon his terminal (and accompanying Mayoral Duties) for another day of the week. Once Nick is finished with the floral adornment Hancock spares a moment to examine it with an appreciative grin, turning his wrist so he can view the fancy floral arrangement from a few different angles. Not quite as possessive as a tattoo, but it's a lovely romantic declaration that makes Hancock feel like he's being flaunted-- a sensation that provides a decent little thrill beneath the flowery romance. ]

How'd you know I like Hubflowers? [ Aside from that he picks every bunch they cross-- it's more a complement to Nick's observational skills than a genuine question. ] And-- yeah, I'm thinkin' on it. Heels in the closet 'er about two inches taller than what I'm wearin right now... not too bad on the toes, and ya did say ya like me tall

[ As he walks, he bumps his shoulder affectionately against Nick's and shoots him a sprightly smirk.

The Mayor's red-headed muscle gets a dismissive wave and absolutely no eye contact, because he doesn't wanna give the stern woman half a chance to ask him-- anything. He's done, stick a fork in him. Her disapproving head-shake and eyeroll only see Hancock's back as he cuts down the short hall and heads to the doorway that will lead them outside. He holds the door for Nick as they exit The Old Statehouse, and step into the unseasonably brisk evening air. ]

Don't mind dressin' up for ya, but I'm takin' your coat if I end up chilly

[ It's all doting mischief, tender teasing as he slides an arm through Nick's and folds his own at the elbow, adopting an impishly formal posture as he strides towards their apartment building. ]

[robotdick]

Of course.

[Nick does stand a little straighter as Hancock weaves his arm through, and there's an ease to his step as they meander toward Neon Flats. The cold night air almost makes him wish they had to walk somewhere else, but he tables that thought. The look on Hancock's face when he pushes open the doors on that floor? That'll be well worth skipping the walk.

The lobby of the building is as it always is and Nick knocks the button to summon the elevator with his elbow. Sweeping in with Hancock on his arm has him, well, for lack of a better term: strutting. Nick's doing his best to contain his excitement about this all, but it's a rough task and he's only mostly managing to keep it on lock. He can't really stop smiling which is, in and of itself, a dead giveaway.]

I was hoping you'd wear that dress. [Nick confides in a stage whisper as they step into the elevator.] Though, admittedly, don't think I actually considered the Silver Shroud outfit. Doesn't match the heels, though.

[chem_break]

You ever got a craving I kill for ya, you just let me know

[ He means in regards to playing dress up, but he also means in general. As the elevator doors slide shut, the ghoul folds himself against Nick's chest as though one leads naturally to the other. He's an exhibitionist with a habitually reserved (but extremely indulgent) boyfriend; he waits until the doors close to lean in and press Nick to the wall of the elevator, eyes gleaming like polished hematite while his smile adopts a devilish bloom of hunger. ]

Someone's lookin' like the cat who ate the canary [ He notes with feral-tinged curiosity, head slanted in a tell of his engaged wonder; the motion carries farther and his head continues to cant, lining his smirk aside Nick's throat. ]

Tell ya what, that dress actually has a bitch of a zipper. You promise to help me into it, and outta it, I'll doll up in red sequins. That copasetic, love?

[ He still might nab the scarlet scarf off The Shroud outfit, though; what if his shoulders get chilly, or they need some impromptu bondage? Always good to have a spare scarf laying around.

Also the elevator interrupts by very rudely bringing them to the requested floor-- damn it Snow, read the room. Hancock lingers where he is a few extra moments; they are On Task, but all he wants is a few more seconds to graze his teeth teasing-close to one of the torn edges down the side of Nick's throat.

He will absolutely move. Shortly. ]

[robotdick]

I was already plannin on one of those, picking up the other's no problem.

[You know it's amazing how Hancock can perpetually knock Nick off his feet. But, for once, Nick can't actually be tempted away from the current course of action. Much though he would really love to indulge with his exhibitionist ghoulfriend in the elevator here, they have a prom to get to, and Nick's just...itching to get there.

He's not adamant enough to actually step away from Hancock, what with him plastered so nicely against him with his teeth just above his neck and his breath humid against Nick's raw sensor edges.]

