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Quarantine, Day Nineteen


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#1 Guest_AlphaMonkey_*

Posted 21 June 2006 - 04:55 PM

Notebrains:

Not much to say this time out except... Mood-Swing-Alert. Duck and cover, kids. :shock: And watch out for the bad language while you're out there. :wink:

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Quarantine Day Nineteen
November 25, 2005


I woke up pretty early the next morning. And I learned something: sleeping on mall benches sucks. My neck hurt, my back hurt, and I had grill marks all over my arms from the bench’s metal surface. And I was still cold.

And now I was cranky, too.

I’d spent the night shivering, huddled up underneath a thin blanket, and feeling decidedly lonely. I had no one to talk to, not even a shoulder to cry on, and I’d hated every last minute of it.

Jeff hadn’t left yet. He was still in the same place I’d last seen him, facing away from me, and working on fixing himself some pre-packaged breakfast. I’m sure he heard me shuffling around behind him – I wasn’t making too much of an effort to stay quiet – but he didn’t turn around to look at me.

Yeah. He’s still mad.

I’d hoped that a night’s sleep would have helped some… would have cleared the air between us… and maybe it did, a little. But he wouldn’t even look at me. And after last night, when I’d really needed a friend, and he’d basically told me to go to hell, I wanted to poke him in the eye with a spork.

Bastard.

Anyway, all things considered, he hated me, I hated him… I guess, by cartoon logic, that made us perfectly even.

Hmph. So much for time healing all wounds.

Sometimes, time is like salt. How’s that for something to stitch on your little Whitman’s sampler? I mean, crocheting sampler…

Um…

Um…

Whitman’s Sampler…

Sweet, merciful God, I want chocolate.

Sigh.


All right. So, last night, I was feeling a little glum. I was lonely, I wanted a friend, and I wanted Jefferson to stop being mad at me and be that friend. That was enough for me to temporarily stop feeling mad at him and to even indulge in feeling a little guilty about how things had gone down between us. But the dawning of a new morning had brought with it the renewed wrath of the Irish. I still hadn’t forgiven him for his nosiness, and I was even more annoyed that he’d seen how depressed I was the night previous and had pointedly ignored it. To be honest, I was feeling a little betrayed.

Judas. You bastard.

Of course, while it might have made -me- feel better to scream my head off at him, it really wouldn’t do either of us any good. At least I had enough rationality left in my head to know that much. Thank God for small favors and all that. Instead, I stared at the back of his head for a few seconds, contemplated throwing heavy, metallic objects at it, quickly discarded that idea, and decided, instead, to go fumbling into my own pack - the one I’d been using before Jeff had given me that other one. I fished out the last item tucked away inside.

The MRE container had a long, shallow dent running along one side, but these things were designed to be dropped out of planes thousands of feet in the air. I figured that a few dents in the packaging wouldn’t be all that big a deal.

Still sitting in silence, I got to work heating up the meal’s components. That took a couple of minutes, which were filled with more silence… and after that, a couple more minutes with just us chewing and facing in opposite directions. Outside, heavy rain kept pattering against the roof and skylights of the mall. The sky was gray, and I couldn’t make out anything but thick, cloudy soup through the glass. Got the feeling that once outside, I wouldn’t be able to see much more than a few feet in front of me, it was pouring that much.

“Lousy weather,” I said.

Talking about the weather. So not a cliché at all… no, sir…

I think I got a grunt in response, but I had to strain to hear it.

All right, fine. You want to play that game, I can play that game… and I’m gonna damn well make sure I win it. Let’s get something straight, boy. You are not, repeat, not, going to start a pissing match with me and walk clean away from it. Nuh uh, not happening. You want a fight, son? You’ve got one. It’s on.

You know that phrase, “if looks could kill?” Well, if looks could kill, I’d have trepanned twin holes in the back of his skull, gored them out the front, and sautéed all the little, bitty brain cells in between. “Yeah. Great conversational skills, you prick.”

That got his attention. He turned around, slowly, his eyes narrowing to little slits as he glared at me, and his mouth quirking into this cocky, and irritated-looking little sneer. “Likewise, jackass.”

“Bastard.”

“Bitch.”

My voice was coming out as a low rumble in the back of my throat – the way a wolf or a bear would growl at you right before ripping you into little strips of blood-soaked meat. I think I even took a couple of threatening steps in his direction, but I don’t remember it happening. “You know, I really ought to kick your ass,” I snarled at him, stabbing a finger into his chest. Hard. “You’re nosy. You stick your damn, ugly mug into things where it doesn’t belong, and then, when I do need you, you get all friggin’ ‘wounded pride’ on me, and go off and sulk. Well, screw you, Jefferson Gray.” I looked him right in the eye. I didn’t even blink. I wanted him to see how angry I was.

