CHARACTERS: Death (
nonespared) & Famine (
eatasam)
DATE/TIME: Wednesday night
LOCATION: Fam and Pestilence's humble abode
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: A certain skinny man's foul mouth. Dog cuddling cuteness.
SUMMARY: Death can't bring her brother shopping, so she'll bring the shopping to him. From a distance. Because she doesn't want his mono.
(
Do you believe in God written on the bullet? )
Comments 24
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The weak smile that crossed Famine's lips was hidden by the cushions, and all traces of it were gone when he sluggishly leaned up onto an elbow behind her. To loom or not to loom? He tended to loom over her, anyway. When standing -- not that he'd done much of that the last little while. "It's charging. Battery was running low," he hoarsely informed her, sending a quick glance in its direction. "If I lurk too close, will you elbow me in the teeth?" That would end in an interesting trip to the dentist, for sure.
As disrespectful as the lanky boy could be, he could at least respect Death's need to work. People, even them, did have to get by somehow. If she didn't want to get sick, he'd try not to get her so. But if it happened unintentionally... well. At least she'd never get it again.
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It must have been a sign that the younger Horseman's head was clearing when he bit his lower lip to contain a laugh at her last comment. As big as him. Okay. Famine was clearly not a shining beacon of maturity. There was no shift closer to respect the personal space required not to lean in and breathe on Death by accident -- also, just in case she could hear him stifling quiet laughter.
"Little shorter. Even shorter when in the chair... That doesn't come to bed, though."
Yeah, he was definitely feeling better.
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No chiding comment or glare? Excellent. "Wheelchair, sweetheart. His leg's broken," Famine pointed out, idly watching the screen move over her shoulder. A king-size would probably be excessive, considering not only the fact that it was just two people, and also the size of the bedroom. Would that even get through the door frame? Maybe. But he wasn't the sort to want more than he needed, so anything bigger than a twin but smaller than a king would be just fine with him.
"And I have no idea what you're talking about. I also don't jump on beds."
Couldn't recall the last time he did, if ever. As a child, he had enough attitude for two brats, but he didn't need springy mattresses to make his point, or have his fun. Not that he'd had much of that as a kid.
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The younger boy nestled his cheek more comfortably against his palm. "I'd rather he didn't, then I'd have to come up with a new nickname." As if that was hard or something. Coming up with nicknames was like a talent, and apparently an infectious one too, if War had anything to say about it.
Famine tried to imagine his sister bouncing on a mattress like a little girl, and succeeded only somewhat. If anyone was harder to picture, it was his other more volatile sister. And on that topic...
"Hope they're not dead," he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. "They haven't said anything for a while." No text, no forum messages, no calls. If they were in jail, they would probably get their phone calls as long as War kept her fists to herself.
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Famine thought about saying something about the last line, that War could be sentimental sometimes, but not because she wanted to be. Those rare moments weren't taken lightly, and she was about as likely to be sentimental as he was to be physically affectionate, but it happened. And he wasn't about to share that information, partly because he knew she wouldn't appreciate the idea.
"More like terrible at it," he corrected, snorting quietly. "They can go wherever they want as long as they come back. Besides, you're here."
... that came out more sweet than intended. He took no notice of it.
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