ᴡᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ, ᴡᴇ (plunder) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-12-25 11:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, kenzi malikov, killian jones (captain hook), regina mills (evil queen) |
Who: Regina, Killian, and Kenzi + NPC!Henry at the end
What: Another round of 'When Evil Mistletoe™ Attacks'
When: Christmas Day!
Where: The Swan-Cassidy residence
Rating/Warnings: Mostly low - the obvious smooching, their usual bon mots, AWKWARD
Status: Complete
The most wonderful time of year, the most wonderful day. People scurrying to and fro, bundled up in hats and mittens (you’d think they lived in the actual North Pole or someplace ridiculous like that), arms piled high with brightly wrapped boxes, laughing, chattering, on their way to be with the ones they loved and cared for - now today it was finally here, that joyous Christmas holiday. Killian actually had presents to give this year so he was up early to ensure things for the crew at the house he was going to actually got wrapped - or stuffed in gift bags, rather, because taking care of shiny paper and intricate curly q bows was not happening with one hand. At the Swan-Cassidy residence, there was tinsel, garland, and coloured lights and stockings hanging up, along with the sound of the Nutcracker piped through speakers - a compromise, since Henry didn’t mind it so much and wanted to play the Iron Man soundtrack which...wasn’t even festive at all. The whole place smelled like cinnamon and cloves, also mulled spiced wine which Killian drank a lot of already and was feeling a bit sloshy from - he was tapering off on the meds, for the most part, no need to hold himself back. Or at least that’s what he told himself. While Henry was showing Kenzi his comic book collection, Neal and Emma were in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner and Killian didn’t want to get in their way - he decided he’d entertain the dogs, except he hadn’t bargained on both of them falling asleep on his lap and drooling. Honestly. This mutt especially. Hawkeye. “Get off, would you?” He tried to push the beast gently off to the side but it wouldn’t budge. Instead it just flopped some more, being a stubborn shit as dogs tended to be. But Killian liked dogs. He’d even had one, a long time ago...at least, he was nearly sure he did. “Well, at least there’s someone aside from your sister that’s fond of you,” quipped the notorious queen of evil, lit up Minnie Mouse ears (a Disney gift from Henry, she didn’t have a choice) crowning her. No spiced wine for her this holiday; it was all about the coquito, a carribean spin on traditional eggnog. All the coconut ingredients, along with the evaporated and condensed milk made the difference. Made it much sweeter, and she nursed it in a stemless glass with a cinnamon stick poking out from it. Regina knew she’d be around mutts all day - one of the reasons why she chose clothes from the more casual section of her wardrobe. A slim-fit pair of grey skinny jeans, a blouse that emphasized the McTits title Killian’s mini-me so graciously bestowed on her, and a cardigan for some modesty. Her hair was pulled into a neat ponytail, lengthening bangs swept to the side - it was all getting long, and she toyed with the idea of cutting it every now and again. Hawkeye wasn’t moving, and doomed to be covered in dog fur regardless, she wedged herself next to the one-handed wonder despite the dog’s persistence in cuddling. “You look quite cozy. Want one of your own, don’t you?” Ah, this sofa was quite occupied all of a sudden. Killian shifted a little, arm draped across the back of the piece of furniture, getting comfortable despite the weight of passed-out canine making his legs go numb. “Perhaps, though I doubt a houseboat’s the best place for a dog. I plan to start a garden though, once we’re back to normal California weather,” he snickered, giving Regina a once-over in her adorable Minnie Mouse ears. He’d been there when Henry picked them out, and the lad was so proud to find something that his mum would like. Regina was ever a good sport for wearing them all of today, too. “Those look lovely,” he complimented, lifting one of those villainous eyebrows of his - that comical sort of poke-poke upward, like the thing was tethered to a marionette string. Always got a good laugh; if only he had a long mustache to twirl. “And now what’s this?” Whatever was in Regina’s glass smelled divine. He’d noticed some of that being mixed up as well, in addition to the wine, but he hadn’t