[Georgia is more likely to use text than video for casually contacting someone. Of course, there's nothing casual about someone trying to kill her while wearing a creepy mask, and she wants to be able to see him while she presses him.
Presses him like she'd promised she wouldn't. That was before he became a danger.]
Did you survive the last event?
[Her tone is flat, face expressionless under her sunglasses.]
I shot you a few times, so it seems polite to check in.
[Does he even remember? He'd been pretty out of it.]
[So. Not the first time he's woken up with an injured leg, blood matting his hair, a familiar white mask at his side. Not the first time he's groaned as he's realized what must have happened.
But getting shot? That's definitely a first.
Getting shot, it turns out, hurts just as much as you'd think it would hurt. Waking up and realizing you've gotten shot without any memory of who shot you or why is even worse, believe it or not.
But why, god, did she have to pick video?
He thinks he knows the answer.
Tim himself is only barely visible, the angle of the video showing only one eye and a portion of his forehead. Even then, it's clear from his gaunt exterior that he's even worse for wear than he is usually.
[Zacharie waits until the event is completely done with before contacting Tim. Given their mutual experiences in that puzzle room, the NPC texting out bits of code and cryptic words would not be helpful. And he was out of cat puns.
But anyways...]
Buenos dias Tim.
I understand if you cannot reply to this immediately, but I wish to check in with you. How are things?
Well, they don't really talk much. Can't blame him. After the shit Tim's live wire of a brain put Zacharie through, he wouldn't wanna talk to himself either. He pretty much never wants to talk to himself, or think about himself, or engage in his own thoughts in any way, but hey, he's not so lucky.
[This comes in fairly late at night. Wonderland had apparently stopped messing with its residents but Zacharie wasn't sleeping. After experiencing a certain nightmare the NPC's desire to sleep was in the negatives. Zacharie didn't particularly believe in prophetic dreams but the implications were something he couldn't ignore.
So he gave himself a day of self-observation. The headache from the lack of sleep was inevitable but he didn't experience a coughing fit like he did in the dream or suffer the feeling of being watched. Maybe it took more than a day to kick in, maybe not. Either way this was likely something Zacharie couldn't leave alone.]
Apologizes for the text at such an hour amigo but I need to speak to you about something.
It is about a certain mutual acquaintance of ours.
[Talking around It was probably the same as directly talking about It, but there was no other way to put it. Zacharie puts the device down and stares out the window while waiting for Tim's reply.]
No no no no no no no no no no it was a dream it was a dream it wasn't supposed to be real it wasn't supposed to be real. God. No. God no please, please let it not be about this please let it
Of course it's about this. It has to be.
It takes him several minutes to get his fingers to stop shaking enough to respond.]
[It had been a couple days. She doesn't know how long they're supposed to last. He'll find it later even if he's not up and about yet. But it's wearing at her, and probably him worse.]
The contents of the message tell him everything he needs to know about at least one of the people he encountered while he was...like that. At once, he blanches, thumb hovering over the button that would delete the message, wipe it away, clean the slate.
Pretend it never happened. It's worked before.
Only it hasn't, has it?
The first step is to figure out what, exactly, just happened, and how much she came away knowing. Probably wasn't difficult to discern his identity, if she was able to get the mask off, and he woke up with it lying in the grass several feet away. And even so, the build, the appearance...there are innumerable tells. Especially for someone in the military.
[...not surprising, but not convenient, either. Not that Tim's doing much in particular besides abusing his lungs with an awful, disgusting habit that's staining the tips of his fingers with nicotine.]
what's up
[Call him paranoid, but he'd really prefer to not be tackled again.]
[That's one mystery solved. Here he'd assumed his Mirror had simply absconded with the thing to uncover it at a later time, the proverbial ace in the hole. But no. He made sure to hand it to the one person who'd investigate it without question.
Except she didn't.
It's...an apology, maybe. Or a display of trust? Hell if he knows.
He turns the thing over and over in his hands. Hovers his thumb over her number before sighing and setting the phone down and burying his face in his hands.
