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1_800_hotline2019-06-16 12:00 pm
calloperators) wrote in 1_800_hotline2019-06-16 12:00 pm
Entry tags:
Week 2 [Day 5 - Day 7]
[Well, that sure was a time.
When everyone wakes up this morning, one of the first things they're realize that the Mcdonald's suddenly looks abandoned. And not just from the fire, but it looks like it hasn't been open in years. The whole building looks like it could fall apart at any moment, and the entire Playplace is covered in rust.
Even the Ronald McDonald statue! D-:
However, if you ask any of the residents about the McDonald's, they still act as though is still open, and you'll most likely get some weird looks when you ask any questions about it that doesn't involve the weirdness of McPizza.
And, for those who have been here before, starting this week, you'll get a strange overwhelming sense that this place is familiar to you. You can't place how or why, but the sense of deja vu is persistent, and will stick with you for a long while. It's undeniable--you've definitely been here before, but you can't recall....
But hey, that's probably fine, right?]
[ Day 5 (Sunday) || Night 5 (Monday) || Day 6 (Tuesday) || Night 6 (Wednesday) || Day 7 (Thursday) ]
(OOC: On Sunday we will be tagging two volunteers with a special thing, which will make sense on Monday! If you want to opt in or out, please contact us, either in the toplevel itself or via messaging us!
Again, if you plan on investigating anywhere in the town or want to talk to an NPC, please put it in your toplevel! And also don't forget to fill your AC!!!)
[cw: drugs]
[Well that wasn't anything that he was expecting but... it makes sense. Something to take the edge off. He gets it. Lord knows he's no stranger to it.]
Yeah- I... didn't touch it, if that's important. Wasn't what I was looking for at the time, I mean.
[Mark makes his way over to the bed, nonchalantly pulling the chicken mask out of its box, and the baggie of weed from the chicken mask. Pinching the top corner of the ziploc, he waves his wrist a bit to bring the stash to Venkman's attention- and also to motion him over to sit next to himself.]
[Experience has taught him it's best to get high somewhere you plan to pass out- might as well give Venkman the option of moving to a bed of his own volition first. ...even if it's not his own, this time. It's fine. He can always take him back to his room again. Or sleep on the floor. Either or.]
cw: drugs for probably the rest of the thread
[Somewhere, Slimer and his fellow 'Cartoon All Stars" are crying.
Venkman glances at the chicken mask and files that tidbit of information away for later- on the off chance they find a chicken mask at a crime scene, he'll know where to look. He settles onto the bed with the practiced ease of a man who has gotten high in complete stranger's rooms more times than anyone should.
...]
Can you roll a joint?
[Mark really doesn't wanna see Venkman try to do this himself.]
[cw: drugs]
[Admittedly, Mark's a little surprised by the question- he'd assume someone who just carries weed around like it's nothing would be able to roll one himself, but-... no, on second thought, it's not that strange. There's plenty other ways of taking it. He might suggest taking one of those ways now ...but none of them would hit as fast as smoking it, and Venkman probably needs that quick relief.]
...uh, sure thing? [He takes the bag from Venkman, opens his bedside drawer and digs out some tobacco paper and a lighter.] Just sit back a sec. [He walks off into the bathroom for a minute to give it a proper assembly before coming back, handing the unlit joint and the lighter over to Venkman.] There you go. I might be a little rusty, but it's done.
no subject
Thanks.
[He lights it and takes his first hit, exhaling slowly. A second. He hands it to Mark.]
... Fuck this place, man.
no subject
...I know... really is some special kinda hell, idn't it... [He- awkwardly puts a hand on Venkman's shoulder, hoping to provide at least some small comfort with the gesture.]
no subject
You can smoke it, you know.
[He doesn't react much to the hand on his shoulder- not shrugging it off, but not leaning into the touch, either.]
Three years risking our damn lives every day, and he gets himself killed over a misunderstanding off the job. Something about this place.
no subject
[Not wanting to turn down Venkman's suggestion, Mark brings the joint to his lips and takes a hit... It's not, bad, but it doesn't do a lot to put him at ease. The deep, haggard exhale he gives afterward eases his stress a little more, but there's still that core tension he can't shake no matter what, holding his heart in a death grip. Still, this is about as relaxed as he can get short of being sedated.]
[...]
[Hearing his words, Mark looks down at his own clasped hands, contemplating what to say next.]
...you mind if I told you something about myself. About the first time I lost somebody.
no subject
[Sure, he gave it to Mark in the first place, but it's the principle of the thing.]
Go ahead, man.
