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preston rawlings, psychic accountant (ex_clerk820) wrote in rooms,
@ 2014-09-20 15:27:00

Entry tags:

*telepathy, faol reece, kevin sydney, preston rawlings, talia wagner

[X-Mansion.]
[X-Mansion.]

[A general, localized feeling of fatigued calm, the kind that comes after a restless night and a zombie morning. There is the sensation of being drained, of having no energy to even be tired, except you are, so tired. It's just a feeling, small and light, without identity. Telepaths wouldn't feel formed thought, and even identity is missing from the emotion. Yawn.]

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	Kitchen & Faol. ex_clerk820 2014-09-22 01:45 am UTC (link)
	[Right on cue, Preston stumbles into the kitchen, hollow-eyed and zombified. The tactile smell of coffee suffuses the connection. Raw beans grinding down into bits, the brown, tactile aroma spreading through the air, the faintly bitter edge of smooth boiling liquid.] (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

Re: Kitchen & Faol.

fuadan
2014-09-24 01:51 pm UTC (link)

[The smell over the connection rouses a Cro-Magnon grunt out of him, sense memory filling in the details. Thick and earthy and his bed is foregone for a following stumble into the kitchen. There's a body in front of him - someone - and he almost runs smack into Preston's back, collision at the breath-stealing speed of snail. Then, just one word:] Coffeeeeeeee. [Take that zombies. Brains for you, sweet life giving essence for former CIA agents.]

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Re: Kitchen & Faol.

ex_clerk820
2014-09-26 05:50 am UTC (link)

[The bump isn't hard, as Preston is slow-moving and more rumpled than anyone living has ever seen him. He's missing his suit-coat and tie, and it's a miracle he managed to find an extremely wrinkled pair of trousers (cut in a suspiciously Twenties style) before he stumbled out of his room. The clothes make somewhat of a barrier, but the increased proximity strengthens Preston's emotional projections. Even the anticipation of coffee takes on layers, a hint of guilt at the possibility of caffeine addiction, a raw desire to have better control over his brain, the tingle of hot steam on the inside of his nostrils.

Preston immediately steps back, struggling closer to waking and trying to tamp down on what he is feeling. His attempts in this venue include imagining being wrapped in several layers of bubble wrap and thinking of calming things like clouds. It's not particularly successful. He blinked.]

Reece.

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Re: Kitchen & Faol.

fuadan
2014-09-28 09:39 am UTC (link)

[The suspiciously old cut of his trousers is noted and shoved somewhere underneath the desire for beans cooked, ground, and doused with hot water to form ambrosia. He'll figure it out later when two plus two again reaches four instead of a question mark in his muddled brain.

Is it him or - bubble wrap? - his yawn halts with his mouth hanging open like an attic door. Even fuzzed over by exhaustion, this isn't right.] Rawlings. [Soft slur of suspicious sound as he takes a step back and to the side, distance sought and claimed as one hand pushes into his hair and nails scratch at his scalp. Little zings of pain to wake him up; that is a little better. What is going on with Rawlings' pants?]

Sorry about that. [Blink. Blink.] If you hand over the coffee, I won't ask questions.

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Re: Kitchen & Faol.

ex_clerk820
2014-09-30 07:01 am UTC (link)

This is where you disappeared to? [It was just a tiny bit accusing, maybe just a little bit suspicious. He wouldn't have thought Faol the type to settle in a place like this. The man was so infuriatingly competent, and yet only trustworthy insofar as he could be depended on to do the most rash, craziest, bull-headed thing available.]

[Slowly, Preston held out the coffee. He caught Faol looking at his lower-half and scowled.]

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Re: Kitchen & Faol.

fuadan
2014-10-10 05:56 am UTC (link)

[An eyebrow perks up, almost daring him to come right out and make the accusation, give voice to the suspicion. He's had enough of them leveled at him - true and untrue.] When in Rome. [Cue smirk at scowl.]

And I've got it on good authority that there's no where better to learn if you're a mutant. [Coffee gladly accepted, poured into an 'I heart NY' mug and downed black, no inhaling whiff, only a slight wince as it burns his tongue and he hurriedly swallows.] Especially if you feel like doing the books in nothing but your grandfather's pants.

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Re: Kitchen & Faol.

ex_clerk820
2014-10-12 06:50 am UTC (link)

[Preston flinched at the word 'mutant,' hard and visible. He hated being labeled as something other, finding it deeply oppressive in a way that got down under his skin with hard truth and soured his stomach. As was his way, he did not say anything out loud about it. He poured his own coffee into a generic mug with no label, as boring as possible, and sat down on a stool against the island in the center of the kitchen.] Are you making fun of what I'm wearing, Faol? [Preston smiled. His clothes were not what was troubling him.]

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Re: Kitchen & Faol.

fuadan
2014-10-20 08:00 pm UTC (link)

[After that flinch, Preston didn't need to say anything. He'd been different, other, separate for years. In Mexico, he'd been the gringo. Vegas was the rogue. The one that had slipped his collar and leash to break rules and protocol when it became too much.

Mutant was hardly the curse that rogue had been for him. Maybe he'd stick to 'gifted' around Rawlings.] Nope, just making an observation. [Cheeky devil's grin that was soon hidden by the rim of the coffee mug as he took a sip, let it burn hot and dark and bitter down into his belly. But the other man's smile - yeah, he could see that same smile over coffee or while being handed enough paperwork to choke a horse. Best flee.] See you around, Rawlings. [He tipped his mug in Preston's general direction.]

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