He'd ask why things got so complicated, but he's pretty sure he already knows the answer to that one.]
sounds like there's a lot of something (somethings?) coming. may need to find high ground. not sure if the roof is any better than the floors we're on. might just need to stockpile food and lock ourselves inside for a few days.
[Jay's not sure what the safest choice here is, but then again he's not sure Tim does either. They agreed to team up before, but it's easier to team up in the context of a Dungeons and Dragons party than it is in the context of...whatever this is. 'Find a hiding place,' they said. He's tempted to just lock his door and lie around in bed for the next few days, but knowing how the last event went, he's doubtful that'll be enough.]
[He'd noticed, but he hadn't seen fit to comment on the matter. Far as he's concerned, it's just another shitstorm to avoid. Or it would've been, except that Jay's here now, and despite surviving the vast spectrum of peril the last event saw fit to throw at him, it looks like he's learned to plan ahead some.
At least he's ahead of Tim there, as far as that's concerned.]
they're not being very specific about whatever's coming. plural, i guess. sometimes the closets stop working during stuff like this but there's no way to know for sure.
[Well, he can't exactly pretend he wasn't expecting this at some point. He can muffle all the sighs he wants; at no point is he going to pretend this isn't deserved.]
[Unfortunately, Tim's not been scrubbed clean of that particular memory. He gets to keep the worst ones, he's pretty sure; those make themselves harder to forget. Which is saying something.]
[A fake history, a fake life, and it seems that none of them can still catch a break. Brian still dead. Alex still dead.]
[Jay still desperately searching for someone to blame for it.]
[What the fuck else is new.]
i said sometimes we forget who we are guess that was one of those times
He isn't awake, but he's not exactly asleep either. Whatever one calls the in-between state spent lying there, staring emptily at the ceiling and wishing you had a cigarette but lacking the motivation to haul yourself to your feet and retrieve one - that's just kind of the comfortable rut he's fallen into.
So when there's the rap of knuckles on the wood of his door, Tim can't exactly claim he's surprised. Annoyed, maybe, that he has to actually get up and do something for once.
It's Jay. Why wouldn't it be?
And he sounds insistent enough for it to mean trouble.
And so, bleary-eyed and unkempt, the door cracks open and Tim peers out into the hall and stares directly into the dark lens of a camera, which is exactly the first thing he wants to see at ass o' clock in the morning.
[Well, this is a hell of a thing to come back to. Between all the Wonderland shit and the minds he traversed earlier, he genuinely can't say what it is that "shit" might be. Tim's voice, by contrast, is Tired.]
Okay, so what shit were you thinking about in particular?
[She doesn't... really want to send this. She doesn't know if she's seeing things, or if she's just always paranoid, or if that even actually happened. But she should say something. Just in case.]
Hey, kid. Call me or text me when you get this. I wanna ask you about something.
[That's ominous. But her tone is businesslike that it gives nothing away and - he did say she could let him know, if she needed help with everything. That's pretty serious. Warrants this kind of heavy message, right?]
[Probably. Probably.]
[Regardless, he answers with text. That's easier.]
[There is a box left outside Tim's door. No card is attached, but when he opens it, he'll find it's filled with bottles of pills. On the top is the exact prescription.
[Left at Tim's door is a dark red, hand-knitted scarf. It's very clearly done by an amateur, as there's several dropped or misplaced stitches here and there, it's soft and warm and a pretty decent length. Wrapped in the scarf is a thumb drive with "memes" written on it; if Tim plugs it into any computer, he'll find a four-hour playlist of Vines, memes (kind of dated), shitposts, cat videos, other animals, and the entirety of the "Important Videos" playlist. Not all of it is funny--some of it is just cute or weird--but the general idea is that it's several hours of time wasting. Sans wasn't sure whether Tim liked memes at all, so he just kind of picked everything.]
[There's no card, but written on the bag is from sans.]
[At Tim's door at some point during Christmas, there will be a small box with a note. Upon opening the box, Tim will find a small mp3 player and a pair of earbuds. Nothing flashy, but it's got some decent storage.]
[She agonizes over what to say almost the entire day. She should-- she should say something, she fucking shot him for christ's sake. But ugh, this isn't necessarily a conversation she knows how to have.]
