tfln open post

[byanyname]

***

either leave a message (or set of muses) for one of my assholes, or request a message from one of them. choose messages from the classic source, from your own skull, or whatever you may please.

Comments

[ultimatenegative]

Darius, I'm not abandoning you to your own dubious triage. I will deposit the narcotics and you may do with them as you please while I have a look at what ever you've done to you.

If you won't drive without a tortoise, you'll succumb to less dubious ministrations.

[...]

Windows.

Tweezers, too, then?

1/2

[onefellswoop]

Can't be proven it was me did anything

Fckin got the glass out already. On the floor, step light

lmfao unless you want to join comrade Darius for ten oclock triage

2/2

[onefellswoop]

nevermind that about the window; worked it out

[ Explains why his room's so fuckin cold right now, huh. ]

[ultimatenegative]

Yes, you do indeed seem to be the person I would most trust to assess the presence of glass in your hand.

l m f a o and so on.

[ Not a moment later, Senan bustles in with all the amenities of half-assed triage: duct tape, gauze, Everclear, and the requested hash, which he tosses at Darius, hoping to hit the other man in the face. ]

Hand out, let's have it.

[ And. ]

Fuck me, how's it so cold in -

[ Oh. ]

Fucking Christ, Darius, not again.

[ With a curled lip and baffled eyes, he gestures towards the broken window with the liquor. ]

You keep breaking it outward, Super's eventually going to realize no one's breaking in, y'daft shit.

[onefellswoop]

[ The hit lands just below Darius's eye, his hand swiping seconds too slow. So, yeah, he curses, sharp. Blinks, bleary. And looks up at, yep, that's Wilkes, standing in the doorway delivering a lecture.

Please. Darius rolls his eyes, pushes back at the bedframe he's propped himself against. ]

's where you're wrong, turtledove. How'd you think I got into the room?

[ He starts to reach to tap his head, but fuck it, that's too much effort, and he lets it fall again. He's pretty sure he came in through the window, anyway. Connects to a vague memory, or could-be-memory, and probably it's not coincidence. ]

Didn't want windows broken, shouldn't allow them to be breakable. And made doors more accessible.

[ With or without keys. Had that been the problem? Maybe. Maybe Darius lost his key or maybe left it here or maybe just forgot he had it. ]

What the fuck it's glass. Transible. Who doesn't break glass. Fuck it.

Hand's fine. Drop it and go to your Renault.

[ His hand is in fact not fine. There's definitely a gash along the palm, cuts along the fingers.

His hand also is fine, if speaking relatively, if speaking strictly in comparison his leg. Which is in fact seeping blood along the calf. Which stings like a fucking son of a shit. Which is currently covered by a jacket, because - again - it's fucking cold in here.

Darius is looking at his phone again, trying to remember who he was texting, thinking h knows the answer, but also, room's spinning a little, concentration's tricky a little, and also, where'd that weed go, or maybe it was a drink he'd wanted. Fuck, something. ]

[ultimatenegative]

[ Sen is moving toward Darius even as he's being dismissed, more than a little huffy at the prospect of having to contend with the other man's lack of cooperation.

It's nothing new.

Neither are injuries. He should have gone into nursing.

It's when he's setting the dubious "supplies" down on the bed that he notices the jacket is patched wet and darker in places. Warily (god, oh god, not again), he lifts up a corner of the garment. ]

Darius, what- fucking CHRIST!

Rin! Rin! Don't move, you fucking minger - Rin! -

[ In his outrage, his somewhat carefully constructed "comprehensible" accent falls to pieces and he is, in a heavily leaning muddle of Yorkshire vowels, trying to explain to the absent Rin and the present Darius that the latter is a cunt and possibly dying, why didn't Darius use the front door like a normal person, and, of course: this asshole needs stitches AGAIN. ]