[cw: violent childhood trauma]
When... I was young, we- ...my martial arts mentor and me- we stopped over by a bar in South City, once. ...he started talking 'bout something... I-I forget, what it was now, but... I didn't wanna hear it, s-so I deflected- looked 'round the room, saw this real serious-faced guy with... his hair in a braid with a bow at the end, I point him out. Figure, hey, let's not talk about that, let's talk about the guy with the funny hair. Let's have a good laugh, let this whole thing blow over. A-and we did.
...then before I know it a beam of light tears through my sensei's chest and kills him right in front of me.
[The unceremonious way his body fell to the floor having all life leave from it so suddenly, he's sure, even as the vision vividly enters his mind, he isn't remembering it exactly as it was. They say memories change a little bit each time you recall them. Who knows how much he's warped it since then.]
I... t-turns out, I really made that guy mad. A-and, it's funny, y'know, t-t-turns out he's- a mercenary, he- [Without any warning, even to himself, his body starts convulsing with laughter.] so h-he... he can just kill whoever, b-by just pointing his finger at them. He can do that. H-he let me know he could. He went after me- h-he should've- should've easily taken me out, I thought he would, the way he was laying hands on me- b-but I'm here telling you about it-
[The laughing fades into silence- the choppy, irregular rhythm of his breaths now entirely indistinguishable from sobbing. So much for being a shoulder to cry on, huh.]
no subject
There's a lot to unpack about that, and psychologist or no, Venkman's not nearly high enough to start. He gently plucks the joint from Mark's hands and takes another hit, mulling all this over before replying.]
Christ.
So your dislike for the supernatural at the trial has a basis in that whole experience.
[It's not a question, it's a statement.
Venkman isn't exactly the most comforting presence around people. Particularly not now, when grief is overwhelming him at every moment and he can barely keep himself in one piece. At least he's trying.]
Lotta powerful beings use their power for horrible shit. I've seen it time and time again. I'm sorry you and your mentor caught in the crossfire. Not your fault, though- guy like that, willing to kill over something so stupid- he would've found reasons to hurt people, started arguments over little things just to have an excuse. Sounds like what he did to you both.
[A beat. His brow furrows.]
How old were you?
[He's got a feeling he won't like the answer.]
no subject
[He has to stop for a minute to give an answer to Venkman's question- relying on placing the memory in context with his others that he knew happened before and after it.]
I... think I had to be around thirteen or so- give or take a year. That's long in the past enough to be over it by now.
no subject
You were thirteen. Man, seeing someone important die right in front of you is hard enough as an adult- you were a child trying to cope with that. How long ago it happened doesn't mean anythin'.
[Another hit.]
You don't just- get over shit like that. Don't blame yourself for not doing the impossible.
[A pause. Well, if one of them is gonna bare their soul, the other might as well follow suit. Reluctantly.]
My mom died about... Fourteen, maybe fifteen years ago. I wasn't a kid- was in college when it happened, and I wasn't there, just got the call at my apartment from the hospital, but. That- that, everything about that still hurts like hell. You think you get over it over time, and you do, in a way. Don't think about it every night. But some nights. Most nights, sometimes. Thinking about what you could've changed.
Nothing you could've changed. Nothing you can change. Life's like that.
[Distantly, Venkman's aware he should be applying some of this to his current feelings about Ray. He's ignoring that for now.
He holds the joint out again. Take it?]
no subject
[...there's a lot to think on, with what he's been told just now. Words that he wants to take to heart, but there's too much a disconnect, with everything that's long been eating him inside, for him to actually internalize it in a way that could make him stop blaming himself. It doesn't help, how it feels he's still stuck the same person he was when it happened, even now, trying to be better than he was, feels like he's just running from the unavoidable truth that he's somebody who has to actively work at making up for being who he is.]
[...Venkman's right, maybe, that there really is no "getting over" it. Even if you know there's only so much you could've done. They've- unfortunately- got a lot in common, don't they.]
...wish we didn't understand each other when it comes to this.
[Mark brings the joint back to his lips and breathes in- holding his breath, only letting go when he takes Venkman's hand, squeezing it a bit for comfort... whether that comfort's for him or himself, he's not sure. But it feels right to do, in the moment.]
no subject
[He knows better than to expect that Mark's gonna completely accept his words- not just because that's not how human psychology works, but because he knows he has trouble accepting any of what he's said. Venkman was right a few days ago about how similar they were, it seems.
The thought doesn't make him quite as downcast now.
Venkman's eyes settle on Satan's hand in his. Slowly, he squeezes it back.]