/uses this icon forever
Who: Zack Fair i-love-squats, Tseng fingersloophole, open to Rufus machiavellisms
When: Today!
Where: Tseng’s residence.
Format: Paragraph
What: When does Zack ever turn down food? Especially Tseng’s food? Of course, it comes at the price of some heavy talking...
Warnings: none
Ahh, dinner. How this SOLDIER had prayed for this moment!
Who would be crazy enough to turn down a dinner invite when they lived in an apartment filled with military personnel, where MREs would be considered a luxury if only because Zack couldn’t flip them off the ceiling? Shiva, Zack wasn’t dumb, and while everyone gave their most valiant effort in the kitchen (some of them even donning an apron as if it would automatically give the food more seasoning without actually getting a spice rack), nothing still compared to Tseng’s cooking. Zack missed it. Zack craved it.
He wondered if Rufus realized how lucky he was.
It was awkward, though, as Zack stepped to the table, his stomach noisily announcing his state of starvation. Part of him wondered if the future president was here, listening in on conversations, and it made him question if he should watch what he said (as if he ever truly did). But, dammit, Zack had inquiries, had demands, had-had fears. Worries. Pieces and snippets unconfirmed.
What a perfect time to get down to things, when he was stuffing his face and it was too late to poison the food already sitting before him. (Not that he doubted for a second that Tseng couldn’t still do just that, but at least Zack could make it hard for him, dammit.) Maybe we could weasel in a few of his own pointed little statements while the other(s?) were stuffed with food.
So, Zack fell into his seat at the table, kicked his feet up onto the chair across from him, and rested his hands behind his head. He’d offer to go into the kitchen and help, but he knew Tseng would potentially just throw things at him until he ran out anyway, ducking as he moved. So he coughed, relaxed, and waited until the last possible moment of when he’d have to drop his boots from their comfy place.
“You know, it was really nice of you to invite me over,” he called out. “You’re not trying to butter me up for anything, are you?”
When: Today!
Where: Tseng’s residence.
Format: Paragraph
What: When does Zack ever turn down food? Especially Tseng’s food? Of course, it comes at the price of some heavy talking...
Warnings: none
Ahh, dinner. How this SOLDIER had prayed for this moment!
Who would be crazy enough to turn down a dinner invite when they lived in an apartment filled with military personnel, where MREs would be considered a luxury if only because Zack couldn’t flip them off the ceiling? Shiva, Zack wasn’t dumb, and while everyone gave their most valiant effort in the kitchen (some of them even donning an apron as if it would automatically give the food more seasoning without actually getting a spice rack), nothing still compared to Tseng’s cooking. Zack missed it. Zack craved it.
He wondered if Rufus realized how lucky he was.
It was awkward, though, as Zack stepped to the table, his stomach noisily announcing his state of starvation. Part of him wondered if the future president was here, listening in on conversations, and it made him question if he should watch what he said (as if he ever truly did). But, dammit, Zack had inquiries, had demands, had-had fears. Worries. Pieces and snippets unconfirmed.
What a perfect time to get down to things, when he was stuffing his face and it was too late to poison the food already sitting before him. (Not that he doubted for a second that Tseng couldn’t still do just that, but at least Zack could make it hard for him, dammit.) Maybe we could weasel in a few of his own pointed little statements while the other(s?) were stuffed with food.
So, Zack fell into his seat at the table, kicked his feet up onto the chair across from him, and rested his hands behind his head. He’d offer to go into the kitchen and help, but he knew Tseng would potentially just throw things at him until he ran out anyway, ducking as he moved. So he coughed, relaxed, and waited until the last possible moment of when he’d have to drop his boots from their comfy place.
“You know, it was really nice of you to invite me over,” he called out. “You’re not trying to butter me up for anything, are you?”