01: good morning, good morning

[tender_crook]

Action (reserved for the residents of 1651 Albright Lane):

[Blue pyjamas. His initials are hand-stitched on the pocket. Well, somebody's initials are. There's a "K" on them. But they are the lesser of many, many sartorial evils, and with a robe over you can hardly tell he's wearing painstakingly reproduced serial killer trophy clothingKurt sits at

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[no_indoor_voice]

[About fifteen minutes later, an already dressed but still somewhat dishevelled Tybalt walks in.

He sees Kurt but appears to take no notice of him, then suddenly looks at him again.]

Oh. They replaced the hollow boy with you.

[/standard tybaltvoice]

[tender_crook]

[Kurt's affectedly comfortable pose -- don't mind me, just sitting down here in the dark, waiting for you to materialize -- falls apart, as he slams himself back into his chair.
He snaps:]

Who the frick are you?

[... in retrospect, that would have been an appropriate time to use the actual f-bomb. But visions of boy skin suits are dancing in Kurt's head.]

[no_indoor_voice]

[grim-ass tybaltsmile]

Welcome to Hell, boy.

[tender_crook]

[HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT
Tybalt is fortunate that Kurt did not go all the way in the "I am totally composed and have my wits about me" charade in making coffee. The kitchen setup is charmingly quaint. But even if he did manage it, that shit would be knocked over in panic.]

Where's my phone--

[no_indoor_voice]

Anything you had with you back where you came from is gone by now, so don't even bother.

[He pulls an apple from the bowl and bites into it.]

[tender_crook]

Are you kidding me--

[Then, out of sheer habit,]
Find something with protein to go with that. I mean-- shit.

[no_indoor_voice]

[glares at him with his mouth full]

[tender_crook]

I'll fry you an egg.

Seriously, who the hell are you? Don't stand there making faces at me--

[no_indoor_voice]

[mouth still full]

The town's going to treat me as your father. Don't you do it too.

[tender_crook]

My father --

No no no no no. You are sorely mistaken.

[no_indoor_voice]

I wish I was.

[tender_crook]

[There is no icon adequate to express this much horrified indignation, so have this Single Ladies icon instead. Kurt rises from the table, glaring bold-facedly with a little too much spark for a boy in a bathrobe.]

I have a father, outside of this little murder compound. And he's going to beat your ass with a tire iron.

[no_indoor_voice]

I'm not here by choice either, boy.

[tender_crook]

So is there a Mrs. Dahmer around here?

[no_indoor_voice]

[snarls]

What?

[tender_crook]

Never mind. Who else are they keeping here?