| Squalling and Squabbling |
| Summary: | A conversation between Ambrose and Iggy turns into a confrontation between the latter and Leda. |
| Date: | PHD 244 (Dec 18, 2009) |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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Another day, another shift, another CAP. By the time Smalls enters the berthing, he's nice and clean, changed into his off-duty duds, and possessing a riot of red hair that manages to still be spikey despite not being fully dry. Humming to himself, he starts to make his way towards his bunk, which just so happens to be the one below Iggy's. Friendly sort that he is, those blue eyes of his flick upward to see if his bunkmate is about.
Iggy's in her bunk, very quietly bouncing a ball off the ceiling. It's that rhythmic thump thump thump that he's probably quite used to.
One can argue that the thump thump thump is easier to endure than his yakkity-yakkity. Either way, Ambrose isn't perturbed. "Heya, Booster. Counting sheep's still not working, huh?"
Iggy leans over the side of the bunk slightly, eyes dark, shadowed. "Nope. Got so many frakking sheep that I'm about to knit a godsdamned sweater. How was CAP?"
Peering up to meet her gaze with a lopsided smile, Smalls remarks, "Too bad it's not goats. Then the sweater would be cashmere. Although, maybe that's not so good, if you're allergic to cashmere. To be stuck with cashmere, I mean. If you were allergic, it'd be a good thing to not have those goats. Besides, mutton tastes better, anyhow." That said, he sits on the edge of his bed and starts to unlace his boots. "CAP was okay. Still breaking in my new pilot." Which means getting the poor bastard to accept the reality of too much chatter on the comms. "He's nice, though, and flies well enough. And I'm sure Backfire's ears are happy to have a bit of a vacation." Because Ambrose is aware that he talks a lot and is capable of poking fun at himself. Plus, knowing his former pilot, it's probably true.
Iggy rolls to her stomach so she can look over the side of the rack at him, chin propped on her hands. Luckily, the thumping has stopped - for now. "Cashmere would be nice, actually," she muses after a minute. "Maybe I'll start counting Marines. That might be easier. Who'd you pull for a pilot?" Wow. She's curious. And talkative. And hasn't threatened him once.
Even if she did threaten him, he's kind of used to it. Also, it really doesn't make him shut up for very long, even when the threats become actualities. The man's need to chatter is actually a full-blown compulsion. "I had a cashmere scarf. My Granny knitted it. If I still had it, I'd let you borrow it. If my Granny hadn't made it, I'd let you have it, but she made it, so it wouldn't be right to give it away, but you could definitely borrow it when you wanted. If I had it, that is, but it's probably incinerated." The first boot is removed and set on the floor. "Madman. Matto's his name, but people tend to call him Kissy, for some reason. I meant to ask but then something came up."
Luckily, Iggy's mostly used to it by now. Her thumb absently twists the ring on her finger. Round and round she goes, where she hits, nobody knows. "Don't know him," she says quietly. "Kissy. Damned odd name." Yep, she's used to him by now. She picks out only the pertinent parts of the conversation. "Scarves are good," she muses after a few moments, looking off into the distance. "They don't leave marks on the wrists."
On to the other boot. "I think his last name is Kisseus or something like that. Maybe that's why they call him Kissy… or Kissybear, even, 'cuz I've heard him called that, too. But who am I to judge? It's not like he had any say in what his parents named him. I guess you know what that's like, huh?" Smalls opens his mouth, so busy talking that he doesn't realize that he's probably chewing on his proverbial foot. "They don't leave marks on the neck, either. Well, not if you don't tie them too tightly. But why not use gloves? Most styles cover wrists and I imagine it must be awkward to have a scarf so long that you can manage to get each end down your coat sleeves." Ambrose is socially inept in many ways.
Iggy's eyes narrow ever so slightly at one point in his discourse, but then her brows smooth out. Uhoh. No…no, that's definitely not a good thing. "Gloves work for some things," she says with a shrug. "Only if they're latex. And only for some things, definitely. It all depends on how adventurous you want to get. And honey? The bedpost doesn't care about marks. The point it to not leave anything permanent, just enough that they have nice little reminders the next day." Is she being deliberately oblique?
