snowblindrpg | [log] /gently spams the comm [closed]

Entry tags:

[log] /gently spams the comm [closed]

Characters: Clarke, Jay and Tim
Location B4, building 24
Date: Day 13, night
Summary: Tim is expecting a visitor. He gets two!
Warnings: IDIOTS

[ It's hard to believe - some people might say unprecedented - but today marks a very special day in Timothy Wright's Adventures In Snowhell. Hold onto your weather-appropriate woolly bobble hats, kids, because this one's a doozy.

Tim feels pretty okay.

Yeah, sure, he's spent the day shut up indoors hallucinating hospital walls instead of dilapidated suburban ones. And there may or may not have been a point when he was descending the stairs and thought he saw a dead body in a hoodie at the bottom of them. But let's be completely real here: for Tim, that just means it's Thursday. Or. Or whatever day it actually is. You get the picture.

Anyway. The reason he's scaled to the lofty emotional heights of "pretty okay" is because Jay is here. Finally. It's taken days, but the multiverse's shittiest pair of socially-maladjusted dweebs is back in business.

Oh, and Jay has just punched Tim in the face for that whole dying thing. But whatever, he hits like a noodle and Tim's blossoming hobo beard cushioned the blow anyway. Yeah, Tim feels great. Not that you'd know by the way Jay's fussing over him like a dork. ]

Seriously, just - just stop. I'm fine. And I found you a thing.

[ He unzips the main pocket of his bag - one that's bulging rather alarmingly - and produces a very rumpled, very fuchsia windbreaker coat. The bag also gives up a pocket sewing kit, which Tim opens up as he flomps onto the nearest armchair. ]

Put that on and give me your shirt, I'll stitch it up.

[ And fiddling with his rainbow scarf in a slightly defensive manner: ]

Uh, Brian taught me how to. Years ago. So.

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[Jay is, to be perfectly honest, ever so slightly hesitant to put on the coat. It's very fuchsia. He rarely wears bright colours anyway, and this is bright enough to be practically incandescent.

It's bound to be warmer than the jacket he brought here with him, though. Especially if he has to take his shirt off. Which he is also somewhat hesitant about, but. It does have a bullet hole in it, and Jay sure as hell does not know how to sew.

Off comes the shirt and on goes the coat. Enjoy the view of Jay's pasty, scrawny-ass hairless chest.]

How am I not even surprised that Brian knew how to sew.

[Is there anything the guy didn't know how to do? What a fucking dreamboat.]

[ Clarke's been a one woman wolf-pack most of the time. She's stopped cautiously stepping inside, wondering if anyone else is there, and started walking in like she's the only person for miles. Because usually, she is. The geek squad might hear the door opening and closing, followed by heavy footsteps — her boots sound like that even when they aren't filled with snow. Clarke, however, does not hear them. Unfortunately.

She strolls in, swinging her trusty golf club listlessly. It's been a long day and, quite frankly, all she cares about right now is finding somewhere warm to lie down.

Instead, she gets to see Jay, shirtless, with a fuchsia windbreaker on. What did she just walk in on. ]

Oh, [ is all she can think of to say for a second. She doesn't even know where to look. It's just really colorful in here, okay. ] Sorry, I— [ Wait. She knows that humiliating scarf. ] Tim?

[ Then she's looking back at Jay, pasty Jay, and feeling decidedly out of place. ] Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. [ On whatever this is.......... ]

[ Since Tim has been in hallucinatory cabin fever cuckoo land all day, he naturally tunes out any footsteps that he might be catching on the edge of his hearing. He's busy, okay. Busy sewing up a hole in his BFF's shirt. With silver thread! Jay's going to look snazzy.

As a result, he's completely unprepared for someone appearing in the doorway. He's also completely unprepared for that person to be someone he recognises.

Who recognises him.

Oh god he's wearing the goddamn fucking piece of fuck scarf Jesus pissing Christ. What is his life. What are his choices. ]

Errgheh--

[ That's not a word. That's a strangled coughy sound that all Tims make when they're trying to surreptitiously take off a scarf and only succeed in tightening it around their throat. ]

I, uh, this - um - Cl-- uh --Clarke?

[ There it is. The most singularly pathetic display of ineptitude the world has ever known. He glances sideways towards Pasty McUnfashionable, still struggling to get the scarf off in the most subtle way possible. Help him, Jay. He needs your uncoolness to somehow eclipse his own. ]

[Jay does briefly look up at the sound of footsteps, but Tim doesn't seem to pay it any mind so he ignores it as well. It's not like there aren't weird sounds in this town all the time anyway. Plus, he's busy trying on his hideous new coat!

Then Clarke walks in and everything is terrible.]

Oh, uh.

[Oh god, what does he do? Does he cover himself up, thus clinging further to the hideousness? Or does he disassociate himself with the shame, leaving himself completely topless and probably looking really weird?

He decides the middle path is the safest and just stays as he is.]

You're not- I mean, it's-

Hi.

[ Clarke never wanted this.

She clears her throat awkwardly, debating whether to just leave and find another house or try to salvage this uncomfortable situation. It's getting late, and it's cold as hell out there, so she chooses the latter. ]

Hi.

[ She reaches her hand out towards Jay, saying, ] I don't think we've met before. It's nice to meet you, I'm Clarke.

[ Her eyes wander towards the snazzy silver thread, and suddenly it all makes sense. So that's why he's shirtless. ]

Did something happen to your shirt?

[ Jay Merrick fucking delivers. With his unconquerable dorkiness eclipsing Tim's own, he manages to wrangle the scarf from around his neck and stuff it behind the armchair.

There. All clear. Thanks, Jay's Pasty Chest.

