Right in the process of entering the rec room, Sookie yelped at the sudden expletive, shoulders hunching as she wondered for the briefest of moments if Jason knew, if he knew that she had tangled herself in the life of yet another vampire on the island. But really, she reasoned soon afterward, there was no way that Jason would know, and he was more likely to march up to Mitchell's hut or something even if he did. There were a million other things it could have been. Girl problems, difficulty with the jukebox, possibly one of his pet crabs ripping off the claw of another. Shaking aside any wariness she could, Sookie stepped further into the room, sitting down next to Jason on the couch and staring curiously.
Jason shrieked, and nearly fell off the couch as he got tangled in his own shirt. The whole thing reeked of deja vu-- the thing, and not that stripper he had to not sleep with on account of not wanting herpes-- which meant it was probably Sookie poking him.
Although she tried her best to stifle any laughter, Sookie couldn't help herself, absolutely tickled as she watched Jason keel over and try to disentangle himself from his shirt. By the time he finished, Sookie had enjoyed ample time to settle herself, expression mostly earnest, although laced with amusement as she sat straight and gave Jason a slightly self-satisfied smile.
"Well, serves you right for not payin' attention to what's goin' on around you," Sookie retorted lightly, before shifting a little closer to her brother.
"Now, tell me what's got you so worked up. I heard you swearin' all the way from the kitchen."
"Yeah," Jason said, the glare melting away like so much ice on hot asphalt. "Yeah, uh, it's about what happened back in Bon Temps. See, I know you know a little bit about what happened, but I don't think you know everything." He scrubbed anxiously at the back of his head.
It wasn't exactly typical behaviour that Chase saw, but it wasn't exactly on the other end of the spectrum either, where things were so weird (people were so weird) that it couldn't be explained. "I don't know that the world goes away when you just disappear into a piece of clothing," he mildly noted, blaming the rain for why he was engaging this guy in this.
"The fuck it don't," Jason drawled miserably, if muffledly, from under his shirt. "And 'sides, I just hid my head, not the rest. Otherwise I'd get a sleepin' bag or something."
No, it didn't make any sense. It didn't need to make sense.
Chase wandered closer, not feeling like he really had the right to go prying shirts off men's heads, but he did just stand above, letting his shadow tell the man he was there. "And why is head-hiding such a necessity right now?" he asked, aware he might regret the question.
"I gotta tell my sister about all the million ways I fucked up back home," Jason groaned. Finally, he peeked out at the other dude. "Hey, you ever ride a kangaroo? That shit would be cool."
He didn't recognize the song -- probably something that hit after he was already on the island -- but the voice he could peg damn near immediately. And of all the artist he could think of off the top of his head, Dylan was probably one of the last who he'd expect anyone to have that sort of reaction to.
"I look like the jukebox whisper to you?" Stupid question. Of course he didn't, the kid's head was in his shirt. "Fat fucking chance. The thing exists to make people miserable. Looks like it's doing it's job."
Unless this was him on a good day. If the was the case then he'd hate to bump into the guy when he's depressed.
Jason just groaned, loudly, and finally let his shirt flop back down. "It's pretty damn good, I'll give ya that." He eyed the guy with misery and suspicion. "I can't even leave with all the rain out there."
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After a few seconds, she poked him in the side.
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When he got untangled, he managed a good glare.
"Dammit, Sook, you scared the bejeezus outta me."
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"Well, serves you right for not payin' attention to what's goin' on around you," Sookie retorted lightly, before shifting a little closer to her brother.
"Now, tell me what's got you so worked up. I heard you swearin' all the way from the kitchen."
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Best to just come out with it, he reckoned.
"Sookie, I was addicted to V back home."
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No, it didn't make any sense. It didn't need to make sense.
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He didn't recognize the song -- probably something that hit after he was already on the island -- but the voice he could peg damn near immediately. And of all the artist he could think of off the top of his head, Dylan was probably one of the last who he'd expect anyone to have that sort of reaction to.
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It wasn't even good singing.
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Unless this was him on a good day. If the was the case then he'd hate to bump into the guy when he's depressed.
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