the cloning issue
"Come on," Miguel presses, leaning against the kitchen doorway, jiggling the half-off sneaker at the end of his foot in a bored tic, "You gotta wonder sometimes. Everbody's gotta wonder, it's like, it's a fucking rule. If you've got a dick, and you've got a clone--"
"No," said clone interrupts, sending a look that could not only curl his hair, but burn it off over, one shoulder. All Joe wants is a fucking sandwich, ham, chicken, peanut butter, he doesn't really care, so long as Miguel shuts the hell up so he has an appetite when he finishes making one. "You're already being crass, so I'll just swear to you now, among all the dicks I've ever pictured, yours is not one of them. Even now that you've brought it up, I'm clinging to that record by force of my fucking will."
"What's to picture," the younger man continues, kicking the shoe completely off and going after it like a one-man game of fetch. Miguel makes Joe nervy enough just by existing, by being so strange and flighty, but today is taking the cake. "Seriously hermano, I think they'll be like, exactly the same. Just tell me how long it is or something."
Jesus Christ. It should serve as a warning, the way Joe's voice gets all hoarse and quiet, like Miguel should remember that his clone used to gun people down for a living, but fuck that, he's curious. He doesn't understand how anybody couldn't be. "Look, I can ask your fucking boyfriend if you're going to be so uptight about it."
The next look doesn't even make it over Joe's shoulder, just catching sight of Miguel in the corner of his eye, and Miguel can only see his jaw tightening. It's not something he really does with his own face, but reference for the expression or no, he's not exactly surprised when Joe tells him it'd be the last question he ever asked. "Fine," he sighs, rolling his eyes like a put-out teenager. "I'll tell you how long mine is and you can blink once for yes or twice for no, I don't care."
"Alright, I give up," Joe spits, pushing away from the counter and pivoting on his good leg. Miguel's face brightens, but Joe just pushes past him and heads into the hall, leaving Miguel to trail after like a puppy after scraps: "I'm not hungry enough to put up with this shit, I'm going home and you are not fucking following."
Put off but by no means given up, Miguel slows to a stop in the hall and waits until Joe gets a few yards away, until he looks back to make sure Miguel isn't there, before he calls after, "Well don't come knockin' on my door when you can't stand not knowing!"
"Yeah, I sure as hell won't," Joe mutters.
[BECAUSE I SWORE I WOULD DO THIS. Cut for stupid conversation about clones and packages. Find either in the compound hall or still bickering on along a path, tag either or both, ST/LT through the weekend.]
"No," said clone interrupts, sending a look that could not only curl his hair, but burn it off over, one shoulder. All Joe wants is a fucking sandwich, ham, chicken, peanut butter, he doesn't really care, so long as Miguel shuts the hell up so he has an appetite when he finishes making one. "You're already being crass, so I'll just swear to you now, among all the dicks I've ever pictured, yours is not one of them. Even now that you've brought it up, I'm clinging to that record by force of my fucking will."
"What's to picture," the younger man continues, kicking the shoe completely off and going after it like a one-man game of fetch. Miguel makes Joe nervy enough just by existing, by being so strange and flighty, but today is taking the cake. "Seriously hermano, I think they'll be like, exactly the same. Just tell me how long it is or something."
Jesus Christ. It should serve as a warning, the way Joe's voice gets all hoarse and quiet, like Miguel should remember that his clone used to gun people down for a living, but fuck that, he's curious. He doesn't understand how anybody couldn't be. "Look, I can ask your fucking boyfriend if you're going to be so uptight about it."
The next look doesn't even make it over Joe's shoulder, just catching sight of Miguel in the corner of his eye, and Miguel can only see his jaw tightening. It's not something he really does with his own face, but reference for the expression or no, he's not exactly surprised when Joe tells him it'd be the last question he ever asked. "Fine," he sighs, rolling his eyes like a put-out teenager. "I'll tell you how long mine is and you can blink once for yes or twice for no, I don't care."
"Alright, I give up," Joe spits, pushing away from the counter and pivoting on his good leg. Miguel's face brightens, but Joe just pushes past him and heads into the hall, leaving Miguel to trail after like a puppy after scraps: "I'm not hungry enough to put up with this shit, I'm going home and you are not fucking following."
Put off but by no means given up, Miguel slows to a stop in the hall and waits until Joe gets a few yards away, until he looks back to make sure Miguel isn't there, before he calls after, "Well don't come knockin' on my door when you can't stand not knowing!"
"Yeah, I sure as hell won't," Joe mutters.
[BECAUSE I SWORE I WOULD DO THIS. Cut for stupid conversation about clones and packages. Find either in the compound hall or still bickering on along a path, tag either or both, ST/LT through the weekend.]