asked for details. “Going to let me have a sip?” They didn’t, didn’t they? Those silly Minnie Mouse ears. Regina had a penchant for liking anything Henry gave her, and she’d happily show the appreciation for his decisions. Even if she wouldn’t dare touch them with a ten-foot pole if she had stumbled upon those things herself; but it was all for the boy she loved as her own. “A garden,” she repeated, her own curious brow lifting. “How green thumb of you, I suppose. You know those are harder to keep alive than an actual dog, right?” And, oh - the coquito? It had rum too, with dashes of cinnamon, nutmeg and powdered chocolate. It was one of the very few cocktails with rum she liked, and may have felt generous enough to offer him a taste. “A Puerto Rican’s version of eggnog. Rum with coconut, basically. Take a sip. If you like it and ask nicely I’ll make you one.” Crossing her knees and adjusting to somewhat lean a bit closer, she held the glass close to his mouth. “Maybe. It’s Christmas. I might be half-assed to be nice.” Well, it wasn’t like she was horrible to him. Regina just liked to give him shit in general. He was too easy to poke fun at, the pirate. Tossed her shit right back at her too, so the banter was sometimes entertaining up until they treaded personal territory and went down each other’s throats anyway. They had a special sort of camaraderie, he and the Queen. Different than whatever Killian had with anyone else, though he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Perhaps the dabbling in darkness (alright, more like the wading in it) there in the same world, secrets between them that they’d take to their dreary graves. They shared similar demons, similar skeletons in their closets, and similar heartbreak - you didn’t just get over watching your first love experience a heart-crushing, like the vital muscle-organ was nothing more than a clump of dirt in the hands of their murderers. So Regina’s personal banter, he didn’t really take much offence to it - more like he just enjoyed getting under her skin. Making life interesting. “If you were ever nice, I would think you’ve been body-swapped,” he joked, then focused on taking a sip from the glass she held to his mouth. Mm, delicious. Must be the white rum, which was smooth and sweet - not so spicy and burnt caramel, like its darker counterpart. “Good god, that’s grand. This is me asking nicely. And don’t knock my garden, Your Majesty. It’s all so Kenzi will eat fresh vegetables and get all her nutrients.” Plus, money saver. Hopefully he could make it work on the topside deck. Regina thought he might like it. Not just because of the rum, either, and perhaps that was his way of politely requesting one of his own. You can wait a couple minutes, pirate. In the meantime she’d offer a few more sips out of the kindness of her mostly charcoal-black heart. “In any other world I would have called bullshit,” she snorted. “But if it’s sort of about your sister, I’ll believe it.” It was cute. Really, it was. Killian slipping into the role of older brother, trying to figure out life with family around - it’d help keep him grounded through the turbulence of dreaming a vast variety of emotionally crippling nonsense. “It actually wouldn’t hurt if you two replaced some of your liquid diet with something greener. Healthier. The older you get the slower your metabolism gets.” A pat-pat to his belly. “You’re not going to be seducing anyone with a whiskey gut, Captain.” Yes, she was poking at the alcoholism. Lightly. It couldn’t be good for either of them and his sister, god, she was on the same boat. Killian and Kenzi really were related. Killian scoffed at that, but he wasn’t particularly worried - he had a fast metabolism, and spent a lot of time active. Burning off the calories and such, plus he was blessed with a very sleek sort of build when it came to muscle. “If my dream self can manage to handle it for centuries, I’m sure I can too,” was his stellar argument - but with Kenzi was a different story. He did notice how much she drank, and he also knew he wasn’t setting the best example. They were both alcoholics, but admitting it and making the moves to change was a whole other issue. “‘Sides, we’re Irish.” There, that said it all, as he took another sip of creamy, wonderful coquito. “Always back to me seducing people though...hmmmmm,” a thoughtful hum, and that was him poking at Regina right back. “In a roundabout way, I’m sure there’s concern mixed in with wanting details. But a gentleman never kisses and tells.” ‘We’re Irish’ wasn’t