Chuck || Motorcity

[dieharder]

Comments

[livefaster]

Easy there, buddy, I'm pretty sure it's safe this time. [He hopes. Or at least, he'll talk this with Rayon out to make sure he isn't waging some gang war - or whatever skirmish the gangs in Motorcity were into these days - secretly. He adds with a shrug, placing a hand on Chuck's shoulder and squeezing.] It's nothing we haven't done before!

[dieharder]

Yeah, we did. Do you remember how some of those times went for us? [Chuck shoots Mike a pointed stare, still effective even when covered by his own hair, as he closes the tap now that he's done with the dishes.] I'm just saying we should make sure we got all the info, and not just rely on your luck to bail us out. Again.

[livefaster]

[And it's received with a nod.] Alright, I promise we'll discuss the terms. [A pat on that same shoulder and he turns to wipe the table clean]

When we get there.

[dieharder]

Good. That's all I'm asking for.

[He looks around for a dry cloth, and not finding one, he steps closer and pats his hands dry on the back of Mike's shirt. Hehehehehehe.]

[livefaster]

[He sighs and smiles at the table, wiping it over again just to hear it squeak - he finds it funny and stereotypically perfect. It's a good thing that Chuck trusts him so much, because any other person would've just refused to go or made up an excuse. He could count on him to help him out. It really wasn't the same to ride Mutt wit--

--WETWETWETWET.

Here's him arching and hunching his shoulders and looking back.]--wha--hey?!

[dieharder]

[Chuck's already rounding the table and nearing the kitchen door, just in case Mike thinks up some sort of revenge. He shrugs at Mike, an amused grin on his face as he snorts at Mike's reaction.] You used the last dry cloth!

[livefaster]

[























Please rise. For a moment of silence.]

[livefaster]

[And he



grins



and scrambleturnsjumpsruns towards Chuck's direction] Oh, no you don't!

I'm laughing like a lunatic

[dieharder]

[Oh....

no.


Chuck runs out of the kitchen, of course, yelping and laughing as he does so, but he's not as fast as Mike so it's more than likely that he'll catch up to him.]

yes perfect

[livefaster]

[And it is easy to catch up and just downright catch Chuck soon enough. He's laughing as he grabs hold of Chuck's arm and raises it enough so he doesn't try to swat him away.] A-ha!

[dieharder]

[Chuck's feet struggle and stumble all over themselves, and it's a good thing Mike grabbed his arm and that he kept so close. Instead of falling to the ground, he just loses his balance and bumps against Mike with a squeal.]

Mikey, waitwaitwait--

[livefaster]

Nope. You had your chance, Chuckles. [He's grinning and now that he's caught him he's trying to slip the wet cloth down Chuck's collar.]

[dieharder]

Nonononononono-- [He screams a little in surprise when he feels the cloth come to contact with his skin, and he squirms to try and release from Mike's grip, his brain screaming coldcoldcolcoldcold at him.]

[livefaster]

[He smiles and spares him the suffering for long, taking the cloth away from his skin. Mike had only been wet for a few seconds, after all, and his shirt is already dried up.] Looks like revenge is served cold after all!

[dieharder]

[Chuck winces and moves away, a little unbalanced, picking at the wet collar of his own shirt. He looks over at Mike with a mock-pout on his face.] What I did wasn't as bad!

[livefaster]

[Mike grins. He would expect it, but he's pretty sure he'll end up forgetting it, while Chuck tended to wait to strike.

He reaches to move Chuck's shoulders gingerly into place, helping him find a balance.] You'll catch up to the debt soon.

[dieharder]

[Narrow eyes shoot at Mike, and while he really wants to yank that cloth off of Mike's hands and rub it in his face, that would probably mean their little war would just go on endlessly, and a wet collar means Chuck's already going to want to change his shirt as it is.]

Oh you can count on that, Mister Chilton. [He sighs, and walks back into the kitchen, knowing there's a basket with fresh laundry there.]

[livefaster]

Countin' on it! [Mike follows, smiling from ear to ear and shoving the tip of the cloth on his back pocket - along with many of Texas' plans. It swishes from side to side like a long tail as he pads lazily behind Chuck.]

[dieharder]

[He glares back at Mike. Oh, he won't be looking so happy when it comes. Chuck's already thinking up ideas right now, even as he pulls his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside as he picks up a clean, dry one from the pile.]

[livefaster]

[And Mike is about to tidy said cloth when he does a double-take, steps relenting. He has always been entertained by Chuck's freckles, always liked to trace them under his fingers, but then, they were just a little lighter than he'd remember. Some of them were almost losing to the paler skin.

So he stops in his tracks, distracted, draws imaginary shapes out of a game of connect the dots in his head.

Distracting freckles. Really distracting freckles. He had said that before, didn't he?]

[dieharder]

[Well, hopefully Mike's a fast player at those games, because Chuck really doesn't take long to pull the shirt down his head, though he does struggle a little to get the arms through the sleeves, finally tugging it down the rest of the way.

For all his attentiveness and self-consciousness, Chuck can be really absentminded on occasion. So he can't tell why Mike's staring like he'd just walked into the kitchen door. He waves a hand at his friend.] Mike, you okay?

[livefaster]

[Mike shakes his head at the wave, gives Chuck a sheepish smile. Caught in the act, he can't really help but laugh at himself, even if good-naturedly. One morning and he was already wrapped around his finger.

... or maybe he already was, it's just that from this morning forth, it turns evident.] Sorry. Hey, what did I tell you?

[dieharder]

I... don't know? [He arches an eyebrow at Mike, a little confused at what he might mean, and throws his first shirt over the unused drying rack.] You told me a lot of things, man.

[livefaster]

[Shoving his hands in his pockets because he's not really sure what to do with his hands right then, Mike shrugs.] I told you I got distracted.

[dieharder]

[It takes Chuck only a couple of seconds to go from puzzled to awkward, because as soon as he relates what Mike's saying to their earlier conversation, he blushes deeply, stammers a giggle and distracts himself by playing with the hem of his shirt while looking down.] ... oh.

Right. Sorry.