Don't Worry about Tomorrow Just Pass the Bottle // [MxK]

♕ m a c e ♕

❝ one more word,
and you won't survive ❞

It was one of those prescient spring evenings that nearly spoke summer into existence. The daylight hours hadn't been particularly warm but the evening had witnessed a rolling thunderstorm and somehow after the gooey grey cloud ick resolved into a tiered pastel sunset that beckoned warmth. If Mace had wanted he could have sat on his front porch in the worn and frayed rocking chair and hollered at his eldest.

Instead, he went through the very specific torture of calling Kieran and inviting him over for a nightcap.

It was full dark by the time they convened in the office/library/sitting room. An overhead fan provided some white noise. Somewhere overhead Saffron shuffled. A few cats roamed. Outside a horse whuffled. But the house was strangely quiet, ever since Quinn had the epiphany that her parents couldn't actually do anything if she decided to leave.

And at least one of her parents didn't blame her. Not at all.

"Sit," Mace beckoned when Kieran appeared, presumably after putting his own children to bed. And then, when he heard the booming command in his own weathered voice, sighed. "I mean, if you wanna."

He shifted a tin of shiny chartreuse pudding towards Kieran. "Want some? It's key lime. I just put it in the fridge 'bout any hour ago," he said with a splayed hand shrug. As though that gesture would remind Kieran that Mace preferred to consume rather than construct.

He produced two forks of questionable cleanliness and no plates. Lifting his utensil, he finally came 'round to his point: "I ain't seen near enough of ya lately and I... I've heard rumors about some new fangled church out yonder."

He breathed, deeply, and finally scooped up a bite. "Jus' wonderin' what you'd heard, that's all."

Somewhere, buried deep, he was sure he'd posed a question.