breakaleginhalf | dataBURST: IC Inbox

don't worry i'll go get them

[honestly he had not noticed any modifications he was In A Mood. And that mood was blind panic and anger.]

what happened

are you okay right now

you weren't there when i came back do you need me to come get you

[My room-mate's doppelganger tried to kill him and also more successfully me

I'm okay, I got Patty to stitch me up

Honestly this wasn't even the worst death I've ever had so like
You don't have to worry

Roommate? Was that the blond guy? Is he okay? Did the doppelganger come back???? IF HE TRIES SOMETHING I'LL GIVE HIM THE BUSINESS

[Ah, Patty, good. Okay great. That's a good sign, she's a Doc, she could fix him back up after she booted Nostradamus back into the land of the living.

But also, come again?]

what do you mean

worst death

??????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

I got a shitload of texts from him too, so yeah, he's alive and okay.

god, okay, um

Remember the whole... Jigsaw, Frankenstein analogies? A lot more literal than I let you think.

[...yeah this is too much for text isn't it.]

I'm all fixed up now, if you want an in-person explanation. I'm just in the lobby.

excuse me????????????????????????????????????????????????

GIL?????????????????????????? YOU WERE DEAD BEFORE YOU GOT HERE???????????

then you need to drop the skincare routine because you've got a heck of a glow for a dead guy.

[hahahhahahahah okay so he's delirious right now, leaning on that old gallows humor. Also crashing from a sugar high. He'd stress-ordered like twenty pancakes at the diner waiting for Gil to write back. Except he could only get three bites in before face-planting right in the maple-soaked tower, then an hour later when Gil still wasn't writing back he'd started munching his way to the bottom. Very morosely. Only once he'd hit bare porcelain did that fate-changing ping arrive.]

uh

let me get the pancake off my face

and go get your undies

Yes and no.

I died, then got better. Multiple times. I may have lost track.

Please rescue my underwear, it did nothing to deserve this.

[He's going to continue waiting on the lobby couch, sitting upright except for where he's slouching over to avoid pressing freshly-closed wounds into the couch.]

[none of this

none of this is comforting]

i bet jean grey is real miffed you stole her schtick

kk will do captain

also i'm really sorry

[This time, Yakko cannonballs through a window to join him.

The glass shatters and Yakko unfurls atop the shards. A few stick to him, but much like the rest of his gags they do not deter him one bit. He already looks a mess anyhow. There's still syrup on the bottom of his chin and the edge of his cheek. His fur is rubbed all the wrong ways and he's got a wad of boxers (or...briefs?? I'm not gonna godmod Gil's skivvies) under one scrawny arm. There's bags under his eyes that would get checked on a plane.

He gives a shake, shedding the glass, and stumbles over to Gil, one hand outstretched. It claps him on the cheek.]

I'm sorry.

[He sounds very, very young suddenly. Parched too.]

[As can only be expected, Gil flinches sharply at the sudden shattering of glass nearby, and has to hold in what would have been a very loud groan of pain as he tugs on pretty much every lingering wound at once. The wad of boxers and briefs (because sometimes you just don't want compressed ass fur) is noted and immediately ignored in favour of the overwhelming smells of syrup and exhaustion on Yakko, and he pushes himself to sit a bit more upright (it doesn't really work).

With their narrow height difference, and Gil still slumped, Yakko's face is at perfect chest level, so it's easy to see the job Patty's done on Gil's scar-riddled, clad-only-in-bandages chest: two large patches of gauze are bound tightly in place, one just shy of his heart and the other under his right ribs, and both are already dotted with the faintest hints of pink (and two more on his back, nearly perfectly parallel but slightly lower down); a large burn, unpleasant but seemingly superficial also spreads near his navel, coated in something that smells like antiseptic; and some half-healed but still-tender scratches on his neck, like nails dug in around a thin friction burn.

And all that's before the other scars: lots, lots of old ones, defined mostly by their shape beneath the thin gauze with an apparent emphasis over his heart and stomach, and more disappearing into Gil's own slacks.]

Shit, Yakko...

[Gil doesn't hesitate in picking his small friend up with both hands, even if the act of bending to do so makes a wince flick across his face, and drops him on the couch next to him.]

You didn't do anything, man, this one's all on me.

