entranceway | 015] video ----> BACKDATED TO TUESDAY MORNING <-----

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015] video ----> BACKDATED TO TUESDAY MORNING <-----

[It takes him a little while to collect himself, as the memories (most jumbled and incomplete thanks to the amount of shit he'd been pumping himself full of for the past few days) slowly filter back in bit by bit, but eventually he gets it together enough to ask what he needs to ask.

When he pops up on the feed his face is drawn and tired, the bags under his eyes even more pronounced than usual despite the fact that he'd essentially been "sleeping" for an entire day.]

Somethin' got me down in the caves. [And his tone makes it obvious that he doesn't mean "got me a birthday present". He looks down then, unsure how to put this in a way that isn't cryptic or confusing... But after a few seconds of lip-chewing and offscreen callous-picking he continues, figuring that if anything had happened, it'll be pretty clear what he means:] ...I hurt anybody?

[If he hadn't, this is gonna drag up a whole bunch of questions he'd prefer not to touch... But he needs to know what he did after the lights went out, and if that means outing himself and explaining his situation back in Georgia, well... It's the least he can do. There could be people who are owed one hell of an explanation.

And he considers elaborating now but thinks better of it, cutting the video feed abruptly to send a private text to America:]

that shit upstairs gotta go if you havent taken care of it already

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[ Daryl if this friendship/booze bonding/vague tolerance of America's presence is to continue, you are going to have to learn to enjoy the immature butt texts. Because this is only the beginning. How can you not be in a good mood with someone texting you butts what is wrong with YOU, man? ]

yea it makes me too jumpy and alert i dont like that. i need the opposite of that.

[ "Good shit" his ass. Your other self does not know quality drugs dude.

America's fingers hesitate over the buttons. Sometimes it's hard to be honest with himself, let alone other people. Being upfront with his opinions isn't the same as showing off any potential weaknesses. After some deliberation he hesitantly starts an explanation. Once he starts he can't stop. ]

i dont like doubting myself. i dont like thinking that there was an alternative. "give me liberty or give me death." i live by those words.

in those memories i was happy to still be in the family and i cant handle that okay i like my independence but life was easier when i was a colony. no one could blame me and it wasnt hard and in that other life i still had my brothers. i dont want to remember that. i dont want to think i could have been happy. or not dead.

its MESSING WITH MY HEAD I GOT ENOUGH I DONT WANT TO REMEMBER BUT I HAVE TO SO I WOOD RATHER NOT HAVE THIS ON TOP OF THAT.

[ Oh my god America calm your shit. This conversation is the epitome of "boy that escalated quickly." Is he on meth right now? We just don't know. One thing is obvious though, this guy does not need any stimulants in his life. ]

and that accent was embarrassing.

[ So is his behavior right now. He's quickly regretting saying so much, so he adds: ]

p.s. dont think im weak or crazy for this okay. you can forget i said anything lets just take the stuff away.

[Daryl waits for the slew of messages to come through, and once enough time has passed that he's pretty sure more aren't gonna interrupt his typing, he addresses them one by one:]

need to get you some downers. [The rest of it isn't his place to comment on, and besides, it's obvious America doesn't wanna get into it any more than he already has. He wouldn't wanna have his own shit poked and prodded at, and so he lets it go for now; he isn't gonna forget, no, but... No need to make it worse. The accent thing makes his lips twitch a tiny bit in spite of himself, but he lets that go too- he isn't much in the mood for teasing.] aint no going back now its done with. but whenever you got the time we best make that mess disappear dont need nobody getting into it

[Poor bastard. Daryl really doesn't envy him that identity crisis garbage; he knows he'd made the right choice in not getting involved in Merle's shit, isolated though he'd always been because of it, and so really his main concern is that he'd been stupid enough to get himself killed. But he's not... Dwelling on it. Really. Not one bit.]

[ The tenseness in his shoulders eases when he realizes that Daryl isn't going to press the issues. At this point he doesn't even care if the guy's judging him (he's more than used to that); as long as he isn't left behind or scoffed at, he can manage. It's good to just... talk. Although he wouldn't blame the southerner for laughing at the way he talked--holy shit it was so abysmally English it was mortifying. ]

thanks. [ For not poking and prodding. There's more to say but doesn't know how to say it, so he leaves it at that. Short simple and to the point. ] i already take opium regularly for pain and stomach problems. i think i will have to increase my dose until further notice.

[ Because that's how you treat mental problems, right? ]

i am not doing anything else with my time. in any case a distraction would be nice.

[ While he waits for Daryl to respond, he decides to add one more message: ]

|_)_) c=3

sodomy.

i am laughing so hard right now you dont know.

making symbol pictures is magical.

Edited (a less pointy dick) 2013-08-24 23:36 (UTC)

[There's remarkably little judgment on Daryl's part- he'd gone through something somewhat similar as a kid: as his event self would suggest, he'd made a choice about who he'd wanted to become, and it hadn't been an easy one.

