#so many goddamn thoughts it’s just like what angle to i wanna hit em at for this post LOL

[pjbehindthesun]

chapter 23: an hour and a half from now

Saturday, November 3rd, 1990

What does it say about me, that this is the most at home I’ve felt in this city since I’ve moved here? Leaning on a cold metal pole in the back of a shithole music venue by myself with nobody to talk to, just watching the people in the crowd who have no idea they’re being watched. Shit, I don’t mean it to sound all creepy like that, it’s just one of my favorite things to do: pay attention to people when they think they’re being ignored. That whole “dance while no one’s watching” idea? Makes for a solid evening of entertainment all by itself. Unless, like tonight, everyone seems to be here on a goddamn date. For the first half of the set, it’s just felt nice, the way no one’s bothered me all night, but it’s like a light switch flicked in my head and now all I can see is that everyone’s here with someone. Fucking great. Can’t even enjoy a show without reverting into a self-pitying, morose fucker. Maybe if I find a different spot in the club, I can try to force my attention back on the band. At least no one’s hassling me about shouldering my way forward. In a small enough place like the Off Ramp, no one really gives a shit.

Yeah, okay, this is better. The only people I can see are the handful of people directly in front of me and the band. They’re pretty fucking great, I never saw ‘em before… Jesus Lizard, I wanna say? Supposed to be out of Chicago, so we probably know a lot of the same people, although Beth was always way more into the noise rock scene than me…

Fuck. Stop it, Vedder. I hate this whole fucking break-up thing. Whose idea was it, anyway, not mine… I hate how everything reminds me of her. Or, I guess, I want to hate it. Truthfully, those painful little stabs of memory are all I have of her anymore, so I guess I should be grateful for them. I have a habit of hoarding them, like a collector, turning them over and over like cherished trinkets. How fucked up is that? Wait a minute… that’s not her, is it? There, the little brunette, up on the rail, in the white t-shirt that’s too big for her frame... fuck, it looks just like her from this angle, it’s got to be her… what the fuck is she doing here? She wouldn’t have come all the way up here, would she? For what reason? To tell me she wants to get back together? I shove between a couple of guys who are probably gonna murder me in an alleyway later, but it doesn’t matter, my hand’s on her shoulder, she whips around, and…

“M’sorry, thought you were someone else,” I mutter as the girl turns back to the music with a justified look of disgust, although there’s no way she heard my apology and definitely no way she cared. Of course it wasn’t her. What the fuck would she be doing in Seattle? What sense would that make? So fucking stupid. Doesn’t matter how many times I think I spot her in a crowd, it’s only wishful thinking. Stupid, invasive, immature dreams of her coming to find me, to tell me we’d made a horrible mistake. Just dreams. I can’t get myself outside the club fast enough. There’s a stack of the local circular on the counter by the door, so I grab one on my way out, hoping I’ll find something in there that’s actually worth thinking about, and shiver when I hit the damp outside air after escaping the stuffy club.

Maybe I should have gone out with Jeff and Mike after all, seen whatever show they wanted to see. Maybe I would have had a different set of distractions with them, done a better job keeping my mind off of Beth. Then again, seems like every time I go out with the guys, we end up hanging out with like a dozen of their closest friends in the music scene. Normally that’d be great, but I can’t shake the feeling that their buddies are always making fun of me somehow. I don’t blame ‘em, I’m probably fucking hilarious to them, a surfer in Seattle, a terrified frontman, the absolute antithesis of everything the guys had going on before, with Andy, just a…

...just a self-absorbed knucklehead whose problems aren’t shit compared to what I can see a little ways down the road from me. There’s a person, a woman, maybe, looks like she’s about my mom’s age, and she’s settling in for the night underneath the highway overpass. Okay, there’s one way I can quit being a mopey sack of shit and do something positive.

After giving her all the change in my wallet, the newspaper I wasn’t really reading anyway, the flannel under my coat, and the cut-off gloves I’d forgotten I had stashed in my pocket, I start back in the direction of home. Or Jeff’s apartment, I should say. Home’s a long way away. But I don’t get very far past the door of the Off-Ramp.

“Eddie?”

The door opens, carrying with it a wall of club noise and a familiar, mellow voice that makes me turn around.

“Oh, uh, hey Chris,” I greet him as he materializes out on the street, looming in all black. “You been here long? I didn’t see you, I woulda said hi.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” he smiles, “but it’s cool, I probably wouldn’t have either. It’s just one of those nights. You probably know how that is. I figured you’d be over at Squid Row with Jeff and Cready.”

“Oh, uh, you know, I was just…”

“Hey, like I said, it’s one of those nights. I’m being an antisocial shit too,” his grin widens. “We could team up, you know? Twice the brooding.”

“The more the moodier,” I’m chuckling in spite of myself. Chris seems to do that -- put people at ease. If he wants to. I’m glad I ran into him.

“Where were you headed?”

“There’s this footpath over at Discovery Park, and it’s usually pretty kinda quiet this time of night. My wife, she’s a big fan of these ridiculous little dogs. You ever seen a Pomeranian?”

I squint, racking my brain. “Those the Chinese ones, the little ones that look like mops?”

“No, no, that’s a Pekingese,” he laughs at the characterization. “Poms are even less dignified, they’re literally just pom poms with googly eyes glued on. Anyway, Susan’s all about ‘em, and we just got one. Well, a new one, I should say, we already had one, so now they’re a dynamic duo. Kinda funny to watch them try and keep up with my shepherd in the mud,” he mimes short legs flailing and a tongue panting, and his long hair looks for all the world like a pair of poodle ears as it sways along, “so I go out there by myself with a bunch of shitty beer and watch ‘em run around until they’re too tired and I have to carry ‘em back, one under each arm. It’s really fucking therapeutic, you should try it.”

Is this guy serious? I know I’m new to Seattle, but you’d have to live under a rock to miss how big Soundgarden is around here. And this notorious rockstar spends his weekends roaming through forests like a lonely ghost with a pack of ridiculous hounds? That’s officially the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever heard another human being say.

“Well? You in?”

I bob my head once in agreement, trying not to smile like too much of a fucking maniac, and another easy smile spreads across his face.

“Yes! My car’s that one, the Galaxie. Fuckin’ radio’s stuck on a religious station right now, though, hope you’re feeling the right combination of gullible and guilty.” He points at something parked behind him on the corner before turning on his heels to head in that direction. A massive, battered, late ‘60s Ford land yacht. I don’t think I could feel more heartfelt and instant love for an inanimate object if I tried.