Think this is our floor, sweetheart.

[Nick reminds him. It's not like the elevator has anywhere else to go, save perhaps the floor below, but if Evaris calls the elevator now Nick is going to flip out. They're so close. After a beat, Nick makes a command decision, he shifts his hand to the small of Hancock's back and walks him backward, like they're dancing. Even just like this, without music, it feels perfect.]

[chem_break]

You got yourself a deal; don't be surprised if I hold ya to it

[ He's far too content where he is, stealing second after second of heady proximity, painting the side of Nick's throat with his breath and the threatening promise of teeth on those exposed sensors. He hasn't forgotten they've got an itinerary here -get changed, go see Nick's new hang out- but he's struck through the chest and the pit of his gut when Nick leverages that cute little petname against him.

It's enough to bridge that teasing gap he lingers inside, enough to trace the tip of his tongue along along one shorn silicone edge. ]

Is it? You sure about that? Absolutely? [ a slower drag of friction, like he's developing an addiction for the taste of electricity. ] Positively? [ his teeth graze across the minimal moisture left by the lave of his tongue ] Completely?

[ 'Bing', the elevator politely insists, remaining utterly motionless. Yes, this is the correct floor, actually. Then Nick's hand is on the small of his back and they're moving together; Hancock goes with the flow, a red velvet chuckle in throat as they sway through the small space and through the open doors. ]

Alright, alright, home sweet home, I'm goin' already

[ It's theatrical, good-natured complaining; Hancock follows along, falls into step beside Nick and then, just as quickly, trots off ahead towards the bedroom. His hat ends up worn by the computer terminal and his cherished red coat on the accompanying chair. He's undoing buttons while he foots open the closet and steps inside. ]

Ya think the tricorn is gunna work with the sequins? Think I saw a top hat in here but that's not really my style...

[robotdick]

[Nick's a little dazed as Hancock flits off, disrobing as he goes. Nick's fans have already kicked on, carried by the surge of data that always follows Hancock's mouth. His smile is, admittedly, a little dopey and he tries to school it into something deboinaire as he crosses the room into the bedroom. Hancock's already in the closet digging through for that dress and Nick moves to the terminal, leaning his hip against it, half sitting as he waits.]

Never considered it, but yeah, I figure it could.

[He wants to tell Hancock to wear whatever he wants, but that's redundant. Hancock will wear whatever he wants regardless and Nick's only real preference is for that dress. As he waits, he idly fusses with the hub flowers tucked into his lapel and adjusts the tip of his hat. He's so glad he had something to change into that was nicer than his usual fare. This fits the mood he's going for far better than his ratty day to day coat.]

If you're gonna change styles, though, I'd go fedora before top hat.

[chem_break]

Honestly? Good ol' tricorn can probably accessorize anything

[ He's talking like there's something in his mouth-- because there is. The bracelet of that corsage is perched delicately between his teeth as Hancock emerges from the closet, both hands twisted behind himself in at attempt to coral the zipper up his spine. That dress is tighter in Real Life HD; like a second skin of sanguine sequins making artful angles of Hancock's (actually, secretly) slighter frame. He's certainly grown since his 19th birthday, but his coat and boots lend a little more grandeur than is immediately apparent. ]

Nah, you don't want me rippin' off your style, what if I pull it off better? Then I'm gunna feel like a jack-ass, you'll have to find a whole new vibe...

[ As usual when Hancock is feeling chill, he's blowing smoke out his ass. Meanwhile his shoulders dip and rise as he wriggles proper into the temptress-tight fabric, trying to roll the demure straps onto his shoulders and reach for the zipper at the same time. He's also wearing only one of his boots, giving his stride a comical sense of unbalance as he exits the closet. ]

Christ, this thing is tighter outside VR

[ It's more sheepish amusement than a real complaint; Hancock can't imagine how someone with actual breasts is supposed to wear this thing and actually succeed in breathing. It's also salaciously low cut, front and back, and cinches at the waist enough to squeeze at the dip of his navel.