You son of a bitch. You push and you shove. You demand answers that I can’t give you, and when I finally tell you something, just to shut you up, it turns out to be something you don’t want to hear. And what do you do? What do you do? You blame me. After all that, you have the nerve to blame me?!

Fuck. You.


“Oh yeah, it’s all my damn fault, isn’t it?” he said, raising his voice at me, “I put myself out there to try and help you because I know something’s wrong in your head, and what do I get for it? You call me a dumbass. You take a big, giant shit on my offer. You treat me like I’m some stranger, some ignorant retard who doesn’t know a damn thing about you, and not someone who’s supposedly your friend. And I’m just supposed to forget all that at the drop of a hat, and stop being angry, because Boo-friggin-hoo, -you’re- lonely and -you- need a bit of coddling? Bullshit, Nixon.”

That’s what this is about? What are you, five years old? Crying home to Mommy because Colleen’s a big ol’ meanie and she said some nasty things to you? Well, too bad… so sad, you selfish, petulant piece of shit!

I’d warned him. The growling was a warning. Fair warning. And he’d been… stupid enough not to pay it any attention. And now… now he was out of chances.

I don’t even remember thinking about it – I’d paced away from him, and suddenly, my feet had carried me back. I ended up standing right in front of him. Face to face, staring him right in the eye. My fists were clenched, and my teeth were grinding together. I leaned in towards him, going for the kill, and I saw him try to back away a little. I savored the feeling.

“I don’t believe this. I do -not- believe it. You’re throwing a damn hissy-fit over that?! For fuck’s sake, Jeff, I died. I was dead. I was gone. Short, red guy with a bad goatee and a pitchfork for a tail was all set to take me home with him, and suddenly there I am, back on the street, lying on cold asphalt, coughing up blood, everything hurting like I took a header into a bed of nails, and for the life of me, I can’t remember a single thing that happened while I was dead. I could have killed someone. Me. Killed someone, only I don’t even know because I was -dead-. And what? You show up, acting all ‘Concerned Citizen,’ and I’m just supposed to up and talk about it?! That’s real brilliant deductive reasoning there, Chief. Smooth as a goddamn baby’s ass.”

I’d been staring directly at him the entire time, not looking anywhere else… but my vision had started going blurry partway through, and there was something warm running down my cheeks-

“I’m sorry,” he finally said after a few long moments of silence.

“What?” I wiped my eyes on my sleeve – even blinked a couple of times to make sure I was seeing straight.

He was still standing in the same place, but his shoulders had sagged. His chin drooped, and his eyes were closed. His arms hung limply at his sides.

“I said I was sorry.”

Sorry? Sorry?! Look at what you did to me! Look!

“Oh, now you’re sorry,” I said, my voice cracking as I spoke.

I hit him in the face. Split his lip, too.

Good.

#2 Guest_VigaHrolf_*

Posted 22 June 2006 - 02:02 PM

Not much to say this time out except... Mood-Swing-Alert. Duck and cover, kids. :shock: And watch out for the bad language while you're out there. :lol:


Ooooh. Bad language! :(

I woke up pretty early the next morning. And I learned something: sleeping on mall benches sucks. My neck hurt, my back hurt, and I had grill marks all over my arms from the bench’s metal surface. And I was still cold.

And now I was cranky, too.


ID: "You know, I can't say I blame you. And you're shorter than me. Yikes."

Jeff hadn’t left yet. He was still in the same place I’d last seen him, facing away from me, and working on fixing himself some pre-packaged breakfast. I’m sure he heard me shuffling around behind him – I wasn’t making too much of an effort to stay quiet – but he didn’t turn around to look at me.

Yeah. He’s still mad.


Well... some nasty things have been said. Most people don't get over that too quickly.

I’d hoped that a night’s sleep would have helped some… would have cleared the air between us… and maybe it did, a little. But he wouldn’t even look at me. And after last night, when I’d really needed a friend, and he’d basically told me to go to hell, I wanted to poke him in the eye with a spork.


ID: "Properly deployed, the spork can be a truly devastating weapon."

TK: "How's that?"

ID: "If you pack a bunch of them in a can with some C4."

TK: "Well, yeah, I guess that'd do it. I didn't take you for the blowing stuff up type."

ID: "I'm not. But that's about the only way you're going to kill someone with a spork."