"Latex?" His voice practically sounds like his brow is furrowing. "That'd hardly keep your hands warm. And definitely no good as work gloves for construction and stuff. I mean, if that's your thing, then it is. I guess I'm just not adventurous enough to risk frostbite or electrical burns or whatever." With both boots now off, Smalls emerges from his bunk to place the footwear in his locker. "Not sure what a bedpost has to do with anything." The train of thought is derailed by another one. "Oh! I met one of your cousins. Salazar." Beat. "The one who is the CMC CO on the Kharon," he clarifies, just in case Iggy has more than one cousin named Salazar. After all, the Nikos clan is frakkin' huge.
Iggy props her chin on her hands as she looks down at him, head tilted a bit. "You poor dear. You mean that no man's ever tied you down to the bed and spent the night making inventive, adventurous love to you?" A sigh escapes her. It's low, and perhaps a little theatrical. "Your education is sorely lacking. I'll let the Marines know you need some remedial kink classes." The smile softens at the mention of Salazar and she nods, once. "I think she's still tithurt. Married, too, now."
Wait… what? It is a sentiment echoed on Ambrose's face and then in his voice. "Wait… what?" For a moment, he just stares at his bunkmate. "No… No one's ever tied me down. Well, not for that. When I was a kid, I'd constantly get pinned and roped and stuff, but that was so a bunch of the other kids could beat the crap outta me. That's not what you mean, though. But, no. No man ever has and I'm not complaining. I mean, if someone wants some dude doing that to them, that's cool. I'm just not one of 'em. I like the ladies." There's that lopsided smile. "Although, none of them have done that either. And, wait… what do you mean tithurt? She seemed fine the other night."
Score one for short and bitchy! She just grins at him after a moment, trying to keep her lips from twitching too much. "Tithurt. I ended the fight when I got her in the left tit. Well, SHE ended the fight. It was almost a draw until then." She seems almost proud of her cousin. "Literally, not figuratively."
Iggy can rack up all the points that she wants. Smalls is too clueless to realize that some sort of game is going on. Leaning against the now closed locker, he continues to peer up at the only person in the Air Wing who's shorter than he is. "Y'know, I was going to be all 'you punched her in the tit?' but then I figured it must be a Nikos thing." He's not utterly clueless. He also is curious. "It is, right?"
"Nope," she chirps, smiling sweetly. "Just my way of fighting. The only good fight is the one you walk away from and your opponent doesn't. If a fight can't be avoided, disable them as quickly and efficiently as possible, then get the hell out of dodge. It's not about sticking around to gloat." She's fond of the man. Poor bastard. Poor Smalls. At least she doesn't rope him up and beat him. Yet.
"Huh." It is a thoughtful expression that surfaces. "The way she was talking about you, I got the impression you liked each other." And yet Iggy wants to make sure her cousin is too ass-beaten to move. The gears are turning. No, really, he's pretty sure this must be a Nikos thing.
Definitely poor Smalls. "I would HOPE so," Iggy says, slightly affronted. "She's my older cousin. AND she's a Nikos." Yep, it really MUST be a Nikos thing. "Sal took care of Peri while he was on Kharon." Ahhh, there goes that smile, disappearing. "Peri was my older brother." Was, past tense. "We…tend to greet each other with fisticuffs. Comes from growing up on Blue Earth. Other kids would go ride bikes for fun. We'd run survival drills."
That pretty much answered his question about that. At the mention of Peri, Ambrose briefly frowns. "I'm an only child." Can you imagine more than Smalls? Thank the Gods it was never to be! "Still, I'd be pretty gutted, I'm sure, if my older brother, or younger one — sisters, too — died. I mean, all my family's been vaporized and I miss them, but I'm guessing your brother didn't expire as quickly." The guy means well, but really isn't ever going to get a job writing sympathy cards. "I know I'm not a Nikos, but if you want to beat me up like a little brother, that'd be okay. I hear big sisters are like that."
