[ Dick raises a brow at that, his own smirk tugging fondly at the corners of his mouth. He's shirtless, medical supplies are scattered across the coffee table along with bloody gauze.
But Dick looks okay. ]
You're supposed to stop by the liquor store before you show up if you're gonna be picky, Alfie.
[ He steps aside anyway, lets the door swing shut with a click and the bee-beep of the security system. There's a scrappy looking bandage skewed across his shoulder blade. ]
I got some craft beers from that spot down the street. That spot you said you liked last time.
I'm not being picky, I just happen to be from a country that knows how to make a proper lager.
[He says, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it up by the door. He's dressed in his usual attire, dark slacks and a tight black turtleneck. He's a slim man but the shirt is just tight enough to show off that he has muscle definition, he's not as big as Dick and is built more like a dancer or possibly a long distance runner.]
I'll never understand why you Americans want to drink beer that tastes like watered down piss.
[Said as he ambles over to Dick's fridge, going in to grab them each a bottle of craft beer.]
[ Dick reaches out to take his beer, cracking open the can with a hiss before he holds it out to Alfred so they can bump their drinks together. ]
Because. We don't define our whole personalities using it?
[ The grin that spreads across his face is clearly teasing, and he snorts before taking a sip of the beer. A sigh breathes out as he continues picking up the scraps of his work, putting away gauze, pulling out an alcohol wipe to make sure he's not leaving anything behind.
And that's when he finds the small pocket knife, laying innocently on his coffee table. Without a moment's hesitation, he flips it up into the air, in Alfred's direction in an arc wide enough for the other to react. ]
No, you just use guns and American flags to define yours.
[Alfred teases back and takes a long sip of beer, his eyes glancing up in time to see the pocket knife that Dick is tossing his way. He lifts his free hand, catching it easily before bringing it in to inspect it.]
This better not be what you used to dig around in your shoulder.
[He quirks, rolling the knife across his knuckles and back into his hand smoothly.]
Which reminds me, you want me to look at that first? Or do you just want to cut to the fun tricks?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Yaay :D thanks for moving
Is that your not so subtle way of asking for help?
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I can show you a few if you'd like, so long as you show me some of yours.
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Tradesies plus a pint. Shall I meet you at yours?
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Fine. Plenty of pints at mine, so I’ll see you soon.
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Hope you've got proper beer, because if you offer me a Budweiser or something like that I'm going to have to slap you.
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But Dick looks okay. ]
You're supposed to stop by the liquor store before you show up if you're gonna be picky, Alfie.
[ He steps aside anyway, lets the door swing shut with a click and the bee-beep of the security system. There's a scrappy looking bandage skewed across his shoulder blade. ]
I got some craft beers from that spot down the street. That spot you said you liked last time.
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[He says, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it up by the door. He's dressed in his usual attire, dark slacks and a tight black turtleneck. He's a slim man but the shirt is just tight enough to show off that he has muscle definition, he's not as big as Dick and is built more like a dancer or possibly a long distance runner.]
I'll never understand why you Americans want to drink beer that tastes like watered down piss.
[Said as he ambles over to Dick's fridge, going in to grab them each a bottle of craft beer.]
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Because. We don't define our whole personalities using it?
[ The grin that spreads across his face is clearly teasing, and he snorts before taking a sip of the beer. A sigh breathes out as he continues picking up the scraps of his work, putting away gauze, pulling out an alcohol wipe to make sure he's not leaving anything behind.
And that's when he finds the small pocket knife, laying innocently on his coffee table. Without a moment's hesitation, he flips it up into the air, in Alfred's direction in an arc wide enough for the other to react. ]
Catch.
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[Alfred teases back and takes a long sip of beer, his eyes glancing up in time to see the pocket knife that Dick is tossing his way. He lifts his free hand, catching it easily before bringing it in to inspect it.]
This better not be what you used to dig around in your shoulder.
[He quirks, rolling the knife across his knuckles and back into his hand smoothly.]
Which reminds me, you want me to look at that first? Or do you just want to cut to the fun tricks?