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

[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."