“Hey, if you’re into hiking, we oughta go tomorrow too, there’s that trail Cora and I were telling you about a while back, I don’t think she’d be too mad if we went without her… although on second thought, I don’t want her to kill either one of us, so maybe we should probably check and see if she wants in... ” he trails off as I break into a jog to try and keep up.

***

Sunday, November 4th, 1990

“Where are you off to at this hour?”

In the quiet and darkened apartment, Alex’s voice makes me bounce into the air from my seat on the couch where I’d been tying my shoe.

“JESUS! You scared the shit out of me!”

He watches me with a rueful twist of his lips. “It’s my apartment too, ya know. You got too used to it being empty while I was gone, huh?”

“No, it’s not like that…” ...except it’s exactly like that, I mutter to myself as I try to stop my heart from racing like a cornered bunny's… “I just didn’t think you were awake yet and I didn’t want to be the one to wake you. I figured you’re probably still tired. From your trip.”

“Nah,” he groans through a stretch, “wide awake. My body’s still on mountain time.”

“Hmm.” I return my attention to my laces in the absence of anything else to say to him.

“You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Your…?”

“Where are you off to?”

“So long, Mom, I’m off to drop the Bomb...” I singsong absently while I finish tying the other sneaker’s laces. When I straighten up, Alex is looking utterly lost and more than a little annoyed.

“Come again?”

“Little bit of pre-nostalgia for World War III, that’s all.”

I bite my lip to shut myself up. Weapons of mass destruction and nuclear holocaust are maybe slightly less funny when we’re actually keeping so many secrets from one another.

“You’re so fucking weird.” Alex shakes his head in dismissal, not showing any signs of having gotten the joke. Stone would have thought it was funny. UGH, god damn it, speak of the devil. Why am I thinking about Stone? Stop thinking about Stone! Stop it! Quick, change the subject…

“Well, I was going to go for a run, if that helps answer your question.”

Alex nods and I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s the only excuse I can find for getting out of the house long enough to clear my head and sort through some of the chaos of the last 48 hours. Making sense of what Lucy was trying to tell me the other day. Deciding what to do about this gift Alex sent Patch. Figuring out what the hell I actually think of Stone now. It’s gonna need to be a long run.

“Can I come with you?”

“Are you feeling okay?” I frown as he circles his arms around me, my body staying stiff as he tries to coax me to relax.

“Better than ever. So can I?”

“You want to come with me.”

“Mmm.” He kisses the tip of my nose, and it's a struggle not to wrinkle it in response.

“Outside.”

“Unless you just want me to chase you around the apartment, I figured as much.”

“Run-ning,” I stretch my word out, unsure whether I've lost my mind or he has.

His bottom lip pokes out. “Don’t sound so shocked, you might hurt my feelings.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t think you’ve ever…”

“Who says I can’t start now?”

“No one, but…”

“But what?”

“I can’t guarantee there will be any bears or murderers chasing us, Alex, and I’ve never heard you say anything nice about weirdos like me who run for fun.”

“Are you impugning my athletic ability?” He laughs, grabbing my ass and making me contort away from him yet again. At the look of confusion on his face, it occurs to me that I'm being a colossal asshole.

“You really want to come running with me?”

“Mmhmm.”

“But… why?”

“Why what?”

“Alex. You hate running. And hiking. And being outside. And, like, nature in general.”

He shrugs and says, very simply, “yeah, but I love you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he grabs my ass again, and it’s all I can do not to grimace, “I missed you, okay? I kinda want to spend time with you.”

Well, it’s official, if I blow him off right now, I’m a sub-human. So much for my grand plan to figure out how in the world I'm supposed to tell him I don't really love him anymore.

“Yeah… okay. Let me, uh, let me get some stuff together and we’ll go?”

He lets go of me with a smirk and heads towards the kitchen, but pauses a few paces away and groans as he claps his hand over his eyes.

“Pull a muscle?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“I don't even think I have running shoes.” He faces me with a sheepish look, pulling his hand back to ruffle his hair. That always used to make me melt, when he’d do that. Used to. Now it just seems like a juvenile gesture he drops whenever he’s trying to get out of trouble. I never used to understand how falling out of love with someone was possible. I dimly remember thinking Stone sounded like a total asshole when he explained having gone through it. But right now, he’s the only person I want to talk to about it. Which is deeply inconvenient when I’m supposed to be hating his guts. Stupid Stone. But on the bright side, now I have an easy excuse to go on that solitary run.

“Oh, well, that solves th --”

“I’ll call Brian, he runs, I bet he has a pair I can steal!”

Before I can finish my objection, he’s got the phone to his ear and has already dialed his friend. I sink back against the lip of the kitchen table while he and his friend haggle over a pair of stinky running shoes, his friend who he’s never introduced me to, his friend who suddenly symbolizes how thoroughly we established completely different lives the moment we moved to Seattle. Why did it take me so long to figure this out? Lucy’s been trying to tell me, even Patch tried to tell me… damn it, I should really call Patch.

“Okay, don’t move a muscle, I’ll be right back!”

Alex plants a slightly-too-rough kiss on my cheek before flinging on his coat and bolting out the door. I numbly make my way over to the couch to curl up and stare at the phone. This is as good a time as ever to call Patch, right? See what he really thinks about Alex’s $500 stunt? Make sure he isn’t going to hate me if I go through with breaking up with Alex? God, they’ve always been such good friends, how on earth do you break up with someone who’s become a part of your family?

But instead of picking up the phone, I pick at a loose piece of rubber on the sole of my shoe. I want to hear my brother’s voice, but I’m terrified that maybe, possibly, there’s a slim chance he’ll tell me exactly what I want to hear and then I’ll have nothing left to do but act. And anyway, as much as I need his affirmation, I’m afraid of hearing yet again how I’m making all the wrong choices. It’s not his problem to solve, any more than it’s Lucy’s. I can hear how exasperated they’re both getting with me. So instead of calling my brother, and bothering him with my bullshit and hearing his predictable answers, I sit in a giant pile of mope and pick at my shoes while I wait for Alex to come back.

A heavy pair of footsteps slows down as it approaches my door. That must be Alex. I don’t even look up. Until the owner of the footsteps knocks. Alex wouldn’t knock.

“Uh, it’s open?” I call from the couch.

When Chris cracks the door and leans to peer inside, his hair precedes him, cracking me up and shaking me out of my mopey idiocy.

“Smokey! Can I come in?”

