What luck! Val had just barely opened the door before Richard managed to scoop her up in one of his famous bear hugs. Without another word, he placed a peck fondly upon her forehead. “Sorry, darlin’, I’m afraid I’m not ready to let ye’ go yet’. Looks like yer’ gonna be stuck like this for the rest of the day. Tough luck,” he chuckled, carrying the poor thing a few inches off the ground, continuing to trap her in his warm embrace.
#meekbrvcry#answered ask; #//istg he can be such an annoying older brother at times xD// #Richard & Val; #//ty sm for thissss <3//
“Tha’ I can do.” It was funny how Richard’s school-boyesque melted, in relation to Alex, compared to maybe a month or so ago. As the two spend more time together it’s as if the woman has managed to dig out a cheeky side to the Scotsman.
Which is why, sneaking up behind Alex, who was busy reading upon the sofa, he tapped upon her left shoulder, dodged her gaze, only to reappear on her right side, his lips meeting hers. Richard couldn’t help but smile against her kiss as he felt it deepen. “Sorry ‘bout tha’. Hope I didn’t make ye’ lose yer’ page,” he teased, pulling away slightly.
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’….” With a sigh of surrender Richard marched out into the main area of the flat and noticed Jack perusing about the fridge, probably for a midday snack. The Scotsman stole a silent inhale, as if prepping himself to jump into the water’s icy depths. “Ey’, Jack?”
Suddenly, he trudged up to his flat mate, tugged the front of his shirt so as to pull him close (more out of impatience to get this over with, more than anything), and without another word, pressed his lips against Jack’s. The kiss felt dry, different, warm, and breathless all at once. When Richard finally pulled away to break for air, he didn’t even check to see if Jack was in shock or smiling smugly at him. Instead, he immediately turned on the heel of his shoe and walked back to his room, utter a brisk, “say absolutely nothin’ and tell nobody!” in a desperate attempt to hide the burning red upon his face.
#timerogued #//also hgjkdshgkjsdhg *tackle hugs u* richard and i have missed u and jack ;0; <3 <3 <3// #answered ask; #Richard & Jack; #//AHAHAH! Omg look at these two xD//
Cee, you don’t…owe me anything. Didn’t you read my letters? Had they let me visit you, had I been allowed…every day…I’d have been there every day. Yes. But if all we have rests on a few moments in the library three and a half years ago, then I’m not sure. I don’t know if…
ATONEMENT(2007) ✧ Dir. Joe Wright
#t h e w a r r i o r; (self portrait) #Richard X Adelia; #Richard X Cee; #the drums of war;v #period;v
was it wrong to feel excited or to express it? beverly does not think so, she’s tired of being an emotionless robot, she is ready to break free of her father’s influence and start living her life. but even the pregnancy had been such a shock to her system? could they raise a child? even if they were like this? richard’s excitement stuns her for a moment but then she slowly starts to smile nodding her head at his double question with the smallest of giggles. “ yes, pregnant, i just figured out a few days ago, i didn’t mean to spring it on you like that but… “ beverly bites her bottom lip and wraps her arms around his neck when he pulls her in closer and her nose taps against his lightly still smiling. “ i wanna keep the baby, i wanna raise it with you. “
Richard’s face practically illuminated. He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled this big for this long. “Ye’ certainly know how to pull the rug from under my feet, I’ll give ye’ tha’, Bev Marsh,” he chuckled, crinkling his nose when he felt the tip of her finger tap against it.
The Scotsman’s smile softened when she uttered how she not only wanted to keep the baby, but she wanted to raise it, as well. Raise it with Richard. “I-… I’m gonna be a father,” he rasped, his words barely audible. “W-… We’re gonna be a family.” Suddenly, he gently pulled Bev closer before pressing a long kiss upon her forehead before whispering the words, “I want nothin’ more,” against her hair. “Wha’ ‘bout yer’ Da’? Does he know?”
Sebastian felt a twinge of second hand embarrassment and had to keep himself from smiling as Richard floundered with his own anger, making himself look all the more neurologically compromised; but it seemed the sheep were all in it together. They hardly batted an eyelid at their fellow officer’s idiocy because, likely enough, they were an even purer alloy of idiocy themselves. At least Richard was a London Met Special Branch. No wonder they took his word as gospel.
