Hostage trade for taediosum

[allbedestroyed]

The island's largest collection of whiskey undoubtedly resides in Robert Muldoon's possession. This is a generally accepted fact. Others might have wine or tequila, but the whiskey was pretty much all Muldoon's. So when Arcade held his hat hostage, he only really had one thing of value to offer. It's no small mercy, however, that the vet turned down taking a whole bottle from his stash. A few drinks would do, and Muldoon never turned down an excuse to have a few glasses. Getting his hat back in return works out very nicely indeed.

He's still in his uniform when Arcade appears. A combination of always working late, and often being called out after hours means he long ago stopped bothering with changing after work. Like most department heads, he gets a nice (if compact) bungalow for his accommodation. Not that Muldoon spends much time in his. Beyond a few photographs, and a few books, he hasn't added any personal touches to his place. It's all very utilitarian.  

When he opens the door the first thing he does is look for the hat. Only once he spots it does he step aside and wave Arcade inside. "Come on in."

Comments

[taediosum]

Muldoon doesn't have to look far; Arcade offers his (apparently) much beloved hat up to him as soon as the door opens. But, then, the whole hostage negotiation thing really was just for a laugh. He couldn't pull the look off even if he wanted to keep it. (And he certainly doesn't. As habitually vain as he is about his hair, there's no room for it in his wardrobe.)

"I'm sure I can trust you far enough to hold up your end of the bargain." Faintly amused (maybe he's still having a laugh), as he steps inside.

Muldoon's place is shockingly similar to his own, Arcade notes, as he crosses the threshold. And not just because it's all standard, cardboard cutout company housing. Other than a small collection of books and some take-home projects scattered around, Arcade's apartment is just as spare on the personal touches. But he doesn't spend much of his time there, either. Treating injuries and the absolutely rampant illnesses their charges pass around like wildfire tend to both be busywork enough to keep him out of the house, though. More than.

[allbedestroyed]

It is a very much beloved hat. Muldoon doesn't have a lot of gear, but what he does have is high quality. His hat is essential sun protection, shade, and even an impromptu pointer when he needs to add emphasis to his many serious conversations.

After inspecting his hat and happily re-creasing the lines of it, his attention snaps back to Arcade. "Of course."

He steps inside, setting his hat down on a side table, and heading to his dining table where the bottle and glasses are. Without further prompting, he pours them both out a drink and hands Arcade a glass. It's one of the nicer ones in his collection. Mostly because while he doesn't mind drinking whatever's cheapest, that's not what he serves guests. Plus, he likes to have an excuse to crack it open.

"Cheers."

[taediosum]

Arcade watches in quiet amusement as Muldoon carefully resets the all-important lines of his hat before setting it aside as they make their way to the kitchen. He almost feels a little bad for using the hat as a bargaining chip, even if he had no intention of actually extorting anything from him. Not in any sincerity, at least.

A drink feels perfectly fair for the trip over, and for saving Muldoon's hat from some far less scrupulous abductor.

"Cheers," Arcade echoes him, entertained, before taking a careful swig from his glass. He wouldn't have minded the cheap stuff, much. Not for taste, anyway. But this is definitely not that, smoother than it is bitter and pleasantly warming.

"If that's what your hat is worth, I have to wonder what ransom you'd pay if you forgot your rifle."

[allbedestroyed]

There is the distinct possibility that someone else might have discovered it and, depending on who they were, done something as unkind as put it in the middle of the raptor pen or simply frozen it in a block of ice. Muldoon has no shortage of people happy to get back at him for various reasons. Better Arcade found it than someone else.

"If I forgot my rifle I wouldn't be asking, I'd just come over and take it back." The overly-serious answer is, of course, his instinctive reply. Honestly it's a sign that he's relaxing around Arcade that has him adding, "And I don't have anything better to offer than decent whiskey."

[taediosum]

"Good to know where the line is." He sounds amused, but honestly, Arcade wouldn't dream of putting that theory to test. He'd sooner spend the night in a paddock with one of the island's larger and less friendly theropods than actually test Muldoon's patience in earnest. He doesn't strike Arcade as the forgiving type.

"I'll try to keep any future hostage negotiations on par."

[allbedestroyed]

Muldoon nods his approval and pulls out one of the kitchen chairs to sit. It's too awkward to keep standing around his own house.

"How have things been?" he asks in an effort to strike up some casual conversation. Neither of them seem good at small talk, and the warden doesn't know Arcade particularly well. Starting with the basics is usually the best idea. "Managing to stay out of trouble?"

[taediosum]

"Trouble?" Arcade repeats, amused skepticism practically dripping off the word. It sounds so... underwhelming, though, as a concept - considering what it is they both get up to on the daily.

He shakes his head, tallying up a couple of weeks' worth of minor issues and annoyances and finding nothing of particular note. Which is good, really. Ideal. "No missing limbs and no recent emergencies, I think that's the best we can hope for, out here.

"My side of things tends to be pretty boring, though. Or at least quieter, I'm sure."

[allbedestroyed]

"Not by much. Our teams work close enough together that whatever happens to one usually affects the other. Harding prefers I have a vet on stand-by whenever we're doing anything potentially difficult with the animals. You just miss out on chasing down escaped animals, or protecting maintenance while they fix something in a paddock."

After a sip he adds thoughtfully, "And usually you see any aftermath of whatever we're dealing with."

Well, it's either the vets or the doctors. Usually the vets, and that's because Hammond likes to be overly cautious about his little investment.

