the balances shifting

[knowmycall]

[I'M BACK. May not be tagging until I get home due to silly filter quota time here at work, but tags will happen tonight. I will still be a bit slow, but please bear with me. ♥? Also, feel free to catch Fletch while he's outside his building, should you be so inclined. I may need to do some pinging when I get home to hash out some unaddressed

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[themaelstrom77]

Miles walks.

He probably shouldn't be, considering how late it is, and that he doesn't know where he's going, or where exactly he is at the moment, for that matter.

But he couldn't fall asleep.

The voices are about as bad here as they were on the island, if not worse. As Miles walks down another street, he hears snippets of last thoughts being called out to him. And fuck if the dead don't seem to be thinking more loudly, more insistently at him here.

So Miles is a little distracted by a man's voice loudly declaring the wish to fuck "that hot piece of ass from down the hall" one last time, and he nearly walks into the man he completely doesn't notice hanging out in front of the building he's passing.

[knowmycall]

"Y'know," Fletch mumbles, looking amused and moving out of Miles's way just before a collision happens, "the sidewalk's pretty big. And no one else is out here... d'you often go out of your way to walk into folks?"

Blame his good mood for the lack of offended sniping.

"Unless you're drunk. I s'pose that'd be an okay excuse. Just don't wander into traffic, aye?"

[themaelstrom77]

Miles shakes his head in hopes of clearing it, standing a bit awkwardly in front of the guy he almost bowled over.

"Shit, sorry," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was, uh, a little distracted. Not drunk. Though I wouldn't mind if I was."

He sticks out his hand, figuring it couldn't hurt to make an attempt to be friendly. Or at least not to be an unfriendly bastard.

"Miles Straume. I'm new here, in case you couldn't tell already."

[knowmycall]

"I don't really have a radar for such things, but now that you've told me..."

Fletch shakes Miles's hand with a firm grip, then rolls back on his heels and gives the man in front of him a quick once-over. "Hm. Well, welcome to Chicago, I guess. I'm Fletcher Hadley."

Wait.

His eyes widen. "Please don't tell me you're new new. Like, just-fell-in-where-am-I? new, I mean. I can't deal with newbies that new."

[averylongtime]

Richard was awake.

He's a light sleeper. Sometimes goings on in the street wake him: like confrontations between an ex-ghostbuster and a certain archangel. He'd rather it have been an everyday mugging, then at least he could have dealt with uncomplicated emotions; but Miles arguing with Fletcher--well, Miles isn't the only one who needs a beer.

Richard peers out the window. Debates intervening. Thinks better of it. His presence would complicate the situation, and the last thing he needs, the last thing Miles needs, is more complications. He lets the argument play out (like he's let so many arguments play out in the past), and remains seated by the windowsill a long time after that, hearing Fletcher's decent attempts to be quiet as he sneaks into the apartment.

Fletcher is back. Richard doesn't know how he feels about that. It's possible to still feel alone even when you're living with another person; it's possible because that other person isn't there with you. And never will be

[knowmycall]

Fletch doesn't come out of his room until around noon, still wearing the clothes he flew in with, tie and all. He looks well-rested in spite of the state of his clothing, and, most importantly, he looks truly content. This is not a look Richard is familiar with; Fletch has feigned contentedness plenty of times since he showed up here, but he knows he probably hasn't fooled anyone.

He's happy to see Richard again, too, though that may not be completely obvious right away because he greets his roommate with: "Your friend is a little prick. He is never coming out with us for pancakes."

[averylongtime]

“I heard you this morning,” he said, lifting nothing but an eyebrow. His eyes are staring firmly at the tabletop. Yeah, he's slightly afraid to look up at Fletcher-while, at the same time, being annoyed at himself for being so overdramatic. He closes his eyes, shakes his head. Looks Fletch and his crumpled-up clothes. And his look of sheer contentedness.

Whatever anxiety and depression he might be dealing with now is ignored in favor of being baffled by Fletcher's expression.

[knowmycall]

"Oh."

Whoops.

Fletch bites back an amused chuckle and heads for the fridge. While pushing things around, he says: "So anyway, things have been taken care of. If y'know what I mean. And I guess y'do, since you were eavesdropping on my little talk with your pal the ghost whisperer or whatever the hell he is."