A vein at his pale temple twitched tellingly as he met Richard’s eye with an icily dangerous look, the officer throwing his perfectly laundered dinner jacket over his shoulder with such gracelessness that the note could very well have slipped out into the open for all to see. The look did not give away precisely what had the German’s hackles up, but it assuredly conveyed a certain urgency to Richard that that jacket should not be left unattended. The frankly ominous promise that followed did not reassure Sebastian. ‘If you try and put me in a straightjacket I’ll bite your fucking fingers off,’ he leaned in to mutter with polite severity to Richard, before turning back to the policemen with a look of patient amenability as they made their plans.
‘You keep saying that,’ he had let the words slip out absentmindedly before he could think to hold his tongue, and he turned to Richard as they set off, Sebastian correcting the momentary jolt of being led to keep easily in step with his old playmate so that it looked as if they were simply close friends walking side by side. ‘I don’t think you’ve really thought it through. You want me to stop being a gentleman, I can certainly oblige. But you won’t like it.’ He paused for a moment as they reached the bottom of the west wing’s mercifully empty staircase, and he caught sight of the three Ford Model Ts parked on the gravel outside. ‘It’s not too late, Mayhew. We could go straight from here to the Ritz and have a nice reasonable conversation at the expensive end of the Champagne Bar.’
“Tha’ was ye’ bein’ a gentleman? Don’t make me laugh,” he grumbled. “Last I checked true gentlemen don’t drug people before proceedin’ to kidnap ‘em, not to mention give ‘em a concussion. But, sure. I would love to see tha’ oh, so, cavalier demeanor of yer’s finally melt away. It would just make my day.” At the mention of talking things over with an exorbitant bottle of Champagne in the midst of the glitz and glamour of the Ritz, Richard let out a dry cough of a scoff. “Mm. Temptin’. But I’ll pass.” He didn’t even pretend to think about it as he continued to drag his prisoner along. “I’m done talkin’, Reed. We end this once and for all.”
Once Richard forced Sebastian to plunk down in the car, he began to rummage about beneath the seat before pulling out a burlap sack. “Seein’ tha’ yer’ not only a criminal but a potential spy and terrorist, yer’ gonna wear this the entire way.” He didn’t even wait for Reed to answer before securing the bag over his head. “Mm. Y’know wha’, Reed? I kinda like ye’ be’er this way.– Oh, and don’t even think ‘bout removin’ tha’ sack from yer’ head ‘cause I can stop bein’ nice and make this car ride a livin’ hell for ye’, y’understand?”
Skyler had to admit that now he felt like they were in a damn horror movie. He wished he could be more enthusiastic about it, but the girls words and behavior gave him the creeps. God, he didn’t want to be friends with no crazy entity Rose could see behind him; a small part of him was making fun of the worst ghost hunter ever.
Just when he opened his mouth to ask Rose if they could simply turn the kind offer down, he heard Richard utter the question. A chill ran down his spine when he heard the answer and Skyler looked at his friend absolutely baffled. He didn’t want to be anyone’s friend. Repeating this childish protest over and over again in his head, he looked at the music box.
“Never have I wanted to just shove an allegedly cursed item up a ghost’s ass so badly,” he muttered, shaking his head like he was ready to give up any second.
“It was the worst ‘yet’ I’ve ever heard. Makes me think there’s no turnin’ back whether we like it or not. Or maybe she was just ramblin’, y’know, children make no sense with their imaginary friends and silly games…” His words trailed off because there was no point in looking for rational answers. “Let’s set the cameras up and go back, I wanna find anythin’ we can ‘bout-… ‘Bout this house, this toy, everythin’.” Skyler turned on his heel, visibly annoyed, muttering “every-fucking-thing we can” to himself.
Although he may not have said it outright, lest he stoked the already growing fire of annoyance and frustration in Skyler’s tone, Richard had to admit all of this was getting a wee bit too freaky for his taste. Now, he wasn’t going to pin the cause of this madness on a spirit. No way. Not yet. Still, he did want to get to the bottom of this as much as his partner did. So, with as much haste as he could, Richard set up the cameras and temperature scanners about the home, bid the family a quick goodbye before handing his phone number in case of anything, and the two marched out of there, Richard holding the damn music box in his hand.
“It could be a gas leak,” offered Richard, peering round his laptop screen to face Skyler. This was the first time in a couple of minutes that he had spoken up. The minute the two got home Richard settled at their dining table, pulled out his laptop, and began to scour the internet for any information on that place and its inhabitants. “Tha’ could explain the hallucinations, righ’? People get gas leaks all the time.” Although, the more he mulled over the idea the more cracks he found in his hypothesis. Yes, gas leaks could cause sickness and potential mental issues, but that sure as hell did not explain the bear-like scratches painted across the wall. “As for the music box,” picking up the small thing from off the table, he leaned back on his seat, “maybe it’s just creepy lookin’?” shrugged Richard. “I mean, maybe it’s a family heirloom. An antique. Old things can just… Look creepy?”
