To Hugh's credit, he is exceedingly patient. Mainly because he has no choice. It is a sheer act of God to get him stopping every ten or so feet and turning back with a tone that is becoming increasingly clipped, hands that dig further and further into his hips whenever he hears the tell-tale slowing of those steps at his back. He's learned to listen for it, now.
Congratulations are in order for Cassius. He'd be screaming at anyone else by this point.
All of our water is recycled after use. Traded between ships when evaporation gets to it, you know. And believe me, I absolutely need a drink.
(He does not mention that the fleet is largely running out. That they have to buy it from the one ship that found a monopoly in piecing out their vast hoards from the Before Times, the Earthside times.)
Trust me, there's no good time to be had with that particular board. It's usually a set-up to rob someone. Or a set-up for disappointing sex.
(He does not bother asking whether or not Cassius is familiar with sex. By God, he has and will continue to give plenty of explanations tonight, and that will not be one of them.)
Oh good. More cockroaches. I'm sure people are hoarding food in their rooms again, making more little friends for me to find in the walls.
(He does not step on said cockroach, and it is a Herculean show of will that he does not do so. The offending bug waggles its antennae impertinently before scurrying off underneath a piece of furniture, never to be seen again.)
By the time they make it to the elevator, Hugh's never known he could be so exhausted from so few steps. So little effort in the physical. The doors hitch just a moment before they slide open - wonderful, something else for him to fix - and he glances at Cassius over his shoulder, brows rising a bit. Paints on a smile. Cassius seems hopeful, eager. Hugh gnaws away the parts of him that might seem conspiratorial.
(Cassius wouldn't notice them anyway, he wagers.)
"Oh, absolutely. Had designs to find them on my own at any rate, might as well get you two... reunited, no?" He steps inside, the dingy interior worn by feet and hands and all manner of greasy, nasty human things. There's gum on the button pad that Hugh nonchalantly digs a screwdriver from his back pocket to pry off, then uses his knuckles to hit the button for the top floor. Wipes them on his shirt afterwards. "You'll have to help me, though. I'll need your expertise to track them down. Would you help me do that, Cassius?"
no subject
Congratulations are in order for Cassius. He'd be screaming at anyone else by this point.
All of our water is recycled after use. Traded between ships when evaporation gets to it, you know. And believe me, I absolutely need a drink.
(He does not mention that the fleet is largely running out. That they have to buy it from the one ship that found a monopoly in piecing out their vast hoards from the Before Times, the Earthside times.)
Trust me, there's no good time to be had with that particular board. It's usually a set-up to rob someone. Or a set-up for disappointing sex.
(He does not bother asking whether or not Cassius is familiar with sex. By God, he has and will continue to give plenty of explanations tonight, and that will not be one of them.)
Oh good. More cockroaches. I'm sure people are hoarding food in their rooms again, making more little friends for me to find in the walls.
(He does not step on said cockroach, and it is a Herculean show of will that he does not do so. The offending bug waggles its antennae impertinently before scurrying off underneath a piece of furniture, never to be seen again.)
By the time they make it to the elevator, Hugh's never known he could be so exhausted from so few steps. So little effort in the physical. The doors hitch just a moment before they slide open - wonderful, something else for him to fix - and he glances at Cassius over his shoulder, brows rising a bit. Paints on a smile. Cassius seems hopeful, eager. Hugh gnaws away the parts of him that might seem conspiratorial.
(Cassius wouldn't notice them anyway, he wagers.)
"Oh, absolutely. Had designs to find them on my own at any rate, might as well get you two... reunited, no?" He steps inside, the dingy interior worn by feet and hands and all manner of greasy, nasty human things. There's gum on the button pad that Hugh nonchalantly digs a screwdriver from his back pocket to pry off, then uses his knuckles to hit the button for the top floor. Wipes them on his shirt afterwards. "You'll have to help me, though. I'll need your expertise to track them down. Would you help me do that, Cassius?"