[Madoc MacBruin] They always say the three times was the charm, perhaps in this case it was for the little Irish pub that has existed for so long in the Lake View district of Chicago. It has history, warmth and charm. The building has seen its ups and downs, suffered through two fires and like a great phoenix rose again to the profit on the Irish community that dwells within that city.
At one time, it was a prime Garou establishment, owned by a Fianna kinfolk’s family, now ownership has changed hands, the previous owners leaving it to another kinfolk proprietor who still thrives within the tribe, Marjorie Katherine O’Hara.
It is a quaint little establishment, reminiscent of the pubs you would see across the pond. It held a certain authenticity that the new owner tried to capture. Dark wood furnishes the walls, sections outline by booths with black vinyl padding and high tables. Stuff animal heads and black and white photos of people decorate the place. Even a crest with a coat of arms hangs above the bar with a Stag’s head emblem on it.
Here at the bar, the two male kinfolk will find the warmth and cheery atmosphere as they can hear the loud ruckus of drunken Irish songs being sung by a group of men at the bar, perched together on the edge of their stools, waving frothy pints of dark lager in the air. Among them is the tall, dark Fianna who has instigated the singing. From behind the bar, a curvaceous redhead mans the bar with a towel over her shoulder. Hands on her hips, curly red hair bound up in a bun pinned at the nape of her neck, loose wisps frame her cherub face, stained pink from laughter.
[Tristan Stern] He can’t remember the last time he was at Claddaghs. After the last time it was burned down, he never realized that it had been bought and rebuilt once again. At one time, everyone showed up for beer and food, and Irish laughter and Drunken games – but it’s been years.
Even so, the establishment sticks out in memory, especially when he pulled the door open for his husband, and lead him to the bar. He doesn’t touch Henry, other than the briefest press of fingertips against the small of his husband’s back to urge him toward the bar. Despite this, there is no denying the men are connected in some deeply emotional way, deep enough to merit the matching rings on their fingers. It’s in the way they look at each other, the way they don’t touch, the way sparks seem to fly when they do… it’s all there, despite their being reserved in public, as someone isn’t as open as his curly haired prettyboi.
Once they reach the bar, and the singing wings it’s way over them, Tristan nods with an easy grin to the tall dark haired Fianna, for the benefit of his husband. “That’s him… always the life of the party…”
[Henry Allard] He’s had a long day considering he spent most of the morning sleeping.
When Henry left the apartment this afternoon he had been anxious, had been chewing the inside of his lip and eying the dwindling bottle of lorazepam in the bathroom and acting stranger than usual. It wasn’t just nerves over meeting the man who had saved his partner’s life years before the two kinsmen ever met but something else, something nagging at him that Tristan couldn’t pry out of him no matter how he asked. Tristan doesn’t pry, and he knows when he ought to, and this afternoon was not a time for him to have pried.
He almost did something phenomenally bone-headed this afternoon, and for the first time in weeks Henry is not entirely open about what happened in the time that the two were apart. He returned from meeting with the vice president of the security company he’d met Friday night looking shell-shocked but as if some sort of a weight had been taken off of his shoulders. All he told Tristan was that the guy had given him the name of a lawyer who could get the cops off his back so they could go to New Jersey.
He’s not wearing the same clothes he had had on to go see Ortega, nor is he wearing the sweaty gym clothes that he had worn up on the roof when he got back from the meeting. Henry’s got on black Converse sneakers, a relatively new pair of jeans that actually fit, a black belt and a yellow button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm. There are scars on either arm: one of them on the inside of his right forearm, jagged and less than a week old, and the other on the back of his left, more precise and purposeful. They’re both about two inches long.
He and Tristan aren’t touching as they enter the bar, but given the way Henry’s eyes drift over the other man as they walk their relationship to each other is all but announced. When the life of the party is pointed out Henry follows Tristan’s gaze, pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and laughs quietly.
“That’s the spanker?”
[Madoc MacBruin] Six years is a long time, it brings about change, and forces an individual to adapt whether they want to or not. They were younger men—Tristan and Madoc—six years ago. At one time, Madoc had been just like them, mere kinfolk until his Change took place and he become a werewolf.
Madoc was tall, two inches over six feet, black hair cropped short in the back to keep it off the nape of his neck and around his ears, the bangs falling lazily across his brow and into his eyes. He’s gotten bigger, more muscular than the lean frame that he once had. Time will do that, and so will slinging a heavy hammer for 14 hours a day. He’s garbed in a loose-fit carpenter’s jeans that have seen better days, charred at the cuffs and littered with tiny holes from burn sparks. A dark blue button down shirt hangs loosely against his torso, gathering a bit tightly at the broad span of shoulders and pectoral muscles.