“Always. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

“Funny you mention woods,” he smiles, bounding over to the couch. He hesitates for a moment at the pile of laundry I haven’t folded yet, which is occupying the entire cushion next to me, but after I shrug at him, he scoops it up and dumps it unceremoniously on the floor. One item, my favorite navy blue bra, stays hooked to the afghan, and I cringe as I watch him gently untangle it and set it down on top of the rest of my clothes, looking totally unfazed. He joins me on the couch, staring at the toes of my shoes and stretching his arm along the back of the cushion. “I’m heading out for a hike, just gotta pick up my date first.”

He reaches over and shoves my arm with his fingertips.

“Nuh uh, no can do.”

“Smokeyyyyy,” he whines.

“I have to study! And, uh, I’m waiting for Alex to get back so we can go for a run?” I wish I could have kept my voice from turning my statement into a question, because there’s a glint of understanding in Chris’s eyes that I don’t particularly like. But his voice is mild enough when he speaks. I like him for that.

“Sure, sure.”

“Okay, fine, I kinda don’t feel like being around people today, are you happy?”

“Hardly ever,” his mouth twists, “but I know the feeling. Kinda why we’re friends in the first place, right?”

The corners of my mouth tug up just as his have as I stare at him and reflect on how much he’s brought into my life since I scolded him on a mountaintop on a day when we both needed to escape into the woods. This friendship that has never demanded much at all, but always been easy to settle into again after a lapse. The reassurance that there’s always someone with whom I have this maladjusted ghosting habit in common. And the Mookie guys. I have him to thank for that too. I swallow the peculiar lump rising in my throat.

“So, what’s new with you?”

“Yeah, I miss you too. Not much. Just working on Temple stuff now that we’re home for the rest of the year.”

“Ah, right. How’s that going?”

“Excellent,” he enthuses. “Shouldn’t even call it working. Never quite done anything like it. Have you heard any of it yet?”

“No, not that I can think of.” I haven’t heard the guys play in a while, but I’m not about to go into that. “You guys have that show coming up?”

He nods. “Couple weeks. You’ll be there, right?”

I let out a sigh that I feel like I’ve been holding in for days and resume torturing my shoe. “Uhm, I don’t know, I’ll have to see, I might be working that night. What day is it?”

“The 13th,” his voice drops about an octave, “and just what the fuck do you mean, you don’t know? Stoney’s gonna shit a brick if you if you miss it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I glance back up at him and flinch at his menacing expression. “I don’t know. Things are just... weird… there... right now.”

“You and Stone? Seemed pretty okay a few nights ago.”

I cringe in immediate regret of how publicly cozy Stone and I had gotten on Halloween. And if that’s all Chris knows, then he doesn’t know the half of it…

“Yeah, well, I don’t know, it’s weird now.”

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Chris presses, shifting his posture to face me more directly and still glowering at me.

“The other day, before he went home with the flu or whatever, Jesus,” I pat the arm of the couch, “is this a witness stand or something?”

“Okay, okay,” his demeanor relaxes. “Just be there, okay? This whole thing, I mean, the vibe of working on it has been really overwhelmingly positive, but it’s the kind of thing that’s still… I don’t know, it’s just important to me that you’re there, I feel like you’d get something out of it. And whatever’s going on with Stone, I’m pretty sure it’s important to him too.”

“Okay,” I mumble, fighting back the lump again, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Chris bobs his head. “Flu, huh?”

“What? Oh, right. I don’t know, he just looked like death warmed over and I’m pretty sure he went home right after we talked.” Another twinge of regret twists my insides, this time because it hasn’t even occurred to me in all my anger to check in on Stone and see how he’s feeling. He looked really, really terrible. Fight or no fight, he’s still my friend, and if I were the one to contract whatever bubonic plague is going around, I know he would be the first one to make sure I was okay. Especially since I think his parents are still out of town, which leaves him all by himself trying to take care of that dog and house. Shit, I should probably go over there.

Chris doesn’t point any of that out, though, thankfully. Instead, he silently looks around my apartment with interest, seeming very much all of a sudden like a cocker spaniel with a very short attention span. For everything this friendship means, it’s kind of weirdly emblematic that he’s never even seen my place before.

“Chris?”

“Mm?” he responds, not looking away from the bookcase in the opposite direction.

“You didn’t come all the way over here just to see if I wanted to go hiking, did you?”

“Nah, I’m actually here to pick up Eddie, he said he’d go. I think I finally sold him on our mountain.”

“Judas!!”

I aim a kick square at his hip, laughing as he intercepts my foot and disarms it by yanking off my shoe and throwing it across the room where it thuds against the opening door, missing Eddie’s face by inches.

“Whoa-oh,” he calls as he flinches, but his dimples dawn as a smile draws on his mouth, “who the hell throws a fuckin shoe?”

Chris grins back, yanking off my other one to lob it at Ed’s face, but it’s caught easily. Eddie throws them both back to me in a pair of gentle underhand tosses.

“So you coming with us or what, Cora?”

“Nah, leave her for dead, she’s a lost cause,” Chris chuckles as he stands up.

“Gee golly, mister, can’t imagine why I wouldn’t want to go hiking with you,” I drawl. Eddie’s eyes bounce back and forth keenly.

“Well, uh, too bad, maybe another time?” he says softly as plaintive wrinkles appear on his forehead.

“You bet. Just, you know, the boyfriend’s on his way home and we’re gonna go running, so it’s not a great time.”

“Oh, alright,” Eddie nods, but the wrinkles deepen in a way that tells me he’s about as believing of my excuses as Chris.

“No Jeff?” Chris asks as they head for my front door.

“No, he said it sounded cool but he said he’s gonna help Lucy do some stuff around the apartment today.”

“I bet he is.”

“Okay, you pigs, get out,” I shove Chris in the back toward the door, throwing all my weight against him, although he digs in his heels and I have no hope of moving him unless he wants to be moved. “You kill any more fucking time and you’re gonna lose the light, you know.”

“She’s got a very good point,” Eddie agrees, and Chris unlocks his knees, laughing as I stumble to keep my footing.

I’ve just shooed the two of them out the door when Alex comes home, carrying borrowed running shoes and still exuding the same smothering, sycophantic energy as when he left. I’m feeling extraordinarily stupid for not calling Patch to sort this shit out when I had the chance. Maybe after the run. On the bright side, Alex is in terrible shape for such a beanpole, and I’m confident I can outrun him, or at least make him wheeze enough not to have to worry about making conversation.

