[He's sitting at the bottom of the stairwell trying to smoke a clove cigarette and not feel two inches tall after another hysterical screaming-shoving fit by his sister, about how he's being a fakeity fake faker who ruins everything. This followed a fit about how none of her friends live around here and he clearly wants her to be a lonely weird freak like him.
He knows she's upset. He knows she's had a bad day, and probably just can't take losing more than she has.
But it would be a whole lot easier if she didn't so obviously believe everything she yelled, with the wounded tones of fresh discovery.
So he's sitting back, wondering what the point of it all is, while thinking various quiet iterations of 'fuck me'.
He never claimed to be a good influence. He was trying, though.
Whatever, maybe it's just not something he can do.
He's on clove number two, thinking about stubbing it carefully into the back of his hand, when he remembers that hand's gone missing. No fake Tyler Durden kiss for him, anymore.
This just seems still more depressing after all the careful nights picking the right people to add to the shape of the lips he'd been making there, as symbolic as any tattoo, and as personal an homage, taut behind his palm, throbbing in an almost post-coital way as it healed and he drew, week after week, dom after dome, explaining his intentions and asking them to be a part of it... building up memories into something you could look at.
Ah. Well. Fuck my life. He's too tired even to feel rancor over it anymore.
He's just drifting off and absently wondering if the residents will think he's a homeless guy when Neil notices him.
He straightens up immediately at 'Captain Hook', and for a moment is just so...grateful he can't find words.
Then he catches himself and breaks into a wide, genuine grin.]
[He stands fast, fumbling to smooth himself down, and fumble his fake cigarette away, hand outstretched to the blank-faced guy who hugs strangers at parties.
It's the fumbling that gives away just how glad he is to see you right now. The rest of him is still quiet, almost mumbling, not sure if hugging is a thing right now or that's a misread. He'd like to hug you, anyway, but hangs back, because, you know, that might be weird.]
/Catches wandering Neil and adopts him
He knows she's upset. He knows she's had a bad day, and probably just can't take losing more than she has.
But it would be a whole lot easier if she didn't so obviously believe everything she yelled, with the wounded tones of fresh discovery.
So he's sitting back, wondering what the point of it all is, while thinking various quiet iterations of 'fuck me'.
He never claimed to be a good influence.
He was trying, though.
Whatever, maybe it's just not something he can do.
He's on clove number two, thinking about stubbing it carefully into the back of his hand, when he remembers that hand's gone missing. No fake Tyler Durden kiss for him, anymore.
This just seems still more depressing after all the careful nights picking the right people to add to the shape of the lips he'd been making there, as symbolic as any tattoo, and as personal an homage, taut behind his palm, throbbing in an almost post-coital way as it healed and he drew, week after week, dom after dome, explaining his intentions and asking them to be a part of it... building up memories into something you could look at.
Ah. Well. Fuck my life. He's too tired even to feel rancor over it anymore.
He's just drifting off and absently wondering if the residents will think he's a homeless guy when Neil notices him.
He straightens up immediately at 'Captain Hook', and for a moment is just so...grateful he can't find words.
Then he catches himself and breaks into a wide, genuine grin.]
Neil?
It's... Neil, right? Corey Taylor? Princess Jasmine? Something about Princess Bride?
I'll be damned.
[He stands fast, fumbling to smooth himself down, and fumble his fake cigarette away, hand outstretched to the blank-faced guy who hugs strangers at parties.
It's the fumbling that gives away just how glad he is to see you right now. The rest of him is still quiet, almost mumbling, not sure if hugging is a thing right now or that's a misread. He'd like to hug you, anyway, but hangs back, because, you know, that might be weird.]
Shit, man, what're you doing here?