She grunts quietly and rolls to her back again. The thumping starts anew. "You're only younger by a few months, so don't even, furface." Furface? Where'd -that- come from? "And yeah. Peri…" Yep, the pain is still there. People who don't know her would miss it. Smalls has been around her enough to know. The last time she got this down was just after Warday, in an engagement where Hestia lost some pilots.
"Furface? What are you talking about? I just shaved…" Smalls runs a hand along his jaw and opens his locker door to check himself in the small mirror hanging in there. "Did I miss a spot?" All the same, "Younger is still younger, but I guess it's no fun to beat-up someone who's volunteered." And not even as a matter of kink. He's just a good (if somewhat off) guy. And if smacking him around a bit helps his friend (well, he considers Iggy to be a friend) feel better, then he's willing to be smacked around. "Seriously, I don't know what you're talking about." He has no stray stubble.
A small smile tilts her lips up. "No, no fun to beat up someone who volunteered. Plus, you're one of my ECOs. That means you're going to be the one hauling my sorry ass in the next time a raider takes offense to something I say." A pause. "And if anyone beats you up? Send them to me." Uhoh. That sounds ominous. No one can beat him up but her.
Making a 'pshaww' kind of face, Ambrose notes, "I'd still haul your ass even if you beat mine. I mean, I have." And he wasn't even volunteering for the hurt to be laid down, back then. "Anyway, I don't much get beat-up these days. Had I known you from the ages of 4-14, though, you'd have really happy fists." Yet for someone who's been bullied so damn much, the man really is rather chipper.
Iggy laughs softly and shakes her head. "Not really," she says softly. "I don't tend to beat people up for no reason. Not unless they're family. Of course, unless you mean me beating the everloving shit out of people beating YOU up…" She sounds a little drifty.
"I'm pretty sure all those people are dead. And if not, well, they'd undoubtedly wish to be if they had to deal with you and your Smackdown For Justice." That grin is big enough to suggest that he likes the idea of someone beating-up people who beat him up. "But, nah. Not beat up, really, these days. Just told to shut the frak up, but that's not really deserving of punching someone in the face or a vital organ." Switching tracks, "Okay, seriously, though, I have no fur on my face. And even if I missed a spot, it's not like I have much aptitude for growing a hobo beard. I managed to have a soul patch for a while, in college, but then some girl I really liked told me it wasn't cool, so I shaved it off. She wanted to shave me elsewhere, too, but I don't think I'll ever have the hots for someone so much that I'd do that, again. It was bad enough that she nicked my nutsack, but it itched more than anything should ever itch when the hair started growing back down there." That said, the locker door is once more closed.
"Ow," Iggy says with a quiet laugh. "Yeah. You have to be damned careful when manscaping. Lotion helps with the itching. A sharp razor and steady hand helps with everything else. At least, that's what I've heard." Wait, something Miss Adventure hasn't done? Sounds like it. "Furface. Seems to fit you. And drive you straight up the frakking wall. Soul patches aren't good. It looks like a man is trying to grow pubic hair on his face. Clean shaven is better - especially in the military."
Again, leaning against the locker, Smalls folds his arms in a casual manner and not in the defensive body language way. "Live and learn, right?" About lotion. As for Furface, "If you say so… Ironically, I suppose." And apparently not driving him up the frakkin' wall. Granted, he's called Smalls. It's pretty difficult to be dubbed something worse, although he doesn't seem to much mind that moniker, either. Granted, he actually takes pride in having good underwear and so much of it. "Clean shaven is mandatory, but anything's better than having pubes on the face. Well, unless they're someone else's pubes that kinda get stuck there after certain activities. But, yeah. Soul patches are something else I won't do, again."
There's a groan from Booster's bunk. "Ok, Smalls? I don't want to think about you rug munching. No. Seriously. That's a red light. A big red light. Bigger than a red light shoved up the CAG's ass. Just…no." It sounds like her face is being hidden by the pillow. "So, what do you think of the new people? Met anyone worth meeting yet? Anyone I need to hit?"
