Troika stuff for sunny_dale
Mom called me first thing, shattering this really cool dream I was having about At-ats and a million squishy ewoks. She wanted me to tell my brother that he'd gotten a phone call from a big Los Angeles law firm. She was "very concerned that he was in trouble with drugs."
"I don't like how he wouldn't look me in the eye the other night at dinner," she complained. I held the phone away from my ear as Jonathan stirred awake.
Rolling my eyes, I sighed into the phone. Tucker hadn't looked my mom in the eye since he was maybe 12 years old. I don't know why she insisted that it was a sign of distress in Tuckerland. All the same, I promised her that I would pass on the message when I saw him next (year) and that I loved her, too.
Jonathan was okay with going over to Tucker's dorm before we went to breakfast so we could tell him the message. I suggested that maybe Tucker would want to come to breakfast, even though Jonathan appeared to have some very serious doubts.
"He doesn't want anything to do with us. You told me about what a jerk he was when you took over your laundry. Let's not invite him to breakfast. He won't come and he'll figure out a way to twist it so we feel bad for eating - or something," Jonathan said, matter-of-factly.
He was right, of course, but I had to deliver the appropriate "Hey dude, that's my brother you are talking about!" Even though it was really just half-hearted.
Plus, I was thinking that maybe Tucker's roommate Warren would want to go. Not that I wanted to tell Jonathan that. But, maybe it would be cool if they could meet.
So, we walked over. Teeth brushed, hair combed, looking dang college-y. I even gelled my hair, because you never know when you are going to meet your perfect match while crossing the Quad. I found my way through a fairly unfamiliar dorm, telling Jonathan about my dream. When we got to Tucker's room, I knocked solidly.
"Do you think it's weird that 'rocket-propelled grenades' and 'roleplaying games' have the same acronyms?" I asked idly, thinking back to a conversation that me and Jonathan had before leaving our dorm. He shrugged, and we waited for Tucker (or his cool roommate) to open the door.
[[ Open to Jonathan and Warren, for some Troika-formative fun. ]]
"I don't like how he wouldn't look me in the eye the other night at dinner," she complained. I held the phone away from my ear as Jonathan stirred awake.
Rolling my eyes, I sighed into the phone. Tucker hadn't looked my mom in the eye since he was maybe 12 years old. I don't know why she insisted that it was a sign of distress in Tuckerland. All the same, I promised her that I would pass on the message when I saw him next (year) and that I loved her, too.
Jonathan was okay with going over to Tucker's dorm before we went to breakfast so we could tell him the message. I suggested that maybe Tucker would want to come to breakfast, even though Jonathan appeared to have some very serious doubts.
"He doesn't want anything to do with us. You told me about what a jerk he was when you took over your laundry. Let's not invite him to breakfast. He won't come and he'll figure out a way to twist it so we feel bad for eating - or something," Jonathan said, matter-of-factly.
He was right, of course, but I had to deliver the appropriate "Hey dude, that's my brother you are talking about!" Even though it was really just half-hearted.
Plus, I was thinking that maybe Tucker's roommate Warren would want to go. Not that I wanted to tell Jonathan that. But, maybe it would be cool if they could meet.
So, we walked over. Teeth brushed, hair combed, looking dang college-y. I even gelled my hair, because you never know when you are going to meet your perfect match while crossing the Quad. I found my way through a fairly unfamiliar dorm, telling Jonathan about my dream. When we got to Tucker's room, I knocked solidly.
"Do you think it's weird that 'rocket-propelled grenades' and 'roleplaying games' have the same acronyms?" I asked idly, thinking back to a conversation that me and Jonathan had before leaving our dorm. He shrugged, and we waited for Tucker (or his cool roommate) to open the door.
[[ Open to Jonathan and Warren, for some Troika-formative fun. ]]