IC: CONTACT (THE PINES)

[royalpassport]

❝ This is Jefferson. If I don't pick up, it's probably because I don't want to talk to you. ❞

[ Voice | Action | Passive Aggressive Post-It Notes | Message Board Texts ]

Comments

[sybaritic]

Psh, Eliot would never call anyone weird! Except Quentin. And Alice. But they're precious nerds, so it's fine. Meanwhile, he slowly cracks open an eye and sits up, peering through the semi-darkness at the gamine, not-un-elf-like herself creature peering around the corner, sitting all the way up and smiling back, more inquisitive than cautious (because, you know, he lives) here. Probably he hasn't possessed the ability to blush since about age 12, but Jeff's Eliot makes him tip his chin down and affect something like throat clearing, or. You know, would be throat clearing on someone else.

"That's me," he elects to say, instead of. Trying to even quantify what's going on there. Much like Jefferson, elsewhere! How delightful. "In all my resplendent glory."

What, should he be trying to pretend he's not fabulous? Fffft. None of that. He pats the couch next to him with one giant paw, serenely, so apparently if anything is especially weird, it's not a train of thought Eliot has managed to board yet. "Sit down. I'm painfully sober, and that can't be allowed to continue."

To help put her at ease, perhaps, or because he's ridiculous, he nudges the table again, dildo accessory quivering on cue. "Is this your friend or mine?"

[onteamdyson]

It's pretty simple to Kenzi. The way Jefferson talks about Eliot, the way he looks... lighter than she's ever seen him before. It's almost like finding Eliot healed his heart. The change has been pretty obvious, even in such a short time. Jefferson's more himself. Less prone to fits of melancholy that hurt to watch because she knows there's nothing she can do to ease his pain. She can't bring Grace back. She can't help the cluttered lives in his head.

Eliot is helping. There's nothing complicated about that. Eliot makes Jefferson happy.

Kenzi smiles at the modest attitude and literally everything coming out of this guy's mouth. She likes him already. Even without being thoroughly saturated with alcohol, she'd like him already.

No longer needing the cover of the wall, she steps out into the room proper, looking more confident already. She still isn't sure if she trusts this guy 100%, but that's probably due to the fact that someone she trusted turned out to be lying to her and also killed a bunch of people and doesn't even feel bad about it. She slept in the same bed with a freakin' Nazi! You don't just get over that.

Pulling her hood up over her hair in a half-assed attempt at disguising her red, puffy eyes, she takes barely coordinated, very large, wobbly steps until she's close enough to the couch that she can just launch herself in its general direction and curl up into a ball next to Eliot.

"It's yours. I was trying to get Jeff to make friends. I think it came on a little too strong... so obviously I had to proudly display it on the table. Exposure therapy." She shrugs, smirking devilishly. "You have a lot of catching up to do. I'll replace your stash, I swear, it was kind of an ...emergency."

There's a reason they keep alcohol in the first aid kit! Of course... that's rubbing alcohol. Don't drink that. Maybe they could invent a first aid, emergency booze kit that is made entirely of tequila to induce blackouts and possible memory loss to numb the pain! Damn. They could be RICH!