Anyway, all things considered, he hated me, I hated him… I guess, by cartoon logic, that made us perfectly even.


ID: "Ah yes, cartoon logic. Right."

Hmph. So much for time healing all wounds.

Sometimes, time is like salt. How’s that for something to stitch on your little Whitman’s sampler? I mean, crocheting sampler…


ID: "Yeah, whoever said that was definitely selling something. Bastards."

Um…

Um…

Whitman’s Sampler…

Sweet, merciful God, I want chocolate.

Sigh.


ID: "Chocolate.... oh man, I'd almost managed to forget sweet, creamy chocolate.... Damn it!"

All right. So, last night, I was feeling a little glum. I was lonely, I wanted a friend, and I wanted Jefferson to stop being mad at me and be that friend. That was enough for me to temporarily stop feeling mad at him and to even indulge in feeling a little guilty about how things had gone down between us. But the dawning of a new morning had brought with it the renewed wrath of the Irish. I still hadn’t forgiven him for his nosiness, and I was even more annoyed that he’d seen how depressed I was the night previous and had pointedly ignored it. To be honest, I was feeling a little betrayed.

Judas. You bastard.

Of course, while it might have made -me- feel better to scream my head off at him, it really wouldn’t do either of us any good. At least I had enough rationality left in my head to know that much. Thank God for small favors and all that. Instead, I stared at the back of his head for a few seconds, contemplated throwing heavy, metallic objects at it, quickly discarded that idea, and decided, instead, to go fumbling into my own pack - the one I’d been using before Jeff had given me that other one. I fished out the last item tucked away inside.


ID: "Pissing off your allies isn't exactly the best idea. Especially considering you still can't hit the broad side of a barn. From two feet away."

The MRE container had a long, shallow dent running along one side, but these things were designed to be dropped out of planes thousands of feet in the air. I figured that a few dents in the packaging wouldn’t be all that big a deal.


ID: "MREs."

TK: "Rare you get three lies in one phrase."

ID: "Better than that hospital food. Or eating Twinkies.'

TK: "I like Twinkies."

ID: "Nutcase."

Still sitting in silence, I got to work heating up the meal’s components. That took a couple of minutes, which were filled with more silence… and after that, a couple more minutes with just us chewing and facing in opposite directions. Outside, heavy rain kept pattering against the roof and skylights of the mall. The sky was gray, and I couldn’t make out anything but thick, cloudy soup through the glass. Got the feeling that once outside, I wouldn’t be able to see much more than a few feet in front of me, it was pouring that much.


And the rain comes pouring down....

“Lousy weather,” I said.

Talking about the weather. So not a cliché at all… no, sir…


Nah.

All right, fine. You want to play that game, I can play that game… and I’m gonna damn well make sure I win it. Let’s get something straight, boy. You are not, repeat, not, going to start a pissing match with me and walk clean away from it. Nuh uh, not happening. You want a fight, son? You’ve got one. It’s on.


You know, I think this little paragraph sums up Colleen really well. Or at least part of her personality. She is competitive and she -has- to win any verbal battle.

You know that phrase, “if looks could kill?” Well, if looks could kill, I’d have trepanned twin holes in the back of his skull, gored them out the front, and sautéed all the little, bitty brain cells in between. “Yeah. Great conversational skills, you prick.”


TK: "Impressive. But I've seen stares out of Inara that could blast a two foot hole in a battleship."

ID: *glares* "Thanks."

TK: "ArrrgghhhH!!!!'

ID: *rolls eyes and glares* "Funny."

TK: "I know."

That got his attention. He turned around, slowly, his eyes narrowing to little slits as he glared at me, and his mouth quirking into this cocky, and irritated-looking little sneer. “Likewise, jackass.”

“Bastard.”

“Bitch.”


Wee!!!

My voice was coming out as a low rumble in the back of my throat – the way a wolf or a bear would growl at you right before ripping you into little strips of blood-soaked meat. I think I even took a couple of threatening steps in his direction, but I don’t remember it happening. “You know, I really ought to kick your ass,” I snarled at him, stabbing a finger into his chest. Hard. “You’re nosy. You stick your damn, ugly mug into things where it doesn’t belong, and then, when I do need you, you get all friggin’ ‘wounded pride’ on me, and go off and sulk. Well, screw you, Jefferson Gray.” I looked him right in the eye. I didn’t even blink. I wanted him to see how angry I was.


Captain! Temper levels increasing! Uncontrolled reaction building!