***

My head swims from the fumes as I take another deep breath and force myself to steady the paint brush, even though my arm is starting to ache from reaching so high, and my knees are getting sore from balancing on the sink basin. Whose bright idea was it to repaint a room with so much trim all by herself with no ladder? Oh right, that would be me. The white noise of the bathroom fan blocks out everything except the exertion of doing the work properly and the joy of seeing a new color stain a primed surface. Even if I’m not sure about the color just yet. I’m not really a blue sort of person. But this feels like a direction I wanted to follow. Any of the weird “improvements” I’ve done to this place, I’ve done by following that urge. I accepted a long time ago that I wasn’t getting my security deposit back. It’s fine. I’m not good at coloring in the lines or making up my mind. Let me make my messes and see what happens. It usually cleans up okay.

I crawl off the sink, hastily wiping the smear of bright teal paint off the porcelain with the damp rag tucked into the waist of my shorts, and look around. It’s… very blue. But the cabinet’s dark stain doesn’t look so dingy next to it, and I’ve got plans for the mirror that should warm the room up a little more. I’m refilling the tray when I hear the apartment door open and close, the sound of hightops being nudged off, and the familiar beat of heavy footprints padding down the hall to find me. Just the sound of him in my apartment has always made the place feel brighter.

“Whoa,” Jeff’s rasp reverberates off the walls, “you weren’t kidding, that’s… that’s fuckin BLUE.”

“Too much?” I spin around to study his face as he studies the walls.

“Nah, it’s cool. Vivid. It’s very you.”

“Ooh, your stock is falling, Jeffrey, I was just thinking to myself that it might have been the wrong color.”

“Why?” he pulls the headband out of my hair and begins to kiss my temple, the outside edge of my ear, and down along my neck to my shoulder. It’s a struggle not to wrap myself up in him, but my hands are still covered in paint. I manage to resist that temptation, but talking remains a challenge.

“Blue’s, uhm, it’s kind of a bummer…”

“No, no way, it’s so… like… sensitive, and strong, and… okay, I’m babbling, but can you blame me…”

“Yeah… but… like… the trim’s kind of glaring now, I don’t know what to do about it…”

Time to abandon any pretense of thinking straight, now that he’s got his nose in my collarbone like this. Maybe he won’t mind a little paint on his jersey...

“So this is you staying close to home, huh?”

“What?”

“Cora, all that shit. You bailed on all my ideas for plans, remember? Wanted to stay close to home?”

I frown at him, wondering where he’s going with this. There’s that neediness again. It’s not like him at all. So far, we’ve always been able to strike the right balance naturally, without putting any thought into it. We’re together when we want to be, we have space when we want it. And lately, Jeff’s been throwing all that out of balance. I wish he’d just tell me what the fuck’s going on… I wish he’d stop kissing my ear like that, or I’d remember to ask him about it…

“I still do… I think that’s for the best. But, uh, there’s a lot we can do at home, though, right?”

“I have some ideas…”

Before I can respond with some cute, pithy bullshit, he’s spun me around like I weigh nothing at all and pinned me against the wall, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it’s still dripping with wet turquoise paint. But I don’t give a shit either. I manage to reach my bare foot out behind him and nudge the paint tray out of our reach, ease him over so we’re both standing on the dropcloth, and give in to the full force of his kiss, trying to plant my feet as much as I can because my back’s slipping sideways in the paint. But my effort is unnecessary, because I’m not going anywhere in his grip. His hand lands flat on the wall next to my head before raking blue paint through my hair and dragging blue fingerprints across my throat, and it’s a race to see who can get undressed enough, fast enough…

*

Winded, and thoroughly slathered in turquoise, we splay out on the soaked dropcloth in a blissful, painted pile.

“Well, at least now I know what to do about the fucking trim color,” I nod at the formerly crisp, white door frame, which is now coated in Smurfy fingerprints from our failed efforts to keep our balance.

“I dunno, it’s a nice artistic statement when paired with your vertebrae sliding down the wall,” his fingers point out the trajectory of my body.

“I think I’ll just do the trim and walls and ceiling all the same color. You know. Very Masque of the Red Death.”

“Gothic, I like it.” He sighs, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. I squelch a little closer, remembering that we still have unfinished business.

“Jeff.”

“Present,” he sighs, not opening his eyes.

“Just checking.” Somehow, I still can’t bring myself to spit it out. “Uhm, you still willing to help me finish painting?”

“What else am I gonna do,” he muses with a contended smile.

After a farcical attempt at cleaning ourselves up, we continue to paint, halfway dressed, until the entire room is saturated in turquoise. My every pore and mucous membrane sympathizes.

“Anyone ever told you you’re a disaster with a paint brush?” he teases, watching me try to wash the paint from deep under my fingernails in the sink.

“Oh, yeah, it’s on my resume, actually.”

“Smartass,” he reaches out with a menacing blue paw, attempting to smear the arm I’ve just washed off, but I manage to dodge him.

“Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me,” I taunt, feinting left and then right.

“Ugh, work work work,” he gives a gravelly laugh and abandons all pretense of not being able to catch me, wrapping me up once again and finding my mouth with his. But that annoying thought that there’s something we’re not saying still won’t leave me alone.

“Hey, hey, Jeff?” I kiss him back lightly but maintain my ground, until he finally quits and looks at me in confusion. “Why… uh, why don’t you just fucking say it?”

His grip on me lightens and his jaw falls slack, confirming that I was right to press the issue, that it wasn’t just my issue. I persist, “I know you’re all pissed about not making plans this weekend, I know you’ve got something you want to say to me, there’s some occasion you’re trying to manufacture, and either you’re really terrible at breaking up with me or it’s something I really want to hear, so either way, can you just spit it out already?”

Jeff’s shocked stare makes me wish immediately that I hadn’t said anything, damn it Lucy, things were fine, why did you have to put him on edge, here we go, the other shoe’s bound to drop, he’s gonna break up with me, come on, let’s just get it over with…

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he starts to pull himself together, making my stomach lurch and my shoulders tighten as I brace for the bad news. “Uh, I just… I really fucking love you. A lot.”

Now it’s my turn to gape like a fucking idiot.

“You what?”

“Yeah, Luce, I love you, and I’ve been thinking it, like, forever, and I just… I don’t know why I didn’t say it already, maybe I just assumed you already knew or something, because we’ve been so good at like, not needing to say the obvious thing… but I’m kinda tired of not saying the obvious thing, because we’re not promised anything, and I’m tired of taking it for granted, so... I love you, and I don’t want to spend my time with anyone else, and I don’t want to have to walk downstairs to see you in the morning, it’s just too fucking far, okay?”