Despite the fiery aura of Rage that the Full moon gives off, the men around him were either kin, or too deep in their cups to realize how close to a monster they really were. You almost couldn’t believe that the bear of a man was a Garou at all, so different and calm, was he unlike most of his auspice.
It doesn’t take long for Madoc to notice the men, Majorie whistles to him, nodding her head in that direction the moment she spies the two men entering. The singing stops and everything returns to normal. Madoc sets down the pint of beer on the bar, yelling at Marjorie to pour a new round. He makes his way across the room towards Tristan and Henry in quick strides.
“There’s the fucker! Tristan, lad. ‘oly shite, it’s been a long time.”
[Tristan Stern] He hadn’t pried. That he’s curious and worried was obvious to Henry, but he hadn’t pried, and let him keep it to himself, for now. That doesn’t mean he won’t ask later, when Henry’s inebriated enough to tell him the truth with little prodding, but for now he simply lets it be. THe better to enjoy showing Henry off to Madoc, (and vice versa!) after all!
“It most certainly is..” he replies, laughter bubbling in his throat as the tall man – different yet still so much the same – comes toward them. He winks at Henry and grins. “Hot, ain’t he?”
Then he’s breaking away from his husband for a moment – though never truely breaking anything at all – and meets Madoc halfway, not even hesitating before throwing his arms around the big lug, all but jumping into his arms.
Never been a shy one, Tristan. “Too long! Damn you look good! Too bad I’m a happily married man…”
[Henry Allard] The two friends, separated by years and reunited by some circumstance that Madoc hadn’t relayed over the phone, move to embrace each other and Henry doesn’t try to keep up with Tristan. The last time he had any sort of a reunion with someone who he hadn’t seen for a considerable length of time, Tristan had been there, and it had not been happy or filled with affection. It brings a small smile to Henry’s lips as he watches Tristan nearly throw himself at the man.
Slowly strolling after them, hands in his pockets and a laziness in his stride, the older man comes to light nearby, waiting for them.
[Madoc MacBruin] Tristan meets the Fiann halfway, practically throwing himself at Madoc. A few patrons turn in their seats to watch the affectionate exchange. Madoc doesn’t retreat from the embrace, he actually wraps hard muscular arms around the pretty boy kin and lifts him up effortlessly in a bear hug, the strength hidden in that grip enough to crush a man if Madoc so chose to.
He shakes Tristan, holding him high off his feet as he looks up at the kin, and then sets him down on his feet, sliding his arms away. A hand reaches around and slaps Tristan hard on the ass. Madoc then turns on Henry, watching the other with a raised eyebrow.
“Think I may ‘ave tae steal this one from ye, pretty boy, he’s tae good looking tae let get away.” To Henry’s surprise, he sees the big Fianna come his way, reaching out with a quick hands to snare up Henry’s face and plants a big ol’ kiss on his lips.
There is a bit of laughter that erupts from behind the bar as Marjorie watched the exchange. “Madoc, quit teasin’ the lads and give’em a beer ya big ox.”
Madoc releases Henry’s face, tossing an arm around each of them, “Right, lads, shall we?”
[Tristan Stern] Oh he knows what’s coming. He knows what’s coming when he’s set on the floor, once more, ribs aching in the most fantastic of ways due to the bear hug of the man who saved his life all those years ago. He remembers well the funloving hijinks the man gets himself into, and does nothing to warn Henry. Because that would be missing half the fun…
“Ain’t he though? I got him all legal and proper though!” He lifts his ring bearing hand and waggles his fingers with a grin. Madoc plants a big ole wet one on Henry, while Tirstan rubs away the sting on his ass, before they’re gathered in and drug to the bar to meet Marjorie, and get some beer.
“I thought you’d never ask! And to make it official – Henry, Madoc – and Madoc, Henry. Now where’s this beer….”
[Henry Allard] Warning Henry would have taken all of the joy and delight out of watching the poor guy reel in the aftermath of having a complete stranger and the man who saved his husband’s life grabbing him by the skull, planting a gigantic kiss on his mouth, and bouncing away like some manic ape while the woman behind the bar admonishes him.
