realityshifted | (no subject)

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life on mars (d1) gene hunt

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[Gene appears, a sandwich stuffed into his mouth, a cig in his other hand. he may or may not have stolen said food from a suspect currently being held at CID. he'll never admit it if you ask, anyway. at any rate, he's grinning maniacally from behind his sammich] Gene Genie: 1. Scum: nicked.

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[glares grumpily] Yeah, well. Maybe. [expression sobers a bit] This your idea of happy, then?

...What?

[gives him a look] I could punch you, if you prefer.

Oh. It's one of the things, yeah.

[looks carefully at the table, leaving the (incredibly) sappy implication hanging in the air. Because Sam will never ever ever ever ever ever ever say 'You make me happy' to Gene Hunt of his own free will]

[and Gene Hunt will never ever ever ever ever want to hear it, either. he's happy with implied meanings] Right. So. [claps his hands together, grinning evilly] You know. Didn't know you could sing, Gladys.

[there is a brief "I hate you! Die in a fire" look, followed by the carefully schooled expression of cool, calm Not Embarrassment] I was in a band.

Until they replaced you with a dying cat, I'm sure.

What, you don't want me to serenade you with 'the Jean Genie.' ...You do realise what that song's about, right?

Not particularly, no. [suspicious look] And why?

No, never mind. Not important.

Star Wars.

[thinks you're incredibly and fully daft]

We're going to watch Star Wars. Then someone, finally, will know what I'm talking about.

What is it?

It's a film. Sci-fi. There's explosions and a veritable space cowboy in it.

[his interest is piqued at the idea of space cowboys, but he's not about to show that] Cowboys don't exist in space, Gladys.

You should tell that to the crew of the Serenity. That entire series was Western-meets-Sci-fi.

[again, interest piqued] Well. I bet it's shite. I'd have to judge it myself.

Brilliant! We can watch one Star Wars film after the pub for three days, then an episode or two of Firefly every night.

You're way too excited about this, Dorothy. Keep your knickers on.

You don't know what it's like when no one knows a thing you're talking about, Guv.

That's because I'm not a loon, Sammy-boy.

[slams his hands down on the table] But I'm not insane! It's all real, all of it, and I can't talk with anyone about any of it!

[is caught off-guard by this and retaliates in kind, shoving Sam away with a heavy push] Get off me, Tyler! The hell's gotten into you?

Nothing.

[mask of professionalism: on]

I suppose we should get back to work. There's a pile of paperwork on my desk that I can't wait to forward to you.

Don't try and bullshit me. Not in here. And don't give me that, either. You said you do all that on that Astral Plane...thing, so you've got plenty of time.