Locked in a Room

[dishevelment]

Who: Everyone stuck in Pride HQ
What: This load of crap.
When: Nov. 1-5
Where Pride HQ
Warnings: Pg-13 minimum because Carnies. Tag if it gets over that.


Everyone got the same call-- and now we're all stuck in HQ with no hint of release in sight.

The reason? No one knows.

How are you coping?

Comments

[traumatizing]

None, really.

[He gives Jamie a thoughtful look, trying to think about the best way to say what he's thinking.] You're just... More aggressive then I'd expect someone in a boyband to be.

[mildwildchild]

[Jamie's not really sure how to respond to that - I'm not usually this bad, I wouldn't go around picking fights if I wasn't feeling all weird and fucked-up, I can't punch all of Predator in the face so I settled on you instead would all be technically accurate, but they hardly seem appropriate to share with someone who just clocked him in the head. So instead he just shrugs and looks away, resuming his trek to the bar.]

Yeah, well, just because we don't set our amps on fire or write songs about the aching darkness of our souls doesn't mean we're all a bunch of little prisses. [It comes out taut and strained but not overtly hostile. Like he's trying not to escalate things but only half-succeeding.]

[traumatizing]

[Terry snorts.] Guess I should know better than to listen to PR by now.

[He gives Jamie a half-amused look over his shoulder as they get to Pink, and he leads the way to the bar so he can ask for ice for his hand and Jamie's face. And a shot of something that'll burn appropriately while he's at it.]

[mildwildchild]

[Jamie returns Terry's look flatly, just on the off-chance he's being mocked - Jamie honestly can't be sure anymore, and tends to always suspect the worst anyway. When he gets to the bar he orders a shot of something too - Jaegermeister, to be exact - and claims a seat.]

So who are you, anyway? [Since Terry already knows (kind of) who Jamie is. Jamie's aware the guy looks familiar and is a fellow newb, but can't place him beyond that.]

[traumatizing]

My name's Terry. [He slumps tiredly against the bar with a sigh] I play in Cosmic Indulgence.

[mildwildchild]

You don't sound too thrilled about that.

[The drinks and ice arrive, and Jamie downs his shot, gestures for another around the exaggerated grimace that results, and gingerly puts an ice pack to his face.] GhhhhJesus. That's gonna bruise. [Probably. Maybe. He doesn't have a whole lot of experience in this area.]

[traumatizing]

Nah, I love it. It's just being stuck in the building, you know?

[He throws back his shot and orders a beer, he's gonna go nuts if this keeps up for much longer.]

[mildwildchild]

Yeah, shit sucks. 's enough to drive anyone crazy.

[He sighs and leans forward on the bar, leaning on his elbows while keeping the ice pack up against his face.] Wish they'd at least tell us what's going on. Terrorists or SARS outbreak or whatever. I think not knowing is the worst part.

[traumatizing]

Seriously. It's fucking ridiculous to keep us all cooped up without telling us why and expect us to be alright with it.

[mildwildchild]

Right? [The next round arrives and Jamie downs his second shot almost like a reflex, indicating this time for the bartender to leave the bottle.]

I wonder if it's just us - y'know, the newer guys - or if everyone else is being corralled like this too.

[traumatizing]

Shit, I hope it's everyone. [He takes a long drink to get the bad taste the idea of it being just the new kids put in his mouth.] We're not children.

[mildwildchild]

Yeah, well, that depends on who you ask, I guess. And they're not exactly big on fair treatment around here. I bet fucking Predator never did get called on that shit they pulled.

[If he sounded a little hostile dealing with Terry earlier, he sounds absolutely vicious now. He takes a swig directly from the bottle this time, and judging by the way he's gripping it, he doesn't intend to stop doing so for a while.]

[traumatizing]

[That gets a sharp laugh out of Terry and his expression settles into something intense. Jaw clenched tightly with the effort it takes him not to fly off into a rage about it.]

Of fucking course not. [He snorts] You make money like that, you can probably do whatever the hell you want.

[mildwildchild]

Well someday we're gonna make money like that and then we're gonna be able to do whatever we want.

[He takes another angry swig from the bottle and looks away in a sort of half-belligerent, half-thoughtful way. If that's a thing.] Except we're not gonna be assholes to people. At least I'm not. Not that much of an asshole, anyway.

[traumatizing]

I don't understand what kind of an asshole thinks that shit's okay.

[His grip on the drink is white-knuckled, everything in him straining at how angry thinking about the other night makes him.] And they laughed about it.

[mildwildchild]

I fucking know, right?! [He says this a little louder than is strictly necessary.] Like, "hahaha, let's grab a bunch of people out of their fucking rooms in the middle of the night and chase 'em around an amusement park. Hahaha, let's throw 'em into cages afterward and call them losers. Hahaha, let's lock someone into a fucking roller coaster car and pretend we're gonna make it go off the end of the rail. Just kidding! It's all a big, goddamn fucking joke!"

[He's worked up a pretty good head of steam by the end of this, and takes a nice, long drink from the bottle. He shudders visibly afterward, because Jaegermeister really was not meant to be drunk that way, and he just sort of slumps in a rage coma for a moment or two.]

So yeah. Fuck those guys.

[traumatizing]

[Terry huffs a small, humourless laugh, and raises his glass in a mock toast.]

Fuck those guys.