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WHO: Einar & Rhodri
WHERE: The Time Ship Garage
WHEN: Now! Now's good
WHAT: Concert tickets have been distributed. No one is pleased.
WARNINGS: It's Einar and Rhodri, so basically... language and goblin vibes.
NOTES: If anyone wants to have been a casual bystander to this, go for it! This is a public space after all
WHERE: The Time Ship Garage
WHEN: Now! Now's good
WHAT: Concert tickets have been distributed. No one is pleased.
WARNINGS: It's Einar and Rhodri, so basically... language and goblin vibes.
NOTES: If anyone wants to have been a casual bystander to this, go for it! This is a public space after all
Truth be told, there was really no argument over who the aggressor was. It took merely the hint of Rhodri’s presence in the garage for Einar to declare and wage outright warfare on him. Now, had Grant helped in his benevolent king scenario of giving each of them a ticket? No. But was Einar directing any of this ire towards Grant, also no, when there was a perfectly good target right there.
“You son of a bitch.” The taller man rolled out directly from under the ship in front of him, from the floor, jabbing one hand in his direction with a screwdriver in the other. “You do not deserve to look upon Charli. How do you even know what Parklife is, didn’t you live in the fucking woods?”
Rhodri's immediate response was a two-parter: a snap of his gum, followed by blowing a satisfyingly large bubble… which he popped with a sharp poke of his tongue, the smirk undeniable as he licked the strings back into his mouth.
"You don't deserve to look upon," he echoed in almost perfect mimicry of Einar's accent. Einar, whose gaze required a significant tilt of his head to meet. "All right, you posh prick. You're not the only brat here."
Einar’s reaction to Rhrodri’s popping of gum was something he was not willing to even try unpacking, and so he simply glared, aghast as it added further fuel to the fire. “That is not what I sound like.” (And here, Rhodri snorted.)
He moved to a sitting position, waving the screwdriver wildly. “And you didn’t answer my question, this entire concept of you wanting to go is unrealistic and a ploy obviously designed to specifically anger me.”
Sitting down was surely a power play disguised as an unwanted equalizing move, and for his part, Rhodri didn't shift from his stance, hands on his hips as he wore an expression that was undeniably and unmovably amused. Einar's short, quick fuse was a source of continued curiosity for the Welshman, who'd spent a not-insignificant portion of his year at TEA exploring its limits. That the blond could simply explode into a fit of rage in response to Rhodri's mere appearance was… well, it was damn fun for him.
"We –" Wales, obviously; "neighbour Manchester. 'Course I know what Parklife is." Another bubble – and snap! "Don't be stupid."
Einar was significantly aware of what Rhodri’s tongue was doing, and it only irritated him further. “Wales in the woods. I’m surprised you had a phone.”
A pause. “And stop snapping the fucking gum in my workshop.”
The gum promptly went back inside Ro's mouth, though he did chew it loudly for a few extra seconds of insult to injury. "Don't see your name anywhere here. Anyway –" He adjusted the sleeves of his jumpsuit, some second-hand thing in a hideous shade of olive green from the local charity shop, which he'd tied around his waist, giving them a firm tug so that they hugged him more snugly. It was exactly the kind of gesture that people like Max knew meant he wasn't his usual 70% sure of a situation – more like 40% now, as he blinked at Einar. "Anyway, are you actually going?"
The tall blonde rolled his eyes, finally dropping the screwdriver to a more neutral pose, less stabbing in nature. “Of course I’m going.” He said slowly, as if Rhodri may not comprehend otherwise. “I have seen every interaction of the brat tour in four different countries. This set list is about to go extinct.”
Rhodri whistled low, eyebrows climbing. "All right, Attenborough. I get that I'm in the presence of a disciple. So is this… really funny tantrum because you're just morally offended that I want to go worship at the stage?" A laugh, suspiciously giggle-like, escaped him. "I figure I can learn all the lyrics before Sunday."
“It’s not a tantrum.” A brief moment of reasonable behaviour and then at the laugh, suddenly, like a spring trap, Einar was back to towering directly above the shorter man, any regard for personal space being treated more as a guideline. “I like Charli and you know it. I’m so sure you wanted to go just to mess with me.”
"Yeah, and?" In response: hands planted like anchors on his hips once more as Rhodri tilted his head back, eyes widened in something of a challenge as he stared up at Einar. "You're that sensitive, tall boy? The fuck do you care if I want to go take some K and party in the mud?" A sniff. "You probably won't even see me."
“I am up here.” Einar was waving the screwdriver again. “I can see most things up here.”
