IC Contact

[bitcher]

You've reached the voicemail of: Tobias Beecher.

Please leave your message after the tone.

Comments

[liprings]

Uh — [ :[ ] Little bit, maybe.

[bitcher]

So why don't you go on one of those.... "missions" I keep hearing about?

[liprings]

What, like, to go visit Moctezuma or whatever?

[bitcher]

If... that's the sort of thing people usually do, then yeah.

[liprings]

Sounds kinda fucked up.

[ thoughtful pause... ]

But I bet they had sweet bitches back then.

[bitcher]

Right. Just waiting for a... vampire.... like you to sweep them off their feet.

[liprings]

Fuckin' right! Shit, I'd be a regular Prince Charming with fangs.

Wanna go?

[bitcher]

Mmm, better not. I'm not a great "wingman".

[liprings]

Dude, don't make me kidnap your ass to medieval England or whatever.

[bitcher]

Kidnap me? Come on. What are you, like seventeen?

[Hi, guess who actually doesn't believe you're a vampire.]

[liprings]

Hey, fuck you! Seventeen was eight years ago, I'm over that shit. No, see, what this is is a friendly fuckin' warning.

[bitcher]

Oh is it now?

[liprings]

Yeeeep! You report for duty, or I haul your ass somewhere in time. See? That's the warning, you got warned. Now if you ain't there in twenty minutes, shit gets involuntary.

[bitcher]

Now see, the problem I don't see that happening. The problem is I'm not exactly keen to continue this fucking conversation with you, much less go "somewhere in time" with you. So I'd start looking for another Bill to go have your Excellent Adventure with, Ted.

'Cause I'm not him.

[liprings]

All I hear is blah blah blah I'm a whiny bitch blah blah dickless chump with no spirit of adventure, come fix it for me Jan. And, bro? I can so help with that.

Where's your ass now? No, wait, don't fuckin' tell me! That's part of the game too.

[bitcher]

...Hey, here's a new game: lay a hand on Beecher and he shoves a piece of metal through your throat.

[does he actually believe anything's going to happen? ....No, not really. It's too ludicrous. But at the same time -

- best to make things clear.]

[liprings]

Tchyeah, whatever. Pack a bag if you don't wanna live off the land. See you soon, bro!

[bitcher]

[.....well at least Jan's off the line now. Beecher stares at the tablet a bit longer then tosses it on the bed. Considering.

...

...

....What if that crazy kid is actually coming?]

[liprings]

[ It won't take him long. He can be efficient when he puts his mind to it, surprisingly! The first thing he does is look up housing arrangements, and if he doesn't answer to Jan's knock (actually a loud, obnoxious kick at the door), he'll go and try elsewhere in the base. ]

[bitcher]

[Seriously? Is that actually-?]

Not in the fucking mood! [yelled from his room, from his bed, where he was still, obstinately, trying to sleep.] Try next door!

[and that's that. ....Even if he does have his shank in hand, clenched beneath his blanket.

Old habits, you know.]

[liprings]

[ Bingo. He grins. ]

Did I fucking ask if you were in the mood?!

[ He kicks again at the door — but this time he's looking to bust it open. And if Tobias doesn't answer within about five of those kicks, he just might manage it. ]

[bitcher]

[it takes about two of those kicks before Beecher decides he's fucking done with this shit.

When he finally does yank his door open, it's to make room for the fist flying for Jan's face] I said fuck off!

[liprings]

[ Aww, plain old humans are so adorable and slow. Jan moves fast, slamming an almost-lifted leg back to the ground and throwing a hand up, making to catch that fist in his palm. Easily done, with enhanced strength and speed  — which, after all, are pretty much just around to show off now and then.

And when he grins, it looks a little bit like the face a shark might make, teeth and all. ]

That wasn't one of the options I gave you, bro.

[bitcher]

[holy shit.

There's something about the combination of seeing all those ungodly teeth up close and the sudden inability to move his hand that sparks an immediate fight or flight response. A little old-fashioned panic. Beecher shows his own duller, far less impressive teeth in a flash of rage, hissing like a cat, and his free hand - the one holding his trusty shank - stabs forward and stabslower.

If at first you don't succeed...]

[liprings]

[ Oh yeah, he definitely sees that shank coming. And he could dodge, but he figures this asshole needs a lesson. So he stands still — he doesn't even flinch. And he only grins wider as he bleeds. ]

Shit, are you volunteering to replace all that leaking out? That's awful fuckin' sweet of you.