#skylerbane #did you feel that chill;au #//ahaha oh boyyyyy here we goooo// #//hope u dont mind the time skip! :)//
//Going to finally watch James’s new film, My Son. Will it or will it not kill me with its angst??? I guess we’ll have to see 👀//
//Welp! I was right. The film and its angst ABSOLUTELY killed me. But HOLY SHIIIIZZZ JAMES’S ACTING???? Honestly, I had forgotten that he wasn’t given a bloody script for the film and that he just had to react to whatever the hell was going on around him. By the end I just want to give this poor, confused, tired man a hug hgjksdhgkjdshgjk
Bonus:James looked HELLA good in this one my god I am going to need icons 👀//
#ooc #//BONUS BONUS! He was finally able to be Scottish in this film xD// #//which means my heart melted during the soft father moments i just hgjkhgjkdshgj//
He’s so tired-sexy-frustrated-pretty in this movie i can’t calm down -My Son (2021) aka a study on James McAvoy’s face
#t h e w a r r i o r; (self portrait) #//GJKDSHGKJDSHG OH MY GOD LOOK AT HIIIIMMMM #//THE LAST ONE 🥺🥺🥺 ACTUAL SUNSHINE// #//I HAVENT EVEN WATCHED THIS SERIES AND I KNOW IM GOING TO NEED ICONS FROM THIS GHJDSKHGKDJG//
Surely there is something that you want to say to my muse, now is your chance to say it. On or off anon, vent your frustration or praise them for whatever it is they did to earn your respect. Pretty much just say a thing to my muse and see how they react.
before the discordant hum of bagpipes signals the start of the day, Adelia is out
of bed quick as a flash, her morning in disarray as she fights to pull some
curlers out of her hair, while slipping on her stockings at the same time. It
is a frantic affair, created by her intense desire to make it to the infirmary
before morning rounds begin, so that she might have time to speak with Richard
before the Matron intervenes.
to the mirror, having almost forgotten to apply her lipstick, she gazes at her
reflection for a moment, summoning calm as she breathes deeply; she feels
entirely different today, lighter, her stomach swirling yes, but not with trepidation,
rather with a nervous excitement. She has no idea how Richard will take her
confession; that her previous coldness was caused by concerns she’s now
determined to overcome. Hey may not be interested in spending more time with her;
indeed, he may not wish to forgive her at all, and yet, in her heart, she feels
he will; in her heart she knows that his kiss felt true and that the intimacy
they shared in the library, whilst brief, was inexplicably meaningful.
the castle staircase, her sensible nursing shoes click loudly against the stone
floors, she reaches the infirmary wing, only to stop urgently in her tracks
as she sees a barrier has been put around Richard’s bed, suggesting, to her horror,
that he has taken a turn for the worst. Rushing over, she gasps with shock as
she finds a soldier lying unconscious with a terrible wound in his stomach, one
the Doctor is tending to; the patient is a young man with dark hazelnut hair
and in truth, for one awful moment, she thought it was Richard.
away from the bed, she hastily moves to speak to one of the other nurses. “Can
I ask Nurse Wilson, where is Mr Mayhew, I see his bed is occupied by another
was discharged yesterday.”
“Discharged?” The word is loaded with awful
possibility; so many of the men who have been discharged from the infirmary recently
have been immediately loaded onto trucks bound for transport. “Discharged where?”
down at her clipboard the young nurse is forced to shrug her shoulders. “I’m
afraid the manifest doesn’t say Nurse Lennox.”
clipboard from the girl, prompting a startled gasp, Adelia flicks desperately
through the pages in an attempt to find some concrete information and yet she
finds nothing. Whatever paperwork accompanies this decision, it’s likely to be
in Mr Mayhew’s commanding officer’s hands now.
the clipboard, Adelia checks her timepiece; she has only thirty minutes before
morning rounds begin; hardly enough time to scour the castle and its expansive
grounds and yet she endeavours to try. She must know if he’s still here,
entertaining any other possibility is simply far too devastating.