That texture is. Texture-y. Hancock abandons his attempt to zip the zipper (half-way done) and adjusts the fabric across his stomach instead. ]

Alright, officially requestin' back up here. Gunna need your hands, Valentine-o'-mine

[robotdick]

[Hancock walks out with that red sequined dress all but painted on him. He's struggling with the zipper and, for a moment, Nick forgets that's his job. He's too caught up staring at the way that fabric catches the light and shifts, almost like water, over Hancock's skin beneath it. Nick's staring, he knows he's staring, he can't really stop staring, especially at the drape of the front cut and the fall of the dress around his legs.

Finally, when Hancock invokes his name (after a fashion), Nick remembers himself and bolts upright. It's three quick strides to the ghoul's side and Nick's long legs eat that distance eagerly. All at once he has both hands on the fabric at Hancock's back. His good hand holds it closed while his skeletal one takes the zipper head in hand and draws it upright. It fights him a little, threatening to snag on each individual sequin, but he's got the right angle on it. In about thirty seconds he's got that zipper drawn up and is watching that tight sequin fabric against the tapestry of Hancock's back.

Nick doesn't have to breathe but damned if he doesn't look breathtaking.]

Looks amazing on you, think you can dance in it?

[chem_break]

[ Hancock is absolutely aware he's being stared at; he lets it slide, which is to say he simultaneously basks and pretends not to notice for as long as he can stand to keep his mouth shut, which is not long. ]

Way you're lookin' at me's almost enough to make me rethink my style

[ He lets out all the breath he can squeeze from his lungs as Nick gives that zipper a piece of his mind; finally the stubborn thing complies and the ghoul feels the fabric hug his ribs like an oil-spill on water; it practically floats on his skin. ]

Think I can manage, really hope no one's gunna be shootin at us from Here to There though

[ He kicks off his second boot, achieving maximum short king energy for a few moments. He twists and tests the range of motion he has in skin-tight sequins, which is not terrible, assuming he doesn't need to drop kick anyone this evening.

Satisfied, Hancock makes a second closet dive for an accompanying pair of heels. When he emerges, the corsage is back on his wrist and he's toting a pair of sharp black heels. He's also wearing a different tricorn, one that leans a little more towards Pirate than American Solider, which is appropriate because the thing came from Far Harbor. Evaris really has to stop forgetting when he asks his companions to tote around his crap because it's just going to end up in Nick and Hancock's closet.

The ghoul drops himself on the edge of the bed with the posture and candor of someone not accustomed to wearing a skirt; showing skin isn't something he sweats so the fabric creeping up his thighs whilst he bends to breach the buckle of the heel's strap is not a concern. Especially not here, present company so appreciative. ]

[robotdick]

[The swap of the hat really ties that whole getup together and Nick doesn't even bother pretending he's not raking his gaze over Hancock in that dress. The way he sits, letting the dress ride up his thighs, is pretty as a picture. If Nick didn't have such an elaborate plan staged and ready to go, he'd drop to his knees and do something about all this--but he does so he doesn't, but it's a near thing.]

This time of day, we ought to be in the clear. [Nick says, tossing that red herring on the bed with all the ease of a fisherman.] But I heard they got live entertainment tonight, so there's really no telling.

[Nick's doing his best to keep his hands to himself, to just stare, but it's a real challenge. He can only hope his acting chops are up to snuff--the fact that he is genuinely excited to show this off makes it easier to feign eagerness.]

Gonna have to get you to confirm that when we get there--I'm not sure I'll be able to take my eyes off you long enough to get a peek at the band.

Close to His Heart

[chem_break]

[ He finally fucking found it. God damn, that only took about three days.

Hancock had gotten the idea the morning after he and Nick had gotten engaged. Morning drugs and coffee (the appropriate before-noon vehicle for booze) typically comes with a couple of standard 'eureka!' moments, but this? This is a good one. The ghoul spends a good chunk of the next few days turning The Old Statehouse on its head.

He knows he has this thing. It is here... somewhere. Why is it not in your desk, Hancock? Because you didn't leave it there, obviously. The haphazard anarchist is suffering a terrible drawback of his chaotic philosophies.

Where the hell did it go?

