Rooms

[After a significant period of leafing through back-pages and disbelief. In neat, albeit cramped handwriting:]

How can you tell which world it is?

Erm. Happy New Year?

[Text to Ronan X]

Google just gave me the search suggestion of 'not without my anus.'

[A few random sketches of new designs.]

[After this.]

[He's actually taken a cab home, determinedly shutting out the driver's silent questions about this bloody little scrap of a kid with fingers that shake as he hands over all of the cash he has in his wallet, muttering unsteady apologies that he doesn't have enough for a decent tip. (Not that the guy really cares, Ronan can tell by the retreating waves of relief that roll over him as the car rumbles away from the house.)

Then he is just sitting in the dark bathroom off the kitchen, cross-legged on the floor with a wet washcloth in his lap because his arms are too tired to lift it to his head. He's made several half-hearted swipes at the blood that has dried on his face, mostly just managing to inspire a fresh trickle of ketchup red to seep down into the collar of his shirt.

He can feel Ben's approach before the front door opens, and his heartbeat twitches into jackrabbit mode. He's a sloppy mix of anger and humiliation and something else that isn't so familiar, and he pulls his legs up to his chest like maybe he can tuck himself into a corner and not be found. He tells himself that he just doesn't want the confrontation, doesn't want Ben's rage and the knee-jerk instinct to do something stupid, but that isn't the whole truth.]

[During and after this: a telepathic link in Marvel, wide open and unintentional. It starts with an explosion of pain in his head from the first hit and morphs into a steady, all-over throb that sits heavy in his chest and in his skull. A sickly rage. He wants to fight back, but that gets overwhelmed by the unsteady urge to vomit all over the alleyway.

Then only darkness, and the outburst falls silent for a minute or two before he totally regains consciousness. Then it's just pain. Hands that shake with a flood of adrenaline and anger. Dizzy. He needs to get up, but he's dizzy.

And still, he doesn't realize that he is projecting all over New York.]

Who: Ronan X
What: Narrative
When: Thursday evening
Where: Outside his work
Warning: Violence


( What was a few minutes of lost sleep or forgoing real breakfast for a hastily-scarfed burrito, if it meant getting to first base in the front seat of his boyfriend’s car before he had to spend ten hours sweating over a broiler? Nada. Less than nada. )

[Locked to Ronan X]

What the fuck was that?

[Public]
[After seeing the other entries.]

You were in a beautiful green dress, I was yelling from the booth at you.

Please tell me that nothing crazy or terrible happened to you, either.

Thanks for the dress? [...] Guess that's normal, then.

So I've decided something. Wanna guess?

Because I could use more money

If anyone's interested in a real psychic reading, I'm looking for customers.

And, no, it's not a scam.

And, no, I'm not Miss Cleo. Or whoever the daytime talk shows are featuring these days.

[Text to Ben S]

I think there are people like me here.

[Because being anonymous is so totally anonymous.]

I'm having problems controlling my ability. I'm sorry if I [...] imposed. On your privacy. Sorry.

[Marvel. Preston isn't searching, but he is nearly up from a formless dream that was, surprisingly enough, rather innocently pleasant. One is left with... something like tangible clouds of cotton candy in the mind. Sweet, obscuring, blank.

It's strongest nearest Stark Tower.]

[ETA: Closed.]

[Locked to Ronan X]

Jeans and a nice shirt. 501s.

And did you call your сестра or are you still too busy having sex?

[Public]

я вышел из моего дома сегодня утром, и река была в огне с восходом солнца.

[I walked out of my house this morning, and the river was on fire with the sunrise.]

And now to work.

[Phone call to Ronan X]

Ring, ring.

[It translates for non-Russian speakers.]

привет?

это пиздец.

[Hello? This is fucked up.]

[Text to Ronan X]

Did you take your anti-dickhead meds today? Cause if you did, it's time for breakfast. I'm fuckin starvin.

[Public]

Anyone want a dog?

I'm never getting a black fluffy dog.