Dr Leonard "Bones" McCoy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
homeostatic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilialog2023-08-03 04:00 pm
homeostatic) wrote in ximilialog2023-08-03 04:00 pm
(OPEN) Come down, come down sweet reverence
CHARACTERS: Bones and you!
LOCATION: Sim room
DATE: Couple days after mission end.
CONTENT: Chill time with McCoy on the beach. Stars, s'mores, drinks, snackage, music and reminiscing.
WARNINGS: none atm!
The invite goes out via word of mouth versus anything formal, a wistful mention to friends that maybe travels a little farther than intended. Fine really: the only requirement to join is beachwear and a potluck item of the invitee's choice.
Salty air, soft white sands, the susurrus of a gentle surf, and distant guitar greet those who stop by the sim room that evening. A simple sign of 'Shoes off!' has been plunked onto the nearest dune, with an open basket beneath it for tossing forbidden footwear.
From the top of the dunes, the path leads down to the beach proper, where a small bonfire has been built up a little ways from the water, flames licking high at the emerging stars. Blankets and a few low-slung beach chairs rest in the ring of orange light, welcoming all, with other supplies neatly arranged farther out: a small chest of ice and drinks, a low table of finger foods and the makings of s'mores, a few selections of hard liquor lined up in the sand. There's even a kettle sitting on a stone near the fire, boiling water for tea.
McCoy himself has already snagged a glass of bourbon and a square of blanket, lifting a hand from Jim's acoustic guitar to greet any and all who show up. He plays mostly quiet pieces, with some favorites he remembers (most of) the lyrics to, but will happily give up the instrument to others wanting to play. Maybe add more vigor to the get-together?
First arrivals get the best seats as the sun sinks at last below the horizon, ahead of the silvery moon emerging over the water. There's a surprise a half-hour later: a second moonrise, gleaming golden as she follows her sister's path across the dark, star-studded sky.
Latecomers will find themselves equally welcome, with sticks offered out for roasting marshmallows, and warmer beverage available for imbibing. The breeze coming off the ocean is cooler now, so more blankets are handed out to snuggle up in, either alone or with a friend. Talk, share, tell spooky ghost stories or tales from home, or just stuff yourself with noms and get delightfully buzzed.
Stay all night, if you like– he won't hustle anyone out, but in the morning McCoy may snag you to help distribute the odd hangover remedy, or carry dishes back to the kitchen.
In the meantime? Relax.
LOCATION: Sim room
DATE: Couple days after mission end.
CONTENT: Chill time with McCoy on the beach. Stars, s'mores, drinks, snackage, music and reminiscing.
WARNINGS: none atm!
The invite goes out via word of mouth versus anything formal, a wistful mention to friends that maybe travels a little farther than intended. Fine really: the only requirement to join is beachwear and a potluck item of the invitee's choice.
Salty air, soft white sands, the susurrus of a gentle surf, and distant guitar greet those who stop by the sim room that evening. A simple sign of 'Shoes off!' has been plunked onto the nearest dune, with an open basket beneath it for tossing forbidden footwear.
From the top of the dunes, the path leads down to the beach proper, where a small bonfire has been built up a little ways from the water, flames licking high at the emerging stars. Blankets and a few low-slung beach chairs rest in the ring of orange light, welcoming all, with other supplies neatly arranged farther out: a small chest of ice and drinks, a low table of finger foods and the makings of s'mores, a few selections of hard liquor lined up in the sand. There's even a kettle sitting on a stone near the fire, boiling water for tea.
McCoy himself has already snagged a glass of bourbon and a square of blanket, lifting a hand from Jim's acoustic guitar to greet any and all who show up. He plays mostly quiet pieces, with some favorites he remembers (most of) the lyrics to, but will happily give up the instrument to others wanting to play. Maybe add more vigor to the get-together?
First arrivals get the best seats as the sun sinks at last below the horizon, ahead of the silvery moon emerging over the water. There's a surprise a half-hour later: a second moonrise, gleaming golden as she follows her sister's path across the dark, star-studded sky.
Latecomers will find themselves equally welcome, with sticks offered out for roasting marshmallows, and warmer beverage available for imbibing. The breeze coming off the ocean is cooler now, so more blankets are handed out to snuggle up in, either alone or with a friend. Talk, share, tell spooky ghost stories or tales from home, or just stuff yourself with noms and get delightfully buzzed.
Stay all night, if you like– he won't hustle anyone out, but in the morning McCoy may snag you to help distribute the odd hangover remedy, or carry dishes back to the kitchen.
In the meantime? Relax.
tony stark | ota
(Tony brings a bag of pretzel sticks he found in the back of the pantry. Whatever, it counts.)
Besides, as he wiggles his toes in the sand, still warm from baking in a sun that's sinking rapidly toward the sea, Tony finds himself grounded, centered in a way he hasn't since before he got to the station. Yeah, sure, it isn't real – the BARF that Stark R&D's cultivating only wishes it were this advanced, truly – but it isn't the cool, sleekly mod interiors of the station, and it damn well isn't the blackness of space outside. Beaches, bonfires, blankets and booze? Got it. Totally in the realm of Normal.
He takes it easy on the drinks, mixing a pretty rough greyhound out of vodka and grapefruit juice, and sets himself to mingling.
"Pretzel?"
no subject
Tony Stark?
[She almost asks when he got back but notices that he seems…younger. And after what happened with Peter Quill she knows better than to make it awkward by acting overly familiar. He’s used to being recognized, so she doesn’t worry about it seeming weird that she knows his name.
But modifies her original question slightly:]
When did you get here?
no subject
Yesterday. I think. Was it yesterday?
( It was the day before yesterday. Tony takes a pretzel from the bag and crunches it, eyeing her like he expects her to knife him, at odds with his breezy, nonchalant tone. )
Do we know each other?
no subject
[But actually she gets it. Time is weird in space, she's been here long enough to know that. She sighs, more exasperated with the orbs and their shenanigans than with Tony Stark being himself.]
No. [Not any more, anyway. Thanks, orbs. She flops back on her blanket.] You know my sister.
no subject
Seeing Tony—this Tony, looking so many years younger than the last time they saw each other—stirs up something in her chest that she doesn't want to interrogate. Something she'll shove aside and deal with later, because right now she needs to find out what she's working with.
Taking a sip of her beer, she adds, "Just get in?"
no subject
Tony plops right down on the blanket opposite Nat, feeling the warmth of the fire tickle up his back.
"Fashionably late, per my usual." Seriously, Nat, have a pretzel– he sets the bag gently between them. "They didn't tell me I'd find anyone I know here. What's the deal?"
no subject
Her eyes crinkle just a little at the corners as she smiles, the expression both a little softer and a little harder than it was the last time he would have seen her—she can guess just how long that might have been, but can't say for sure. Something to find out as they go.
First, "Not everyone does. You're just lucky that way—get a familiar face to help you settle in."