[If it makes her feel better, she's not the only one who's done it. All told, he is grateful for one thing, and that's the fact that she's not the same kinda coward that he is, who couldn't bring himself to check up on her when the smoke finally cleared.]
[He hadn't been tracking the day, hadn't been accounting for the fact that time in Wonderland has long since entered mid-June. And so it is that it takes him several minutes to actually respond.]
text, 12/12
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what the fuck
[ARTICULATE.]
what do you expect he's a dick
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video
Presses him like she'd promised she wouldn't. That was before he became a danger.]
Did you survive the last event?
[Her tone is flat, face expressionless under her sunglasses.]
I shot you a few times, so it seems polite to check in.
[Does he even remember? He'd been pretty out of it.]
video
But getting shot? That's definitely a first.
Getting shot, it turns out, hurts just as much as you'd think it would hurt. Waking up and realizing you've gotten shot without any memory of who shot you or why is even worse, believe it or not.
But why, god, did she have to pick video?
He thinks he knows the answer.
Tim himself is only barely visible, the angle of the video showing only one eye and a portion of his forehead. Even then, it's clear from his gaunt exterior that he's even worse for wear than he is usually.
The words are quiet, when they come.]
That was you?
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text - dated to after the drowning event
thanks.
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[Let's just clear that hurdle at the outset.]
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[text], post event
But anyways...]
Buenos dias Tim.
I understand if you cannot reply to this immediately, but I wish to check in with you. How are things?
[text]
Well, they don't really talk much. Can't blame him. After the shit Tim's live wire of a brain put Zacharie through, he wouldn't wanna talk to himself either. He pretty much never wants to talk to himself, or think about himself, or engage in his own thoughts in any way, but hey, he's not so lucky.
Keep it short, and to the point.]
i'm alive.
you?
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text, 2/22
So he gave himself a day of self-observation. The headache from the lack of sleep was inevitable but he didn't experience a coughing fit like he did in the dream or suffer the feeling of being watched. Maybe it took more than a day to kick in, maybe not. Either way this was likely something Zacharie couldn't leave alone.]
Apologizes for the text at such an hour amigo but I need to speak to you about something.
It is about a certain mutual acquaintance of ours.
[Talking around It was probably the same as directly talking about It, but there was no other way to put it. Zacharie puts the device down and stares out the window while waiting for Tim's reply.]
text
No no no no no no no no no no it was a dream it was a dream it wasn't supposed to be real it wasn't supposed to be real. God. No. God no please, please let it not be about this please let it
Of course it's about this. It has to be.
It takes him several minutes to get his fingers to stop shaking enough to respond.]
what is it
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text, backdated to 5/29
Hey.
How're you doing?
You feeling any better?
text
The contents of the message tell him everything he needs to know about at least one of the people he encountered while he was...like that. At once, he blanches, thumb hovering over the button that would delete the message, wipe it away, clean the slate.
Pretend it never happened. It's worked before.
Only it hasn't, has it?
The first step is to figure out what, exactly, just happened, and how much she came away knowing. Probably wasn't difficult to discern his identity, if she was able to get the mask off, and he woke up with it lying in the grass several feet away. And even so, the build, the appearance...there are innumerable tells. Especially for someone in the military.
Especially for someone who knew Alex.]
what do you know
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text, 6/18
not in the woods just
outside
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what's up
[Call him paranoid, but he'd really prefer to not be tackled again.]
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text; and in that moment, jay briefly understood what it felt like to be alex kralie
text; how the turns have tabled
text; meet me in the park for some unspecified purpose tim i swear it's all on the level
text; meet me in the parking lot if u want an ass kicking
6/29, left outside Tim's door
I never watched it. I don't even have a tape player.
I don't care about your secrets.
[.....it's about as close to apologizing as George is willing to get.]
no subject
Except she didn't.
It's...an apology, maybe. Or a display of trust? Hell if he knows.
He turns the thing over and over in his hands. Hovers his thumb over her number before sighing and setting the phone down and burying his face in his hands.
He'd ask why things got so complicated, but he's pretty sure he already knows the answer to that one.]
text
sounds like there's a lot of something (somethings?) coming. may need to find high ground. not sure if the roof is any better than the floors we're on. might just need to stockpile food and lock ourselves inside for a few days.