The next 30
minutes are spent marching from room to room, even those Richard isn’t supposed
to frequent; the library, the study, the dayroom, the kitchens…she hasn’t even reached
the other wing when a clock chimes, alerting her she will be late and yet still,
she searches. Running out of the entryway, she stops, presented with her worst
fear; the view of soldiers being loaded into trucks - that’s when Adelia’s panic
truly begins to set in. Running across the grass at speed, the ensuing mud
staining the bottom of her uniform, she approaches a General who appears to
have a passenger manifest.
“Mayhew.” She gasps, locking eyes with the
General, who is looking back at her with unconcealed puzzlement. “Mayhew.”
She repeats more firmly, pointing at the list. “Richard Mayhew.”
flicking through his sheets, the General’s finger points to a specific name on
the page and the sight of it is almost enough to stop Adelia’s heart.
“R. Mayhew, ahh
yes, left earlier this morning, bound for France.”
speak, cannot breathe and when she eventually moves to return to the castle,
she moves as if separated from herself; a spectre with a heart that has not stopped,
but has instead broken. She cannot enquire further and risk the General asking
about the nature of their association. A nurse has no place when it comes to
military matters and transport missions, no matter how much she now wants to take the next truck to the port to search for him.
She is on
the ward for no more than five minutes before the Matron decides she has clearly
taken ill, and grants rare permission for her to return to her room to
recuperate. Adelia hardly utters a word in response, instead focussing her
concentration on holding back the tears that threaten to flow endlessly from
her eyes. There is a pain in her chest, solid and heavy set, the weight so
unbearable that after changing out of her uniform, she finds she cannot bear to stay in her room at all and instead finds herself sat on
the window seat in the library; the epicentre of her pain; the only thing she has left.
The morning sprung an air of frenzy. Richard was used to seeing the entire house moving, each person chugging along like a cog in a machine. Today? The estate was locked in a taxing state of breathlessness. Beds were being added. Bed pans changed. Nurses in a flurry. The Scotsman was no genius but he reckoned that all of this turbulence derived from the three army trucks parked upon the driveway. Richard’s guess was as good as fact when he noticed new soldiers, broken, battered, and bloodied as they came, being helped in, whilst those who had managed to recuperate after remaining a couple of months in RNR were being marched onto the trucks themselves. A slight shiver ran up Richard’s spine. Although he was glad for his surprisingly smooth and ongoing recovery, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would end up as one of those soldiers? Being herded back into the back of army trucks like sheep, only to be tossed back into the jaws of war to fight like wild dogs. He knew that once you signed up as a soldier you had a duty to your country, lest you be faced with society’s scorn, and potential legal action, but– as much as he wished he could walk without his silly cane– the last thing he wanted was to go back. Could anybody blame him? The estate had warmth. An actual bed. Three square meals. Lady Adelia. Actually, now that he thought about it, it was truly Adelia’s doing that made him want to stay. Wait a minute… Adelia… All of those practiced words he repeated all night long in his head whilst he tried to imagine what she would say, or wouldn’t say. He had to get it out. It was now or never. The entire morning was spent roving about the castle, asking every single nurse he saw whether they knew where Lady Adelia was. Unfortunately, half of them were just as clueless as to where she was, and the other half didn’t have time to answer his question, what with the sudden influx of new patients. Of course, Adelia was a nurse which meant that she was probably bustling about the estate, especially on a day like today. Nevertheless, a cold pit rested in the depths of Richard’s gut. What if she had told the other nurses to make excuses for her if he ever came asking because she was truly forever and done speaking to him. What if? Regardless of the doubt growing within him, Richard still thought he ought to find her. Perhaps in the meantime he can wander about the library in search of a new book, seeing that he managed to devour Her copy of Jules Verne thanks to his sleepless night.
The second the young soldier stepped over the threshold of the library’s oaken doors, stillness hit him like an oasis in the desert. Silence. Stillness. He breathed it in. Richard’s plans to revel in it changed when he noticed a familiar figure sitting by the window. “M-… My Lady,” stammered Richard, almost dropping the book in shock. “My apologies. I-…I didn’t know ye’ were in here.” His tongue ran stiff and his face drew red. So much for all of the pretty words he managed to rehearse last night. “I’ll be outta’ yer’ hair. I’m sorry to have…” Richard’s brows pinched together. “Yer’ cryin’,” he rasped. “Is everythin’ a’righ’, My Lady?”