an excuse for anything, but alright, go on Killian, continue to swim in your booze-soaked denial because that was surely convincing. Regina’s eyes rolled and at that little bon mot of his she pulled back - with the coquito - and gulped some down to leave him barely a drop to finish. “You’ve no idea how much I genuinely appreciate you sparing the details of your escapades. It’s a Christmas present on its own, truly.” Much less desire to vomit in her mouth, you see. A funny thing that he mentioned kissing, though - because coming at them, floating in the air without even a puppet string, was a fucking mistletoe. Cranberries all bunched up in it and powdered with snow. Regina set her glass down, furrowed her brows and gave it a very concern look when it made its way over. “What the hell is this? Is this Swan’s version of a joke?” The powdered snow was such a pleasant effect, really. Just made it that much more authentic. Unfortunately, Killian knew what that was right away - he’d already had an evil mistletoe experience in a pub, when he was just trying to get drunk (well, it started off with him simply wanting a beer and a hot meal but it quickly evolved into him getting drunk as it tended to go with him). Yet just because he knew didn’t mean he could do anything about it. “Oh, fuck,” he grumbled, and made a move to reach for it - perhaps crush the damn poisonous sprig in his grasp, but its magic had already taken hold. He kissed Regina, seeking out her lips, and he’d get the taste of coquito right from her mouth if she wasn’t going to share the rest of her drink. It wasn’t just any old kiss, however. It was a sudden shock. Nothing painful or unpleasant, but energising. Electricity, a jolt of it, unfurling deep within him and unfurling to resonate everywhere, even down to the tips of each microscopic hair follicle. Hawkeye at least got a clue. He whined a little and jumped off Killian’s lap, finally. Oh, it was a joke. Not Emma’s joke, but some kind of OC bullshit sorcery that accompanied the rest of the undesired fuckery that plagued this area and existed only to interrupt the rare moments of normalcy they had. Regina’s instinct was to set the thing on fire up until it came directly above them, and the gear switched from violence to some kind of torrid, blistering urge to crush mouths with an alcoholic pirate. One that she still fantasized to toss down a flight of stairs (hers, specifically). It wasn’t just a peck on the lips. Oh no, that’d be too disappointing, wouldn’t it? It was a bit more animated than that, with her hands going to the prickly scruff of his face to pull him in. Much closer, yes, where their bodies would be molded against the other and it ignited something within that caused her to not particularly mind how she was debauching her lipstick. Because by the time he surfaced for air, he’d have stolen that shade of red and worn it for himself. Evidence of this act performed on the Swan-Cassidy couch while they had some of privacy. He didn’t mind being painted with a pleasant cranberry shade of lipstick. Not really what he was into, on his own time, but Killian would gladly take the trade-off. By now the mistletoe had already floated off like the trolling piece of shit it was, and yet he didn’t pull away. Because Gigi It was just that she tasted so surprisingly sweet on his lips at first, a mixture of something rich and with that pinch of salty - and he had to admit that sweet and salty was one of his favourite combinations. Fingertips grazed the maddeningly erotic curve of her throat, which was where he directed attention with a shivery scrape of scuff next - wanting to get a taste there, briefly, before going back to that smeared mouth of hers. So they were making out like teenagers on the sofa, no one would notice? Not even the other million people currently in this festive house. What the hell was even going on? That wretched thing had pissed off elsewhere away from them, therefore nulling that initial unwilling lust for kisses. Whatever remained seemed willing enough - she had enough wits about her to actually think about tearing away but that brief attention to her neck, the kind that did make her shiver, then his mouth again and she even gave his bottom lip a nibble and no, of course breaking apart didn’t actually happen. Until they were walked in on, that is. Emerging from the hallway came a fashionably dressed Kenzi, extensions of bright green in her hair for a more festive ‘ho ho ho’ look, hand on Henry’s back. “Dude, next time, I’ma bring you some Marvel Zombies, because