You son of a bitch. You push and you shove. You demand answers that I can’t give you, and when I finally tell you something, just to shut you up, it turns out to be something you don’t want to hear. And what do you do? What do you do? You blame me. After all that, you have the nerve to blame me?!

Fuck. You.


Coolant failure imminent!

“Oh yeah, it’s all my damn fault, isn’t it?” he said, raising his voice at me, “I put myself out there to try and help you because I know something’s wrong in your head, and what do I get for it? You call me a dumbass. You take a big, giant shit on my offer. You treat me like I’m some stranger, some ignorant retard who doesn’t know a damn thing about you, and not someone who’s supposedly your friend. And I’m just supposed to forget all that at the drop of a hat, and stop being angry, because Boo-friggin-hoo, -you’re- lonely and -you- need a bit of coddling? Bullshit, Nixon.”


ID: "That's a couple of photon torpedoes to the engineering section."

Scribe: Are you jumping onboard my metaphor?

ID: "Well, it fits."

Scribe: Damn talkative characters.

ID: "Hey, you created me. Deal."

That’s what this is about? What are you, five years old? Crying home to Mommy because Colleen’s a big ol’ meanie and she said some nasty things to you? Well, too bad… so sad, you selfish, petulant piece of shit!


Now that's some fire!

I’d warned him. The growling was a warning. Fair warning. And he’d been… stupid enough not to pay it any attention. And now… now he was out of chances.


Core breach! Core breach in progress!

I don’t even remember thinking about it – I’d paced away from him, and suddenly, my feet had carried me back. I ended up standing right in front of him. Face to face, staring him right in the eye. My fists were clenched, and my teeth were grinding together. I leaned in towards him, going for the kill, and I saw him try to back away a little. I savored the feeling.


There is something... almost intoxicating about incandescent rage. It can feel soooo good. Which is a problem, considering what that level of rage can make you do.

“I don’t believe this. I do -not- believe it. You’re throwing a damn hissy-fit over that?! For fuck’s sake, Jeff, I died. I was dead. I was gone. Short, red guy with a bad goatee and a pitchfork for a tail was all set to take me home with him, and suddenly there I am, back on the street, lying on cold asphalt, coughing up blood, everything hurting like I took a header into a bed of nails, and for the life of me, I can’t remember a single thing that happened while I was dead. I could have killed someone. Me. Killed someone, only I don’t even know because I was -dead-. And what? You show up, acting all ‘Concerned Citizen,’ and I’m just supposed to up and talk about it?! That’s real brilliant deductive reasoning there, Chief. Smooth as a goddamn baby’s ass.”


And the core finally went...

I can't imagine how that would make anyone feel... I just can't imagine that.... oh lord. Poor Coll.

I’d been staring directly at him the entire time, not looking anywhere else… but my vision had started going blurry partway through, and there was something warm running down my cheeks-


That much strong emotion... it can drag some of the others along.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said after a few long moments of silence.


Poor Jeff. He really didn't get it. He tried but she wasn't ready and .... ugh.

“What?” I wiped my eyes on my sleeve – even blinked a couple of times to make sure I was seeing straight.

He was still standing in the same place, but his shoulders had sagged. His chin drooped, and his eyes were closed. His arms hung limply at his sides.

“I said I was sorry.”


:) You really captured the dejection and sadness really well here.

Sorry? Sorry?! Look at what you did to me! Look!

“Oh, now you’re sorry,” I said, my voice cracking as I spoke.

I hit him in the face. Split his lip, too.

Good.


Ah that famous Irish temper.... usually more trouble than it's worth. :) Having one, I can certainly attest to it's lack of use at times.

Great chapter Alpha. You really hit hard with the emotional trauma going on and you really sank it home.

VH

#3 Guest_Theodur_*

Posted 23 June 2006 - 09:46 PM

Not much to say this time out except... Mood-Swing-Alert. Duck and cover, kids. :twisted: And watch out for the bad language while you're out there. :roll:


Not sure what to make of this warning, honestly. ;)

Jeff hadn’t left yet. He was still in the same place I’d last seen him, facing away from me, and working on fixing himself some pre-packaged breakfast. I’m sure he heard me shuffling around behind him – I wasn’t making too much of an effort to stay quiet – but he didn’t turn around to look at me.


Yeah. He’s still mad.


I still say he’s being a little petulant.

I’d hoped that a night’s sleep would have helped some… would have cleared the air between us… and maybe it did, a little. But he wouldn’t even look at me. And after last night, when I’d really needed a friend, and he’d basically told me to go to hell, I wanted to poke him in the eye with a spork.