"Would you prefer to revisit scarves and latex gloves?" Hey, he had to deal with that awkwardness. Still, Ambrose is grinning. But when Iggy mentions stuff shoved up asses and then new people, he goes on, "Can't think of anyone to hit, just yet. I'll let you know, though, if someone gets too douchey. Might need some chips knocked off of shoulders and what not. Speaking of stuff up the ass," yes, he's going there, "I heard the Kharon's CO is aboard for the week."
Leda comes into the room having finished his CAP. He walks slowly and with a purpose, and that purpose is to get to his locker as he pulls off his flightsuit and he begins to change. Hands work quickly to get the pilot out of his suit as he wordlessly get his suit off and he is in his BDUs. Of course, he starts to change into his off duties as pants are pulled on.
Iggy mulls over the new information for a long moment. "Yeah, I've heard he's got one shoved up there sideways. Never met the man, so I couldn't rightly say. I try not to judge sticks and asses until I've seen the stick for myself. Which reminds me. Have you seen my new SL lately?" Speaking of sticks. Oddly? There's a smile in her voice when she says that. Then there's the sound of new footsteps and Booster peers over the side of the bed at Leda, simply watching him. It's almost like a cat atop a bookcase watching her unwitting prey walk by underneath.
"I haven't met him either, but that's what I've heard about him. Maybe your cousin'd know more. Probably. I mean, she's on his ship." The sound of a locker opening draws Ambrose's attention. "Oh, hey there, Shepherd. Any luck finding any Glamazons?" A friendly smile. "Oh, have you met Booster?" A look back to Iggy. "Spider, you mean? Nah. Not since he disappeared to the head with Salazar a few nights ago. I think he's on patrol, now."
Leda stands there, ignoring the discussion of the Kharon crew mostly to keep things civil, and he even manages to keep a kind expression. He looks over at Smalls, "Still looking but I'll let you know when I find Glamazons." He reaches into the locker and he pulls out a bottle of water, "As for Booster, we have met in a matter of sorts." He then goes into a ritual to lock his locker, whoa, the guy is picky about his locker. He then opens the water and he takes a sip from it as eyes flick over to Iggy, puppy meet kitty.
If she were a cat, she'd be monorail cat on top of the flat screen television, one paw dangling insolently off over the picture. She looks between the two men for a long moment, consideringly. "Shepherd was about when I titpunched Sallie, Smalls," she comments, never taking her eyes off the puppy. "So, your old CO's coming aboard the ship, Shep. How far's the stick up his ass and what will he do if we jostle it?"
Still leaning against his locker, which he also is in the habit of locking, Smalls nods to Leda. "Oh, well, I've seen 'em. It's more for you, since you haven't. But okay, yeah. Sure. Thanks." And that's it about Glamazons, other than a lopsided smile. Then, back and forth, the ECO regards the other pilots. When titpunching is mentioned, he kinda gets a knowing look and then tells Castor, "It's a Nikos thing." He doesn't add anything about Demitros, though.
Puppies are funny animals, loyal and cute all at the same time, "He is one of the finest men I have ever served under and there is no stick up his ass so long as you do things by the book." His features don't look particularly perturbed by this as much as he seems to actually like his former CO, "In fact, the Hestia would be so lucky if he came to serve here. I'd follow that man into Hades itself if I had to." He looks at Smalls, "Yeah, I was there when the titpunch happened. Hell of a way to say hello to family. Apparently, it is a Nikos thing." His eyes remained focused on Iggy as his head tilts because the puppy is curious as to why he is being looked at and his face reads as much.
Oh, yes. There will likely be some squalling and squabbling in the squadron now that the kitty and puppy have been housed together. Iggy continues to watch Leda, hand dangling down, rolling a little rubber ball around in her fingers. "Did he at least kiss you afterward," she asks Castor, tone dry. "I mean, he must have. Or at least used the good lube to get that kind of reaction out of you." Her eyes cut to Smalls - though whether or not she's looking to him for backup isn't readily apparent. "And what the hell's this about Glamazons? You two been in the makeup again?"