Turns out, Fahrenheit spotted it somewhere conspicuous and tucked it away somewhere safe, like a literal safe, because she didn't want to 'hear him bitch about misplacing it for the fifteenth fucking time keep track of your important shit, Hancock.' This is soft talk for Fahrenheit and Hancock thanks her gregariously for the save.

She tells him not to lose the thing again, and he can genuinely promise that is never gunna happen. He doesn't take her disbelief personally.

The prized item is now concealed in an unassuming manila folder, which Hancock carries under his arm as he rides the elevator up to his and Nick's apartment. They're gunna have to find some kind of welding machinery to get this done right, but the ghoul assumes (sinse Nick did make his own ring) that his paramour can point them in the right direction for that part of the creative process.

This part? Probably best if they stay away from dry air and molten metal. ]

Hey Sunshine, I got somethin' for ya

[ There is a definite spring to the ghoul's step as he approaches, keeping that plain looking envelope mysteriously under his arm, despite the tempting declaration. ]

Comes with a bit of a story, though. Got time to shoot the shit with me?

[robotdick]

[Nick's just reading through the file on his next case when Hancock pops in. This particular case is a cold one, so not entirely imperative, and Nick sets it aside so he can make doe-eyes at his new fiancee. Hancock's got a manila folder under one hand but not much else (that Nick can see). He supposes the coat could contain something or another, but he knows Hancock mostly uses it for chems.]

Oh? For you, always.

[Nick kicks back and grins, leaning backward in his chair. His desk is a mess, as usual, but he doesn't figure Hancock of all people is going to fault him on it.]

What's the story?

[chem_break]

You keep sayin that and one of these days I'm just gunna drop into your lap without so much as a how'dya do

[ Despite the 'warning', Hancock slides comfortably onto the edge of Nick's cluttered desk. He likes being front and center, the star of Nick's attention, and he places himself thusly like a demanding feline. At least he asked first. The sealed folder he takes in both hands, twirling it around his grasp but not quite handing it over. It looks... thick, stuffed, paper edges bulged out and straining to hold. Hancock is not concerned-- obviously whatever this is? Going to end up in a fire.

He's still a might careful with his fidgeting though, twirling the mystery item fancy, but steady. ]

Right, so you know ghouls usually end up book worms, yeah? Cuz we're so overwhelmed with social options? Well the book bug bit me bit earlier than that... so long as ya count comics as books

But, before that? When I was just about bigger than an ankle biter? Wasn't much interested in learnin' to read. So Ma' got this bright idea to start readin comics, and those sure got my attention

Then I couldn't get enough'a the stories. Big time heroes swoopin in to save the little guy. Monsters, Robots, Gunslingers, bad-ass nomads takin the world by storm? That became my whole jive for years. Couldn't get enough of 'em. Think I learned to read in about six minutes flat.

But outta all of em? The first one was always my favorite.

[ Here he peels open the adhesive seal on his folder, pausing for theatrical and dramatic effect as he shoots Nick a smirk that treads a little close to... sheepish? Damn, this kinda sounded cooler in his head... ]

You get where I'm goin' with this, Slick?

[robotdick]

[Nick's interested, Hancock doesn't usually just offer up bits of his history, let alone dropping in on Nick with one in hand. He's nodding along to the explanation--it isn't hard to picture him sitting around reading pulp comics. Nick didn't know he had a favorite though and the fact that he still has it (given how kind the wasteland is to paper) is a miracle.

He's waiting to see what it is, as Hancock peels open the folder, but that question catches him off guard a little.

Going?]

Uh--going? [Nick blinks as he tries to parse the last few moments, running them back through his mind, but he can't find anything that explained why he had a comic. (Let alone why he had his favorite comic.)]

You're not just showin' me?

[He was pretty hype for just learning about things Hancock liked, if there's another purpose too that's fantastic.]

[chem_break]

I'm showin' ya for a purpose, keep that mind. Now where was I?