The tall brunet turns a shade of pink that had to have evolved from the quiet personality’s need to express acute embarrassment without using his or her mouth, and turns it so quickly it’s a wonder that he doesn’t hit the floor from all of the blood in his head flushing to his cheeks. Henry claps his left hand over his mouth in something very close to shock, Tristan doesn’t attack Madoc, and Madoc is stared at as if Henry’s just stepped through the bathroom door and been parked in an alien dimension only to be greeted by this guy.
His blood pressure has to be through the roof.
Introductions are passed around, the beer is asked after, and Henry shakes himself back to Earth.
“My god,” is all he’s able to come up with. “Hi.”
[Madoc MacBruin] Madoc has thrown poor Henry into a state of absolute shock, perhaps the man is dreaming and wandered into the Twilight Zone. None of this can be real, normal people don’t act this way.
Were all the Irish this friendly?
Madoc wasn’t Irish, but that is neither here nor there, an arm around either shoulder of the two kin, he hauls them gently off to the bar, escorting them to a seat where the buxom plump Marjorie has made two pints materialize. She sets the frothing dark lager in front of each, winking at them.
“Drink up, m’lads.”
Madoc leaves the couple to catch their breaths, moving off down the bar to retrieve his own half-filled pint and his wallet, which he’d, left casually sitting by itself on the bar. He comes back over and slid onto a barstool on Tristan’s other side, glancing at the pair.
He extends out a hand to Henry, “I’m Madoc MacBruin, known as Curata, as Tristan says.” He is grinning from ear to ear, the burning aura of his rage showing through in the intense, primal glimmer in his eyes.
[Tristan Stern] “Yes ma’am.” This to Marjorie as she set the pints in front of them, even as he’s still laughing at poor Henry’s shock. “And here you were all prepared for a spanking…”
He slides onto the stool, his hand reaching under the bar to slide along Henry’s thigh and squeeze his knee gently, once, before both hands appear on the bartop, and he takes a swig of the frothing dark lager. Madoc introduces himself further, and Tristan chuckles.
“And yes, Henry, before you ask? He’s always this way.” Not that there’s a damn thing wrong with that…
[Henry Allard] The shoulders belonging to Tristan’s husband are solid yet thin, whatever strength is in this man’s form hidden behind the leanness of his build. He doesn’t balk or resist as they are steered towards the suddenly arrived pints of beer but rather allows himself to be moved, parking his bony ass in whichever stool or chair he is manhandled into and immediately picking up the glass.
It could have cyanide in it and he would have no idea right now. The expression on his face is one of bewildered bemusement, as though he is completely caught off guard and having to recalibrate his expectations for the evening. An ass spanking or a crotch grabbing he was perfectly prepared for.
Tristan’s hand is on his knee for a fleeting moment while Madoc retrieves his pint, tendons popping underneath the denim as the older kinsman moves into the touch, and before Henry can gather himself and retaliate Tristan is drinking.
A proper introduction, and Henry leans behind Tristan to extend his right hand to shake, his smile more composed this time.
“That’s alright,” he says, shell-shocked laughter creeping out at the end of his assurance; “I’m always like this too.”
[Madoc MacBruin] Madoc gives Henry a firm handshake, releasing it to draw his hand back to rest on his thigh. He takes a heavy swig from his glass, finishing off the lager. He runs a tongue across his upper lip to sweep away any froth from the lager.
His head tilts to the side as he watches the pair, “So, seein’ as I’ve got a lot o’ catching up tae do. How’d the two o’ ya meet? I’m curious, Tristan’s not the easiest tae catch.”
[Tristan Stern] He laughs at that, and shakes his head slightly, those curls sliding along the line of his jaw, falling into his eyes only to be pushed aside again, out of habit. He looks over at Henry, and there is no denying the connection there, even as he teases. “I could be caught, just not always kept. Till Henry.”
The smile there is warm, and filled with contentment even with all they’ve gone through, all they’re going through now, and public be damned, tristan’s hand finds it’s way to Henry’s thigh once more. “Henry here saved me. I was having a crisis of faith, and wondering why I bothered with anything – the cousins, the family, the stains in Decker’s shorts… everything. We thought we’d spend a night together and forget about things – and well, we never just never let that night end and 2 years later we’re still together.”
To make a long ass story short, and all.