...Alright, so there's a little judgment for the pictures. That's some fascination with asses you got there, buddy. Something you wanna cop to...?]

christ

[Ridiculous emotes aside, though, Daryl would agree with being on board for a distraction. Exhausted though he is, he'd like to make at least some effort to clean up the messes he's made. Any mess will do.]

your a real artist. and you best watch how much of that shit you take might have a problem later. [...Or right now. There's gotta be a reason for all the butts.] im good to get started when you are wanna meet me up there

[ The main reason is that a teenage (physically and mentally anyway) boy who just discovered texting. The nineteenth century is not known for its endless entertainment, and what little there is usually isn't available in the army; worse than bullets is the sheer boredom. The ability to text crude, dumb images is enough to make him cry with laughter.

Also he just like butts. Again, teenager. And the little brother of France. The fascination with asses is inevitable. ]

i no right? this is merely the tip of the iceberg of my astounding capabilities. 'v' (that is me as a bird.)

dont worry i no what im doing. medications are actually not as effective on me as they are with humans. they are merely treatments not cures. though what we made certainly helped my focus it hurt my head so no thank you i will stick to coffee to keep me "up." the opium is proven effective and since i am incapable of overdose there are no worries! it is not as bad as the lead acetate alternative.

[ Civil War medicine: "as long as it knocks you out who gives a fuck." ]

yes okay i will meet you up stairs.

[...Okay, Daryl will give you that, man. He ain't a fan of being bored himself and he'd suppose making text faces is about on par with shooting cans and throwing rocks.

Not that he's done either of those things since he'd been a teenager, of course...

The self-medication is concerning (because his brother's a meth head, it's to be expected), but he trusts that the kid's not gonna OD on him so he'll let it go. Seems to be working with... Minimal side effects. Yeah.

And when America reaches the room on the tenth floor, he'll find Daryl, already going through the closets and sporting a gas mask not unlike the one Dean'd given him when he'd arrived here. There's another one on the bed, should America decide to abide by safety first.]

[ When he does arrive he's a little winded. Being in shape means nothing when your lungs are literally on fire. One thing he had to hand it to being British, it made things a hell of a lot easier.

But he doesn't want to think about that right now.

Gas masks in his time aren't refined in the slightest (actually 99% of the time they're just a hand kerchief over the mouth), so when he sees Daryl wearing it he gives a little startled jump. ]

Jesus, what the hell are you wearing? What is it with people tryin' to ambush me in creepy masks...

[ And by "people" he means "England." America had an interesting childhood. Once his heartbeat calms down, he walks over and examines his own mask curiously. ]

[Daryl feels that; he isn't suffering from physical withdrawal... But the memory of a weekend of chainsmoking has led, predictably, to chainsmoking. Not great for his overall health, but what's he got to lose, really...? Nope, the trip up here hadn't been a picnic for him either.

Still, he does have the breath to spare to snort at America's response. Little jumpy, are we...? In any case, his voice is muffled but not completely incoherent through the mask.]

Got a real mess in here, bettin' the air's no good... Probably spread down the hall too but we gotta get it outta here before we start workin' on that. [he glances at a burnt-out pot sitting on a desk. It looks like it'd been on fire at one point: the wall behind it is covered in ash.] Ain't takin' no chances.

[Ironic considering the smoking... But that's neither here nor there.]

They got trash chutes around here somewhere, don't seem to go nowhere... That's lookin' like the best place to put it.

[Is that how you get rid of a meth lab? Who the fuck knows.]

[ You want tobacco, America is the country for you. He was founded on tobacco. The promise of eternity (or close to it) is bound to excuse bad habits too; for him, it's almost every vice short of women, and he'd indulge in that too if he wasn't so fucking awkward. So really, no judgement on the smoking. The possibility of lung cancer is still better than third stage syphilis.

Since he'd rather not have his lungs burn any more than necessary, America follows Daryl's lead and puts on the mask. It takes a bit of fumbling to get it right. ]

Always wondered where all the trash goes. I know it's all... magical and shit. [ He spits out the word "magical" like the word itself is a piece of trash. ] But still. You can't just make shit disappear. It's gotta go somewhere.

[ But as long as that "somewhere" is nowhere nearby, then it's a good enough way as any to get rid of a meth lab. ]

Think the house will clean up that [ he points to the ash on the wall ] or are we gonna have to scrub that too?

[That's quite the hateboner for magic America's got there, and Daryl can't help but notice it. His own feelings toward it are mostly positive- a little curiosity, too, because there's nothing like that in Georgia... But he can see how it'd be harder to accept for someone who'd likely consider a truck to be supernatural.

But views on magic aside, yeah, he's inclined to agree with the stuff they trash going somewhere.]

Ain't seen it pile up nowhere, maybe it gets recycled into the shit we put up with during the events. [He shrugs.] Could be anywhere. [And he froms at the wall, chewing at his lip for a few seconds and then:] ...Them stains ain't hurtin' nobody. Let 'em sit.

[There will be no Cinderelly shit for Daryl- he's only in here to get the dangerous crap out and that's that. He ain't no house keeper.

