[ This'll do; Hancock strolls along side his his paramour (his fiancée) towards the spread of snacks and drinks ]
Yeah, and the foods nice too
[ An easy shot to take, and take it he does, smirking sultry and elated. He utters a gruff gregarious thanks for Nick toting the plate, and starts to browse the spread of snacks. There's so much food-- he almost thinks to tell Evaris he ought to hand out the extra to the townies, but this is Var, he probably already knows what he's doing with the leftovers.
Hancock takes a couple Mirelurk claw cakes, a few bite sized bits of Radscorpion en croûte, and a couple small pieces of poached angler-- the last is barely passable as a buffet food, but Hancock sees (and appreciates) exactly why it was included here. Fuckin' anglers. He's gunna eat these with extreme prejudice.
Also, the punch in a mellon bowl? Fancy. He takes a cup of that, too. ]
I'm not forgettin' about ya Sunshine, just figure if ya wanna taste you can steal off my cup. Unless ya want one to yourself
[ Nick's relaxed composure feeds Hancock's ease; conversations about possibly establishing boundaries have the potential to get awkward and tense, but he doesn't anticipate that being the case; Nick isn't the type to spin up drama. In fact he's quite reasonable and trustworthy, exactly the kind of person Hancock would wade into these unfamiliar waters with. If someone else asked for his hand in matrimony-- hell, he might have laughed. But Nick Valentine? He's special, precious, one of a kind. He makes Hancock feel things he never would have expected, things that have in the past, sent him running.
With his plate full and accompanying Refreshing punch, the ghoul steers them both towards a cute clothed table by the wall; he takes his plate from Nick and sets it down, dropping himself onto the edge of the table as opposed to the actual seat, because fuck the police (is that euphemism appropriate for the narrative?... Yes, yes it is). ]
Think I'm gunna tryn' remember what I like best here, then ya can try it too, next time we do a Memory Den Thing
no subject
Yeah, and the foods nice too
[ An easy shot to take, and take it he does, smirking sultry and elated. He utters a gruff gregarious thanks for Nick toting the plate, and starts to browse the spread of snacks. There's so much food-- he almost thinks to tell Evaris he ought to hand out the extra to the townies, but this is Var, he probably already knows what he's doing with the leftovers.
Hancock takes a couple Mirelurk claw cakes, a few bite sized bits of Radscorpion en croûte, and a couple small pieces of poached angler-- the last is barely passable as a buffet food, but Hancock sees (and appreciates) exactly why it was included here. Fuckin' anglers. He's gunna eat these with extreme prejudice.
Also, the punch in a mellon bowl? Fancy. He takes a cup of that, too. ]
I'm not forgettin' about ya Sunshine, just figure if ya wanna taste you can steal off my cup. Unless ya want one to yourself
[ Nick's relaxed composure feeds Hancock's ease; conversations about possibly establishing boundaries have the potential to get awkward and tense, but he doesn't anticipate that being the case; Nick isn't the type to spin up drama. In fact he's quite reasonable and trustworthy, exactly the kind of person Hancock would wade into these unfamiliar waters with. If someone else asked for his hand in matrimony-- hell, he might have laughed. But Nick Valentine? He's special, precious, one of a kind. He makes Hancock feel things he never would have expected, things that have in the past, sent him running.
With his plate full and accompanying Refreshing punch, the ghoul steers them both towards a cute clothed table by the wall; he takes his plate from Nick and sets it down, dropping himself onto the edge of the table as opposed to the actual seat, because fuck the police (is that euphemism appropriate for the narrative?... Yes, yes it is). ]
Think I'm gunna tryn' remember what I like best here, then ya can try it too, next time we do a Memory Den Thing