[Enough that he's laughing, he's leaning, even a little more than he probably has to in order to line up the shot and start patting himself down for some kind of projectiles. He's got backup by way of North and the others, even if Reggie is off trying to pick girls up by way of mustache rides and Maine is busy bench pressing a goddamn pool table with people sitting on it and Wash is...surprisingly sober, off in a corner, chatting with someone sweet looking.
Well good on him.
York lets his head fall back against North's shoulder as he finally finds a rubber band, perfect for pitching long distance distractions, and he takes a pit of an olive. Should be more than enough.]
[ he's made a terrible mistake. he's had entirely too much to drink and things are about to take a horrible turn for the unimaginable and dear sweet jesus in heaven above let him get out of this alive.
and so maybe he's been hanging around the other man a little too much if he's taking to that level of dramatics, but he's also very drunk and that level of dramatics makes sense to him right now.
… wait. wash is talking to someone? well. maybe the night isn't a total loss, after all.
york's head is on his shoulder and north himself is following the proposed line of trajectory for that olive pit, and he's weighing the outcome. well … a dance wouldn't be so bad, would it?
[Because how could he not? It's simple enough of one from here. All he has to do is lean, adjust, let North take the bulk of his weight as he pulls the pit back and gauges the distance, the force he'll need.
Still.
Under his breath he murmurs just before he lets the pit fly.]
no subject
[Enough that he's laughing, he's leaning, even a little more than he probably has to in order to line up the shot and start patting himself down for some kind of projectiles. He's got backup by way of North and the others, even if Reggie is off trying to pick girls up by way of mustache rides and Maine is busy bench pressing a goddamn pool table with people sitting on it and Wash is...surprisingly sober, off in a corner, chatting with someone sweet looking.
Well good on him.
York lets his head fall back against North's shoulder as he finally finds a rubber band, perfect for pitching long distance distractions, and he takes a pit of an olive. Should be more than enough.]
If I make it, you have to dance with me.
no subject
and so maybe he's been hanging around the other man a little too much if he's taking to that level of dramatics, but he's also very drunk and that level of dramatics makes sense to him right now.
… wait. wash is talking to someone? well. maybe the night isn't a total loss, after all.
york's head is on his shoulder and north himself is following the proposed line of trajectory for that olive pit, and he's weighing the outcome. well … a dance wouldn't be so bad, would it?
he hums thoughtfully. ]
And what if you don't?
no subject
[Because how could he not? It's simple enough of one from here. All he has to do is lean, adjust, let North take the bulk of his weight as he pulls the pit back and gauges the distance, the force he'll need.
Still.
Under his breath he murmurs just before he lets the pit fly.]
If I miss I gotta kiss you.
[And then it's airborne.]