Voicemail 2.0

[goddamngrenades]

You have reached the voice mail system of Officer Taylor Murray.

When you are finished recording, just hang up or press pound for more options.

To request a locksmith or report a crime, press one.

To hear these options in Spanish, press dos.

To send a verbal confirmation of a written command, press three.

To send a written confirmation of a verbal command, press four.

For delivery options, press five.

To page this person, press six.

To locate your nearest operator, press seven.

To leave a call back number, press eight.

To repeat this message, press nine.

Press zero for other options.

To mark this message as urgent, press eleven.

Thank you for calling, have a nice day.

BEEP


Comments

Re: Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"There's got to be something." Mal can't- won't turn into one of those things. And if it's spreading- why doesn't he have it? Why is it selectively targeting Immune? Natives- natvies can't do anything but they're supposed to be resistant. And Mal's got scales and lost himself and-

Deep breaths. His fingers twitch for want of his knitting before he steps in close, looping his arm around Malcolm's waist. "It'll- we'll figure it out. Okay?"

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

To know that York still cares and still loves him and forgives him is one thing, but the physical affection just seems much. Somehow too much. More than he should have. Malcolm flips up the hood of his sweatshirt and lowers his face.

"So long as I don't hurt you again."

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"Not your fault." Sure he threw the mug and kicked his leg but it wasn't something he did on purpose. Not quite a PTSD episode but it was something other, something else in him that he didn't want. That he didn't mean. He'll take his lumps as long as they're not maliciously intended. "I'm alright. Ain't nothing I haven't bounced back from before."

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

"I am getting really very tired of being excused from things I've done because I wasn't myself." That this is something that's happened on multiple occasions is...distressing.

"Losing time and aggression are...symptoms. Among others." He pulls in on himself. It all just feels like a damn excuse.

Re: Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"So I should hold this over your head and blame you for things you did when you weren't driving?" Because that's the alternative he sees and that's kind of- no. So much no.

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

"That's not what I'm saying," he says with a little huff and nothing more. It might be nice to be held accountable for once, but he'd also find it frustrating. There's no win here. Has there ever been?

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"We'll get this fixed. THEN we'll get the other thing fixed. Then you can be however you want as long as you want." And it still holds the terrifying prospect that he won't. Want York anymore. They didn't exactly have a lot of time before everything went to shit and he came back- wrong.

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

Maybe he needs an optimist in his life. Or maybe not an optimist, but someone who will say these things even if he doesn't believe them. Nothing's going to get fixed. Even if these specific issues get fixed, something else will happen to tamper with his brain, with his personality. And he can't even take out the ports, which are usually the culprit anyway, but even if he could, with diseases like this, would that change anything?

Malcolm stays silent. Thoughtful but silent. Distracted.

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"..." That's unusual. The walk to the autocab, the actual drive- and not a peep from Malcolm. No wrinkle, no muttering, no fidgeting. Still and silent. It's- it's more disconcerting than York has words to express. He laces their fingers together, squeezing, hoping that something, anything he does can just- bring him back. "Penny?"

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

He startles, briefly, at the touch, a stiffening before looking over. What...does that even mean? His brow furrows. Is that an object, a person, a reference?

Re: Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"For your thoughts, Mal." Really has he never heard that?

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

Some phrases get lost with time, okay? He blinks again. His thoughts? Well, he's certainly thinking about being secretly a monster in his own body not of his own making time and time and time again, shouldn't that be obvious? "Thinking about this," he says in a tone that indicates...'shouldn't that be obvious'.

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"You aren't normally this...quiet. When you're upset. Worried? That." The lack of communication is what's digging into York, really. It might be a little codependant of him but he needs- wants some sort of back and forth here.

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

"Am I not?" News to him. Worried, he thought, makes him quiet and thinky. Is that not the norm? Huh.

It's not like there's anything to say except to apologize again, and that never goes over well.

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"no there's usually more- fretting. Audible fretting." He doesn't know how to make it better.