[Jay's not sure what the safest choice here is, but then again he's not sure Tim does either. They agreed to team up before, but it's easier to team up in the context of a Dungeons and Dragons party than it is in the context of...whatever this is. 'Find a hiding place,' they said. He's tempted to just lock his door and lie around in bed for the next few days, but knowing how the last event went, he's doubtful that'll be enough.]
maybe we should share resources.
text
At least he's ahead of Tim there, as far as that's concerned.]
they're not being very specific about whatever's coming.
plural, i guess.
sometimes the closets stop working during stuff like this but there's no way to know for sure.
what kind of resources you have in mind?
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text | backdated to right after the zombie event
[Does she even have to point out how utterly moronic that was?]
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i had to get them off jay's back
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what the fuck
do you remember anything from this weekend
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[Unfortunately, Tim's not been scrubbed clean of that particular memory. He gets to keep the worst ones, he's pretty sure; those make themselves harder to forget. Which is saying something.]
[A fake history, a fake life, and it seems that none of them can still catch a break. Brian still dead. Alex still dead.]
[Jay still desperately searching for someone to blame for it.]
[What the fuck else is new.]
i said sometimes we forget who we are
guess that was one of those times
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action (roughly 3:30-4:00 AM)
"Tim. Tim."
He has one hand on the camera and one hand in his pocket.
no subject
So when there's the rap of knuckles on the wood of his door, Tim can't exactly claim he's surprised. Annoyed, maybe, that he has to actually get up and do something for once.
It's Jay. Why wouldn't it be?
And he sounds insistent enough for it to mean trouble.
And so, bleary-eyed and unkempt, the door cracks open and Tim peers out into the hall and stares directly into the dark lens of a camera, which is exactly the first thing he wants to see at ass o' clock in the morning.
"What."
wherein jay becomes peter vincent, vampiah killah
jfc jay
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text, night, 9/2
[...]
[Sans is instantly at a loss.]
knock knock
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[Should've expected this, really. But unfortunately for Sans, the ice-breaker goes right over Tim's head.]
what
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[Voice]
[Voice]
Okay, so what shit were you thinking about in particular?
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[audio]
Hey, kid. Call me or text me when you get this. I wanna ask you about something.
text not long after
[That's ominous. But her tone is businesslike that it gives nothing away and - he did say she could let him know, if she needed help with everything. That's pretty serious. Warrants this kind of heavy message, right?]
[Probably. Probably.]
[Regardless, he answers with text. That's easier.]
hey
what's up
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[text]
do you think another movie night is gonna happen
cause i wanna know how army of darkness ends
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seriously
youre not
why
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no subject
There's no note inside either.]
12/25
Inside the reason for the weird shape becomes clear: it's a badass anime sword.
Once handled, though, it becomes clear that it's solely made with PVC.
Inside, there's a note, but all it says is "sorry".]
12/25
[There's no card, but written on the bag is from sans.]
no subject
Tim--
Merry Christmas
--Shaun
no subject
[The note reads:]
Hope you haven't heard all these.
-J
[The mp3 player is fully-charged, and turning it on reveals that it has already been loaded with a few hours of music, mostly full albums. It's an eclectic mix, ranging from the Red Hot Chili Peppers to the Talking Heads to Three Days Grace to The Who and Pink Floyd and some electronic music, mostly instrumentals.]
text, backdated to later on 5/4
hey
i
are you
howre you feeling?
[Nailed it.]
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[He really should've.]
could ask you the same thing
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it's your birthday right
want to do something?
[And then Jay tosses his phone across the bed and puts his face in his hands.]
[It's weird. It's invasive--but then again, when has that ever stopped him?]
[He just remembers how it was last year.]
[
And if they can still remember one of their birthdays after all the bullshit back home, maybe that's worth celebrating.]no subject
[He didn't actually realize.]
[He hadn't been tracking the day, hadn't been accounting for the fact that time in Wonderland has long since entered mid-June. And so it is that it takes him several minutes to actually respond.]
i guess it is
like what
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text, backdated to 7/14
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