My mind is full of stammering thoughts as I turn over the logistics of what he’s just said, but all that I can manage to say out loud through the grin splitting my face is, “I love you too,” as I pull him into a still-not-quite pigment-free kiss.

***

This. This is what dying feels like. I’m sure of it. Oh, yuck, I’m pretty certain the color coming out of my lungs does not occur in nature. Dark. Why is it so dark in here? What the hell time is it? Jesus, I slept the entire fucking day, that's just grand...

At least there's no one around to witness how pathetic I probably look right now. This whole flu thing's not very big on dignity. Although, who am I kidding, I'd wear a robe and slippers everywhere if it was socially acceptable, and I’d kill for someone to bring me a cup of tea so I don’t have to slither out of this bed and get it myself. My fever finally broke this morning, in a disgusting, sweaty miracle, which is a mixed blessing because it's nice not to feel like a shivery rag doll anymore, but now my sheets smell like gross fever sweat and not the much more pleasant smell left behind on my pillow by Cora the other night. I wish her hair didn't smell so damn good all the time. It's really fucking inconvenient.

Ow. Crap. Dehydration headache. One of the downfalls of attempted hibernation. With a chorus of my most pathetic whines, I manage to get myself out of bed and over to the kitchen to nuke a cup of water for some tea. Just as I’m steeping the bag, though, there’s a knock on my door. Fucking great. I wasn’t serious about actually wanting someone around… unless it’s…

“Hello?” I croak, wincing at my sore throat.

“Stoney! You live!”

“Cornell?”

“You gonna let me in or what?”

“I don’t know, how’s your immune system?”

“Strong, like ox.”

Laughing and coughing, I open the door to let Chris in. He shoves a box of tissues into my chest and blows past me to set a quart container of some kind of murky liquid, which I eye suspiciously.

“Hot and sour soup, from Grand Palace. Foolproof cold remedy, I’m pretty convinced this shit cures cancer, or at least ebola or something. Cora told me you looked like death warmed over. Girl doesn’t lie.”

“Oh, uh, you… you talked to Cora?” I pick up the soup and inspect it more closely.

“Yeah, I, uh, talked to Cora.”

“Hmm.”

“Dude, eat something, it’s not gonna kill you.”

“Doubtful.”

“Pansy.”

“Pusher.”

My laughter dissolves into a choked cough again as Chris saunters over to the cabinet like he owns the place and grabs a couple of bowls.

“Hey, let’s sit out on the steps, it’ll help the black lung.” He hands me a bowl of soup and, in no position to argue, I snag the blanket from the back of my couch to wrap around my shoulders as I follow him onto the landing outside my front door where we sit and dangle our feet over the edge, like little kids. I’m feeling too rundown to admit it, but he’s right -- my chest feels better within seconds.

“Eat, man, eat, you’re looking so thin you’re gonna blow away out here.”

“Who died and made you my grandma?”

“I prefer the philanthropic, mysterious stranger vibe, but have it your way.”

I try a bit of the soup, which sticks in my gullet after a day of not eating or drinking, and I sputter into another full-body coughing fit.

“Gahh, why’s it so… viscous??”

“It’s the viscosity,” Chris beams, slurping up another spoonful. “Coats the throat, or something.”

“Yeah, I bet you say that to all the girls,” I choke, but the soup’s actually pretty good and not too heavy, so I have some more. We sit in silence for a while, which is one of the things I’ve always appreciated about Chris, before I pipe up against my better judgement.

“So,” I have to clear my throat again, “uh, how’s, how’s Cora?”

“She’ll be alright, I think. Seems pretty unhappy with you.”

“That makes it a day that ends in -y.”

“But she’s fine. Tried to get her to go hiking today, but she was going running with that Alex guy.”

“You don’t say.” Alex and physical exertion? What the fuck? Is this a fever dream, still?  

“Seemed weird, I mean, he doesn’t really come along for a lot, she does a lot on her own. And she didn’t seem too excited about the idea of him tagging along, I dunno.”

“Would you be excited about trying to outrun a wart on your ass?”

“Ouch. So, you hate him, yeah?”

“It’s not that I hate the guy, necessarily…” Chris’s eyebrows shoot up as I continue, “...just… you know… kinda always wanted to buy him a toaster for his bathtub.”

He tosses me a pity laugh. “Yeah, well, she’s not an idiot, don’t think she hasn’t picked up on that. Whatever the hell’s going on with you two, you can’t ignore him.”

“You’re telling me.” I hold up my hand to shush him when I hear the phone ring, and we both listen as the garbled sound of my answering machine comes through the door, but there’s no message.

“Stoney, what the hell happened, anyway?”

I squint at his face for a moment, torn between not wanting to drag everyone into this little drama that’s been playing out with Cora and actually wanting to talk to a friend about it. Jeff and Cready were zero help, but Chris has always been a better listener for the heavy stuff.

“We… kinda… I mean, she stayed over the other night, and…”

Chris’s eyes widen and his jaw drops, although he can barely contain the laughter that accompanies his surprise. “Oh!” he exclaims with glee. “You’re idiots!”

“Okay, (a), thanks man, good talk, real supportive. And (b), why are we idiots, exactly?”

“You slept with her even though you knew it was a bad idea! That's not like you. That's like something Mike would do. Or me. You’ve always got all the angles figured out. And Cora, she's like, got her shit together more than any of the rest of us. She should have known better.” He frowns, drumming his empty spoon on his kneecap.

“Yeah, well, she's sorta… new at this. And anyway we didn’t actually sleep together, alright, I mean, we slept together but not like you’re thinking.”

“Reeeeal convincing, Stone,” he teases. “Whaddya mean she’s new at this? Haven’t she and that guy been together since, like the dawn of time?”

“Yeah, but like, that’s it, that’s her whole story, and I think… I think she and I have something really good, and I think she knows that, but it probably really freaks her out to think about ending anything that’s been, you know, such a fixture for so long. I don’t know, I’m probably not making any sense.”

“More than you know. Just give her time, man. She thinks the world of you, and it really pisses her off to admit it. That’s a good thing, it’ll still be there after she figures out the whole ‘first love’ thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I whine, which devolves into more coughing, which cycles back into even more whining.

“On the bright side, you’ve really perfected that Tibetan throat-singing technique,” Chris cracks as he stands up. “You’d better get back inside. Anything I can do to help while I’m here?”

