pinesnet | 1: going a little mad

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1: going a little mad

[ Look, Jefferson hasn't really left the house much since he stumbled back from the hospital five days ago. The few things he remembers unnerve him, and he can't distinguish them from the fake memories that have become far more prominent in his mind-- being more grounded and 'realistic' than his actual life. So he just been staying inside, being a pill at Howard, and hiding in the safe familiarity of his home. With no company but the idiot amnesiac he thinks is his not-so-amicable ex.

Which is why he sounds so on edge when he records this message: ]

I could use someone to talk to. [ Pause, then an emphatic: ] Not How-- my... housemate. Who left wet towels on the bathroom floor and still won't fix the toaster he broke!

[ He lets out a frustrated breath. ]

Maybe I need more than a conversation.

Company. Company would be nice. I'll even pour you a drink.

[ So, it's not a booty call to the network, but it could be misinterpreted as one to any trolls out there. He's just lonely!

ANYWAY. Click. ]

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[Man, he's finally figured out how to work this thing. Although at the same time for some reason he feels like he's used it before...] Your housemate sounds most vexing. Why do you stay with him?

Because it's my house. And it's his house. And he won't move out.

[ And neither will Jefferson. SHEER STUBBORNNESS KEEPS THEM HERE. ]

And he won't clean, either. I have to do everything.

I assume you have already tried several methods to urge him to do so. In that case, why not allow whatever parts of the house he frequents to accumulate clutter, instead? Perhaps he will change his mind once he sees how necessary cleaning is.

[ Immediately, with no small amount of agitation in his voice: ] No.

[ Take a breath. Okay. ] I can't. If I do that, it'll just... it'll spread. All over the house. Then this home will become a hovel.

[ 'Hovel.' It's a word that sits strangely with him, but he quickly shakes it off, choosing to focus on Howard and just. Divert his frustration to an easy and convenient target. ] He's like a child.

[Man, this sounds like a serious problem. He definitely does not approve of adults acting childish himself, either.]

Perhaps you should treat him like a child, then. Is there anything he particularly enjoys, here?

[ So you see the problem here, Griffin! Just... ignore the fact that Jefferson is also being petty and childish... ]

Bad music. Tinkering. Annoying me.

[Hey, he dislikes messes. That puts Howard in his bad books.]

Do you know where he keeps his tools?

Everywhere. He keeps them everywhere.

[ Ah. Then it clicks. ]

I should take his tools away.

Precisely. Inform him that if he is to act like a child, he shall be treated like one.

[This can only end well.]

I shouldn't have to treat him like a child, but I guess that's where we are.

Hopefully it shall only have to be temporary.

Buddy, I'd be up for keeping you company anytime! Want me to bring some food over? I can cook something up for you.

[ Why do you sound SO CHEERFUL?

...

But at least there's something familiar and-- unlike his housemate-- pleasant about that cheerfulness. So, after a moment of startled silence, he admits, somewhat reluctantly: ]

It has been a while since I've eaten. [ And, having said that, he finds himself loosening up a little. ] You provide the food, and I'll provide the drinks?

That sounds like a darn good plan if I ever heard one! I'll over in twenty, how about?

Yeah. Twenty minutes. I'll be ready.

[ He even sounds like he might be smiling! Now he just needs to get ready. Luckily he has looking this good down to a science! ]

Copy that!

[ Time to go pack up all the food and cleaning supplies. Lord knows, the man sounded like he needed help tidying the place up! ]

[ What a ray of sunshine! Who knew that was just what Jefferson needed to take his mind off of, well, everything else. He makes sure his clothes and hair and whatnot are all right, and that he doesn't look like a somewhat unhinged mess... and then he tidies up the kitchen some more, just to be sure it's all ready for company.

He'll even... just... shove the disassembled toaster to its own corner of the countertop. ]

Edited 2017-02-21 04:38 (UTC)

[ Spaghetti? Check! Turtle pie? Check! Duster, scrubbies and baggies? Check!

Exactly 20 minutes later there's a knock on the door and a muffled sing song 'Jefferson! Buddy!' from the other side. ]

( there's silence on the response back. then the distinct sound of a laugh being muffled by an object before, finally, a loud, howling guffaw that goes on for a solid minute. the laughter dies away in to snorts. a weak voice responds, ) Oh my god.

( guess who? )

Edited 2017-02-13 06:03 (UTC)

[ WHY. GO AWAY. HE HATES YOU. ]

Don't you have a shop to mismanage?

[ Don't you have a shop, too, Jefferson? Pot. Kettle. Blah blah. ]

I'm multitasking. ( unlike jeff, who can only focus on being a whiny little baby.

this is more important, anyway. ) What's your type? The lonely and desperate? Recently released convicts who haven't touched anyone in over a decade? The blind and deaf who are looking for a charitable deduction for their taxes? The recently deceased?

( what is he working with? )

'My type'?

[ Is he seriously--

Oh god. ]

Smarmy idiots who need a shave, apparently.

( "is he seriously — oh god": title of howard's sex tape.

there's a chuckle in his voice. ) Sorry pal. I'm not interested.

( jeff broke his heart once. he can't bare to go through — hahahaha ok, howard can't keep a straight face while even thinking it )

However will I move on.