#mettleborn#period;v #//Roger Mayhew is perfect <3// #//and ahgjkhdsjkhgjdg OMG NEVER APOLOGISE! 🥺if this is a book then it would be a book i'd never be able to put down <3// #//honestly ur reply is just *throws u 10000 chef's kisses*// #//im so sorry mine is so late btw! ;0;//
Sometimes even Cat himself couldn’t comprehend how he was still alive. All he needed to know was that the other person was as excited as he was – if the answer was yes, he was convinced and ready for everything. It was both his biggest flaw and a valuable trait. He smiled at the other man and nodded in agreement. “Glad we’re on the same page,” he said, impressed by Richard’s words.
Cat laughed but he had to admit that Richard’s enthusiasm was infectious and soon it was clear that the two men were turning into kids for their little mission. “Oh fuck, no heist-heist!” Cat waved his hands in panic, chuckling. “More like… a very quiet one. A quiet one, ok?”
“We won’t need blasters, that guy’s a damn rude smartass but I don’t think he’s dangerous. Well, I kinda hope so and-.” Cat sighed. The plan had to be modified. “Ok, we’re takin’ a blaster just in case I’m wrong. Let’s go to the docking bay, we’ll both suit up and go there as Marines, so they don’t ask too many questions and just do what we say, yeah?” At least one of his squadmates should be willing to help them and let Richard borrow their uniform – as if that alone wasn’t getting them into trouble.
Richard’s boyish smirk curled on his lips when Cat finally agreed to their little ‘side project’ being a heist. “Aye. Fine. A quiet heist. Eitherway, at least if people ever ask me I can actually say I’ve been part of a heist at some point in my life,” shrugged Richard. “How cool is tha’!?” The Scotsman’s face was absolutely beaming at the mention of bringing along a blaster. This certainly was turning out to be not as boring of a weekend as he had initially thought. “Sounds like a plan.– Concernin’ the blaster though… Can I be the one to hold it?” Richard sounded like an eager, younger brother begging his older brother for the remote control, except this time it was begging for a proper weapon.
“Y’sure this is gonna work?” asked Richard, stepping out of the nearby bathroom, fully changed into the borrowed Marine uniform. “I mean, y’think they’re gonna buy tha’ I’m a Marine?”
#skylerbane#v;undetermined #//I mean I would be disappointed if Cat said this WASNT some sort of heist xD// #//Cat pls have the common sense to NOT let Richard hold the blaster :)))// #//also hope u dont mind the time skip? ^^//
//Found an entire collection of old fotos that I had never seen before of my grandmother and all of the old records she used to play. I gotta say, although today marks 5 years since she’s passed, I’m really missing her right now//
//Sorry, loves, drafts may be scarce tonight. Believe me! I want more than anything to write them up, but myenergy is nil because I had work today.
Honestly, just apologies in advanced because I feel like I’ll be having these days a wee bit more often. It’s not for any reason except that I’m juggling finishing my undergrad degree, teaching, and a couple of other things. I mean, I don’t feel tired often, but just a heads up that on certain days replies will probably less than usual.//
#ooc #//that and the rain is so lovely tonight and its making me drowsy <3//
It was as a result of the absolute confusion of his little prisoner suddenly turning on him that Sebastian was knocked from his high altar of advantage and found himself, bewilderingly, on the floor. Richard’s sweaty hand patting his cheek sent a sudden hot flush through him, and he realised he had never been in this position before, and that it was quite unenjoyable. Richard may have been an idiot, but he was a strong one; Sebastian silently berated himself for giving him back his right arm. This was not how he had intended the man to use it. He rolled his eyes as the room was suddenly filled with more uniformed enforcers of the village peace, and only just had time to adjust his expression to one of pale fright as he was pulled up to face them.
Richard was right not to waste time explaining. Sebastian’s mind was already racing for an out. But alas, there was no dashing prospect of escape. No weapons on hand to help him. There was only one avenue of opportunity left open to him - that on the question of whether Constable Mayhew was psychologically intact, opinion in the room seemed to be sharply divided. This was evidenced in the gormlessly bloodthirsty yet morally indifferent looks of three of the officers, who clearly didn’t pay attention to current force gossip and thus had no idea who Richard was; and the suspicious lines on the foreheads of the remaining two. The deepness of the lines was suggestive of the deepness of their concern either for Richard’s job security or their own. Frankly, Sebastian was a little insulted that they weren’t more scared of him. Headcase or not, Richard was wearing two day old clothes, sported an obvious head wound, was unarmed and had the face of a fifteen year old maths whiz. Sebastian on the other hand had looked like a German spy since he was eight. Nevertheless, he was still a peer of the realm, and as such he possessed the kind of accent that makes ladies and smalltime civil servants wet themselves.