Heheheheh. Okay, I’ve said once all I think about his behavior right now, so no reason to repeat myself. ;)

All right. So, last night, I was feeling a little glum. I was lonely, I wanted a friend, and I wanted Jefferson to stop being mad at me and be that friend. That was enough for me to temporarily stop feeling mad at him and to even indulge in feeling a little guilty about how things had gone down between us. But the dawning of a new morning had brought with it the renewed wrath of the Irish. I still hadn’t forgiven him for his nosiness, and I was even more annoyed that he’d seen how depressed I was the night previous and had pointedly ignored it. To be honest, I was feeling a little betrayed.


And I can understand that, too. I mean, he seemed to be so concerned about her problems, was once rebuffed – rudely, yes – but he’s now doing the 360-degrees spin and completely ignores her distress. So in her place I’d be asking myself – did you really care at all at first, or was it just for the sake of propriety? Okay, so we know it wasn’t, but it’s understandable that she could be doubting even that.

“Lousy weather,” I said.


Talking about the weather. So not a cliché at all… no, sir…


Weather chat, the most inane, insipid form of conversation.

That got his attention. He turned around, slowly, his eyes narrowing to little slits as he glared at me, and his mouth quirking into this cocky, and irritated-looking little sneer. “Likewise, jackass.”


“Bastard.”


“Bitch.”


Yay, let’s be friends again! *swings down some beer for friendship*

“Oh yeah, it’s all my damn fault, isn’t it?” he said, raising his voice at me, “I put myself out there to try and help you because I know something’s wrong in your head, and what do I get for it? You call me a dumbass. You take a big, giant shit on my offer. You treat me like I’m some stranger, some ignorant retard who doesn’t know a damn thing about you, and not someone who’s supposedly your friend. And I’m just supposed to forget all that at the drop of a hat, and stop being angry, because Boo-friggin-hoo, -you’re- lonely and -you- need a bit of coddling? Bullshit, Nixon.”


Well, he has got a point, but I mean, when you try to dig up something so potentially dangerous as the issues Colleen has, wouldn’t you expect to perhaps get some serious backlash? I mean, this isn’t just your regular everyday depression or something as simple as that, no?

“I don’t believe this. I do -not- believe it. You’re throwing a damn hissy-fit over that?! For fuck’s sake, Jeff, I died. I was dead. I was gone. Short, red guy with a bad goatee and a pitchfork for a tail was all set to take me home with him, and suddenly there I am, back on the street, lying on cold asphalt, coughing up blood, everything hurting like I took a header into a bed of nails, and for the life of me, I can’t remember a single thing that happened while I was dead. I could have killed someone. Me. Killed someone, only I don’t even know because I was -dead-. And what? You show up, acting all ‘Concerned Citizen,’ and I’m just supposed to up and talk about it?! That’s real brilliant deductive reasoning there, Chief. Smooth as a goddamn baby’s ass.”


That kind of experience will cause severe psychological problems in the most stable of men, and we know Coll wasn’t exactly stable to begin with. ;)

Sorry? Sorry?! Look at what you did to me! Look!


“Oh, now you’re sorry,” I said, my voice cracking as I spoke.


I hit him in the face. Split his lip, too.


Ouch. He should take this without throwing another drama, though. He obviously has to see that deep down she’s seriously not-okay.

#4 Guest_AlphaMonkey_*

Posted 26 June 2006 - 02:47 AM

Ooooh. Bad language!


You know, it's funny (and not in a good way,) but before I used to be very much hardline about "Bad language should only be used to make a point... it shouldn't be used excessively."

Now it seems like I'm putting a "bad language" tag at the beginning of every one of my story posts. I'm not sure what to think of that.

ID: "You know, I can't say I blame you. And you're shorter than me. Yikes."


CN: "It wasn't a fun experience. Of course, I'm just glad I'm not your size. I read somewhere that the whole sci-fi thing of making bugs or whatever giant-sized just wouldn't work because the way their bodies were designed, they couldn't handle being super-sized. Guess you managed to work around that problem, though. Good for you!" ;) :lol:

Well... some nasty things have been said. Most people don't get over that too quickly.


Some people do. But they're more forgiving sorts than I am.

ID: "If you pack a bunch of them in a can with some C4."

TK: "Well, yeah, I guess that'd do it. I didn't take you for the blowing stuff up type."

ID: "I'm not. But that's about the only way you're going to kill someone with a spork."


CN: "I didn't want to kill him. At least, not at that point. But making him roll around on the ground screaming 'Oh, God! My eye!' would have amused me some."

ID: "Chocolate.... oh man, I'd almost managed to forget sweet, creamy chocolate.... Damn it!"


