patheticvillain | nineteen ➢ text + private + spam

Entry tags:

nineteen ➢ text + private + spam

I need help with a project.

private } zane, barron, & the non-existent philip (because hope springs eternal)

I'm bored. When are we actually going to do something interesting?

spam } open

[Cassel spends most of his time, even now, out on deck and in the gardens. He looks extremely worried and vulnerable, which is 25% calculated and 75% natural - he's not very good at hiding his emotions yet. As always, he wears gloves, and appears constantly on the lookout for attack.]

[Alternately, find him trying fruitlessly to break into your cabin. Seriously. Any cabin. At all.]

( ooc; cassel is eight, responses will come from

brothermayi. )

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Oh. Cool.

[He smiles winningly. Congratulations, James, you have threatened him and mentioned scotch, so now you are friends.]

[....no. No no no no Cassel are you not paying attention, he's a shitheel, go away.]

You're not getting any.

Why not?

[Grin grin. Hi. Hi friend.]

[The fuck is his life, can't you be like the little girl he made cry...]

Because you're like five.

Eight. So?

So you'll just cough it up.

You don't know that.

[You don't know me!!]

Yeah?

[Part 89 in the series, James Bond makes Bad Decisions. He pulls his key from his pocket and swipes open the door.]

Then come on, lets see.

[Heh. He walks inside like this was his plan all along. Hell yes.]

[And people call James a little shit. He doesn't let Cassel just wander, though, because he does not like smugger assholes than him. He grabs the kid by the back of the shirt and steers him into a chair, then opens the bar and pulls out a bottle of 50 year Macallan and two glasses.

Sitting them both on the table, he screws off the top and pours a finger into each glass, before sliding one to Cassel.]

Well?

[Well, fine, manhandle him into drinking. Gosh. He smirks up at James, raises his eyebrows. Throws back the shot.]

[-- And okay, he does cough, but in the grand scheme of things not that much, because his grandad slips him stuff sometimes like a cool cat.]

[All right, maybe he's a little impressed. He even lifts his glass in a silent little toast to Cassel before he downs his glass. Grandads can be cool like that. James had Kincaid when he was at home, and the odd sip from his dad's glass when they were abroad.]

Not bad, boy. [His Scottish brogue comes through a little with the burn.] You want another? [Because getting an eight-year-old drunk suddenly seems hilarious.]

Edited 2013-08-10 15:50 (UTC)

Yes.

[Of course he does. He just got toasted. He wants all the anothers.]

[What a punk, but he pours another two fingers into both their glasses. Then he pours a bit extra into Cassel's.]

Cheers, mate.

[Hell yes. He holds up his glass as if he has any swag whatsoever, then tips it back. He has to drink this one in two goes, but he gets there, damnit.]

[James is super pumped to get this kid drunk, it's probably an issue but there it is.]

You're a champion. [He's not about to be shown up, so down it goes and okay maybe they will both get drunk.]

I know that.

[Hairflip. He is perf.]

You little shit. [Wow, kid. Wow. Have another drink. James is going to mess them up.]

[YEAH SHOT DOWNED AND wow he puts his chin on the table. Help. He looks like he's kind of messed up already. BECAUSE HE'S TINY. JAMES, GOD.]

[WHAT, IT'S HILARIOUS, James is already giggling. LAUGHING. like a man. Which he is. But okay he won't pour anymore.]

Tired already?

No!

[SMALL SCOWLY TIRED BABBY BLINK]

You are too. You're already drunk, look at you.

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