fugitive. stowaway.
we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.
remember when i moved in you?
and the holy dove was moving too.
and every breath we drew was
h a l l e l u j a h .
on mobile sorry this is rushed I’m at the er with my grandma she had another stroke. I dont know when I’ll be home I’m sorry
If Thomas were to pinpoint one particular trait that proved most useful to him, one specific skill set that seemed to suit his needs moreso than the rest, it was undoubtedly his knack for manipulation. He wouldn’t pretend to be the most quick-witted or intelligent and he most certainly didn’t have a reputation on his side - anywhere but the streets, that is - but he could easily bend a situation to his benefit when circumstance beckoned him to. And as he wove through the dimly lit corridors of the Starchaser toward Andrew’s room, Thomas was convinced that this engagement was no different. He didn’t have any intentions of visiting the older man in his bedroom to sip drinks and talk politics. He didn’t plan to do much talking at all, if he were being honest.
Quite simply, Thomas wasn’t heading to Andrew’s room for any reason other than that he needed something to pull his attention away from all the stress from the infiltration and the utter lack of faith that had been nagging at him over the past few days and he knew from the moment he saw him eying him up that Andrew would be more than willing to provide himself as a distraction. He didn’t want to think about the fact that it had been nearly two weeks and they hadn’t received any sort of sign that anyone had even noticed they were missing; he didn’t want to think about his mum and the promise he made to her that he would return back home for her soon; and he most certainly didn’t want to think about the fact that some of those bloody creatures were skittering around the medbay and the upper deck. No, Thomas wanted to forget about his circumstances entirely, knock back a couple of drinks and maybe act like he wasn’t smack dab in the center of the biggest clusterfuck for a couple of hours.
Thomas turned the corner hastily, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced up and began to take notice of the numbers engraved into the cabin doors. He’d be approaching Andrew’s room soon and he told the other man he’d be quick about arriving there so he didn’t want to end up walking past it and getting lost in the maze of hallways that composed the lodging areas. Luckily for him, Andrew seemed just as enthused to be able to get a closer look at his tattoos as he was to have a distraction. He smirked, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips, and pushed the sleeves of his jumper far enough up on his forearms that a few dark lines from the tribal piece spanning the length of his bicep peeked out from beneath the fabric. If Andrew wanted a show, he’d get a show. Thomas had no qualms about giving him something to look at. Hell, who said he had to stop at looking?
Room number thirty seven happened to be on his left and Thomas stopped in front of the door once he reached it, knocking twice and leaning against the doorframe as he waited for Andrew to let him in. He licked his lips, running a hand through his hair and looking down at himself once to make sure he looked presentable. As presentable as he could get when they’d been stranded for two weeks, at least. He tilted his head back against the metal, the corners of his lips turning up lazily when he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. He was in for a good night, of that he was certain.
Don’t undermine my motivation, Mr. Milligan. I really want to see those tattoos.
I have a vintage bottle of Cognac in my cabin - I’m sure you’d like it and it’d do the job on getting you, how did you put it? “Right plastered.”
Yes, that’s exactly how I put it. Teasing me about my accent, Mr. Doyle? Well, if you’re so sure that I’d like it - and it sounds like you are - I can’t really say no, can I? Shall I meet you in your room, then? And then I can show those tattoos you want to see so badly.
I hope you come back with the whole of wal-mart if it’s going to take a couple of hours. :/
You have no idea. I had to go shopping for a household of nine for approximately two weeks. I did nearly come back with the whole of Wal-mart (and Redner’s and Acme). On that note, I’m here now, and I didn’t have much time to work on paras during classes or anything today but so help me god I will stay up until I get every single reply I owe done. And my personal para. Side note: I was working on the outline for my personal para today so I could keep track of where I wanted to go with it and the word count of the outline alone came up to approximately 990 words. :|
(Source: thomas-milligan)
i’m on mobile right now. going to the store with my mom. I’ll be back around six and I’ll get on then. see you guys soon!
Oh, Thomas, Thomas, Thomas, do these perfectly manicured nails look like they know how to karate chop or whatever you want to call it?
I’d offer you the skin off my back if you told me it would get me somewhere.
So, maybe that’s where I’ll start, Thomas.
Would you like a drink?
Maybe after you knock a few back, you can show me your tattoos?
You can keep your skin, I assure you, but I’d be a liar if I said I’d turn down a drink. Oh - you want to see my ink, hm? That’s quite interesting. Well, you’ll have to get me right plastered if you want to see all of my tattoos, Andrew.
Heavens, boy, you give me permission to ogle you and you look at me like that?
How do you not expect me to whack you over the head and have my way with you?
Granted…you wouldn’t be of much use to me if you were conked out, but… really, don’t look at me like that if you don’t want to be eaten. (Figuratively, of course.)
Oh, is that your intention, then? To incapacitate me and then use my unconscious body to satisfy your whims? Huh. Not trying to knock your methodology or say you couldn’t take me or anything - you might be hiding a black belt or something under that Armani, who knows? - but if I may offer a suggestion, it’d probably be easier for the both of us if you offered me a drink instead of a whack to the head.
(Source: thomas-milligan, via michael-dresden)
