(Untitled)

[one__song]

He'd heard about things like this happening, but it just didn't happen to him. For all of the crazy shit he'd laughed at, it seemed so much less funny on this side of it

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[wormholed]

In some ways, John felt as attuned to Beelzemonkey as he did wormholes, able to sense the creature's nefarious presence at all times, and not just from the distinctive Monkey Odor. He was almost to the Compound when he stopped in his tracks, a familiar chittering reaching his ears long before Roger's excited shouts.

Arriving in time to see Roger's hand claim a hold on the branch, John sprinted forward. "No!" he shouted, one hand landing heavily against Roger's shoulder to stay him. "That's exactly what it wants!"

[one__song]

Roger froze mid-climb, looking down at the frantic voice. "Crichton?" He squinted and damn near lost his footing. A hand reached up to grab the above branch, breath catching in his chest. Okay. He needed to get down.

"Is... this your monkey?" He didn't even have time to laugh at the question. He was too busy trying to get to the ground without breaking anything.

[wormholed]

"Oh, he's my monkey, all right," said John, voice dropping into a startlingly deep register. "As Moby Dick belonged to Ahab, as the Bald-Headed Bear belonged to Chet Ripley, that, sir, is my monkey. You see that mark on his hiney?"

John pointed up, indicating the patch of fur where blond hair seemed to give way to...a frownie face. "Oh, I marked him good."

[one__song]

Hiney? Roger had to remember that Crichton was from some other time, but really, there was no way to say 'ass' where the frells roamed?

"You... put a sad face on his ass?" Roger asked, tripping off of the branch gracelessly and somehow landing square on his feet, though it was touch and go, for a second. "So... this sad-assed monkey is... what? Your white whale?" He didn't mean to judge. He just wanted his fucking guitar back.

[mentalistjane]

Patrick had just been out for a walk, but the disturbance in the bush caught his attention and he found himself veering off course to walk over where the noise was coming from. He slid his hands into his pockets and walked on in, as per usual completely blatant about putting himself into God knew what.

One corner of his mouth lifted up when he saw Roger trying to tree ... well. A monkey with a guitar.

"Now this is one for the books." He grinned. "Man murders monkey for music."

[one__song]

"How come wherever trouble is, you're right behind it?" Roger asked, voice wavering as his booted foot slid off of the branch. He caught himself and began to lower himself down, not speaking until his boots landed in the sand.

"Anyway, I wasn't gonna murder him. Not yet."

[mentalistjane]

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I would say I'm usually a step or two ahead of it, if I can be." Patrick smirked, as he waited for Roger to get down from the tree. "So ... is the monkey a music critic?"

[one__song]

"That monkey's a cockjob," Roger shouted up to it, growing as his guitar seemed to taunt him in mid-air. That was one smart asshat monkey. "And you're full of jokes."

[extra_psychic]

Pamela can hear the commotion from her treehouse but by the time she's gotten herself dressed and presentable, it sounds like it was done. All there is now is clear notes from a guitar that someone really knows how to play. Her cane taps from side to side along the boardwalk and she's so familiar with the path that she's in front of the compound quickly, and with a graceful ease that is a sharp contrast to her handicap. One would think she'd need more help than she does.

"Nice tune," she says, her face turned toward the music but her chin a little too high to be mistaken for looking at him. The notes are clear and they resonate in the body in a way she's unfamiliar with. It's not Joe's guitar, and it's not House's either. Funny how she can tell little things like that.

"I haven't heard that guitar before."

[one__song]

She was looking at Roger, but she wasn't looking at Roger. Right, Pamela. He'd met her not that long ago at the Catscratch - good drinker, voice like Ellen's - and he stood up.

"Hey, Pamela," he said, touching her hand so she knew he was standing and where he was. "I'm Roger, we met at the club." He looked toward his guitar. "I usually don't play near here."

[extra_psychic]

"Right. Roger the bartender," she replies, smiling warmly. She doesn't flinch at the touch at all- not too many people understand that it actually helps her get her bearings. In fact, knowing where he's at makes it easier to turn her face just so and give the appearance of looking at him.

"I didn't know you played at all. Sounds good. You been playing long, or is this an island boredom thing that you just picked up?"

[one__song]

"Most of my life," he said, looking down at his guitar with loving kindness. "Island's given me more time, though." He smiled at her as he inspected her face. She was so pretty in a been-through-hell sort of way. The way she talked, it didn't surprise Roger that she'd known Dean back home, and it made Roger wonder if they would have known each other, otherwise. If Roger'd ever made it out of New York, that is.

"It's good to talk to you, again. Last time you saw me I wasn't so much in the best of spirits." And that was as close to an apology as Roger was ever going to get.

[wayward_dad]

John had watched the events play out in front of him in silence (though he had momentarily had to cram a fist against his mouth to stifle the laughter had hadn't been sure he would be able to keep in for much longer when the coconut came hurtling toward Roger's head), for the most part. But watching Roger shimmy out on that branch?

"Hey," he said loudly, tipping his head back to get a better look at what Roger was up to. "Lean to the back a little. The closer to the trunk of the tree, the thicker the base of the branch."

[one__song]

The scuffed, smoothed bottom of Roger's boot damn near slid off of the bottom branch when he heard John call out to him. He turned his head and small-stepped toward the trunk of the tree, hands following in clumsy fists above him.

"I didn't think this through!" He admitted across to John, maybe a little frozen as another chittering laugh came from above him. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU ASSHOLE!"

[wayward_dad]

"Yeah, I can see that," John said. He was just stating the facts, not casting any kind of stone on Roger's lack of judgment. If it had been one of his boys up there, the story would be different. But this wasn't his son and it wasn't his place to knock Roger down a few pegs for being stupid. Hell, the monkey just might do that for him.

"It cross your mind that maybe this is exactly what the monkey wants? A game?" A dark brow arched meaningfully.

[one__song]

Dean's somewhat eerie respect for his dad was something that was difficult to mirror. It was in Roger's nature to rebel, and most of the time, he wondered why Dean had followed anyone so blindly. However, this didn't mean Roger didn't have respect for John; he had it in spades. Hell, sometimes he wished his respect would earn him a place in John's heart, maybe clinch or solve some of the unresolved shit with his own father, but he remained petrified of consequence and too emotionally stunted to make any moves toward.

"I could give a shit," Roger hissed, tugging down in the branch above to test it. "All I care about is getting my Goddamn guitar back." Maybe there was no inanimate object in John's life that he had all but personified, but to Roger, this was important. Of course, he didn't dare look at John when he growled at him.

[babyviper]

"You've got to be shitting me," O-Ren said, all pretense at chilly calm evaporating under her surprise. "Did that monkey just mug you?"

She evaluated the situation from a closer viewpoint.

"Do... you want me to kill it?"

[one__song]

"I'M CLEARLY NOT--" He froze mid-insult as he looked over and saw O-Ren the source of the deadpan ridicule. He dropped to the ground and looked up where the guitar was dangling menacing very much out of his reach.

"You can't kill it, O-Ren, that might be somebody's pet," Roger said, kicking the trunk. "Fucking SATANIC MONKEY!"

[babyviper]

"I'll get them a new monkey," O-Ren said, unperturbed. "There are lot more monkeys on this island than there are guitars." She put a hand on a branch, and pressed down, testing its strength.

"I suppose I don't have to kill it."

[one__song]

"I don't feel like watching you kill a monkey," Roger said, a touch exhausted with talk of monkeys. He stood below the hairball, ready to catch the guitar if he decided the game was over. "Please don't kill it."