[Madoc MacBruin] (distinctly remembers Moira getting those two together!)
to Henry Allard, Tristan Stern
[Henry Allard] [It was totally her fault.]
to Madoc MacBruin, Tristan Stern
[Tristan Stern] [*LOL* So he glossed over the details. :) ]
to Henry Allard, Madoc MacBruin
[Madoc MacBruin] (I still vaguely remember that scene! It was in a coffee house on the mile… many moons ago.)
to Henry Allard, Tristan Stern
[Henry Allard] [There were sconces!]
to Madoc MacBruin, Tristan Stern
[Henry Allard] If Henry were to attempt the story that Tristan had just told succinctly and almost poetically crafted, it would have taken the better part of an hour and would have been punctuated by a great deal of stammering and clarification of details. Already Madoc has to be getting the impression that the man Tristan has chosen is not particularly adept at stringing sentences together, and this is only hammered home by the fact that not once does he open his mouth to pad Tristan’s story with details: that he had still been wearing his uniform the night they met, that he’d been minding his own business, that they ran into each other a week later and Henry had to fix Tristan’s hand after he’d punched a wall. Little things like that are left unsaid because Tristan is better at looking at the overall picture than his husband is.
Henry drinks his beer as Tristan speaks, his thigh hard underneath the other man’s palm, and by the time he’s done the damn thing is drained to the halfway mark.
“I never heard how you two met,” Henry adds when his partner has finished summing up two and a half years of a relationship.
[Madoc MacBruin] Madoc listens with interest, his attention held by the story. He leans against the bar, one arm stretched over it as his other hand rests easily on a thigh. He only looks away when a cold fresh pint nudges his elbow. He looks to Marjorie with a wink and a smile, pulling the hand from his thigh to reach for it and bring it up to his mouth to drink.
His eyes move from Tristan to Henry as the kin asks how they met. He clears his throat, the dark lager swishing in its mug as he sets it back down on the bar. Madoc wipes the froth from his mouth, dropping the hand back to his thigh again. He’s balanced perfectly on the edge of the stool, left boot on the floor, right one on the stool’s peg.
“Lesse, when I first hit Chicago, I was like the two o’ ye, a kinfolk at the time. I’m considered a late-bloomer. I remember meetin’ Tristan on the street, ran intae Decker as well, nearly scared the piss out o’ me. Had some shite tae take care o’ which took me away from Chicago, and I came back in time for that battle ye probably heard ‘bout.”
He runs his hand across his jaw, scratching at his chin in thought, “If I remember, we lost many, especially wi’ the kin. I stayed behind when the enemy attacked, and the call comes tae cross o’er, but I couldn’t leave the kin unprotected… I was still too fresh from the change tae forget what I’d been.”
To hear him speak, its like he tells it like an old war story, the memory still fresh in his mind, reflecting in the primal gleam in his eyes.
[Tristan Stern] He laughs and shakes his head. “Am I the only one who wasn’t scared shitless of Decker fuckin’ Rohl? He’s really a big teddybear, you know…” Though even he can’t keep a straight face with that outright lie. It’s odd the friendship grown between the two men – the southern fag hater, and the prettyboi fag. But somehow, they found common ground, and Tristan is the last remaining Eagle that made the trip from Jersey to Chicago.
And soon he’ll be returning to Jersey, husband in tow, gaia willing.
Madoc speaks of the battle, and Tristan’s hand goes to his belly, where the scar tissue discects him near in half. “Have a hell of a scar left from that. Wasn’t too sure after that what I’d been fighting for either – so many died. Took a while for me to pull back from that one – but well, we Gnawers are known for being resiliant, hm?”
[Henry Allard] This story was one of the first war stories that Tristan had told him back when they first met.
It was the morning after Henry had taken the Gnawer kinsman home for the first time, and they were standing in the kitchen at the house just a few miles from here while the rest of the house slept. Henry had been keeping his hands to himself after the night they had had but he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of Tristan’s body and somehow they got to talking about that scar and the man who ensured that Tristan’s life would be spared even if the injury couldn’t be undone.
They hadn’t known each other then. Henry had been living in Chicago when this happened, had transferred from Fire Suppression and Rescue to Emergency Medical Services the year before, was blissfully unaware of any Garou living in Chicago because so far as he could tell no Garou in his right mind would want to live in a city.
Shows you how much he fucking knows.
As Tristan touches his midsection Henry reaches out his dominant left hand to rest it on his partner’s back, fingers curling against his spine, but doesn’t interrupt. He just takes another long swallow of his beer, dragging it down to the last quarter.
[Madoc MacBruin] The display of affection is not lost on the Fiann’s part. He picked up his mug once more, taking another healthy swig of the beer. Most of it is gone by the time Madoc sets the mug down again. He clears his throat, coughing into a closed fist.