"Great, so you can see this." And up went both of Rhodri's hands, his index and middle fingers splayed in Vs as he blew another bubble before stepping back. "See?" Another few steps away, then another. "Can you still see me, tall boy?" And he was by the entrance of the workroom, hands still up in their offensive signage: " – 'bout now?"
And with a mocking laugh, he was out the door.
“You utter, utter-“ There was a loud clang of metal and Einar’s words, none of which were fit for public consumption in any language he spoke, echoed after him.
“You son of a bitch.” The taller man rolled out directly from under the ship in front of him, from the floor, jabbing one hand in his direction with a screwdriver in the other. “You do not deserve to look upon Charli. How do you even know what Parklife is, didn’t you live in the fucking woods?”
Rhodri's immediate response was a two-parter: a snap of his gum, followed by blowing a satisfyingly large bubble… which he popped with a sharp poke of his tongue, the smirk undeniable as he licked the strings back into his mouth.
"You don't deserve to look upon," he echoed in almost perfect mimicry of Einar's accent. Einar, whose gaze required a significant tilt of his head to meet. "All right, you posh prick. You're not the only brat here."
Einar’s reaction to Rhrodri’s popping of gum was something he was not willing to even try unpacking, and so he simply glared, aghast as it added further fuel to the fire. “That is not what I sound like.” (And here, Rhodri snorted.)
He moved to a sitting position, waving the screwdriver wildly. “And you didn’t answer my question, this entire concept of you wanting to go is unrealistic and a ploy obviously designed to specifically anger me.”
Sitting down was surely a power play disguised as an unwanted equalizing move, and for his part, Rhodri didn't shift from his stance, hands on his hips as he wore an expression that was undeniably and unmovably amused. Einar's short, quick fuse was a source of continued curiosity for the Welshman, who'd spent a not-insignificant portion of his year at TEA exploring its limits. That the blond could simply explode into a fit of rage in response to Rhodri's mere appearance was… well, it was damn fun for him.
"We –" Wales, obviously; "neighbour Manchester. 'Course I know what Parklife is." Another bubble – and snap! "Don't be stupid."
Einar was significantly aware of what Rhodri’s tongue was doing, and it only irritated him further. “Wales in the woods. I’m surprised you had a phone.”
A pause. “And stop snapping the fucking gum in my workshop.”
The gum promptly went back inside Ro's mouth, though he did chew it loudly for a few extra seconds of insult to injury. "Don't see your name anywhere here. Anyway –" He adjusted the sleeves of his jumpsuit, some second-hand thing in a hideous shade of olive green from the local charity shop, which he'd tied around his waist, giving them a firm tug so that they hugged him more snugly. It was exactly the kind of gesture that people like Max knew meant he wasn't his usual 70% sure of a situation – more like 40% now, as he blinked at Einar. "Anyway, are you actually going?"
The tall blonde rolled his eyes, finally dropping the screwdriver to a more neutral pose, less stabbing in nature. “Of course I’m going.” He said slowly, as if Rhodri may not comprehend otherwise. “I have seen every interaction of the brat tour in four different countries. This set list is about to go extinct.”
Rhodri whistled low, eyebrows climbing. "All right, Attenborough. I get that I'm in the presence of a disciple. So is this… really funny tantrum because you're just morally offended that I want to go worship at the stage?" A laugh, suspiciously giggle-like, escaped him. "I figure I can learn all the lyrics before Sunday."
“It’s not a tantrum.” A brief moment of reasonable behaviour and then at the laugh, suddenly, like a spring trap, Einar was back to towering directly above the shorter man, any regard for personal space being treated more as a guideline. “I like Charli and you know it. I’m so sure you wanted to go just to mess with me.”
"Yeah, and?" In response: hands planted like anchors on his hips once more as Rhodri tilted his head back, eyes widened in something of a challenge as he stared up at Einar. "You're that sensitive, tall boy? The fuck do you care if I want to go take some K and party in the mud?" A sniff. "You probably won't even see me."
“I am up here.” Einar was waving the screwdriver again. “I can see most things up here.”
"Great, so you can see this." And up went both of Rhodri's hands, his index and middle fingers splayed in Vs as he blew another bubble before stepping back. "See?" Another few steps away, then another. "Can you still see me, tall boy?" And he was by the entrance of the workroom, hands still up in their offensive signage: " – 'bout now?"
And with a mocking laugh, he was out the door.
“You utter, utter-“ There was a loud clang of metal and Einar’s words, none of which were fit for public consumption in any language he spoke, echoed after him.
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