mouthy_merc | 29 Chimera Court, Wednesday Night

Nate eyed the building. The baby. The crate of beer under his arm. And then the door to the building again. He tried to calculate the chances of getting anything put through his head if he just walked in, calculated them again, shot the baby a glance that was truly annoyed, and knocked.

It was a toss-up as to which arm he was capable of using for it.

...nothing thrown at his head yet.

Then again, he was still not known to be there. "WE NEVER LOCK IT, WHY DO PEOPLE EVEN KNOCK?!"

Sigh.

With some wrangling, Nate managed to open the door. About a crack. "Safety precautions," he deadpanned into the vague direction of inside.

There was a pause at that. It was one of those pregnant pauses that denoted some sort of tension.

"Well, anyone dumb enough to attack this house wouldn't realize that."

"Right." He opened the door a little more. And heaved the crate a little higher. "I can just leave this here." It came out as an offer, and it probably was, unspoken if you'd rather and all.

Wade eyed the beer and then looked back at the television.

"Get your ass inside before I shoot you."

There opened the rest of the door -- he was going to take that statement as a good thing and run with it -- at which point Nate entered, neatly dropping the crate by the side of the couch. "Not around the baby," he deadpanned.

"How did you manage to get a crate of beer," Wade asked, setting Max on the floor to investigate it for him.

Or go hop at Nate's feet.

Poorly trained fox, that.

"Skill."

The fox, again. Every time he came here... Nate hunched down to avoid further feet-hopping, reaching out a hand for Max's chin. "I figured you could use it."

Ah. The metal guy.

Max sniffed, allowing the petting because... well, it was petting.

"Skill," Wade repeated. "And a lot of money?"

"Something like that." All things considered, beer crates weren't bad things to be cryptic about. In the grand scheme of things.

He pulled back upright before the fox could get anywhere near the baby. "The Greek are pretty accommodating."

"Greek beer?" Now Wade had to grab some. "Didja get Ouzo too?"

"Just the beer."

For one, he couldn't actually drink himself. Sigh. Parenting. Nate picked a spot on the couch and sat down.

Tactical maneuvering to deal with the fox.

"...to celebrate the show with?" Hey, he was giving Nate the easy out on this one.

Nate glanced sideways. "And to check in," he provided.

"There's nothing to check in on," Wade replied, opening a beer and sipping it. "Unless you meant for Janice there."

"She has to keep up with her namesakes..." His eyes flitted back to the television.

"Mocking teenage girls and scaring men gay?"

"Useful traits if you want to save the world."

He'd been working on this whole 'making jokes' thing.

Which earned him a mildly suspicious look.

Because Nate only joked when suicidal or plotting something. "What are you plotting?"

Nate shot him a look back. "Making sure you're alright," he said, mildly, "Which, right now, appears to involve models."

"...okay." Wade looked back at the models. "Have you been watching?"

"Fill me in."

So he could take the baby from her pouch in the mean time.

"Well, Fatima is from Africa and is kinda bitchy and the thin blond one is quite possibly an alien. The other one is the token plus size model who is there through pluck and vigor."

Nate settled Jan against his arm, blanket and all. He wasn't going to remember a single word of that, but that was alright. "Not a Skrull, I hope?"

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