Oh yeah, my favorite. One look at Mom readin this? Had to know what was happenin between the pages. Started the whole damn comic kid freakshow. It's, uh... about this guy, this Detective, and he gets the power to freeze time

[ Out from that protective folder comes one extremely well loved comic book. The pages are soft and terribly faded, but still legible; almost every page has been dog-eared, and there's doodles (hearts, struck through with arrows) on the cover surrounding a very dashing looking fellow in a very familiar looking trench coat. ]

And a'course he does what any decent guy would do, gettin' super powers? He runs around time savin' everyone, and particularly this one missing mayor's daughter? [ Thank mad science for ghoulish complexation; he knows that heat on his own face is utterly invisible. ]

At first no one wants to trust the guy, thinkin' he'd use all that power for somethin' evil... but he never does, no matter how much people tryin' drag him through the dirt. He helps 'em. Guess little me was really into the whole... brooding, sexy trench-coat, guy with a brain and a tragic backstory... thing

[ He gazes at the pages fondly, obviously this comic is holding together by sheer force of love, it looks like a strong breeze could scatter it, or like another hour of sun would bleach out the rest of the color. ]

No other way to put it, thought the story was damn inspiring. And... yeah, if all the hearts and 'John x Daniel' scribbles didn't clue ya in? Totally had a crush on the main character. It's pretty damn embarrassing lookin' back. [ His chuckles are fond and sheepish, self-decrepitating and genuine enjoyment muddied together in a confusing tangle. ]

Here, want ya to read it. You don't gotta do it now, but before we light it up and put the ashes in some fancy metal for your ring, is kinda the idea

[ And before Nick can protest, Hancock explains: ]

Ya read it, ya can record it, right? So any time I wanna read it again, I just gotta spend some time hangin' with you. Probably safer in your skull than here, on paper that's gunna dissolve in two shakes of a radstag's tail anyway

[ He shifts on the desk, not quite restless, but definitely in the arena of flustered. ]

I thought it'd be... I dunno, I promised ya somethin' close to my heart, didn't I? I want it to be this. You just gotta promise to show me when I wanna see it. Maybe we could read it together now and then. A tradition, or somethin'

[robotdick]

[Nick's quiet as Hancock explains--as he paints a picture of how meaningful this keepsake actually is to him. He ends up smiling just a bit as he listens, charmed by the sincerity and investment on display. When he offers it up for Nick to read, the synth reaches out to take it--but Hancock drops that second half of the sentence before he does and Nick's hand freezes.

Before Nick can get a word in edgewise, though, Hancock's predicting him and putting forth an argument. It's a pretty good one, overall. Nick's memories are at least more archival than the crumbling two hundred year old newsprint, but burn it?

Hancock shifts and Nick finally takes the comic (carefully, gently) and, well, the rest of his suggestions are for the future. Just having Hancock think about the future down the line, rather than now, has Nick's gaze going adoring again. Here's hoping Ellie doesn't walk in while they're chatting about this (not that she doesn't know, he just doesn't want to inflict his romantic side on her).

Nick sets the comic down on the desk in front of him, covering up the files. This is the only thing he's going to be up to today. He takes a moment, looks over the cover with that halo of little hearts around the detective on the page, and he knows he has a new anchor memory for happiness.]

Not sure how you could'a fallen for this guy. [Nick teases gently.] This joker's not even wearing his badge. He's practically a private eye.

[He says that with disdain despite handling the actual comic with the utmost delicacy. After he derrides Daniel a bit, he glances back up at the ghoul od his dreams.]

This is one hell of an idea, I love it. I'll take a real nice record of it for you.

[chem_break]

[ Hancock recognizes the instinctive hesitation cross Nick's expression when he explains the whole of his intentions; he's glad he thought to preempt any refusal on his own behalf as he did, because really, Nick is doing him a favor, here. These pages won't last forever, won't even last much longer... and Nick won't live forever either, but he's probably got a way longer shelf life ahead of him than this ancient comic. He's relieved and gratified to see that adoring expression return to Nick's face as the synth grasps the full form of his romantic notion. Obviously, if they're getting hitched, they're gunna be hanging out in the future. But this is something specific and precious, the seed of a tradition for Them, that they could grow together. ]

Uhg, I know, right? Good thing my tastes changed from then till now

[ Which is to say, that there is a fair chance Nick Valentine got some invisible hero worship and goo-goo eyes off a certain someone when he first strolled into town, bringing the kid's favorite story to life. Oh yeah, Hancock's face is feeling a little warm; he plucks off his own hat and casually fans himself with a tumble-weed chuckle. ]

Yeah? You do? Really? Fuckin' nice! Gotta admit, sounded cooler in my head. But if ya dig it, I was also thinkin'... could be fun to restore the digital copy, together? Figure we could tweak the paints in VR... maybe remove all those god-awful scribbles?