“Nah, thanks, the toxic sludge seems to be working, I’m feeling a little better already.”

Chris claps me on the back, betrays the slightest slip of a smile, and starts down the staircase without another word. I let myself back inside, free to moan and groan as much as I like in the absence of anyone to make fun of me for it, and shuffle my way over to the answering machine. The first message is pure auditory chaos, but through the cacophony, I gather that Mudhoney’s on a tour stop in Tijuana and that my answering machine tape should probably be burned after I listen to the message so as not to implicate anyone in a felony. The usual. That’s got to have been from earlier today and not just now -- Chris and I would have heard that excitement through the door for sure, but I wouldn’t put it past myself to have slept through it this afternoon. Whatever. I delete their message and listen to the second, much quieter one.

“Hey, Stone? uh…”  Cora’s hushed voice is interrupted by Alex calling her name in the background. I hear her give a sharp inhale, followed by a click, and that’s all.

[heyscience]

If I Were Inquisitor - Ask Meme.

@batsintheshadows @tea-me-and-smut @foxywolfmeerkat13 @howling-at-night OMG THIS IS SO FUN YOU GUYS HOLY SHIT!! Thanks so much for writing yours, and I’m so stoked to finally share mine!

If you are reading this and want to give it a shot, please reblog the original post and I’ll send you an ask! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH, I LOVE READING PEOPLE’S ANSWERS. THEY’RE ALL. SO GOOD!!!!

1. Race: I want to be a giant muscley mountain of a Qunari. I wanna be the very best, like no-one ever was, at smashing my enemies’ faces in and giving the best goddamn hugs there is. 

2. Class/Specialization: Two-handed Warrior/Champion. I like hitting things, and I love the idea of getting involved in all that pompous Orlesian chevalier bullshit and RUINING IT for ALL OF THEM.

3. Your homeland? It’s gotta be somewhere warm and by the sea (because I love the ocean and also I can’t deal with the cold cos I am WEAK), so I’m thinking Rivain. Ooh! And that would mean I’d have a bunch of sick tattoos and piercings! Rad.

4. Your family? (Ok so I’m basing this loosely off my irl family because they’re my best point of reference I guess????)

So, my family. I love them, but they’re a mess.

My Mum was the ideal Tamassran. A devout adherent to the Qun. She worked as a healer and was very well respected in her field.

That was until she met my Dad, who in short, looked at the Qun and was like ‘fuck this shit I’m out.’

Dad was a soldier and one day he was wounded in battle, ended up in the hospice where Mum worked, wooed her, and they ran away together to Rivain.

They had my brother and I and then realised that they’re actually polar opposites and it’s a wonder they were ever attracted to each other. They split up, re-partnered and had more kids. So I have a pile of siblings that I have varying degrees of blood relation with, but we all consider each other fully part of our extended, convoluted family (for serious - irl I have 9 siblings).

Mum taught me business sense and how to tend to battle wounds, Dad taught me how to fight. I’ve got a lot of family of various races all over Thedas, all related (not necessarily by blood) one way or another. People say lovely things about my Mum, and the craziest things about my Dad - the stories of his exploits are so outrageous it’s difficult to believe any of them are true (like irl my dad was involved in organised crime for a while but quit cos he got bored????).

I love my family but I’m really bad at keeping in contact with them, so I get the occasional letter from Mum being like ‘ARE YOU DEAD?!’

Leliana has taken to sending her reassuring updates preemptively.

5. Who were you before? I imagine I’d be part of something like a dnd adventuring party.

We started out as a ragtag group of misfits, travelling the land in search of gold and glory. It was mostly treasure hunting and mercenary gigs, and some of the work we did on the high seas was um, legal-adjacent (piracy). But occasionally we’d stop to lend a hand to those in need, pass ourselves off as bards to earn extra coin in small-town taverns, and we even involved ourselves in vigilante justice a couple of times.

We grew into our own little family, and eventually we found ourselves wanting to do the type of work that really mattered. That’s why we signed ourselves up to work security at the Conclave, with a plan to move into aiding refugees in Ferelden afterwards. It didn’t. Quite. Work out that way. Unfortunately.

6. Would you be religious? That’s a hard no.

7. Do you have a mabari? YES PUPPY! Who is also a fully fledged member of our adventuring troupe I might add.

8. Your opinion on other races? Elves = rad, dwarves = awesome, humans = eh, dragons?? = HELL YES

9. What would Varric’s nickname for you be? Stubby.

10. What would your tarot card look like? This one is hard! I’m thinking a lot of compass imagery (because the sea and travelling and finding your way etc.)...and I’d have to be facing at an angle that best accentuates my glorious biceps.

11. Where would you hang out in Skyhold? I like to be in the centre of the action, but I’m not sure where that would be?? Probably in the main Skyhold courtyard near the entrance, in amongst the merchants? It’d be a good spot to see the comings and goings, check in with recruits and workers for the Inquisition, and also play with any kids who might be around. 

It’s important to make sure the kids of the Inquisition are happy and healthy and, um, ok Josie I’ll admit it, they’re also way more fun to hang out with than that stuffy noble whoeverthefuck you just brought in from Orlais.

12. What would you do for fun? Knock back beers in the Herald’s Rest with my companions, come up with dirty drinking songs with Sera, get blackout drunk with Dorian (although I’ll eventually realise it’s a very unhealthy coping mechanism and encourage Dorian to join me in cutting down the booze), swap stories and quality bants with Varric, beg Vivienne for fashion advice, gush over romance novels with Cass, have tea and gossip sessions with Josie, poke fun at Cullen, spar with the Inquisition recruits (and scare the shit out of them), and, just anything to distract from the looming horror that is Corypheus.

13. What armour would you wear? Heavy, shiny, and bloodstone red.

14. What would your room look like? Organised chaos. I love playing host so my room would look mostly neat, but the writing desk would be an absolute mess. It would probably make poor Josie hyperventilate (which is why I’d always suggest we discuss things in her office, or at least give me plenty of notice before swinging by my chambers so I can tidy up). 

15. Who would be your friends at Skyhold? I’d wanna be friends with pretty much everyone, but I think I’d be closest with Dorian (BUT of course only after giving him a solid scolding for his views on slavery, and I’d only continue talking to him if he came to his senses).

We have a very similar sense of humour, and. Oh man. I have way more feelings about this than I thought I would. In short - I can imagine both laughing with him and collapsing on the floor together with a bottle of wine (each) and many tears.