He straightens up once he's found some yogurt, then hip-bumps the fridge closed.

"I'm pretty sure he got home alright last night, though. You can punch me if he's dead or somethin'."

[so_so_sublime]

Aislin feels that exhaustion. It pulls at her, and she feels the need to go search out her ward. It's just to make sure he's okay, to see for herself that everything's peachy keen and cool.

Upon reaching the common room, there's a sense of relief upon seeing Max resting. Aislin grins and settles down on the floor beside the couch, leaning up against the cushion closest to his feet. She scootches her knees on up and rests an old magazine on the tops of her legs.

It's one of those rare, completely quiet moments for her, and only the sounds of pages turning interrupt the quiet. She's made a fan out of the little rectangular perfume ads, and she's fanning her face.

The common room might smell a little bit like CK One now.

[bythatmuch]

It does, and that's what wakes Max up.

"Nnnn." He lifts his head and blinks. "Is that... twenty-three?"

That's Agent 23's cologne. Of all the people in the world, Max does not want 23 here. Even Siegfried would be better than 23.

"Don't-"

Thud.

'sup, Aislin. You now have company on the floor in the shape of an upside-down ward.

"Aislin! Hi!"

[so_so_sublime]

Whoops!

Aislin's eyes widen when he falls, and she winces just a bit. She didn't mean to cut his sleep short.

"Hi! And, no. It's that's Calvin Klein stuff. I'm pretty sure it's just One," she says, a hint of apology in her voice. She tucks her makeshift fan back into the magazine and places it on the floor next to her.

She smiles and moves to help him right himself. "Sorry I woke you up. I was jazzed to see you, so I thought I'd hang out."

[bythatmuch]

"Oh. I thought-" Pause. He shakes his head as he wriggles into a sitting position. "Nevermind. Anyway, the guy I've been working for finally split, so I'm free! I was actually coming to see you, but... you know. Couches."

The way he says that implies that all couches are out to make him sleep on them. It is a CRIME. Clearly.

"So what's up? How are you?"

[thehighestwing]

Max, prepare to be tackled by one Phoebe Donovan.

She has this thing now where she panics whenever she doesn't see someone after a certain amount of time. She starts thinking thoughtful no good thoughts. Like, oh, maybe the Rift decided to take people away again. Or oh, maybe they're just dead in some ditch and they haven't been found.

They're not regular Phoebe Donovan thoughts but can she be blamed?

It's why she tackles Max the moment he exits the office building. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

The narration is sorry. Sort of.

[bythatmuch]

Max thinks that maybe someone should put Phoebe warning signs around the city. You know, like the ones they have for deer in rural areas? Yeah.

He yelps and stumbles, very nearly falling over, then stares at her.

“Oh. Oh, jeez, Phoebe, I’m sorry, I didn’t-um. I got a really out of the blue job working for this government dude, and it happened so fast that I didn’t actually think to say anything to anyone. It was a really time-consuming thing, so… yeah. I was really desperate to find work, and it kind of reminded me of what I used to do for CONTROL, so I got kind of distracted and I’m really, really sorry.”

Will a hug help? ‘cause she’s getting one.

[thehighestwing]

A hug will definitely help, Max. Phoebe is clinging to you by the waist and it's possible she will not let go for a good while.

"It's okay!" she's quick to exclaim. It's obvious by now that she was nearly panicking, so she wouldn't get away with brushing it off. And well, Max is Max. "I just got worried. You know how it be here. People disappear a lot and the last I heard you were having issues with the shape shifting thing and yeah, I guess I worried."

She steps back after she feels he's been hugged properly, and looks up at him. "Was it a good sort of distracted, though?"

[bythatmuch]

Max nods as Phoebe speaks, feeling a bit guilty. He really didn't mean to worry her, but... things happen. And they're both okay, so that's a Good Thing.

He smiles down at her. "Yeah. It felt good to work again. And now that I have Aislin to wa-oh, wait. Did I tell you about her? I think I did. ...right?"

It's possible that stress is getting to him. A little.