'spect that you think that I should be haunted ... but it never really bothers me
(I am the queen of cranky and passive-aggressive today. I have had fights with furniture and some troubling problems which are EITHER mental OR physical, and I will ruin you if you come too close. Grrr.)
1. jumpthesnark Gabe Saporta/Patrick Stump
"Alright, I have one for you," Patrick says, apparently out of nowhere.
Gabe stops with the beer bottle somewhere between the arm of the sofa and his face. "What?"
"How? How do you keep making out with Pete? He--" Patrick makes the universal gesture for "short", which Gabe thinks is the most hypocritical thing he's ever seen and also the cutest. "--and you're--" Patrick waves his hand above his head and starts laughing. "How? How?"
Gabe concedes that it is a little like a chihauhau trying to mount a Great Dane.
Patrick laughs harder, and Gabe flings out one impossibly long arm - beer makes them noodly, but he's sure he can reach Stump from here - and seizes him by the wrist. Tug, tug.
"Get over here and I'll show you."
2. jackiesjunkie Brian/Bob
(Remixverse)
"FBI," says the dude with the SWAT tattoo. The laminate is in his hand before Bob can say fuck. He says fuck internally three or four times and steps back with bad grace, and pulls back from the doorway like the agent is a wasp. "Yeah, okay, I said FBI, not AIDS. Calm the fuck down."
Bob - Detective Bryar, which will not take no matter how many times he says it to the mirror - does not calm the fuck down. Instead he watches warily as the SWAT-tattoo guy ambles around the room like a sleepy dog and picks things up and puts them down and opens and closes closet doors like he's thinking about buying the place.
"Uh," Bob says after a while, wondering if he should go stand outside. If he should call Travis.
"Uh?" FBI guy - Brian Something Beginning With S, Bob isn't that fast a reader that he'd caught the surname in the insultingly fast flash of laminate - repeats, a little mocking, perhaps. He has a baggie in his hand and appears to be bundling evidence into it without recourse to labels or interest in separating pieces out. Very weird. "Can I help you, Detective--?"
"Bryar," Bob clears his throat. "Should... um. It's just that forensics..."
Brian ambles over and pats him on the upper arm. "Don't worry about it. My department have it covered. Answering to a higher power, now."
Bob doesn't say anything. Brian smells of wintergreen lifesavers, and it's been a fucking lifetime since Bob last got laid, and he can't concentrate on anything. He puts his hands in his pockets and wishes he was still in uniform. Things made sense in uniform, and when they didn't he could just write five lines on a form about how they didn't make sense, and then someone else had to deal with it.
This whole thing stinks. He is definitely going to call Travis when the guy gets out of here. Travis, Bob thinks, is a natural at this detective bullshit.
3. howifall Dan/Jepha
Jepha is minding his own fucking business. That's the important part. He is minding his own business and tending to what is going to be a truly brilliant and world-beating moustache with some wax and what Quinn is persisting in calling the Fag Comb, and then Dan just comes out of nowhere like a Dan-Rocket and knocks the comb and the wax out of his hands.
Or more accurately, Dan dives at him from about five feet away, already moving at a run, and the comb and wax stay where they are. It's him who goes tumbling down the bus and smacks his head on the door and yelps in affront and temporary terror. Once he's figured out who just happened to him, Jepha extracts an arm and makes feeble slapping motions at Dan's back.
"What-are-you-doing-you-insane-person-" he demands, punctuating each word with what only the most dedicatedly sissy of six-year-old girls in pink dresses would call an actual slap.
Dan gives him a wild-eyed look - something he specialises in - and lays one enormous finger lengthways over Jepha's mouth. "You had a hair in your teeth," Dan hisses, deadly serious and apocalyptically drunk, "I need to check if it's a pube before Bert sees."
Jepha lies down on the floor and stares at the ceiling while Dan probes between his lips with great concentration.
He sincerely hopes that the day starts making a little more sense once he's had breakfast.
1. jumpthesnark Gabe Saporta/Patrick Stump
"Alright, I have one for you," Patrick says, apparently out of nowhere.
Gabe stops with the beer bottle somewhere between the arm of the sofa and his face. "What?"
"How? How do you keep making out with Pete? He--" Patrick makes the universal gesture for "short", which Gabe thinks is the most hypocritical thing he's ever seen and also the cutest. "--and you're--" Patrick waves his hand above his head and starts laughing. "How? How?"
Gabe concedes that it is a little like a chihauhau trying to mount a Great Dane.
Patrick laughs harder, and Gabe flings out one impossibly long arm - beer makes them noodly, but he's sure he can reach Stump from here - and seizes him by the wrist. Tug, tug.
"Get over here and I'll show you."
2. jackiesjunkie Brian/Bob
(Remixverse)
"FBI," says the dude with the SWAT tattoo. The laminate is in his hand before Bob can say fuck. He says fuck internally three or four times and steps back with bad grace, and pulls back from the doorway like the agent is a wasp. "Yeah, okay, I said FBI, not AIDS. Calm the fuck down."
Bob - Detective Bryar, which will not take no matter how many times he says it to the mirror - does not calm the fuck down. Instead he watches warily as the SWAT-tattoo guy ambles around the room like a sleepy dog and picks things up and puts them down and opens and closes closet doors like he's thinking about buying the place.
"Uh," Bob says after a while, wondering if he should go stand outside. If he should call Travis.
"Uh?" FBI guy - Brian Something Beginning With S, Bob isn't that fast a reader that he'd caught the surname in the insultingly fast flash of laminate - repeats, a little mocking, perhaps. He has a baggie in his hand and appears to be bundling evidence into it without recourse to labels or interest in separating pieces out. Very weird. "Can I help you, Detective--?"
"Bryar," Bob clears his throat. "Should... um. It's just that forensics..."
Brian ambles over and pats him on the upper arm. "Don't worry about it. My department have it covered. Answering to a higher power, now."
Bob doesn't say anything. Brian smells of wintergreen lifesavers, and it's been a fucking lifetime since Bob last got laid, and he can't concentrate on anything. He puts his hands in his pockets and wishes he was still in uniform. Things made sense in uniform, and when they didn't he could just write five lines on a form about how they didn't make sense, and then someone else had to deal with it.
This whole thing stinks. He is definitely going to call Travis when the guy gets out of here. Travis, Bob thinks, is a natural at this detective bullshit.
3. howifall Dan/Jepha
Jepha is minding his own fucking business. That's the important part. He is minding his own business and tending to what is going to be a truly brilliant and world-beating moustache with some wax and what Quinn is persisting in calling the Fag Comb, and then Dan just comes out of nowhere like a Dan-Rocket and knocks the comb and the wax out of his hands.
Or more accurately, Dan dives at him from about five feet away, already moving at a run, and the comb and wax stay where they are. It's him who goes tumbling down the bus and smacks his head on the door and yelps in affront and temporary terror. Once he's figured out who just happened to him, Jepha extracts an arm and makes feeble slapping motions at Dan's back.
"What-are-you-doing-you-insane-person-" he demands, punctuating each word with what only the most dedicatedly sissy of six-year-old girls in pink dresses would call an actual slap.
Dan gives him a wild-eyed look - something he specialises in - and lays one enormous finger lengthways over Jepha's mouth. "You had a hair in your teeth," Dan hisses, deadly serious and apocalyptically drunk, "I need to check if it's a pube before Bert sees."
Jepha lies down on the floor and stares at the ceiling while Dan probes between his lips with great concentration.
He sincerely hopes that the day starts making a little more sense once he's had breakfast.