zhampagne | ic inbox

Right, of course. She's your platonic work partner and you clearly are very normal about her.

[David looks completely unruffled by the insinuation about his boyfriend.]

Mmm, probably. He's very promiscuous. His name's Wade, he dresses like a giant red-and-black leather condom?

Got it in one, pal.

[ There's a slight edge to it, one he'll blame on bed leg A refusing to slot into hole B, if it comes down to it. Anyway, it's all true: the two of them work together, they've never so much as considered anything else, and Mulder's far more normal about Scully than he is about every other touchstone of his life. Ergo, normal. ]

You really know how to pick 'em. [ This, under his breath - and after he's said it, he realizes it's kind of an insult to Scully, but here we are. To Rose: ] I can't say it rings a bell. But I'll keep an eye out for ambulatory prophylactics.

I haven't been let down by anyone here yet. ['Anyone' including, yes, Scully. He pulls the little bits of foam off the drawer pulls on Mulder's end table, tossing them apathetically into a pile on the floor.]

You should. He's weird, but fun. [And because he's absolutely ridiculous, and knows Wade wouldn't mind, and he can, he leans a little closer and whispers,] No refractory period.

[ Okay, Mulder's attention has been successfully turned. ]

You're kidding me.

[ Disbelief from a man who believes the entire course of his life was changed by an alien abduction in 1973. Naturally. That said, he's not the least bit scandalized. ]

[David just shakes his head slowly for a moment, looking incredibly pleased with himself.]

I'm not. It's insane. He's got, like... [He wiggles his fingers, searching for the words.] Mutant powers. He can regrow limbs and stuff. It's wild.

[ There's no saving the conversation; this is where it lives now, where Mulder can ask invasive questions and compare against old case files a universe away. ]

You mean some kind of genetic abnormality? Something more akin to starfish DNA than human.

Uh, maybe? Not sure. He wasn't always like that. He used to be...

[Normal isn't quite the right word, really, but David shrugs and uses it anyway.]

Normal. Ish. One time I watched him break his neck, come back to life a few minutes later, and then stick a dagger in his skull.

Sounds like he left 'normal' behind a while ago.

[ Dryly - but it's possible, sort of, to see what he might be like in a setting where he actually feels like being professional. ]

If he ever wants to talk mutation, give him my name.

If he was ever there to begin with.

[David's honestly not sure, and truthfully, he doesn't care. He likes his man fucked-up and insane.

He pulls a face at the offer.]

He doesn't strike me as a guy with, like, a ton of trust in government officials?

Smart of him. [ There's a smile in his voice, though it doesn't quite make it to his face. ] I don't trust them, either.

Uh huh. If this is some kind of... [David gestures wildly mid-air,] ploy to gain my trust, okay, it's not working.

[He stands up, smacks his hand flat on the end table.] And now you have somewhere to stick your glass of water and your condoms.

A ploy? [ He snorts. ] Trust me, Rose, you work in the FBI long enough and you won't trust the government, either.

[ Meanwhile, he's officially got a bedside table to go with his three-fourths of a bed. (It's a little tippy right now.) In the span of a second or two:

1. Mulder wonders if Rose is trying to trip him up the way he'd managed to earlier,
2. decides he is, and
3. figures the best response is probably to outdo the guy. ]

Oh, I go in bareback. But thanks.

Mmm, fair enough. I lived north of the border back on Earth, so luckily the FBI wasn't a big concern for me.

[that's right folks he's ✨🍁canadian🍁✨

David makes an involuntary, choked-off sound in response that very questionable zinger.]

Wow. Good— great to know. [Is Mulder hitting on him? It kind of feels like he's hitting on him. David tends to assume by default that people are into him, so that's what he's going with. What the fuck is going on. He flusters for a second before marching back into the living room, yelling back at Mulder:]

Coffee table!

Hold on a sec.

[ See, that noise means Mulder won, on a level he can't dignify with any real acknowledgement. Should he be embarrassed of his behavior? Probably. Is he? Nah, Scully doesn't know he's playing the 'harass a man who bought me furniture' game.

