kingdomsofrain | tfln open post

Noo, Chauncey would never steal my signs. Just ignore them. Did I tell you he ignores my signs? I put a sign on his chair that said 'Do Not Sit Here This Is An Emergency Seat For Treavor's Friend Michael,' and he sat right down on the sign. I asked him what the fuck, he said I don't have friends, and then he kept working. Or looking at jokes. Whatever he was doing.

Probably I left it somewhere. You may or may not have noticed, but I make a lot of half-assed efforts when I'm drunk.

...Also when I'm not drunk, if we're being honest.

Hey, hey, that's my husband you're talking about. You're not allowed to be self-deprecating while I'm locked in bathrooms. It's the LAW.

If you're going to say mean things about my husband

who is my favorite person on the face of the planet

who punched someone twice his size for me

who has the most beautiful soul

you have to let me out of the bathroom so I can fight for his honor. With cuddles. Aggressive cuddles.

Just speaking truth, kid.

And I can't let you out if I can't get out of bed.

Which, you know. These pillows are pretty soft. Pretty good for aching heads.

And the bed keeps me safe from the law I broke. :o

:o You're keeping me locked in the bathroom to avoid punishment for breaking the law???

Cold. Cold, cold Fish.

Putting me in prison for your self-shit-talking crime. And taking all the pillows, too.

Mm... next time I break the doorknob - ALLEGEDLY break the doorknob - I'll leave a couple pillows in the tub, okay? Or maybe you should start taking pillows with you to the bathroom? Emergency pillows, just in case.

Also hey I didn't put you in there, I would never. :c

LEAVE you there, maybe. Just for let's say another hour or so? Just until I figure out how standing works.

Don't worry about it. I texted Wallace while you were storytelling. He shooooould be here in 15 or so. Freedom is on the horizon, and then you're in some REAL trouble.

For breaking the law.

Unless you want to really impress your wife and beat him to the door. I want to come back to bed. c:

Maybe I'll let you off the hook.

What if I tell Wallace NOT to let you out of the bathroom?

What if I tell him my wife is going to throw the law at me and he has to protect me??

What if this Fish likes the hook you've got him on?

I don't think you'd be that cruel. But hypothetically speaking? I'll be a sad wife because my husband wants me to stay locked in the bathroom instead of coming back to bed. What a horrible thing to do to your me when all I want is to be with my you.

And also, if you tell Wallace not to let me out of the bathroom, I'll tell him you gave me his Swedish fish.

[...]

You can stay on the hook if you want to. ;)

I wouldn't tell Wallace that. :c

Wouldn't want you to stay in there. Also, I don't think Wallace would listen to me. He likes you too much.

Also his Swedish fish. He likes them too much, too.

But if he's coming to get you, I guess I can go back to sleep. Nice and cozy fish taco time.

That is, ummm, I'll keep the bed warm for you. Yeah.

[ What's that he's actually doing? Propping himself up and rubbing at his face, trying very hard to find the wherewithal to stand? Sitting fully upright with a few sick turns of nausea? This isn't cozy fish taco time, at all! ]

But if you go back to sleep, who's going to flirt with me until Wallace gets here?

~~I can't believe you remember the fish taco thing, you were wasted~~

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

[ That's one very sleepy Fish, huh?

One very sleepy Fish who's managed to get his feet on the floor but can't quite get his head out of his hands because yes the room is nice and dark but his head's not so nice, and it's not nice and dark beyond the door.

But hey, he'll get there. Anything for his wife, best wife. He just. Needs another minutes of pretend zzzzs. ]

:c :c :c Nooooooooooooo wake up, talk to me.

Please?

I don't want to be alone in here :c

[ If it isn't readily apparent, she absolutely doesn't expect him to come let her out. ]

Zzz. c:

[ Okay.

Okay okay okay, he can do this, this... Is gonna ache, but hey, he's been through worse, right?

Up.

Over.

Open the... Fuck, that sure is morning out there, isn't it? He's just going to squint and shield his eyes, fingers pressed hard against his forehead. All right, well, this is... miserable? Miserable.

That's okay. That's the bathroom door, sans any sign of a sign. That's him leaning against the wall, knocking on the door lightly, once then twice. ]

Flirt police.

[ Okay fine so his voice sounds pretty ragged so what the flirt police had probably a lot to drink last night, it happens. ]

[ She begins to text another set of pleas, Treavor please don't play stop playing no no this isn't funny, but the sound of a knock - one, then a second - freezes her.

He got up. He got himself out of bed and came to rescue her! (...Granted, from the problem he probably caused. But still!)

She's up like a shot, spilling Swedish fish all over the floor, and presses her hands to the door. One taps quietly but insistently, flat-palmed on the wood. Out, out, let me out - even so, she can't help herself. ]

You'll never take me alive.

[ Stage whispered, stage laugh-whispered, of course, for the sake of his head. He must be miserable, Poor Fish. ]

I have hostages. A bunch of Swedes.

[ Jeeesus. He pushes his head against the wall and that's a little better, a little pressure relieved, and doesn't she have aspirin in there? Also whiskey. Shit, she's got the good stuff.

