IC contact for lastvoyages

[cactusy]

[If I don't have an active post up, feel free to use this post to have your character call, videochat, text, or knock on Shaw's door.]

Comments

[littletonoidea]

He makes a face at them both, but when Shaw settles into him he wraps an arm around her shoulders, half-draping it across the back of the couch so she doesn't feel trapped by it, and when he finds Neal's sleeve immediately starts fiddling with it for something to do with his hand.

(He'll reserve comment on how they suck just yet. They already know that, after all.)

[cactusy]

Shaw shrugs, a purposefully small motion because she doesn't want to dislodge Eiffel.

"I'm just. Tired. Annoyed, frustrated, worried."

[conning]

"The source and-or target of those feelings being..." He will lead you to talking about things step by step if he has to Shaw. In the mean time, he finds Eiffel's hand with one of his and laces their fingers together.

[cactusy]

"Probably best if we don't get into it, yeah?" she asks, her brow crinkling a little. She's fine with having topics that they just don't touch on, if that's what's most expedient and least trying for everyone involved.

[conning]

Up go the eyebrows. "So Malcolm. Or Will, or Will's relationship with Malcolm."

[cactusy]

"Caffreyyyyyy," Shaw groans, petulantly dropping her head into her hands.

[conning]

"Sameeeeen," he says in return, drawing her name out into a wheedle. "Eiffel is here to act as arbiter if we need one. If you're up for talking about it."

He leans sideways to kiss her temple gently. "You don't have to be. That's the only out I'm going to give you."

[cactusy]

"You're important to me," she says, shifting uncomfortably. "More important than talking about something that's going to upset you. I don't like upsetting you."

[littletonoidea]

"We're not gonna get upset at you for telling us what's upsetting you," Eiffel points out quietly. "We're literally asking for it, that means we can try and be adults about it. Instead of the Rugrats we usually are."

And before they can protest he points: "Chuckie," to Neal. "Lil," to Shaw. "Tommy," to himself.

[conning]

"Excuse you," Neal says, affronted. "Susie or Phil."

So there?

His own sign decides to take this moment to light up again. It says Lied about his age.

[cactusy]

"The hell are you two talki--"

But she stops short when she sees that sign.

"-- Oh, really."

[littletonoidea]

Eiffel's eyes go wide with the new secret, and he can't hide the grin on his face.

But his tone tries to go sneaky, as bad as he is at it. "Hey, Neal, quick refresher for us. How old are you again?"

[conning]

Neal's eyes narrow. He glances upward without seeing anything, of course, and suddenly wonders if Arthur is feeling smug somewhere and doesn't know why.

"Why."

[cactusy]

"He's younger than me," Shaw guesses, studying him intently. "He's probably, like, thirty."

[littletonoidea]

Eiffel hums, leaning into Shaw and luxuriating in the moment. "But he did just spend ten tears screwing around back home, so he might still be older than us. Maybe he's just got baby face and he's like, forty."

[conning]

Now he's affronted all over again. "All right, I'm not forty, and I'm not younger than Shaw."

[cactusy]

"Thirteen with an aging disorder," Shaw insists mutinously.

[littletonoidea]

"Fifty with great genes," Eiffel counters brightly.

[conning]

"I'm thirty-four," he says in indignant self-defense, his ears and the tops of his cheeks going slightly pink. "I think."

[littletonoidea]

Oh that shuts Eiffel up.

Until a moment later: "How many months?"

[conning]

"I don't- I'm not entirely sure." The pinkness is intensifying. "I've had a lot of birthdays, all right, and even the birthday I grew up with wasn't actually my birthday except for the day. If we're going by the Barge calendar then-- Six months? Seven?"

[cactusy]

"You don't know your birthday?" Shaw asks, her brow crinkling.

[littletonoidea]

Eiffel's budding glee is clipped short with that snippet. "Wait, like- the day, you don't know the month? Or year?"

[conning]

"No, I do, I mean--it's March 21st, it's just the year I'm not entirely sure of. This is not the way I meant to share my tragic backstory."

He is pinkening. "I know it's very unlikely that I'm older than 34."

[cactusy]

Shaw studies his face, then leans back into him, nudging his shoulder with hers.

"You want us to can it?"