By the grace of God -- or something less mystical, maybe -- it doesn't actually come out argumentative, even if it's still kneejerk defensive. Like, okay, maybe they've got different tastes in beer -- which, how would that be surprising, that would literally be the last thing to surprise him, today, along with probably picking up the only kind of beer McGarrett doesn't like, because that is how Danny's luck works -- but how the hell is he supposed to know? It's not information that got volunteered. The guy didn't give him any preferences. Danny's just doing his best, all right, and he doesn't actually mind Longboard. Lacking Yuengling, this is the only decent lager on the island, and, sue him, he figured most people like lager, it's about as inoffensive as beer gets.
So maybe there's some tension threading itself through his shoulders, getting ready for a fight, when he's turning the key and the engine is growling to life and he's looking over at the plastic bag, up at McGarrett's face. "You don't like that kind?"
Set and ready for the answer to be no, because of course it is, because it's not like he can get a damn thing right today, or ever, as Rachel, the Chief, the world keeps reminding him.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2014-09-07 04:43 pm (UTC)By the grace of God -- or something less mystical, maybe -- it doesn't actually come out argumentative, even if it's still kneejerk defensive. Like, okay, maybe they've got different tastes in beer -- which, how would that be surprising, that would literally be the last thing to surprise him, today, along with probably picking up the only kind of beer McGarrett doesn't like, because that is how Danny's luck works -- but how the hell is he supposed to know? It's not information that got volunteered. The guy didn't give him any preferences. Danny's just doing his best, all right, and he doesn't actually mind Longboard. Lacking Yuengling, this is the only decent lager on the island, and, sue him, he figured most people like lager, it's about as inoffensive as beer gets.
So maybe there's some tension threading itself through his shoulders, getting ready for a fight, when he's turning the key and the engine is growling to life and he's looking over at the plastic bag, up at McGarrett's face. "You don't like that kind?"
Set and ready for the answer to be no, because of course it is, because it's not like he can get a damn thing right today, or ever, as Rachel, the Chief, the world keeps reminding him.
Whatever. He's not going back in for more.