16. Would you have any friends outside of the Inquisition? This makes me sad because my closest friends outside the Inquisition would be my adventuring party and they..would’ve...the Conclave...EVEN MY MABARI. MY POOR PUPPY. OH GOD WHY. TOO MANY FEELINGS.

17. Who wouldn’t you get along with? Cole. It’s not that I don’t like him, I’d just be super awkward around him, like ‘HELLO SPIRIT CHILD HOW ARE YOU TODAY. OH, IS THAT AN INSECURITY OF MINE YOU JUST POINTED OUT?! WELL COOL, GOOD TALK.’ 

18. Who would you romance? I know this isn’t possible in Inquisition but I would like to be in a polyamorous relationship with Isabela. SHE IS MY FICTIONAL SOULMATE OK.

(Also I’m more than a little bit in love with Cullen but I hate myself for it so)

19. Would you do pranks with Sera? AbsoLUTELY.

20. Would you sleep with the Iron Bull (casually if not romance)? 100% YES. It’d only be an occasional thing tho, cos while I’m a masochist and I like being tied up I’m not really a sub. I’d mostly go to him for bondage tips and um. Requests for. Demonstrations.

21. Would you keep Cole around? Yes. I’d still be weirded out by him, but I acknowledge that it’s completely not his fault. I’d take his word for it that he just wants to help people and let him have at it with that freaky mind-reading and vanishing shit he does.

22. Can you play the game (politics)? A little bit. I’d have to work the scandal angle. Being a Qunari I could never hope to assimilate into the realms of the nobility, but I could win their favour by being something of a novelty. Much like Casanova in this brilliant adaptation starring David Tennant - watch from 10:42.

You see, you don’t have to be liked by everybody, just the right people, and you can usually get them onside by just being very fucking entertaining.

23. What would be on your tombstone in the fade (What are you afraid of)? Ghosts. I’m not sure how well that translates to a Thedas setting but still, it’s my biggest fear so I’m sticking with it.

24. Who would you recruit to seal the breach? Mages.

25. Opinion on Mages versus Templars? Ok, so I have a proposal for how to fix this bullshit:  

1. The Chantry should relinquish any and all control over the affairs of mages. Separation of Church and State, simple as that.

2. The Templar Order should be disbanded, and the practice of indenturing soldiers by saddling them with a lyrium addiction should be banned.

3. All people in Thedas (and I mean ALL) should be taught about magic from a young age, both the gifts and dangers of its use. Everyone should learn about magical safety and how to resist demonic possession.

4. Mage children should attend the same schools as everyone else, but they can hone their skills in their late teens to early adulthood in mage colleges, with free tuition paid by the State (of wherever part of Thedas this is). They can research magic, learn a trade or train in combat, whatever they choose. Mages will be allowed to earn money, marry, have families, and have some actual freaking rights. None of this ‘hunt ‘em down and lock ‘em up’ bullshit.

5. Also the Rite of Tranquility WHAT THE FUCK. I can’t believe it’s a thing people actually agree to do. This rite should be downright fucking outlawed, and severe penalties levelled at the people who attempt it.

26. Who would be put in charge of Orlais and why? Briala. I wouldn’t suggest to Briala that she should get back together with Celene, because honestly their relationship was really fucked up and Celene abused the power imbalance between them. Briala deserves better (like for example me..maybe...but y’know, only if she wants to..)

So I would keep Celene on the throne but hand over all real power to Briala. Celene is a crafty one however, so we’d have to corner her with blackmail and keep a hidden killswitch on hand in case she tries to pull a fast one on us (just like the Voltron kids should be doing with Lotor, which sorry, I know that isn’t related but I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT IT).

27. Would you sacrifice the Chargers? NEVER.

Seriously Fuck the Qun. The Qun actively promotes eugenics with how they selectively “breed” their people. ALSO the Qunari are gaslighted into believing that they will literally go insane if they don’t follow the Qun?!!!?!?!!??!??! FUCK THAT SHIT.

So yeah, I was never keen on the idea of allying with the Qunari, so when Gatt’s like ‘if you sacrifice the dreadnought there will be no alliance’ I’m like ‘I am ok with this.’ Also, of course, I love the Chargers with all my heart and couldn’t bear to lose them.

28. Would you go after Blackwall? Yeah. He should put all his moral posturing to good fucking use and try being an actual hero. I’d make him join the Wardens, cos it’s effectively a death sentence (or an early grave at least ) and I don’t 100% dislike him, so I know he’d be cool with it because he has a giant fucking hard-on for the Wardens (Jesus fuck). 

29. Would you drink from the well? Nnnnnoooooooooo..and it’s because I would fucking die for Morrigan. I wish I could say I have a well considered reason, but I’m just pathetic like that. She could say jump and I’d say ‘I’d rather not, but, counter offer - would you instead like to sit on my face?’ 

30. Where would you go if the Inquisition was disbanded? Minrathous. It’s warmer there (I love Skyhold but fucking hate the cold), and I would involve myself in the inevitable slave uprising - helping out in whatever way I can. Also I’d just be having a fucking great time terrorising the Magisters, rocking up at the Magisterium like ‘LOOKIT ME I’M A RAGING QUNARI HERE TO INVADE, RARRGHH!! oh hey Dorian, what’s up babe how’ve you been????’

31. How do you react to the egg telling you he is an elven god? The five stages of grief:

Denial - lol no ur not, you’re our painty pyjamas nerd! 

Anger - Wait, so it’s YOUR FUCKING FAULT MY FRIENDS AND EVERYONE ELSE DIED AT THE CONCLAVE??!?! I AM GONNA GUT YOU AND STRING YOU UP BY YOUR INTESTINES SO I CAN USE YOUR WEEDY BODY AS A GORE PINATA YOU FUCKING MONSTER 

Bargaining - but you’re a god right? Does that mean you can bring them back? Can you undo all this somehow? You gotta have superpowers or some shit right??!?

Depression - After all we’ve been through...you never even saw us as people, did you? Did you ever think of me as a friend? Or anyone else? How could you be ok with murdering your friends? Solas, please, you don’t have to do this. I know that if we work together we can find a better way. You don’t have to destroy the world to save it.

Acceptance - ..................I fUCKING HATE YOU SOLAS.