‘Gentlemen,’ he lavished them with a look of grateful relief and that silky Belgravia slur, the proletarian accent of the vastly rich. ‘I am so pleased to see you. Your fellow officer arrived here last night, and just an hour ago he was hit in the head. It must be a concussion - I was trying to treat his injury, but he’s in such a state he thought I was trying to hurt him. I only just managed to finish the last stitch, but it’s woefully amateur, he really needs a doctor.’ When this didn’t have the immediate effect he’d hoped for, Sebastian turned instead to Richard with a look which was not dissimilar in style to those the policeman had been throwing at him for the last two days.
‘Wait-’ he turned back to the closing ranks of coppers, his priorities now firmly fixed on the one item it was his charge to protect. The note from his rendezvous detailing German plans for an attack on Dover, which currently sat folded in the pocket of his dinner jacket, discarded on the floor. The fresh shirt he had been putting on was still unbuttoned, and had slipped off his left shoulder in the skirmish. ‘Wait. Please, if we must go to a station will you at least allow me to put on my jacket. For decency’s sake. We’re all gentlemen here.’
“Och! Will ye’ shut up!” groaned Richard, giving his scruff a firm tug. At this point, the young copper didn’t care about using socially acceptable, civil parlance around his own fellow officers. To hell with it! As somebody who’s been drugged, kidnapped, and now sporting a concussion, Richard would make a case that he of all people had more than a sound excuse to appear less than idea at the moment. “Honestly, Reed, ye’ can drop yer’ whole socialite, higher-than-thou, I’m a gentleman act.– Besides, he was the one who caused all this! Back in the pub he drugged me and-…” Richard pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a tired sigh. “Anyways, like I said, I’ll explain it all la’er. So, are ye’ gonna help me bring this wee bastard in for questionin’ or not?” The other bobbies exchanged bewildered and rather hesitant glances, until finally– “Erm… Right. Okay. The cars are parked out front. You’ll have to be the main one who keeps an eye on him for the entire–” “Fine by me,” interrupted Richard. “In fact…” Just then, he uncuffed the hand of Reed that was closest to him, before cuffing the metal clamp round his own wrist. “Just to make damn sure he doesn’t weasel out,” he explained to the confused officers.
“Oh. You mean this jacket?” asked Richard, feigning innocence, as he picking up the article of clothing. “Y’know wha’? I think I’ll hang onto it. We’ll make sure to get ye’ a new one when we get to the station,” he remarked, smugly, as he slung the bastard’s old one over his shoulder. “Righ’. Let’s go. Time waits for no man.” With that, Richard marched passed the officers and began to make his way to the cars, tugging Sebastian along with him.
//Take Me Home,Country Roads just started playing on my Spotify and now the image of a drunk and clumsy Richard singing Take Me Home, Country Roads at the top of his lungs is stuck in my head thank you for coming to my TED-Talk.//
#ooc #//face it! you all know he's the type of drunk to do such a thing! xD//
Sure, Max could appreciate the surprise in Richard’s eyes upon the realization that he was indeed older than your regular grandfather, but it didn’t change the fact that being called old made something deep inside him stir. Not necessarily in a good way. He could argue that he spent the most part of those 100 years frozen in a cryogenic chamber, but what would be the point?
Instead, he simply grabbed his bloodied shirt and threw it with deadly aim at his friend’s face.
His face got a little darker at the last remark about the war. It was accurate; painfully so. He was the perfect soldier. One that could never be stopped. That was precisely the reason they took him off for experimentation. In time, he realized his captors didn’t care about the medical field, they just wanted to weaponize his healing factor.
“Trust me– survivin’ a world war is much worse than havin’ to fight it,” he muttered, putting on the clean shirt Richard provided. “That was hell…”
The second Max’s bloody shirt hit Richard dead in the face with a quiet ‘oof’, the Scotsman knew he had crossed the line. His guess was as good as fact when he noticed his friend’s face stiffen into a grim frown.– Damn it! He just had to ramble on, didn’t he? Why the hell couldn’t he learn to just shut up?
“I-… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” squeaked Richard, his blue eyes dropping to the floor now. “Umm… We-… We don’t have to talk ‘bout this anymore, if ye’ don’t want to. I’m sorry. I promise to stop bein’ so nosy.” A beat, as the Scotsman shifted his weight from one leg to the next. “Umm… How does tha’ drink sound? I’m buyin’, of course.” An olive branch. A rather flimsy one at that, considering the seemingly awful memories Richard had managed to dredge up, but an olive branch nevertheless.