“Awww, look at me, getting’ all sappy now.” He chuckles as he scolds himself, “Ye boyos finish them beers, there’s more tae come, or Majorie might take offense.”
He glances down the length of the bar at the plump redhead and shakes his head when she casually tosses him a frown, obviously overhearing his comment and flicks him her middle finger, which sends Madoc into a fit of laughter.
[Tristan Stern] He laughs and reaches over to thump Madoc’s shoulder with the palm of his hand. “You’ve always been a big sap, and ya know it.” But he shoots a grin at Marjorie and dutifully tips his beer back, swallowing the contents by half, before setting the mug on the bartop and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Henry here, when we met? didn’t think there were any cousins in the city. THen he met me and suddenly they poured outa the woodwork. Poor man, he wasn’t sure WHAT to think of me after that…”
He chuckles and smiles at Henry, the caress along his back welcomed, and appreciated – especially since it’s such a rare public occurence. “Did I tell ya – Henry here’s an EMT and was a Firefighter.. you know how I dig a man in uniform…”
[Madoc MacBruin] Madoc shakes his head, still chuckling. His cheeks are stained with a bit of color, most likely from the rising heat he feels as the alcohol settles in his belly. He hasn’t eaten much in the past several hours, the beer being the only thing to settle his appetite.
“Bloody ‘ell, good thing I ne’er wore one o’ those,” he states with another round of laughter.
“I ended up returnin’ tae Boston for a bit, and then across the pond back home tae Manx, took up work as a blacksmith o’ all bloody things.”
That would explain the hugeness of his arms and chest, pounding away on metal as he did for the past few years.
[Tristan Stern] He laughs and nods. “You never would have left, I’da been too busy tapping that ass…” Said flat out, and without a hint of embarrassment there. “Right up until I met Henry, that is. You know what a dog I was back then… now I’m happily a house puppy.”
He winks at Henry, and then finishes off his beer so poor Marjorie can get him another. This one he sips slower then, as he gives Madoc an appraising once over. “A blacksmith… all sweaty and bulging. Yeah, I can see that…”
[Madoc MacBruin] Marjorie, for all her saintliness, has kept an eye on the trio. She prowls the entire length of the bar, stopping to speak to each customer. Reaching out to touch an arm or playfully slap a shoulder and laugh at a joke. When most of the crowd has died down around them, leaving a few patrons to huddle over mugs of beer in the booths near the back of the pub; Marjorie brings the second round of beer to the three men.
She sets the mugs down with a loud click, one sliding a bit away from the others as condensation pools in a small puddle on the countertop. She leans over, picking up the empty mugs, a hand touching Madoc on the arm. “All the mundies ‘ave gone for tha night, luve, ye boys are more free tae speak easily.” With that she’s off to take care of business.
Madoc shakes his head, reaching for the new mug. He nurses this beer, holding it in his large hand as he eyes Tristan. “I’m thinking yer the light-weight and not ‘im,” gesturing to Henry with his mug.
[Tristan Stern] He laughs, and nods. “I have gotten somewhat soft in my old age – but I can hold my own better than Henry. Barely – but better!”
And as if to prove the point, he downs half the mug in his hand and sets the mug back on the bar with a satisfied. “AAAAAAAAAAAH. there. See?” Followed by a belch the likes of which should not come from such pretty lips, and laughter that’s not at all embarrassed by it.
“So, you setting up a smithy here in town then? James – you remember him, Wagner, Sandman? – He’s always looking for some newfangled toy. He’s an Eagle now, ya know..” well he doesn’t know, at least not before now.
[Henry Allard] Henry’s beer has barely run dry before it’s being replaced by another mug, along with some words from the propriestress and bartender. They can speak freely now. The man who has barely spoken more than a smattering of words and uttered only one question hardly leaps at the opportunity, but rather brings his second beer to his mouth.
That’s about the time that Madoc addresses him again, ensuring that the words find their proper owner with a lifting of his mug. Henry’s eyebrows rise as if to help the man better grasp the sentence, and he laughs a monosyllabic, almost embarrassed before setting his beer down.
Luckily Tristan speaks up, and looses that belch that has Henry wincing out of equal parts amusement and disgust before taking another drink.
[Madoc MacBruin] Madoc glances back to Marjorie with a brisk nod of his head. Bits of black hair sweep forward to fall into his eyes, just barely long enough to touch his nose. He shakes his head, reaching up to run a hand through it to slick it back out of his eyes.