imagine a bunch of your faves just wanting to eat br - whoa.” Time to move that hand from the kid’s shoulder to over his eyes, mmkay? “Guys, seriously, get a room.” Way to tell Jesus Happy Birthday, Bubba and Gigi. Great, just fucking fantastic. As luck would have it, they were walked in on - but Killian had to be glad that it wasn’t Swan, of all people. He was still attempting to sort out his feelings for her, considering that in a whole other world he was willing to pile her family on his ship (family including Rumplefucker) to hop realms and search for her kidnapped son. Realistically, he knew that there was no way history would repeat itself - but it was still a lot to muddle through regardless. Still, there was probably a reason he liked this snogging so much. The spark of attraction which was always there (had been in the dreams too, thinly-veiled sexual tension that you could slice through with a sacrificial knife). But moving on. “Ah - “ Killian pulled away, making a half-hearted attempt to wipe his mouth and clear it of lipstick. “That was just...there was mistletoe.” Henry had gotten a glimpse before Kenzi covered his eyes, but he was kind of glad that she did. “It’s time to set the table, but I guess we can come back?” He peered at them cautiously, then breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that there wasn’t anymore kissing going on where he could see. There wasn’t any point in jolting and pretending like nothing happened because clearly, it did, they had witnesses, and all Regina could do was save herself some sort of dignity by wiping the smudged bits of makeup from her mouth, fix her hair and adjust that already cleavage-gifting shirt to make sure everything was in its appropriate, covered spot. “It’s fine, it’s - there was some kind of magic mistletoe and - yes, you three can set the table, I’ll see how they’re doing in the kitchen?” Awkward, so very awkward. Like when Henry came in on her and Robin making googly-eyes and messing up lipstick, too. Obviously he’s probably seen his two biological parents kiss before, but this was…ugh. This wasn’t the same thing. “Mistletoe,” Kenzi deadpanned with a smirk. “Uh-huh. Well, the mistletoe’s gone. Hey, Gigi, you might wanna…” Nah, she didn’t word it, just made a gesture to her own mouth to let her know where that last bit of smudge was. What was she - ? Oh. Regina got that spot now, yes, thanks to Killian’s twin, and stood from the couch. “I’ll go make more coquitos too. I’ll see you three when dinner’s served, hm?” “Right - “ Killian stood too, his bandaged arm behind his back, good hand smoothing down his shirt. And fixing it at the collar. “They might need help with...dinner. Or whatever they’re doing in there.” This was awkward, why was it so bloody awkward, why couldn’t the gods just smite him now? He’d probably prefer that, come to think of it. Of course, him standing meant it was cue for the carpet-looking dog, all that curly white fluff (she was apparently a Labradoodle, or whatever they were called), to appear and put her paws on Killian’s knees, wanting playtime, hopping all over him. Really. “Mystique, get down,” Henry told her, making a move to dive at her collar and gently take hold. “We gotta go set the table.” But the question remained, “Wait, why do we need three people to set the table? Maybe you could help make the - “ “I think she’s got it covered, lad,” Killian clapped Henry on the shoulder and took off for the dining room. He now had a moment of reprieve before they were all sitting at the same table pretending to not be awkward. Yes, she’s got it covered, thank you. Playing it off as much as they could was best advised, those mahagony-brown eyes flickered to Killian as almost a silent ‘thank you’ and she snatched the empty glass they’d been sharing. Before that goddamn plant floated above them and possessed them into doing what Regina was frantically considering the unthinkable in the crevices of her mind. Her Majesty retreated into the kitchen, and Kenzi was left looking so very smug and sly, obviously leering at the adorably edgy Captain Hook. Him being so flirty with the ladies wasn’t anything new, but McTits often rolled her eyes like she wanted to skin him alive and dip him in lemon juice and just moments ago Killy had her lipstick, all over his face. “Pirates set the table better,” she told Henry, squeezing the little dude’s shoulders and pushing him along. Kenzi liked the kid, he was sharp. “Let’s keep this quiet for now, yeah? I’ll teach you the art of blackmail reaaaal soon.” |