[ The last part of his statement is teasing self-depreciation; if he wanted to hand Nick a clean copy of that comic, he already knows a guy good for hunting down obscure and rare items. He wanted to give Nick that one, the one that belonged to him and his mom, embarrassing pubescent scribbles and all. ]

Not too sure there is a God, what with the Nukes and general state of The Wastes and all, but if there is? Gotta thank 'em for makin' sure the fanfiction didn't survive. Christ, that shit would be the worst blackmail I could think of

[robotdick]

Fanfiction?

[Nick's all for a group project making a restored version, but he doesn't get a chance to say as much before Hancock tosses out something much more interesting. Nick's careful as he props his elbows on his desk, he makes sure not to set either one on that hagard comic. He laces his fingers together as he cocks an eyebrow and leans, just so, toward his fiancee.]

You tellin me you wrote fanfiction about yourself and--[He has to glance down to check the detective's name.]--Daniel here? What was it about?

[He's not mining for ideas for surprise dates, why do you ask? Shut up. This is just normal questioning of a fun aspect of his husband to be, alright?]

You sure they didn't survive? Cause...I could go lookin'.

[chem_break]

[ Hancock's seen that quizzical, carefully composed expression before (paired with just a touch of deliberately increased proximity), but somehow it hits him harder with this subject on hand. He's acutely aware of his heart beat for a few ticks of his pulse, of how his grin stretches into sheepishness as much as affection. He fans himself with his hat with more apparent gusto before replacing it on his head; a theatrical sigh rolls out of him as he pops the collar of his coat and absently rustles the ruffles of his shirt with his fingers. ]

Yeah, yeah, we all do stupid shit when we're young, alright? Just don't go spreadin' it around

[ It's not a serious concern, but this is clearly very privileged information. ]

Never even told Fahrenheit bout the fanfics. Wouldn't be so embarrassed if it was just sex stuff, right? That much ya expect, but no, that definitely wasn't the case. Made up a whole... I dunno what ya'd call it, Comic-Sona? A character based on me?

At the time, nothin' seemed flashier or freer to me than a Pirate, so...

So, yeah. I'm pretty damn sure none of 'em survived. No one needs to be subjected to little John's Time Traveling Pirate Adventure Romance. Told ya, worst blackmail I could ever think of.

[robotdick]

[Little John's Time Traveling Pirate Adventure Romance is something Nick very much wants to be subjected to. He'll have to dig around and see if he can find one of them. He's not about to get his hopes up, but if he finds one, he's damn sure going to read it.]

That might just be the cutest damn thing I've ever heard. [Nick can't help but chuckle.]

What do you say we sit down and read through this together later? I'll make a mental copy before then, just in case.

[chem_break]

[ Conveniently, Hancock and Nick both happen to know a fellow with a knack for finding rare and peculiar items. Nick's detective skills and Evaris' obsessive attention to detail and hoarding tendencies just might create the right chemical reaction here; if any duo in The Commonwealth could hunt down an apparently extinct collection of fanfics, it would be those two.

Alternatively, a trip to their own Mini Memory Den could potentially yield some fanfic specific recollections (Super Ego appeared in a flurry of comics, didn't he?) but that would require Hancock's explicit consent and effort; those things arn't off the table, per-say, but he does seem a bit sheepish about sharing the 'gory' details. ]

Always thought Sexy Pirate would be a good back up, in case Sexy Mayor didn't work out, just don't usually share the origins of the notion, ya dig?

[ The ghoul lounges upon Nick's desk whilst the wattage of his grin increases for that offer to read through his favorite comic together. ]

Yeah, sure. Can't actually think of a better way to pass the hours that don't involve some kinda addiction or friction, heh. Ya just gotta promise not to get too jealous of the first guy I thought about gettin' hitched to, deal? [ Hancock being an imp: he is in the best mood. ]