"Nah, Glamazons. Y'know, Glamazons. That tv show from years ago. The one with the super hot warrior chicks kicking ass, living in that steamy jungle, so they were all glistening and scantily clad 'cuz of the heat, but still totally glamorous. There were action figures and everything." Trufax. "Anyway, Sketch called me short and I told her not everyone can be a Glamazon like her, and Shepherd wanted to know what the frak a Glamazon was, so I told him all about it, and he asked if I had copies, and I told him I didn't, so he said he'd see if he could find some, and I was like, okay. I doubt you will, but lemme know if you do." And it all sounds like one giant run-on sentence. Back to the other topic, Smalls nods at Castor. "I imagine he has to be really good based on some of the stuff I heard your ship went through, but people are still saying he has a stick up his ass. Doesn't make him a bad CO. Just, uh, one with a stick up his ass, if rumors are true."
Leda's eyes focus on Iggy, "I'm sorry, Booster, I couldn't hear you over your piss poor attitude toward Kharon command." Grrrrrr, goes the Puppy. "And what Smalls said about the show." His eyes never break from watching Iggy, "He kept us alive and he kept us moving. That man saved my life on more than one occasion. He is by the book, strongly, by the book. So, long as you stick to the book there will be no problems." For his part Leda's voice when he refers to Praxis is kind, considerate, and utterly appreciative.
"Mmm hmm," Iggy replies to the men, almost as if the conversation being had isn't the one she's actually having. Her eyes never leave Castor. Yep. She's got -that- look on her face. "I could say the same about Smalls," she tells Castor, head tilting to the side. "Doesn't mean I'd let him frak me without a kiss and a reach around. Isn't it hard walking that straight line, Leda? Doesn't it ever run you into walls?"
"Wait… what?" Cue furrowed brow and 'what the frak are you talking about?' look at Iggy. "I'm mostly by the book. Not strongly, though." Someone is focusing on the wrong point of the conversation. "I mean, it's just the comms thing," and all the damn talking on them, "but it sounds like Kharon's CO doesn't do that." Yeah. Totally missing the point. "And you wouldn't frak me, period." Beat. Another one. A third. Wait for it. Wait for it. "Wait… would you?" Poor Smalls is actually serious.
Castor is still watching Iggy as he addresses Smalls first, "No, she wouldn't, Smalls." Though there is a glint in his eye as he continues to watch Iggy, "Praxis is getting married to one of the former Kharon doctors. So, if you want to imply that I am sleeping with the man, you need to get your facts straight and next time try to pick something less juvenile or maybe that is the height of your intelligence." A sip of water is taken though he never breaks his watch on Iggy. Puppies don't have the advantage of claws but the do have teeth and he gives a smile after saying this showing his pearly whites, and this isn't his normal Leda smile, this is a 'push it and see what happens' smile.
Iggy's smile is slow and she, too, shows teeth. "Apparently you and subtlety aren't good friends," she tells Leda. "It's to be expected, though." One paw dangles, as it were, the ball still rolling around delicately. "I'd consider it, Smalls." Not that she'd do it, she'd consider it. "And it would appear our newest squadron member knows my proclivities better than I, myself, do."
Holy crap. She'd consider it? Those blue eyes of Ambrose's widen. After a moment, he turns to look at Leda, chest puffed out with a kind of 'ha! Shows what you know…' look on his face. Yeah, Iggy probably never will, but what she said still makes the little fellow feel as tall as a Glamazon. After a moment of beaming, he lazily smiles. And since he is incapable of keeping his trap shut, he points out, "Uh, no offense and all, but, y'know, a lot of guys get married to women but still do dudes. So, your argument there really isn't all that clever, either."
