Crack crackity crack on a stick.

[mm_pyth]

So there's a shortish, slightly adorable, very unfashionably dressed brunette wandering the bar.

Specifically, she's out back.

With a bicycle pump, an inflatable pool, and a fairly repetitive selection of curses for when either object fails to cooperate.

Do come ask her what she's doing. It'll be a while before the real crack arrives.

Comments

And this? This, my friend, is the real crack.

[green_and_white]

This brunette is neither short nor adorable in any way.

She's also slouching in an armchair wearing a ratty old vastly-oversized T-shirt and some light blue sweatpants that are clearly meant for someone considerably shorter and a little more wide, drinking a glass of apple juice that's more ice than juice and monologuing to herself in the vein of "fucking Milliways can go fuck a fucking log what the fuck did I do to deserve this bullshit fuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck fuck".

[the_brain_man]

...how the fuck did this happen

[green_and_white]

...well, fuck.

No, make that:

"...well, fuck."

Her brain/mouth filter is not at its best right at this very moment.

So that's what being in the presence of someone you once established on feels like.

Weird.

Kind of like being gently tickled on a body part you don't actually have.

Shit.

[the_brain_man]

There's a gentle buzz of conversation in the bar, and not!Jazz's exclamation sails right over it. And even though Caz is fairly certain that she's never heard it before -- she's only ever read Jazz's dialogue, after all -- it still sets off a tremor, in the same way that you don't have to have met a lion before to run away when it roars.

Caz defies the comparison by not (quite) running away. The traditional thing would be for her to do a double-take, but with those tattoos (most are covered, but the ones on Jasmine's arms are still visible) a double-take is not really necessary. Caz goes straight from nought to terrified in about point two of a second.

(She feels kinda sorry for DownSy.)

Yeah, she should say something like 'it's not me' or... something. Let her work on that when her tongue and/or brain unfreezes.

[littletoogray]

Caz doesn't have to ask what she is doing, because Caz is aiding and abetting the whole questionable endeavor.

For her part, she has asked Bar very nicely for a certain slippery dessert product, and come marching triumphantly out with armfuls of jello-pots. Of course, she and any other sensible person would call them jelly, being English and therefore right, but for the sake of any less enlightened English-speakers reading this, the narration will forego her personal name for the stuff. Hell, she's already picked up "elevators", so why not.

ANYWAY.

Pyth's battles with the pool and the pump are apparently a source of great amusement for her.

[mad_patron]

"Fuck you too," grumbles Pyth, kicking the side of the half-inflated pool.

Oh, wait, there's someone there.

Glancing up, she grins sheepishly. "Hey. Not you, the-- yeah. Uh." Vague wave in the direction of the recalcitrant pump. "I need, like, Masha here or some shit. Someone with a little brute force available. How'd it go with the--" (horrible imitation of Caz's accent commences) "--jelly?" (End horrible imitation.)

[littletoogray]

"Don't worry, I know. I guessed after the fiftieth time."

The wonderful thing about being at Milliways is that apparently you can do that thing where you reply to something said three sentences ago and have it still make sense. Caz, with her non-existent sense of timing and/or swift wit, is taking full advantage of this ability.

"Beautifully, eh?"

...that was her revenge for the terrible accent. Fight fire with fire!

[mad_patron]

"Okay, now fuck you too."

But she's still grinning.

HAIR-RUFFLE TIEM IS NAO?

IS.

[suspects_ravens]

See this icon?

This icon has never before been justified.

It is now.

She had to.

Helps when you have two bodies with which to do up all the things that need doing-up.

Yeah, Pyth is kind of going to hell for this one.

In the interim, however, she's sitting on the couch with... herself. Having both of her bodies in the same room at the same time makes things slightly less headachy. How do you even seriously manage to possess two people at the same time? It shouldn't work, no matter how close they are! Gah!

[reactstonothing]

The fact that one of them has a penis at the moment does not particularly help matters.

[humanfridge]

Caz is a man AGAIN.

The novelty is wearing off.

...the Hannibals are fairly iconic as Pyth's pups. Perhaps it's this, or perhaps it's chance that has an apparently-David Berman appearing nervously behind the couch opposite.

"Are y--"

Stop.

"Am I t- t-" Concentrating face. "Talking to-- FUCKING STUTTER."

[suspects_ravens]

"Yes."

Deadpan.

"Yes, you are talking to fucking stutter."

Come on, she HAD to.

See, if this were a real 'Belle, she wouldn't've cracked up right there.

[dalekity]

"Bloody hell."

Dalek voices were not made to accomodate Irish brogues. The result is that speech is sorta incomprehensible.

"I have no arms."

[the_brain_man]

Holy... what.

For reasons of stuff, let us assume that this is before Caz has encountered Pyth!Jasmine, and that she is still at the stage of blundering around wondering what the hell happened and trying desperately to get a hold on some of the more annoying of Sylar's powers. IA, for example, in the archetypal Place That Should Not Work. And all abilities in the world or whatever, sure, but couldn't he please have thought twice before stealing the power of Super Migrane?

The not-Dalek's voice cuts through her eardrums like a knife through hot nerve-endings.

Irritably: "You what?"

[dalekity]

"No arms. None. Gesticulation is ... difficult," woefully. "I also have no legs. Or a mouth. One eye. I'm lacking in every department except the tentacular ones."

[the_brain_man]

Caz gives him a slightly bewildered look.

"...you only just now realised this?"

[nneverwas]

Aaron Stampler was napping on the Milliways couch.

Now Pyth is facepalming in that very location.

She is also a lot more male than usual.

Goodness, d'you think those two are related?

[readyforround3]

Ugh.

Cue identical facepalm from an armchair near the fireplace.

In a moment, there is turning, and squinting around the bar.

For who, it's not clear, but what is clear is a vast amount of annoyance on his (her?) face.

[nneverwas]

AAH SHIT IT'S BLONSKY

Squeak.

Hide.

(This would work better if Pyth's idea of 'hide' were not 'tuck feet under self; bury face in pillow; hope elbows are not recognisably Edward-Norton-like'.)

[readyforround3]

This would also work better if Tintin's idea of 'go find people' were not 'hobble on over, immediately start shaking said elbows'.