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

had a series of bad days on TF2, and tonight wasn’t much better. couldn’t get a headshot as sniper, kept getting nailed by the enemy sniper/pyro no matter where I stepped out of base, the medic ran past me three times when i was on fire and did nothing (they weren’t healing or fighting, just running about, and normally it’s like... if that’s what you wanna do, but like I kept dying just in front of the damn resupply locker so upport would have been great).

not to mention this one self-righteous pain in the ass kept blocking my machina scope bc she told me ‘you don’t look like you are doing anything back here’ (not sure if she knew you can’t use it if it isn’t zoomed or if she was just being a dick bc she could) and then got bitchy about it. One of those 12yos, right?).

got stuck on freaking gold rush perpetually - it was the only server/map going, and then when i tried spy... either my teammates would draw fire at where i was hiding or the enemy would land on me (not kidding, this soldier landed on my head, spun wildly looking for why he was hovering, then fired down and blew his own self up as well as me. COMMITMENT)

and several backstabs landed... but apparently a knife to the spine is bandaid-worthy bc they lived (or probs i lined it up wrong, i don’t know, there was always someone exploding me as i aimed), and also i forgot how to jump and decloaked by accident [no idea why i fucked that up but like ????]. 

and when i was engie my buildings were always destroyed bc i couldn’t get anyone to assist nor the pyro to spycheck (but that was, in their opinion, bc i was ‘a bad engie’  who couldn’t keep their buildings up under constant fire wi/no help and a spy perpetually backstabbing... so i flipped to heavy bc fuck ‘em, and then they complained they needed me as engie, but nah).

and the dozen matches i was medic someone always complained i wasn’t healing them over trying to stop myself being killed... which was funny bc not once did a heavy drop a sandvich, or a pyro extinguish me, a scout did throw mad milk once which was nice. and a sniper pissed on me, which was also alright, bc i was on fire at the time... also i was a single medic on a team of 12, and everyone was screaming medic whether they needed healing or not...

if it hadn’t been 1am, i would have screamed into the mic “Spam that E-button one more fucking time, my misguided fluffy fucklings...” or something of that nature. But no, the fact medic was perptually murdered, or having to stop healing to save themselves from spies, scouts, soldiers, demos, pyros... was bc they were a bad medic...

It’s like... ???? protect your team mates.

Maybe it’s just frustrating bc i had this amazing team the other day at 2fort. Perpetual communication, everyone worked together to (not cap) bombard the other team, the heavy threw out sandviches as needed, medics were protected, pyros took out spiues for engies, snipers pissed on the burning, spies sapped sentries for the intel snatcher scouts, demos and soldiers kept the enemy away, etc. And it was like that through a variety of different matches... Then you go to a server where it’s one for all, and you’re like ???? excuse me, we’re wearing matching shirts so maybe try to pretend we’re working together There was this match last night where my team took off at start and i couldn’t find anyone all match. they were dying, clearly, and respawning, but the other team asked a few times if i was the only one playing Main thing bothering me is that i couldn’t seem to get a good headshot. Spy and Sniper are my weakest classes, but i thought I was getting better? Finally got Australian Rules (dominate enemy sniper) the other day, by accident. And Levelled up as Demo, bc I got the eyelander + a dozen eyelander achievements. But then you suddenly can’t get any headshots or backstabs and it’s like... “Maybe I am truly the worst player ever?” Even my attempts at Pyro, a top fave class, was dismal. Normally I get at least 70 points... today only 41, and half the time I was sniped by huntsmans (meaning if I’d seen it coming an airblast would save me, but did i ever see it coming?! Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo). - I dunno, I just really love the game. It’s fun, you usually fall into an exciting match or other, and you get better as you go. But suddenly I was super shit at everything, and every night ends on a bad match, bc the server seems to die at 3am or something. So you have to go to sleep frustrated at your subpar performance. The only good news was that I managed to use my strange red tape sapper on multiple buildings, without being exploded (until my location was found by an enemy trying to blast the teammate crouching on me). Except I never got the points bc a teammate would blow up the sentry/dispenser/teleporter before it finished... Which is annoying, bc it’s a strange item, so it counts successful saps and levels up. Also I got the eyelander & the bootleg (?) peg leg thing, so when I randomed in as Demo... things got interesting. still haven’t figured out the charge/swing thing yet... which sounds stupid bc it’s one button then the other, when you hit the target. But apparently now I can turn, the splendid screen gives higher resistance, and the eyelander counts heads... but not everyne i hit will lose their head? 

Oh, decapitated a cloaked spy today, sort of on purpose (knew they were in the vicinity, but not that close) and got the achievement ‘Shorn Connery’ (hah). so that was alright.

- I actually like 2Fort and DoubleCross, tbh. Kept angling to do anything but goddamn Gold Rush (even leaving/disconnecting slingshotted you back there) all night. they were options, but everyone bitched about them.

Also, why does everyone hate Mann Up missions, the grappling hooks make them FUN AS FUCK, PEOPLE... and the powerups. Once you work out hat they do. I love Supanova most; bc of the extra attack you get. But I haven’t tried them all.  Somehow I always run into the Plague carrier, and die immediately. Still, once you get the grapple going (at any mann up ctf but hellfire) it’s all good. But at hellfire, i have fallen in the lava so many times so help me fucking law and order... mistimed grapple and die, that’s the motto.

Still would have taken legit any map (even sunshine) over Gold Rush (and last night it was nothing but Badwater Basin, until it was 3v3, everyone bored and competitive... until my team quit and it was 3v1 medic)... 

Got my wish, in a very genie way.

Very last match was Vanguard, but half of either team had reached the point where they legit no longer gave a fuck and were hi-fiving or dancing as they slaughtered us. And it was like 30 seconds long, frustratingly.

It;s more fun if both sides are pushing hard, winning and losing... 

I was once medic on this team (game where i managed 25 invulns!) at the place with the rocket... it was a control point map anyway. But like, we managed to hold the other team off the final capture control point for 25 minutes... and won. It was so close the whole time, and super-exciting.

There was a lot of communication there too, btw. Brilliant match. Something similar happened the other day as well, except we lost with 12 seconds left, bc they had so many bonk!scouts coming at the point we couldn’t kill them all AND deal with the snipers, heavies and sentries... it was also brilliant. 

-

...I really need to get a taunt or an interaction item. It would be nice to initiate the dancing or something else, for once. Always wanted rancho relaxo, bc the amount of freaking times I get stuck waiting by a sentry/dispenser on certain maps... or something else. I’ll see what’s in the store some other time, when it’s not 4am.

Just really wanted to let out my frustration, or i’ll go to bed with it in my head, and that will just exacerbate this freaking cold no end.