[taediosum]

"See, that's exactly what I mean, though," Arcade insists, half smiling over the rim of his glass. "We miss out on the chasing and the protecting and get to drag our feet through the clean-up, afterward."

Which can still be fairly exciting, when things to horribly wrong - but not a kind of exciting Arcade would ever recommend. It's an unpleasant experience, no matter how often he's gone through the motions. And, technically, even then he's on the sidelines, an auxiliary resource, despite his talents, given his lack of the proper certifications. Unless it's an enormous genetically engineered reptile, he's just in the way.

"Treating a bunch of dinosaurs for whatever fun, new pathogen they've managed to pick up and pass around this week just doesn't have the same kind of flair."

[allbedestroyed]

Muldoon stops, lowers his glass, and peers at Arcade thoughtfully. "You don't seem like the kind of person who would be interested in dangerous encounters and high-risk operations."

Generally the warden doesn't judge, but he's a little baffled by the thought of Arcade longing for the excitement he experiences daily. The man's mannerisms are so dry he's probably always clean and sterile enough to walk into an operation. Muldoon has been surprised before, and Arcade doesn't really give much away, but he does not strike the warden as a thrill-seeker.

[taediosum]

It's hard not to laugh at the look Muldoon gives him, leaping just a bridge too far in his assumption. But Arcade manages to keep it under his breath, shaking his head as he sets his glass down.

"Oh, I'm definitely not. My job may be boring, but considering the alternative, I'm pretty happy with it staying that way." He absolutely isn't looking for a cheap thrill. Let alone at the expense of his own relative safety. But when it comes to work-related small talk, well.

"I'm just a sucker for a good story. That's all. At any rate, I figure yours have to be a lot more interesting than mine."

[allbedestroyed]

Muldoon shrugs his head, conceding that point. "You're probably right. You need some perks to putting your life at risk. It can't all be scars and hospital trips."

He sips his drink and raises an eyebrow as he considers Arcade, amusement creasing the corners of his eyes. "Is this your roundabout way of asking for a story?"

[taediosum]

Arcade shrugs, feigning innocence. It's not particularly convincing. "It's that or we can just keep spinning our wheels, awkwardly searching for some other mutually interesting topic of conversation.

"But, hey, I'm not picky."

[allbedestroyed]

The drawling answer is so blunt it catches Muldoon off guard and he finds himself snorting in amusement. He's never really been good at small talk, or pretending he's interested in things he finds dull, but it's rare to find someone who doesn't preferring pleasantries over plain honesty.

"What kind of stories do you prefer? Funny ones, dramatic ones, heroic stories or tragic tales? I've got plenty." He sips his drink as he waits for Arcade to decide.

[taediosum]

"What's your favorite?" Arcade asks, instead of answering the question offered. "I'm sure you have one in mind, the story you're always secretly primed to tell over a stiff drink."

Although he really doesn't look the part, that kind of obnoxiously charming macho bonding ritual is one with which he is actually quite familiar. Growing up surrounded by military, though, one can hardly avoid the intermittent deluge of war stories and cheap booze and full-chested posturing.

[allbedestroyed]

Muldoon has to stop and think for a long moment. Eventually he looks at Arcade again with a simple, "Alright."

Standing, he refills his drink before offering Arcade a top-up. Only once they're both sorted does he sit back down again to tell the story.

"If we're talking about scars, the one I usually get asked about is the story of how I got the scars on my shoulder." He taps his right shoulder for reference. "They're more distinct than some of the others I have. You can't mistake them for anything other than a set of canines."

"They're from a long time ago. From before I was working at any animal parks. A friend and I were called out to a village to help with two lions. They were brothers, and known man-eaters. Cattle, goats, and people were all fair game to them." When he takes a sip of his drink it's partly to remind himself to stop before he shares too many unpleasant details in that regard, and to focus on giving a good story.

"The request was urgent, so we left right away and arrived late at night. We talked to the people there, the head of the village, the hunters, the people who had been attacked or seen an attack. Then we started to get our bearings. We'd only been apart a few minutes when I saw one of the lions stalking the perimeter. I didn't hesitate, I took aim to shoot, and that's when his brother pounced me. Sank his teeth right into my shoulder. If I'd been alone I wouldn't have survived it. Luckily, my friend was as good a shot as me. He saved my life that night and many others, and I returned the favour. We managed to get both the lions, so the village was safe. I was much more careful after that."

[taediosum]

Arcade isn't going to refuse another drink, as he settles in for what he's certain will be an at least passingly interesting anecdote. He probably shouldn't have underestimated it to such a degree, though. He forgets about the liquor quickly enough, as his imagination tries to fill in all the unimportant details Muldoon leaves out, leaning his elbows on the table while he listens.

"Sounds like a good friend." He pointedly doesn't ask where said friend is now, but Arcade figures if that's part of the story, he won't have to.

"I can only imagine the number of stitches it took to put you back together."

[allbedestroyed]

Muldoon snorts around his glass. It seems pretty stereotypical of the medical professional to be focused on what treatment might have been needed. "Not as many as I should have needed. I was able to use my gun to keep some space between the lion and I. It helped me wrestle with him until my friend could take the shot."

Though he does pause for a half-second, thoughtful, before answering the non-question Arcade posed. "He's the best friend. Took over Animal Kingdom from me when I moved here. He wanted something calmer now that he has a wife and kids." With a shrug and a sip of his drink he says, "A stable job was the least I owed him."