CN: "Probably better that there's none left for you. You're starting to put on a little pudge..." (Pokes ID in the stomach) "Er... I feel like I just tried to stick my finger through a brick wall. Damn it..." :lol:

ID: "Pissing off your allies isn't exactly the best idea. Especially considering you still can't hit the broad side of a barn. From two feet away."


CN: "I know. I still need some practice. You wanna stand over there so I can use your gigantic, misshapen head as a target?" (Smirks)

TK: "I like Twinkies."

ID: "Nutcase."


JG: "They're actually not all that bad. I mean, if I had any right now, I'd eat 'em. Of course, I'd eat just about anything other than MREs if I had the chance."

You know, I think this little paragraph sums up Colleen really well. Or at least part of her personality. She is competitive and she -has- to win any verbal battle.


Very much so. Part of it is that it's the only type of fight she feels confident about winning. Inara's meta-jibes aside, Coll knows that she's not going to be of much use in a firefight or a fistfight or whatever. Her strength is in her wit, and so she feels all the more need to exercise it.

ID: *rolls eyes and glares* "Funny."

TK: "I know."


CN: "We're hit, we're hit! Going down! Everyone into crash positions, and for God's sake, don't get between the Yeti and her chocolate!" :)

There is something... almost intoxicating about incandescent rage. It can feel soooo good. Which is a problem, considering what that level of rage can make you do.


Yep. Thankfully, under normal circumstances, Colleen's learned to restrain her temper some. These, however, are far from normal circumstances, and her normal sense of control is just... not there.

I can't imagine how that would make anyone feel... I just can't imagine that.... oh lord. Poor Coll.


:D

Poor Jeff. He really didn't get it. He tried but she wasn't ready and .... ugh.


Right. Well... it took a lot of ugly, but he realizes it now... and Jeff being Jeff, he'll be sure to be extra careful in his efforts to bring her back. He's not going to abandon her. No way.

You really captured the dejection and sadness really well here.


Good to hear.

Edit: Hey, Post 3000! Wow! I wonder how much server space I've wasted with all this useless drivel I've thrown up on here... :D

#5 Guest_AlphaMonkey_*

Posted 26 June 2006 - 02:56 AM

I still say he’s being a little petulant.


Of course he is. But so is she. Does she have a reason to be pissy? Yes, she does. Does he? Yes, he does. Granted, her reason is a lot more severe, and he'll realize that. He's mad, but he's not a jerk.

So in her place I’d be asking myself – did you really care at all at first, or was it just for the sake of propriety? Okay, so we know it wasn’t, but it’s understandable that she could be doubting even that.


Exactly. Under normal circumstances, she'd never doubt him... and indeed, he'd never doubt her. Under normal circumstances, he'd realize that if she was in a bad mood, he should just steer clear... that if he offered his help and she turned him down, that he should just wait until she's ready. But bear in mind that these are definitely ABnormal circumstances. She has no idea how to deal with what happened, and he doesn't, either... hence his pushing her... and then she pushed back, and he's confused and a little angry because as far as he can tell right now, she -needs- his help, and she won't -let- him help.

Weather chat, the most inane, insipid form of conversation.


CN: "I couldn't think of anything else, ok? I mean, what was I gonna do? Just walk up and say 'Ok, so I know you're pissed, but let's just forget about that, because it sucks when we're both angry.' Like -that- would have helped anything."

Yay, let’s be friends again! *swings down some beer for friendship*


Ja! Bier fuer Freundschaft! ;)

mean, this isn’t just your regular everyday depression or something as simple as that, no?


Right... on some level he understands that... but if your best friend said they'd died and didn't want to talk about it... but you knew they were suffering... well... what would -you- do? It's not an experience any of us has had before, right? You're lost and completely unsure of what happens next.

That kind of experience will cause severe psychological problems in the most stable of men, and we know Coll wasn’t exactly stable to begin with.


CN: "Are you saying I'm crazy?" :lol:

Ouch. He should take this without throwing another drama, though. He obviously has to see that deep down she’s seriously not-okay.


Yep. That point just hit home. You'll see how he reacts next section.

#6 Guest_Coutelier_*

Posted 20 July 2006 - 10:15 PM

Not much to say this time out except... Mood-Swing-Alert. Duck and cover, kids. :twisted: And watch out for the bad language while you're out there. :oops:


Never notice any. To be honest, you could begin and end every sentence with F ir C words and I would still think that's a rather polite conversation going on.