He'd like to just. Open the fucking door. But she's playing. But he started this, and maybe he shouldn't cut it down so fast. So he tries out a response, still hoarse, eyes screwed shut, head doing its damnedest to pummel him down. ]

You fiend. You wouldn't.

[ He sounds - rough.

She should go easy on him.

Then again, he left her locked in here for a very long time. She should draw this out -

No. Uh uh. No making him suffer.

Still, it doesn't escape her notice that he tried. ]

I'll make a deal with you. Let me out of here, say nothing about the dead fish on the floor, and I'll hand over my cache of aspirin.

But I'm never giving up my life of flirt crime.

Dead fish on—?

[ You know what. He'll just. Let that stand as-is. Say nothing about the dead fish, sure, can do, only he gets the sense that somebody's going to need to explain that one to Wallace.

Let the dastardly flirt take that on.

He maneuvers himself so that he's leaning against the door frame, which isn't quite as good as the wall and leaves him a little queasier, but it'll serve his purpose for the moment. Probably. Maybe. ]

You strike a hard bargain, little lady, but it's a deal I'll have to take.

[ And yes, that's the door pushing open, and yes, that's Treavor, head pressed against the frame, looking for her with mock scrutiny. ]

Easy now. No sudden movements.

[ She, barefoot and buttoned up in one of his shirts, surrounded by the red long-past-five-second-rule bodies of Swedish fish, backs up to allow the door to swing open, then peers out at him.

Smiles at him, then feigns a look of pity and nods in agreement: no sudden movements, no loud noises. ]

I'll go quietly.

[ With that, she reaches for the aspirin, whole-fisting the bottle to muffle any ricochet of the pills within.

Game's over, he looks too ragged for more of this. The next thing she reaches for is him, to help him back to bed. ]

Come on, Officer. You look like the stakeout didn't go too well.

[ Oh thank Christ.

He relaxes visibly, accepting her helping and trying not to lean too hard on her but definitely, definitely leaning some, definitely pressing the side of his head against hers.]

Hey, you said something about whiskey?

[ Not that he wants to put off going back to bed much longer, but look, if it means getting just a drink, just one drink to start the day, he can wait another moment.

Also, those are... Those sure are Wallace's Swedish fish all over the bathroom floor. ]

You really did kill those fish, huh?

[ She should. Maybe redirect his attention away from the alcohol. Get him going with the day sober just for a little while, just a few hours.

Slow and steady. ]

Mmmm - I think bed, water, and aspirin first.

[ A glance back at the chaos of fish gummies, sad and scattered. ]

I got excited when I heard you and they fell to their deaths. It's probably the biggest tragedy since the Great Eggo Disaster. Their sacrifice won't be forgotten.

[ And she's going to try steering him away from the bathroom - and the whiskey - and toward the darkened bedroom now. ]

[ Hey, no... No, that wasn't what he asked. And no he doesn't need the whiskey, but he'd like it and it would help and why is she pretending he didn't say anything, or ignoring what he said?

He doesn't want to be difficult, he really doesn't - and his head would prefer very much to be back against a pillow - but he resists just a little, tries to stay right where he is. Not for long, just. Just. It wouldn't be so hard to grab the bottle, would it? ]

Shouldn't you at least take it with us?

[ ...idea! ]

In case Wallace tries to destroy it as revenge for the gummies.

[ She doesn't. Want to have a hard conversation with him right now. Not while she's in his home, wearing his shirt, with her arm snaked around his waist. Not after the messages he sent - the story he told.

But she also isn't going to help him start drinking at whatever early hour this is.

So she turns in towards him, pressed close, earnest and firm and utterly certain of her words. ]

No. You don't need it.

[ Isn't this her? Her style of writing, razor sharp clarity, the protagonist with words that can't be trusted, but possessed of complete conviction?

She has conviction. It might not be true, but she can make him believe it. She can try. ]

Trust me. I'm here, and Wallace is going to be here, and you don't need it.

[ He wants to trust her. She says 'Trust me,' and he always wants to trust her.

But he also wants a drink.

Now that the idea's in his head, now that he's thinking about the bottle and she wouldn't have lied about the bottle and it's true he has vague memories of sometimes leaving bottles in the bathroom for himself, he would very much like a drink. A drink would absolutely help his head. A drink would absolutely stabilize the world a little bit.

Why is she withholding that from him? He's... confused? Concerned. A little bit hurt.

There must be a reason. She wouldn't act without a reason. She loves her Fish, he knows this, but why deny something as simple as a drink?

Maybe she's worried he'll drink it all? ]

Just one. Just half of one. I promise. Hey. Hey, you can be keeper of the bottle.

[ Her heart clenches.

He didn't ask for her help. She doesn't get to unilaterally make this decision for him. If he wants to quit - not just the drinking, but the job, this fucking city - he needs to make the choice.

She's not Tricia. She's not his brothers, either. She's not going to force him to do this.

One hand strokes back through, over his hair, comforting while giving her a heartbeat to form a reply. ]

I'm not going to stop you. [ Tacitly, implicitly, neither is she going to help. ] But I don't think you need it. I think you can hold on for a little while without it.

[ Katrina pulls away a little, backing away from him towards the bedroom; there's an invitation, a welcome in that movement, without demand or reproach. It's his choice.

And she won't let herself be disappointed if he can't manage it. ]

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