Once he's got the last leg in its place, he settles the (admittedly great looking) bed right side up and wanders back into the living room. ]

All right, let's see it.

[By the time Mulder makes it back out into the living room, David has reigned in his dignity and is all business, unwrapping a large, round parcel which is quickly revealing itself to be a brass metal coffee table with a glass top, bundled up heavily in polystyrene.

He has also, tellingly, cracked open one of those beers.]

I really outdid myself on this one. It's got storage underneath, and it's glass so you don't need to worry about coasters.

Finally, a place for all my coffee-table books.

[ It's...nice, actually. He probably wouldn't have picked out metal, but the shiny gold colour looks pretty good in here. And it makes as good a place to stash his latest esoterica as anywhere else.

Since Rose has a beer open, he takes that as a sign to get one of his own. While he's doing that - ]

So how's this compare to your place?

Mmm, whatever you want. [The idea of relocating to an alien planet and immediately beginning to stock up on coffee table books is hilarious, though. He tosses all the padding and plastic into the existing pile on the floor.]

Oh, my place? [David laughs.] Well, I've been here a year, so it's much more lived-in, for one. I've had a chance to really curate my space from scratch, which has been nice. I'd say I went for a more...eclectic vibe.

What counts as eclectic?

[ He's not helping with the table. Something about the idea of working together on a piece of furniture that doesn't need it feels like giving in - losing, somehow, the same way keeping the guy off his axis feels like winning. Instead, he's looking at the other stuff wrapped up in here, starts pulling the wrapping off what looks like a little dining table. ]

Oh, you know. A lot of texture. Mixed textiles, thrifted pieces, lots of art. Nothing too matchy-matchy, but still cohesive.

[He talks like someone who has read a lot of books and articles about interior design, because he has. He pauses in his mission to rid the coffee table of its foam and plastic prison to take a drink of his beer.]

Normally I'm not a beer guy, but this isn't bad, actually.

Let me guess: You drink wine.

[ This isn't sarcastic, believe it or not. Setting his own beer on his new dining table - what was that about coasters? - he balls up some plastic and freethrows it neatly into the kitchen trash can. He shoots, he scores. ]

So this stuff. What would you call it? Design-wise.

Or gin. Or vodka.

[Tequila if he's in the mood to make bad decisions, but thankfully those days are largely behind him.]

Mmm, most of this I'd call 'mid-century modern', which is wild because we're on a completely different planet. Most of the design here seems stuck firmly in Art Deco, which, don't get me wrong. It has a place. But I'd never do someone's entire place in Art Deco.

[He shrugs, sips his beer.] Looks too matchy-matchy.

[ Mulder, meanwhile, is enough of a lightweight - despite his size - to mostly stick to beer. Gotta be sober or your UFO sighting doesn't count. ]

Interesting. See, when I picture the middle of the twentieth century - that's the one we're talking about, right? - I'm picturing a lot more lamps that look like vases and heavy chintz drapes.

[ Is he describing his childhood home, don't worry about it. ]

Oh, mmhmm, that's the one. [David leans against the still-wrapped sofa.] Hence the addition of modern. In 2016 it's all the range. Clean lines with all the, um, chintz.

[He pats the arm of the sofa.] Ready to move this baby into place?

So if I don't like it, wait twenty years.

[ Which is less a commentary on what he thinks of the place, and more the neatness of the numbers - he just showed up from 1996. Whether that's evident is hard to say, though; everything he says sounds deadpan at this point.

Anyway, the couch. He gets to the other side of it. ]

Okay, which wall?

[A grim little smile.] Exactly. God, it's so weird that you and Dana are from the nineties. I was, like nine years old in your time.

[He nods his head toward the space under the window.]

Right over there. One, two, three—

[Thankfully the sofa is not as heavy as it could be. It is, however, upholstered in a very nice taupe-y velvet.]

ic inbox | noctium

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)