Tristan asks about the smithy, Madoc rolls broad shoulders back in a small shrug, “I’m lookin’ tae get one started, depends on location. Chicago ain’t really like a village in the northern part o’ the Isles o’ Man off the coast o’ the Britain, ye know.”
The belch comes out with such tact, making Madoc cluck his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head. He looks at Henry, “Ye sure he’s the one? Such etiquette.”
[Tristan Stern] He just grins as Henry winces and Madoc clicks his tongue. “Hey now, I’m a damn Gnawer. I figure your lucky that I bathe regularly.”
He nods, but then looks at Henry with a bemused grin – clearly waiting the answer to Madoc’s question…
[Henry Allard] Is he sure he’s the one?
Henry laughs the sort of laugh that tends to drag a smile out of him, a row of teeth revealing itself as he drops his eyes and twirls his second beer around on the lacquered bar top. It takes him a moment to decide whether or not he ought to validate that question with a response, and then that smile is closing itself up and his left hand is pushing a row of curls behind Tristan’s right ear, looking at the Gnawer as he answers and not at Madoc.
“I’m sure.”
[Madoc MacBruin] It’s a bit sweet, almost sickeningly so, the way the two male kin look at each other and the deep run of emotions they extend toward one another. They can almost hear Marjorie sniffle into her towel, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. She huffs out a sigh and wanders off to some far corner to speak with the last of the night’s customers.
“Lucky for us all ye decide tae bathe ‘efore coming out o’ the house tonight.” He chuckles, leaning back on the bar as he watches them.
“Ye all ‘ave any plans tae stay in Chicago for awhile?”
[Tristan Stern] Tristan lifts his hand to catch Henry’s and presses a kiss to his palm, before the sniffling of the bartender gets his attention and he laughs softly. He’s not at all self conscious, but the simple fact of the matter is that despite everything, he still feels like a newlywed around Henry.
Then Madoc asks the question of the hour, and Tristan glances at him, then at Henry, thenb back again. “We’re not sure. We’ve run into a bit of trouble, and some time away will do us good. Looking at getting a house in Jersey once things calm down here and we can get away freely. At least, that’s the plan today. You know how it goes – things shift without warning around this city…”
He’s hopeful they can get away. But he’s not counting on it until they hit the road in a Uhaul.
[Madoc MacBruin] Marjorie was likely to keep the pub open for a few more hours on the weeknight, though she is the only one manning the bar. As the hour goes on, the three men will eventually find themselves the only patrons left as they sit at the bar.
The flow of beer is endless as long as they accept it, Madoc doesn’t reject Marjorie’s generosity, a Fianna’s hospitality wasn’t a thing you brushed off, it was an insult to their honor.
If there’s any rowdiness, it’s likely on the part of the Fianna; there are games in the pub. Pool and darts, which he is likely to bait one or both of the Kinfolk boys into a round or three; the jukebox never shuts off as music continues to play: a large library of music with many different genres.
Depending on how much Tristan and Henry drink, there is will be harmless flirting on Madoc’s part, Henry’s ass does not go unscathed and he’ll feel the wrath of a firm hand in a playful swat. What happens after hours, when Marjorie finally shoos the boys off after their guts are filled with high spirits is anyone’s guess….
[Madoc MacBruin] (I usually tend to fade off on intimate scenes. If anything DOES happen, I’ll swing with it. Madoc’s likely to be so drunk he’ll go along with anything. =P ))
to Henry Allard, Tristan Stern
[Tristan Stern] (We are fans of the fade too. We’ll let everyone keep guessing. :) )
to Henry Allard, Madoc MacBruin
[Henry Allard] [Yuss. But the question remains: DO THEY OR DON’T THEY. *LOL*]
to Madoc MacBruin, Tristan Stern
[Tristan Stern] (*LMAO* why decide? more fun to make everyone guess.. sides. they’ll all be so sloshed even THEY won’t know.)
to Henry Allard, Madoc MacBruin
[Madoc MacBruin] lol dundundun
to Henry Allard, Tristan Stern
[Madoc MacBruin] Anyway, you ladies have a good night. Thanks for the scene it was fun.
to Henry Allard, Tristan Stern
[Henry Allard] [You make my OCD cry.]
to Madoc MacBruin, Tristan Stern
[Madoc MacBruin] (who does?)
[Tristan Stern] (I do. *LOL*)
[Tristan Stern] Thanks for playing! :)
[Madoc MacBruin] >_>
[Henry Allard] [Thanks for the scene ladies!]
[Madoc MacBruin] Night!