I woke up pretty early the next morning. And I learned something: sleeping on mall benches sucks. My neck hurt, my back hurt, and I had grill marks all over my arms from the bench’s metal surface. And I was still cold.


It certainly does. Once, I got very drunk and fell asleep just outside Waterloo station in London... when I woke up though people had left me money and a small cake.

Jeff hadn’t left yet. He was still in the same place I’d last seen him, facing away from me, and working on fixing himself some pre-packaged breakfast. I’m sure he heard me shuffling around behind him – I wasn’t making too much of an effort to stay quiet – but he didn’t turn around to look at me.

Yeah. He’s still mad.


Imoen: When Aerie gets mad she immediately goes into make up mode afterwards, which means being extra helpful. When Tarant gets mad... well he's always angry about something... then he refuses to say he's sorry until the other person does. Yeah, someone has to make an effort. That's the point I was going to make... eventually.

I’d hoped that a night’s sleep would have helped some… would have cleared the air between us… and maybe it did, a little. But he wouldn’t even look at me. And after last night, when I’d really needed a friend, and he’d basically told me to go to hell, I wanted to poke him in the eye with a spork.


Well, even though it would make you feel better, blinding your allies wouldn't be the best strategy in the circumstances.

All right. So, last night, I was feeling a little glum. I was lonely, I wanted a friend, and I wanted Jefferson to stop being mad at me and be that friend. That was enough for me to temporarily stop feeling mad at him and to even indulge in feeling a little guilty about how things had gone down between us. But the dawning of a new morning had brought with it the renewed wrath of the Irish. I still hadn’t forgiven him for his nosiness, and I was even more annoyed that he’d seen how depressed I was the night previous and had pointedly ignored it. To be honest, I was feeling a little betrayed.


Ah yes, that Irish blood... (downs whiskey)... have.... have I ever told you about the old country Colleen? The Songs! You wouldn't believe the songs... oh danny boooooy.... hmmhmmhmmhmmhmmmmhmmmm.... and his daddy married a whore...

The MRE container had a long, shallow dent running along one side, but these things were designed to be dropped out of planes thousands of feet in the air. I figured that a few dents in the packaging wouldn’t be all that big a deal.


Are those like the aid packages the US Air Force was dropping on the heads of people in Iraq?

“Lousy weather,” I said.

Talking about the weather. So not a cliché at all… no, sir…


Tarant: Well, you could ask what his other friends are all doing now but I think you know.

I think I got a grunt in response, but I had to strain to hear it.


You see, the human male doesn't need to waste air on things like words. We can communicate a lot of information using just a few grunts.

My voice was coming out as a low rumble in the back of my throat – the way a wolf or a bear would growl at you right before ripping you into little strips of blood-soaked meat. I think I even took a couple of threatening steps in his direction, but I don’t remember it happening. “You know, I really ought to kick your ass,” I snarled at him, stabbing a finger into his chest. Hard.


Imoen: What I find is that when you say things like that, you should be really sure that you actually can kick their ass.

“Oh yeah, it’s all my damn fault, isn’t it?” he said, raising his voice at me, “I put myself out there to try and help you because I know something’s wrong in your head, and what do I get for it? You call me a dumbass. You take a big, giant shit on my offer. You treat me like I’m some stranger, some ignorant retard who doesn’t know a damn thing about you, and not someone who’s supposedly your friend. And I’m just supposed to forget all that at the drop of a hat, and stop being angry, because Boo-friggin-hoo, -you’re- lonely and -you- need a bit of coddling? Bullshit, Nixon.”


Imoen: A few hugs would have solved most of the worlds problems... if someone had hugged Hitler after the first world war the second one would never have happened. Although, with the bad hair and the moustache, I can see why maybe no one would have wanted to.

That’s what this is about? What are you, five years old? Crying home to Mommy because Colleen’s a big ol’ meanie and she said some nasty things to you? Well, too bad… so sad, you selfish, petulant piece of shit!


Imoen: So annoying when grown ups act like children.

I’d warned him. The growling was a warning. Fair warning. And he’d been… stupid enough not to pay it any attention. And now… now he was out of chances.


Tarant: It's a warning when Tigers do it... skinny red heads can't really make it seem that threatening.

Aerie: Tigers don't growl... i-in fact, the only time they really make any noise at all is when they want to mate.

Tarant: Oh... well, that must be why he's so confused because he knows she's a lesbian.