Since the hole is only a small one, it hasn't taken much fixing despite having a couple of weeks' worth of wear and tear. As a result, Tim's basically done - he finishes up a little haphazardly, gives the stitching a quick once-over and tosses the shirt back towards Jay so he can try and regain a little of his dignity.

He probably should have given a heads up before lobbing it, but. Jay's talking! It's rude to interrupt. Plus he can't fail to notice it heading his way, right? Only a complete fucking idiot would fail to catch it and just have it smack into their face or something.

Yes.

Only a complete fucking idiot. ]

[Jay stares at the offered hand for a second like he doesn't know what it's for before shaking it. Smooth.]

I'm Jay. Or, uh, I guess you'd know me better as MarbleHornets.

[And then the shirt smacks into his face because he completely fails to notice it heading his way.

Spoilers: Jay is a complete fucking idiot.

It takes him a moment to untangle it from his head, another to shoot Tim an annoyed look, and one more yet to remember that Clarke asked him a question.]

I got shot.

[There sure aren't any scars on his stomach corresponding to the hole in the shirt, though.]

[ Clarke's used to dumb dorky boys screwing around, has two of her own back home, but they aren't Jasper and Monty. She can't shake her head and laugh, or tease them — it's not the right situation. Instead, she purses her lips, biting back any amusement.

In other circumstances, she would have commented on Jay being MarbleHornets; she barely knew anything about him, and suddenly she's seeing him in the flesh. She now knows his name and his face, too — he looks different than expected, but perhaps that's just because she never expected him to be donning a fuschia jacket. His comment about being shot, however, draws her attention far more than this discovery. ]

Where?

[ She immediately glances down at Jay's scrawny body, because that's totally comfortable for him. ]

I have medical experience, I can treat the wound. [ Her gaze flickers back up to flit between Jay and Tim. ] What happened?

Don't-- uh, it's not. It's not a fresh thing. He doesn't need treatment.

[ He gives Jay an uncomfortable, apologetic look. Sorry for the shirt-thwapping, dude. And also for being partially responsible for drawing attention to this whole thing. That too.

He's not sure if Jay's comfortable with the whole telling-people-he's-dead thing yet, so he just. Trails off without explaining further. He trusts Clarke well enough, but he's not about to start making decisions like that on Jay's behalf. If he wants to tell her, he will. ]

[He twists the shirt in his hands uncertainly. This really isn't a subject he's even remotely comfortable with, but... he already told Al, and he's talked about it with Tim quite a bit. If he can handle telling a weird armour-wearing kid over the network, he can handle telling a sort-of friend in person.

Even if he's not wearing a shirt.]

I, uh, I died, actually. So. Yeah, treatment isn't really a thing. There's no wound anymore.

[ Oh. Oh.

She isn't quite sure how to respond to that — are apologies in order? Clarke figured it was correct to assume someone had never died before, but these days, she doesn't know. God, she's the only one in the room who hasn't died before; the realization that things have irrevocably changed hits her like a truck. Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore. ]

Oh— no wound, that's—

[ She almost says that it's good there's no wound anymore, but then she's claiming it's good that Jay died. At the same time, though, he came back. Just because the heart stops doesn't mean you're really dead, not anymore. ]

If you do get hurt again, don't hesitate to contact me. I'll be able to help. [ A pause. Then— ] Wait, does someone have a gun here?

No.

[ No use in being a cagey lil shit when that would only result in people panicking about a gun that doesn't exist, right? ]

He, uh, he got - got shot back home. It - well, I know I told you about Alex, so...

[ He shoots Jay an apologetic look. Then blinks and just. Tugs on his own collar.

PUT THE SHIRT BACK ON DUDE YOU LOOK FUCKING RIDICULOUS ]

[Jay just shrugs. That's pretty much all that needs to be said about it, as far as he's concerned. Alex fucking Kralie.

He also completely misses any cues to put the shirt on. YOU CAN'T JUST START CHANGING IN THE MIDDLE OF A CONVERSATION THAT'S RUDE GOSH.]

Oh my g—

[ It's probably rude to say that. It's definitely rude to say that, actually, but Clarke's mind is blown. Dead before he even arrived here? It worries her, makes her think that Tim's afterlife theory may actually be true—

But it can't be. It isn't logical. None of this is logical, a little voice in her head argues, but she pushes it aside. ]

I mean. Oh. I'm sorry. I just— I swear I get more confused by the second.

That makes three of us. Not that anybody's complaining about people coming back or anything, just - you know.

[ He shrugs, then gives Jay an exasperated look. ]

I-- put your shirt on.

[ CLARKE IS GOING TO THINK THEY'RE A COUPLE OF IDIOTS AT THIS RATE AND THAT IS SO NOT TRUE IN ANY WAY!! ]

Oh, uh. Right.

[OH YEAH HE PROBABLY SHOULD PUT HIS SHIRT ON.

Never mind Jay while he awkwardly shrugs off the windbreaker and puts on the shirt. Rejoice in no longer having to look at his pasty chest!]

[ goodbye pasty chest

Clarke frowns, furrowing her brow; it just doesn't make sense. Why take someone who's dead? ]

Are you sure you were—? That they didn't just remove the bullet and patch up your wounds?

I found his body. He was dead.

[ Tim is very pointedly not looking at anyone as he pipes up. He is, in fact, very absorbed in putting the needle and thread back into his shitty lil pocket sewing kit. WOW this is sure taking up all of his attention, hot dang. ]

I made absolutely sure. So.

[And Jay is weirdly absorbed in folding up his shitty windbreaker. Funny coincidence.]

I don't remember actually, like. Dying. But I know I didn't exactly have the greatest chances of making it, and. yeah.

[He absently at where the bullet wound no longer is.]

There's no scar or anything. It's as if the wound was never even there.

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