[open log] the saddest little stoner that couldn't

[foolproofed]

CHARACTERS: Marty Mikalski and you!
LOCATION: Hallways + Holodecks + Kitchens (a few days after the jump)
WARNINGS: Sad stoner kid. Probably talk of the world ending or something idk. Also weed. Lots of weed.
SUMMARY: Dana's gone, and Marty's taking it badly for a number of reasons.


He really thought he'd be doing better at this.

Like, she was already dead the moment he heard her over the comms. They were both already dead; died with their hands locked together, so close to each other's faces that he could feel her iron-tinted breath against his nose. They were dead together. And then they were alive together. And for a little while, everything was good.

Until this jump, when he'd gone to get Dana and found her pod empty, her locker abandoned.

She was gone, just like that.

He doesn't expect the cold, numb sensation to wash over him, not like this. He figured he could just pour one out for his homey, appreciate that she was resting in some way (it brought him comfort, okay?), and then maybe go to his room and sleep it off. None of these things happened. Instead he just drifted the hallways with a sag to his shoulders and a slow drag to his step.

Dammit, Dana.

He's alone again, and they're all gone. Once again, he's reminded how much it's not fair to be alive, and how ready he was to be dead. He doubted there'd be pearly gates for him, but at least he would have that much. As it is, he just feels tired. Now if only he could bring himself to sleep. There are so many thoughts rushing around in his head, he feels like his brain'll burst if his heart doesn't first. He passes the kitchens and lounging rooms up, but when he finally comes to the holodecks, he can't help but go there.

Poor foxy minx. Poor redheaded heroine. She was so good; such a good ray of sunshine. Everybody he met here would have loved to be her friend. Is it possible to mourn someone a second time? Possible to mourn them even worse than the first time? He scoffs and shuts off the gravity in the room, and then just lets himself hover quietly through the space with his knobby knees drawn up close to his chest.

He's a floating ball emanating heartache. It's not him at all.

Jesus. Jesus, I'm a fuck-up. He couldn't even properly respond to this shit. Just... hover like they did, and as much as he wants to appreciate that memory, he keeps getting caught in a mental feedback loop of: blood, blood, monsters, Dana, fucking godhand of death. No, when Dana disappeared on him this time, he had to restart the grieving process all over again. For all of them.

Maybe what makes him choke on something empty and lost is the fact that Dana wasn't dying outright. No.

She was going back to being half-drowned in a lake, being manhandled by a zombie fuck, and then watching as the entire world shattered around her.

Hand in his.

He chokes again and his eyes burn, but he fights it away.

Fuckers.

Motherfucking fuckers.


Of course, about a day later, Marty's taken residence in one of the kitchens with his trusty bong Nancy and a good dozen rolled joints expertly lined up on the counter (he was just counting them out while figuring out how his hands made edible shit from the fridge). Beware, this kitchen smells like weed, and the smoke fogging the doorway doesn't help the scene. Marty's in a sharing and caring mood today, at the very least; maybe it'll lift his spirits. Hell, he's already sitting on a bar stool chair, laughing into his hands about something or another.

It's probably not all that funny, and he's not about to say what it is.

Comments

[foolproofed]

[Wow, that's a painful parallel, man. Both faces losing the most important chicks in their lives around here. Marty's laughter dies down suddenly, as he turns (so very delayed, his reaction) to the man who looks suspiciously like him. Whatever was funny doesn't seem so funny anymore, and he blinks.]

Can't make a sandwich there, man. Every joint needs a good sandwich.

[... Heh. Something about that is great. A crooked little smile tugs at his lips.]

Wassup, man?

[He forgot why he was sad. He'll remember in no time.]

[andblockbuster]

That's why you picnic or... is that just against stoner code- you have to light up where the munchies are. I'm not hip to the jive. I'm fascinated by drugs, I don't actually partake. [He waves a hand to try and disperse some of the smoke around him, but it doesn't really help.]

I thought I'd see if somewhere along the line we got the space brand Hostess snacks. We skipped an entire jump- weirder things have happened.