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

More furrow. "And is that what you want?"

Re: Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"I just- I wanna know how to help." He spreads his hands. "Cuz I feel kinda useless right now, boo."

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

"You're not the only one." Why the hell is York assuming he knows how to fix any of this? If he did know, wouldn't he be doing something about it already? "ER visit should assist." What else is there? It's not like York can reach into his skin and pull out whatever turns him psychotic at the drop of a hat.

Re: Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"I mean help make you feel better. About this. What happened. Anything." Normally- well with anyone but Malcolm he's usually got a pretty good idea of what to do or say. Here though it is, as ever, something of a mystery if it's the right thing the wrong thing or the fucking stupid thing.

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

"Like I said," he says in an quieter voice instead of getting frustrated at repeating himself, leaning his head against the window. How does on feel better about this? Even if he manages to not turn into a cannibalistic monster-who-was-a-person--and the thought does make him lose a little more colour--none of it changes what happened. It's not just ('just') hitting York, or ruining the kitchen he'll have to repair, or the loss of time, but a culmination. There's a list of things wrong with him to fix. What's the bloody point?

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

"...okay." Start with the simple thing. The hospital will give them answers and everything else- they'll take it one step at a time. He slumps back against the seat, fingers flexing in Malcolm's hand. There should be something else he could be doing but honestly? He doesn't know. Nothing comes to mind. Maybe if the world wasn't fuzzy from the mug to the face.

Seriously why didn't he duck he saw it coming. What's wrong with him?

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

The silence stretches, and York feels far far away. Because Malcolm feels far away, removed from this place. Up until they pull up in front of the hospital, but Malcolm doesn't immediately move. There's an uncertainty and a fear about him when he finally, uneasily, looks to his boyfriend.

"If I turn--if I start to turn, and I can't do anything about it..." It's unfair to ask of York, but who else can he trust other than Carolina?

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

He'd been drifting, a little. Dazed or exhausted or something- not present. That question though has him snapping to with a blink. With the lowest, rawest, most broken little laugh that he couldn't bite back. Sure. Ask him to put a bullet in you.

That's all anyone ever fucking DOES lately. Ask him to put a bullet in them, ask him to make it end. He's fucking tired of it.

But since when can he tell Malcolm no? It's- it's hilarious in that it's not hilarious. It's awful. But he can't- hands shaking, jaw locked up and he's still laughing.

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[tactical_alert]

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. That's all wrong, he's asked the wrong thing, and he knows it's unfair, and he's said it wrong, everything is wrong.

He wants to stuff the words back down his throat, to unspeak them, let them hang in his chest and never let them near York. It's too late. "It won't come to that. I'll ask a doctor." Something. Something to make this better. A grin comes automatically and unbidden, though the rest of his face holds more grimace. This, at least, he can fight, somewhat. But it's still part of the myriad of problems.

No. He can't ask York to put a bullet in him. That is too much. Can't ask Carolina, either. It's fine. He turns away before he can make a bigger spectacle of himself, though his hand tights on the door. Has to remember to breathe, relearn it quickly, before bailing out into the springtime air. The fake springtime air. They still need their outer wounds tended to, after all.

Day 222 - afternoon - action

[goddamngrenades]

He laughs until he has to leave or get his ass hauled along to the next stop in the autocab, the warning beep the only thing to spur him into motion. And he's still laughing. Giggling helpless little hitches in the pit of his stomach, warbling things that have the attending at the door herding people looking at him oddly while he limps his way back over to Malcolm. It'll come to that.

For all that he's the optimisit he knows his luck. knows their luck. It'll come to that and he'll have to hug Mal close, murmur something pointless and comforting and pull the fucking trigger and-

He.

Needs to call Doctor Ramirez if this is what he's going to do at this fucking suggestion. Jesus. Maybe the mug hit him harder than he thought. "I'm f-fine." He waves off the nearest whoever, trying to find Mal. "Really. Fine. Peachy keen."