There it goes. Leda's fur, or rather the hair on the back of his neck, goes down and he looks over at Smalls for the first time since this conversation started, "No. Just no." He looks over at Iggy, "No, I'm not the subtle type. Though gunning on one of my friends is not a good idea. I'll let you in on something, you make friends with me and I'll stick by your side to the end. In fact, I think of most everyone on the ship I am on as family. Though, the real question is, Booster, are you going to gun for me next? Because that means we wouldn't be family and I don't think I could bear it if we weren't family." He takes a sip of his water, he might be sarcastic or he might be serious, it is honestly hard to say.
Booster just shakes her head and grins. "You are UTTERLY adorable, Shep. Absolutely and completely. Family, really? Do you understand the meaning of family? I understand that you poor little people on Kharon did the impossible and survived against all odds, but did you think you were the only ones?" The sarcasm is dripping so thick on the floor that one could quite easily slip and fall in it. "Let me guess, the next thing you're going to tell us is that the cylons want to be our friends, really, and we should invite them over for dinner?"
"Hey, I didn't say it was right or wrong — although, really, it seems unfair to get married and be into someone else, but I guess that some spouses don't mind, so then it would be okay. So, yeah. Not no. That shit really does happen. In fact, it happened to my Aunt Eloise, but she also was messin' around with some cutie of a waitress, so it's not like she could complain about my Uncle Jimmy bangin' one of his homeboys. So, actually, that means it happened to my Uncle Jimmy, too. Except we're talking about dudes marrying chicks but still doing dudes, and not chicks who marry dudes but still do chicks. Or chicks who marry chicks but do dudes, and the other way around." And Iggy might end up punching him, but Smalls points out, "Well, we kinda have an advantage being on a badass Battlestar. And I'm pretty sure that Cylons don't eat. Maybe they'd come over for a game of chess or somethin'."
Castor looks over at Booster, "You are in a Battlestar, Booster, we were not. We took heavy losses and we even had some crazy woman put a bomb in my locker only later to claim she was a Cylon after killing our Old Man. Those of us who were left worked closely together, I even keep my eyes open for Black and Morales and both would be likely to want to hit me before helping me but they are my family none the less. So, no. You don't get to lecture me about what family means since you didn't live through what we lived through together. I'm not saying you didn't have it bad in your own way but we went through some shit together." He looks over at Smalls, "Just….wow, you impress me with you ability to speak."
"You're not the only one who went through shit," Booster says softly. "You're not the only ones who lost, so don't even frakking start that shit on this ship. If you do, you'll find your ass in a sling." Nope, not a threat, it's a simple promise. "And you're one to talk, Leda. I've heard more shit out of your mouth than I have from Smalls at his worst. Finally realizing how you sound?"
"It's a gift," Smalls tells Castor. Although, really, most consider it a curse. "Booster's right, though. We've all lost and been through crap. And I'm sure we'll lose more still. But we'll be going through the next round of crap together, so it's kind of pointless to sit around debating who has the biggest boo-boos."
Castor just looks at Iggy, "Do you have one living blood relative?" A pause, "Oh, yeah, you do. So shut your cakehole." He looks over at Smalls, "It is a gift." His tone with Smalls is much kinder and appreciative, "And yeah, you are right." He turns and he looks at Iggy, "Okay, here is how this works: I'll shut my cakehole as well and then we can try to be friendly." Puppy to Cat, wait, the Puppy just sneezed and looks confused.
At least she hasn't smacked him over the nose yet, but there's no guarantee he won't find her claws in his rump one day. She looks from man to man lazily, a brow arching slightly. The smile? Smalls might recognize it. It usually means something is about to be shredded. "Ahhhh, so now, because you come from the almighty Little Shit That Could…" Yes, she said shit, not ship. "You think you can come in and dictate exactly how things are going to be, Leda?" With an easy, graceful movement, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and drops down to the deck with a quiet thump of socked feet meeting floor. "Are you sure you want to do that?"
Yup. Ambrose knows that smile. He's been on the receiving end of it before. As an aside, he tells Leda, "She has a wicked left hook. Also, she's willing to titpunch her cousin…" So what she's willing to do to Castor probably doesn't need to be detailed. That all said, the ECO scampers out of the way, taking cover in his bunk, which happens to be the one below Iggy's.