Belatedly, he pulls a pair of gloves from the closet, and then another which he tosses to America.]

Best get to work. [He's just gonna... gingerly handle a broken bottle with its frothy contents leaking all over the place into the large bin he'd dragged out of the closet.]

[ You would have a hateboner for magic too if you had England as a father figure and grew up with "hang the witch" Puritans. Interesting childhood. (Now voodoo/voodun, that's some shit he can get behind...) ]

Recycled? [ what do you mean you don't dump your trash in the nearest lake????? ] Man, as long as it ain't pilin' up in my room, my world, and isn't harmin' no one, I'm gonna leave that mystery at the bottom of my priority list. I'm still figuring out the communication system, I don't need any more complications!

[ He's silent for a few minutes. Putting on the gloves, gingerly putting things in the bin, pouring all liquids down the drain (and hoping it doesn't taint the water supply). Then suddenly his shoulders start to shake. He makes some wheezing noises. At first it looks like he might be having some kind of asthma attack, but then he croaks out a single word: ]

Butts.

[ YES HE IS STILL LAUGHING ABOUT THAT SHIT and he will laugh to himself if he has to. ]

Aw man, if the guys back home could do this, they'd be in tears! Can't waste much paper to do it with letters anymore. I just-- you can make endless butts, dicks, and tits on this out of symbols! Endless! It's a butt brigade!

[ He has to lean against a wall he's laughing so hard. Give him a couple seconds he'll get back to work soon. ]

[Daryl's knowledge for voodoo is limited- and yeah, pretty god damn racist, thank you, Merle. Far from the wand-waving and funny words that he'd seen James do and say, he'd probably just laugh at any of that "jungle shit".

Again, thank you Merle.

All of the "ain'ts" and dropped 'g's are a relief- good to hear America's back to his usual, Southern self- and so Daryl makes zero effort to interrupt or explain the merits of Reduce, Reuse, Etc. He thinks nothing of it when there's silence for a while (since he, too, is busy picking through the almight pile of crap that's strewn all over the place. It looks like a college kid's kitchen- bowls, pots, mystery fluid...

Yeah, he's a little distracted and a lot unprepared for being serenaded about the merits and glory of... Text butts. He turns to stare- though the effect is probably lost or made a million times creepier with the gas mask (are you my mummy...?)- and really just... What do you even say to that?]

...You gonna be alright?

[It's the little things, he supposes, in a situation like this, that are all you can really cling to. In his case it's, well, he ain't clinging to much; in America's case, it's butts.

Christ.]

[ America is in the peculiar position of looking white in a white supremacist society and holding some pretty damn racist ideas himself, yet he can't deny (nor wants to) that the other groups so looked down on are his people too. They're just as much a part of him as any others. But then you get into issues of citizenship and throw in the Native American nations and it gets even more confusing. Point is, shit's complicated and he has a lot of problems dealing with it.

It helps that a lot of Louisiana voodoo is tied to Christianity. It's easy to justify learning "magic" when you say no, he's just cursing/blessing people with the power of Jesus, and is voodoo any worse than Catholicism I mean you've seen that Eucharist shit right???? (Because battling prejudice with more prejudice is the way to go.)

That said, watching his lily white ass try to make charms and perform spells is equal parts sad and amusing. He wants to be Facilier and Mama Odie but no, he's that Cajun firefly who always talks about butts.

God that was a whole tangent no one needed let's move back to what's actually going on.

He nods at Daryl's question but is obviously having a little trouble breathing. He takes a few deep, rattling breaths to calm himself. The mask is lifted as he starts coughing and he has to double over again. Blood flecks the floor with each cough, though it's pretty easy for him to move his body and hide it from Daryl. The Georgian doesn't seem too interested in getting the place spic-and-span anyway.

Eventually he does get himself under control and puts the mask back on. ]

Yeah, yeah, I'm fine! Sorry. Guess it ain't so special to people who already know about this kind of technology, but it's a novelty for me. So's this.

[ He taps the side of the gas mask. ]

Hope I can take one of these back home! Sure would help the stench of battlefield cleanups a little more bearable.

[ Maybe???? Can you smell dead people in gas masks I have not tried. ]

I'll give it this, Wonderland sure lives up to its name. And at least I'll get outta here with the knowledge how to make... [ Gestures vaguely to what equipment is left. ]

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015] video ----> BACKDATED TO TUESDAY MORNING <-----

everyone is getting butt texts. there is no escape.

America is the Oprah of butt texts. LOOK UNDER YOUR CHAIR, ERRYONE GETS A BUTT TEXT!!

1/2

2/2 also this

GOOD GOD.

the worst part is i'm trying not to laugh about butts at work

Oh me too, man, me too. Daryl is a sourpuss but I'm dying :B

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POOR BASTARD.

HIS LIFE IS HARD AND NO ONE UNDERSTANDS

/o\

no it's not over yet it will never be over i am sorry

LOL NEVER BE SORRY FOR BUTTS.

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