“I don’t believe this. I do -not- believe it. You’re throwing a damn hissy-fit over that?! For fuck’s sake, Jeff, I died. I was dead. I was gone. Short, red guy with a bad goatee and a pitchfork for a tail was all set to take me home with him,


Imoen: Edwin? Wow... I can see why you'd be traumatised now.

and suddenly there I am, back on the street, lying on cold asphalt, coughing up blood, everything hurting like I took a header into a bed of nails, and for the life of me, I can’t remember a single thing that happened while I was dead. I could have killed someone. Me. Killed someone, only I don’t even know because I was -dead-. And what? You show up, acting all ‘Concerned Citizen,’ and I’m just supposed to up and talk about it?! That’s real brilliant deductive reasoning there, Chief. Smooth as a goddamn baby’s ass.”


I've been trying to think of how I would react. Obviously, I'd like to think I would just shrug it off saying I'm not responsible for anything I did while I was dead. But like most things, you would never really know unless it actually happened. Like the people who say 'yeah, if someone said that to me I would tear their heads off... etc', then it happens and they just freeze up altogether.

Sorry? Sorry?! Look at what you did to me! Look!

“Oh, now you’re sorry,” I said, my voice cracking as I spoke.

I hit him in the face. Split his lip, too.

Good.


Tarant: Pfff... lucky, I would say.

Good story... I'm really going to have to start trying to think of more useful comments for stuff though.

#7 Guest_AlphaMonkey_*

Posted 21 July 2006 - 03:17 AM

Never notice any. To be honest, you could begin and end every sentence with F ir C words and I would still think that's a rather polite conversation going on.


That's probably just because you're all jaded and cynical. :lol:

It certainly does. Once, I got very drunk and fell asleep just outside Waterloo station in London... when I woke up though people had left me money and a small cake.


Awwwwww... that's nice... of course, getting that piss drunk and then passing out in a public place like a train station is probably a -reeeeeeally- bad idea. Do that in New York, and you'd wake up with all your money gone... if you woke up at all. :twisted:

Ah yes, that Irish blood... (downs whiskey)... have.... have I ever told you about the old country Colleen? The Songs! You wouldn't believe the songs... oh danny boooooy.... hmmhmmhmmhmmhmmmmhmmmm.... and his daddy married a whore...


JG: "Huh. Well, she does act like that when she's been drinking... she just tends to sing more... modern songs... and by modern I mean "relatively modern..." Journey's 'Don't Stop Believin'?' Great song. Not exactly new."

You see, the human male doesn't need to waste air on things like words. We can communicate a lot of information using just a few grunts.


Exactly.

Hungry: Rrrrn.

Angry: Rrrrrrnnnnnn!

Sad: Rrrn.

Confused: Rrrrnn?

Horny: Rrrrn rrnnn...

:oops:

Imoen: What I find is that when you say things like that, you should be really sure that you actually can kick their ass.


CN: "I could -so- kick his ass... I mean, he's a total beanpole... should be a pushover... right? Right?"

Tarant: It's a warning when Tigers do it... skinny red heads can't really make it seem that threatening.


CN: "Hey, I have an idea... protagonist gets to talk... inane commentator shuts his cakehole."

Tarant: Oh... well, that must be why he's so confused because he knows she's a lesbian.


JG: "Not to mention that I'm going to be marrying her sister."

I've been trying to think of how I would react. Obviously, I'd like to think I would just shrug it off saying I'm not responsible for anything I did while I was dead. But like most things, you would never really know unless it actually happened. Like the people who say 'yeah, if someone said that to me I would tear their heads off... etc', then it happens and they just freeze up altogether.


Right, well... Colleen could never do that... underneath the bluster and such, she's just too compassionate and empathic a person to be able to take such an attitude. She'd consider it callous... and certainly, the "Catholic guilt" doesn't help.

Poor thing. ;)

#8 Guest_Coutelier_*

Posted 22 July 2006 - 11:17 AM

It certainly does. Once, I got very drunk and fell asleep just outside Waterloo station in London... when I woke up though people had left me money and a small cake.


Awwwwww... that's nice... of course, getting that piss drunk and then passing out in a public place like a train station is probably a -reeeeeeally- bad idea. Do that in New York, and you'd wake up with all your money gone... if you woke up at all. :D


Yes... the worst there is in England is drive by arguments :twisted:

You see, the human male doesn't need to waste air on things like words. We can communicate a lot of information using just a few grunts.


Exactly.

Hungry: Rrrrn.

Angry: Rrrrrrnnnnnn!

Sad: Rrrn.

Confused: Rrrrnn?

Horny: Rrrrn rrnnn...

:lol:


It's why women shouldn't be astronauts, because they'd waste all the ships oxygen on uneccessary chatter.




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