Leda looks at Iggy, "If I want to dictate the way things will be I can since I outrank you, but I'm not pulling rank here, since you wanted my opinion about the Kharon CO and I gave it to you." He calls out to Smalls, "I know she has a wicked left hook but then again so do I." His eyes focus on Iggy, "Question is do you want to take this to the gym or are we going to be good with each other?"
There's a hint of triumph in Iggy's eyes as she looks over at Smalls. "Gotta love it when they play that rank card," she tells him, tone dry. "I'm not going to pull rank, but I'm going to remind you that I outrank you." Her eyes pull back to Leda and she looks up at him, chin up and out. "Don't worry, SIR. I wouldn't hit a senior officer, Sir." Yep, that's the way it's going to be. "Typical officer. You can only see black or white." Iggy, poster child for unimpressed. "I have to take a piss, Sir. Smalls, let me know if the good Lieutenant decides to do rack inspection, eh? I wouldn't want anything to offend his delicate sensibilities or maybe impugn his heroes."
"Yeah, sure thing, Booster." And since it appears that there will be no bodily violence, Smalls concludes that it's finally safe enough to lay down on his bed. The boots are off but he's yet to get out of his off-duty duds.
Leda listens to the sirs and he looks at Iggy. He doesn't want her to be impressed, he wants her to show some respect but he just shrugs his shoulders and he looks over at Smalls, "She always this catty or has she just not gotten laid since, well, ever?"
And so Booster turns toward the head, padding in that direction in stocking feet, clearly not about to dignify Leda's question to Smalls with a response.
"Oh, no. She gets laid, I'm sure. I mean, look at her." Hot chicks not get laid? Yeah, right. Apparently, Ambrose is not one to shy from claws. In truth, he was conditioned since a young age to endure abuse. "But, yeah. She gets like that. Actually, though, she's being quite nice. I mean, you're not bleeding or bruised."
Leda muses, "She is nice? Huh, I'll take your word for it, Smalls, though right now she is doing her best to piss me off." His tones to Smalls aren't unkind but if he was a puppy his tail would not be wagging at the moment and the lack of a smile on his face shows this. "She gets laid? Who'd want to hit that? Just because someone is hot, they can have a piss poor attitude that makes the hot to crazy ratio too great to bear." He draws a graph with his index finger in the air, there is a slanted line going from the bottom of the graph and it moves up. "Smalls, on one side of this graph is crazy and on the line represents the hotness factor. The hotter the girl the willingness to put up with the crazy goes. However, if the crazy outweighs the hotness…" He thumbs to the head, "then you have a situation like this."
Stretching out ('cos he's short enough that he can), Smalls then folds his arms and places his hands underneath his head. "Yeah, she's nice." His definition of that probably differs from most. "Like, she pretty much stopped hitting me, a while ago, and she's even willing to beat up people who mess with me… but I think that might be a territorial thing. Still, no one else has ever been willing to inflict bodily violence on my behalf. And, really, I think a lot of the time she even pulled her punches with me, even though she'd never admit it. For the record, it still frakkin' hurt, so I wouldn't ever want to be on the other end of an honest to Gods, hardcore beatdown from Booster." As for the chart, "Hey, she's thoughtful enough to probably use a fresh razor and lotion, so she can't be more nuts than this one girl I dated. Plus, Iggy's even hotter. And then there's that whole bodily violence on my behalf thing, which is majorly sexy. So, to answer your question: I would. I would totally hit that, if she let me."
Leda listens to Smalls go on and on. "Smalls, ever hear of Stockholm Syndrome?" He looks over the head and then back to Smalls, "If she's got your back, she must be good people, but she is not making a very good impression with me." He takes another sip of water as he looks over at his water, "Though, make sure you pay attention to that conditional clause, if she let me. Notice the emphasis on if. That means she is not now. Maybe you should find another type of woman. One that doesn't hit you."