[foolproofed]

Don't partake? In a place like this?

[... What?

That's clearly the most important part of that reply.]

[andblockbuster]

[Topher moves over to the counters and gesticulates wildly after finding the first one to be disappointingly devoid of decent foodstuffs.] I need my senses sharp. You don't want a guy tripping out while he futzes around with your head.

[foolproofed]

Oh, right... I guess.

[But.... but even so...]

But that would mean you never get a time to unwind with booze or pot, though.

[andblockbuster]

[There's an awkward silence, punctuated only by Topher shutting cabinet doors until finally he turns and leans against the counter.]

Bennett's gone. I... I thought you'd wanna know.

[He had to let it out sometime.]

[foolproofed]

You too, huh?

[His expression falls even more, if that's possible at all.

Dammit, not Bennett, too. Bad day all around.]

A girl from home — my friend, uh. Went back. This last jump, she was... was just kinda gone.

[andblockbuster]

You mean Dana? [Topher shoves his hands in his pockets.] I'm sorry, man. She seemed really cool.

[An agitated huff.] You never know who's gonna come and go around here.

[foolproofed]

Yeah, Dana. [He sighs, sad as hell at the thought; Bennett's gone, too. The ache isn't nearly so strong, not even remotely, but she was one of his friends around here. Two people gone? That's just added injury, as far as he's concerned.] You met her? I'm guessing she looked at you funny.

[andblockbuster]

Yeah, it was probably karma getting revenge on everyone mistaking you for me. [He laughs, except it's bitter and hollow.]

[foolproofed]

[He laughs, but it's pretty humorless, too. Glances over, looks back at the table.]

Maybe we should invest in shirts with our names on 'em.

[andblockbuster]

[Topher huffs.] Dude, if they are getting us confused, they are not looking hard enough. I would have to refuse to cut my hair and not sleep for a week to obtain the level of "follow me for more soft grunge" you just... exude naturally.

[foolproofed]

[OFFENDED FOR ALL THE WRONG REASONS.]

Soft grunge? I'm a hip-hop and rap kid! Wu Tang and Snoop the Weed Machine!

[OFFENDED]

[andblockbuster]

And you look like Cobain without the obviously jaded parts. [And you wear sweatervests, Topher.] Get some dreads, maybe I'll rescind the comment.

[A pause] Can you actually do that? 'Cause I've always wondered if I could pull 'em off. In passing.

1/2

[foolproofed]

Dude, my hair grows like — an inch a century. No way.

[... He sighs, puffing on his bong, even though it's basically not even lit up.]

I would totally try, though...

[looks longingly into the distance...............]

[foolproofed]

[HEY WAIT]

And you don't have any room to talk about looks! You wear sweatervests.

[andblockbuster]

What's wrong with sweatervests? [THEM'S FIGHTING WORDS, MIKALSKI.]

[foolproofed]

They're vests, for one thing.

They're a mutilated sweater hide.

[slaps with glove]

[andblockbuster]

They're the comfort food of clothing. Insulting a sweatervest is like insulting apple pie. Or kittens.

[foolproofed]

Paula Deen makes comfort food, and that shit'll kill you.

What I'm saying is sweater vests are deadly and one of these days it'll turn on you, just watch. They're knitted by hand via Satan.

[do u like my riffing of the sweatvests]

[andblockbuster]

I've never heard of anyone dying by sweatervest and I used to read Weekly World News. A lot.

[foolproofed]

Well, duh, nobody publishes that because it's a kind of lame way to go.

[andblockbuster]

The schadenfreude alone would sell papers.

[HE IS JUST BEING CONTRARY NOW!!!!]

[foolproofed]

I would concede to that point, but then I remember you wear sweatervests and it makes me want to disagree with everything your argue. That's why sweatervests are bad.

[andblockbuster]

[LONG, FURIOUS STARING.]

Y'know, for five minutes there, I almost accepted you.

[HE'S LEAVING. He will totally forget he's mad at you in, like, a day, but right now? STOMPY FEET.]