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[testflight]

@larry.trainor | ■ ▲ ◌ ▼

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[testflight]

Gene, hi.

Are you good?

[preseance]

Oh, you know me. No complaints here, fella.

What about you?

[testflight]

I'm great.

[ is he actually? is it just dry sarcasm? —yeah, it's the latter.

although ] I guess I can't complain. I found a job.

[preseance]

Oh yeah? Wanna come over and tell me about it some? I just cooked up a casserole.

( because they're in the middle of a crisis, sure, but gene spent years in one of those. he knows to pace himself, and he ain't about to run himself ragged and helter-skelter aimin' to fix what can't be fixed. he's done his shift for the day, an' it's any medic's job to get himself rested up and well enough to face it all again the next day. )

[testflight]

[ gene knows how to pace himself. larry knows how to keep his head down and ignore there's even a crisis going on. one of those is productive and healthy… ]

yeah
that sounds nice

[ it does, actually. it also sounds—no, never mind that. ]

[preseance]

Well then, at your leisure Mr. Trainor. I'll keep a light on.

[testflight]

Should I bring anything?

[preseance]

Just a little sunshine in your pocket, fella. I got the rest.

[testflight]

[ sunshine. larry's not great at that. ]

I'll try.

[preseance]

( you can borrow some of his. he's got enough to share. )

Then get a move-on, sonny Jim! I'll see you in a few.

[testflight]

[ that would be wonderful ]

I'm on my way.

[preseance]

( his place has probably done increased some in terms of how lived in it looks. it's a tiny, quaint space — his bed concealed by a standing partition. in all honesty, it's mostly kitchen an' dinin' room. his living room is a little corner of the room near the window, an' there ain't no bathroom or laundry facilities to speak of — he uses the facilities down in the dance studio.

the whole of the place is done in earth tones, warm an' cozy. the furniture seems to be mostly antiques that've been repaired or refurbished somehow an' don't hardly match so far as patterns or materials go. a few oddball throw pillows an' some artwork on the walls that looks to be paint over a plastic canvas, open fields an' orchards an' soft summer scenes. one chair by the window has a half-finished tray of little carvings, the curling strips of wood carefully collected in a waste bin. the wood's from jason, an' lord only knows where he got it, but it's enough to quiet the mind when he needs somethin' to do with his hands. whenever larry comes up — if he knocks — gene just hollers for him to come on in. the apartment smells like fresh bread an' sage. the casserole is still in the oven, scalloped potatoes bubbling on its top with reasonably decent imitation cheese. gene is wearing an apron that says 'trust me, i'm a combat medic' because he apparently found that hilarious an' he's currently running one hand under cool water in the sink. wryly, )

You know, funny thing about hot dishes. They don't stop bein' hot when you forget your gloves.

[testflight]

[ larry is cautious when he approaches, not because he doesn't trust gene but because he still doesn't trust himself in this city, not really —doesn't trust that he really isn't radioactive anymore, that it isn't going to just return at some point.

if he were a better man, he'd take himself far away from everyone he could ever hurt. he isn't, though. instead, he is knocking and then entering at gene's holler, taking in the lived-in, warm feel of the place. and the delicious smell permeating the air. ]

It smells good.

[ and then ]

Are you all right?

[preseance]

Ah, Hell, just a little crispy.

( it's what passes for humor with him sometimes. but he knows he don't have to censor himself around larry, somethin' for which he's eternally grateful. it's nice, to have someone he can be comfortable around. who knows what his war was like. he turns off the water and examines his palm. little red, one small weal of blistering fluid along the side where he'd been longest against the hot ceramic, but it ain't too bad all things considered.

he shakes his hand dry an' then, wryly: )

You know the best way to deter a fella from doin' somethin' stupid? Let him do it once unchecked.

[testflight]

[ larry huffs out a laugh, taking the confirmation that gene is all right at face value. a little crispy isn't dead by any stretch of the imagination.

(larry wishes he could have said he was just a little crispy after the plane crash. he wishes - )

he still glances at gene's hand, just to make sure. nothing like the burn scars that cover larry's entire body, of course.

after a beat of consideration: ] Depends on how stupid it is.