[ Yeah, doesn't he just sound so heartbroken? ]

I don't know what I ever saw in you. [ No, really, he doesn't. His memories are a mess. ] Really, it's one of life's great mysteries.

( hopefully with some dignity, jeff. you're already cramping his style.

yes, focusing on insulting jeff will enable him to ignore the fact that he doesn't remember anything from the supposed past relationship — nothing from his past period. )

Yeah, how did a catch like me ever end up with lame fathead like you? Get Sherlock Holmes on the line, he's got a mystery to solve.

As I recall, I was the one who ended things with you, you know.

[ Not really. He doesn't remember who ended it, though he can easily imagine the why. But what he does know is that his scant memories are a hell of a lot more than Howard's got right now. So he might as well have fun with it. ]

But you do like to talk big for a man who cried on my shoulder for two hours when I ended things.

( there's a brief pause on his end for barely a second as he quickly regroups. it's hard to know what's real and what's not. he doesn't know anything and, lately, it's been frustrating him to the point that he wants to crawl in to a bottle and lay there until the memories filter back or he drowns. certainly doesn't help that his one source of memories to his past life is a dickhead who finds more pleasure in torturing him than actually helping him.

what has howard done to deserve this kind of treatment? honestly?

but those are concerns for another day, another time. when jeff doesn't need to be taken down a notch. a smirk twists at howard's mouth and he adjusts the phone to his ear. there's enough biting sarcasm in his voice that even a fathead like jeff should be able to catch the true meaning behind his words. ) Oh baby, you could always see right through me, couldn't you? How could I not cry over the loss of touching your lovely baby smooth skin, — ( which explains howard's constant urge to diaper his face. ) — your lips, which are like raspberries, and those eyes — oh god blue like the Mediterranean? Do you — ( bubbling laughter cuts him off. in fact, for the next thirty seconds, he'll be laughing too hard to hear anything jeff says. )

[She remembers, recognizes the voice. Why wouldn't she? She's been counseling Jefferson for a while now, hasn't she?]

Jefferson? Is everything all right?

Yeah. I-- ah.

[ Okay, he can't lie to his shrink. She knows his moods well enough, right? Jefferson hesitates, a guilty silence hanging over the line before he speaks again. ]

No. I don't think so.

[ It's a weak admission, and he winces at the sound of his own voice, all small like that. Clearing his throat, he adds: ]

I haven't missed an appointment, have I?

[He should be able to hear the smile and warmth in her voice] No, you haven't. I don't see you in the books. Would you like to be?

I can come over. It doesn't have to be official.

[After all the problems relating to memory loss, not remembering her name, not finding any signs of her husband and baby daughter, she's hoping her job... some semblance of 'normalcy' would help jog everything that's real back into place.

That and it's an excellent distraction.]

[ He knows that he definitely doesn't want to go in for an appointment, and he's about ready to turn down any appointments (after all, he doesn't want to be sent to the hospital for his delusions of strange, fairy tale lands)-- until she offers to come by and keep things unofficial. That shouldn't be so bad, especially if he keeps his mouth shut about some of the stranger things going on in his head. ]

All right. I can-- I'll put the kettle on.

All right. Your address is still: [she lists a number and street that's listed in her book. Something she has no memory of writing but appears to be in her handwriting anyway] correct?

That's right. [ There's an unspoken 'UNFORTUNATELY' in his tone. ] Still the same place with the same... person.

All right. Hang tight. I'll be there soon.

[And she will be knocking politely at his door soon enough, smiling when the door opens. In her hands is a small plastic cylinder with loose tea leaves inside, though it's hard to tell with its colorful exterior.]

Hey.

[ CONTINUED HERE! ]

[ Rule. When the phone rings, answer it.

Well, he hasn't even gotten a word in, edge-wise yet. This guy is the definition of stir-crazy. Then again, Damon's a vampire stuck inside. He's going his own version of stir-crazy. ]

Drink's not necessary. As for company, I'm in the middle of something right now. Talking, I can do. I have no real memories to pull from when it comes to messy roommates. I live with my brother and he is meticulously clean. And, so am I. So, sorry you don't live with us?

[ If he were face-to-face with Damon right now, the sight of him might trigger a memory-- one more for the growing pile about life in Wayward Pines. Instead, he just hears a voice, one that's at least friendly enough that it'll do.

He lets out a soft, short laugh that's more than a little bitter. ]

I don't suppose you're taking in any extra roommates right now.

[ It's a joke. A FLAT, UNHAPPY JOKE FROM A MISERABLE SHUT-IN. ]

Though to be honest, I'd rather live alone.

[ He knows it's wrong the moment he says it. The word-- alone-- brings back a familiar ache of loss, of a daughter who may or may not exist. ]

I wouldn't even know if we were. But, we're full up on beds tonight. [ They're not, but you're a voice, sir. ]

Who knows what's stopping you. [ The desire comes and goes. Mostly goes. Elena. Even Stefan. Bonnie. He doesn't admit it out loud, but he likes when he doesn't live alone. He even prefers it. ] If they even are. How'd he break the toaster?

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1: going a little mad

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