(no subject)
"There's a step up, Hawkeye," says a muffled voice, and then the door opens.
"It's always a step u--" says Hawkeye Pierce, and he stops, his head cocked to the side and his eyes bandaged as they were before. He's wearing a particularly loud blue-and-white Hawaiian shirt under his bathrobe.
Father Mulcahy blinks behind his glasses. "Oh my. We're--"
"--In Milliways," Hawkeye finishes wryly, patting the shorter man's arm; the arm that his hand was already resting on for guidance. "I can smell the universe ending from here."
"I can smell the pancakes from here," says Mulcahy, his eyes lighting up, and Hawkeye laughs.
"I've got to admit -- breakfast here would definitely involve less gray than anything I could get in the mess tent. What do you think; to the bar?"
The priest smiles. "Certainly!" As they make their way to the bar, Father Mulcahy guiding Hawkeye past obstacles and patrons: "Just don't tell Igor; I did promise to try his creamed corn."
"The creamed corn?" Hawkeye asks incredulously. "Really, Father? You don't have to be a martyr, you know." Mulcahy chuckles and the easy conversation continues; in short order, the pair from the 4077th are settled on stools at the bar, debating breakfast orders.
Or, well. Hawkeye is debating, changing his mind every three seconds. Father Mulcahy put in an order for two eggs sunny side up and a mug of black coffee five minutes ago and is watching Hawkeye waffle -- pardon the pun -- with a bemused expression.
[OOC: Tag one, get both! Should be around for ages tonight; please be forewarned that slowtimes could get very slow.]
"It's always a step u--" says Hawkeye Pierce, and he stops, his head cocked to the side and his eyes bandaged as they were before. He's wearing a particularly loud blue-and-white Hawaiian shirt under his bathrobe.
Father Mulcahy blinks behind his glasses. "Oh my. We're--"
"--In Milliways," Hawkeye finishes wryly, patting the shorter man's arm; the arm that his hand was already resting on for guidance. "I can smell the universe ending from here."
"I can smell the pancakes from here," says Mulcahy, his eyes lighting up, and Hawkeye laughs.
"I've got to admit -- breakfast here would definitely involve less gray than anything I could get in the mess tent. What do you think; to the bar?"
The priest smiles. "Certainly!" As they make their way to the bar, Father Mulcahy guiding Hawkeye past obstacles and patrons: "Just don't tell Igor; I did promise to try his creamed corn."
"The creamed corn?" Hawkeye asks incredulously. "Really, Father? You don't have to be a martyr, you know." Mulcahy chuckles and the easy conversation continues; in short order, the pair from the 4077th are settled on stools at the bar, debating breakfast orders.
Or, well. Hawkeye is debating, changing his mind every three seconds. Father Mulcahy put in an order for two eggs sunny side up and a mug of black coffee five minutes ago and is watching Hawkeye waffle -- pardon the pun -- with a bemused expression.
[OOC: Tag one, get both! Should be around for ages tonight; please be forewarned that slowtimes could get very slow.]