Edited 2021-05-03 07:37 (UTC)

[You know, he ought to have clued in about Gil being a life and death guinea pig earlier. He's seen enough of the scarring before this. Now, though, each slash glares at him, smug crisscrosses and bisections of cruelties too old to counteract. The gauze highlights more than it conceals, white and patchy pink screaming against the dark stretch of his skin. The rippled burn smells — he's not got the scenting powers of a hounddog, that's never been his schtick, so that he can smell the medicine at all scares him.

Gil picks him up before he can protest, and that puts him at eye level with the guy's neck. Yakko gulps and assumes his seat without question. Who would do this to him? Why would anyone do this to somebody else?]

I shouldn't have left, though. You weren't there when I came back. Neither of you were. [His hands fly up again. Gil is injured but he can't keep off him. Needs to feel the solidity and hear him gabbing, let that sweep away the sight of him crumpled on the pavement. Yakko's got him by the shoulders while hoisted on his knees, inspecting his face.] Does it still hurt?

[Yakko getting into his face like this, well-intentioned as it is, also brings with it an overpowering whiff of syrup to Gil's sensitive nose, and before he can stop himself he's licked his palm and some fingers to try and clean up the worst of it on Yakko's face. If nothing else, Gil's clearly experienced in rubbing fur in the right direction, too.]

Nah, it's good. [And that's a flagrant lie at best. Yakko's not the only one with five-star bags under his eyes, and under the Mask Gil's fur is just as dishevelled, ears at a tired, pained angle. But his gaze is sharp, focused on Yakko, and his mouth is a tight grimace between sentences.]

God, I'm so sorry for scaring you like that. I didn't know he had a fucking gun, after the, uh. [His free hand comes up and massages the scratches on his neck with the heel of his palm.] The wire didn't work. It-- would've been fine if I hadn't gotten myself shot, really.

Edited 2021-05-04 00:01 (UTC)

[What?

He's perplexed by the hand licking until that hand is suddenly applied to his face. Yakko's scrunching up his nose and twisting away before he clues in that Gil is following the lay of the fur. There's a half second synapse misfire. Then he remembers: the Gil he's looking at isn't the Gil that is. He forgets this every time, the illusion is so impeccable. If there's anyone who'd know what they're doing when wiping still-sticky maple out of a fuzz-covered cheek, it would be this guy.

The other part that flummoxes him is that Gil is wasting precious time trying to fix Yakko up. Has he looked in a mirror?

So he does pull away in the end, half-because he's not the injured party here and half because this story keeps getting worse.]

A gun?! He shot you?! [Yakko's eyes dart between the striping bandages. Which one, which one? Had it healed before he woke?] The wire? I didn't see any of that! I was just walking along, minding my own business when the side of the building exploded! And you guys...

[All right, he's getting sidetracked, and he doesn't want to spit out those particular details. He lets go of his shoulders to tug two-handed at his shirt instead, like a desperate dame pleading with a hardboiled detective to take her case, no matter what the cost. His points are punctuated with pulls.] Stop that! Don't apologize! You're sorry? That jerk should be sorry! He's gonna be sorry when I'm done with him! Where is he?!

[Gil's eyes widen fractionally when Yakko tells him that - shit, shit, Yakko saw the part where he actually died - and a muscle flicks on his temple, visible on his human form from just how hard his ears press back against his head from that.

He stops cleaning when Yakko pulls away, wiping his hand briefly on his pants, but he's quick to grab Yakko's hands gently to stop him beating Gil's chest up; the dark skin, pale scars and palms are another start contrast on Yakko's white gloves.]

Yakko, it's fine, seriously. I got him just as good as he got me, and he was a doppelganger anyway, so. He's definitely gone, by now, calm down. And like... [He tries to offer a smile, but it's tired and a little nervous.] Hey, look how much it took to take me down in the first place. Wire, plasma gun, tazer and a three storey drop. Should start calling me Rasputin or something.

[Gil's hands are much bigger than his own, in spite of the disproportionate styling he's drawn in. He's also a lot stronger than he is, and there's nothing funny about this so he can't muster up the wherewithal to keep his grip where it was.

Nothing to do but take it in. Listen up, and trust that Gil meant what he was saying.

Yakko's eyes drift down to that ugly new line across his neck. Catches the nervous bent to that smile.]

You know... [Oof, his throat is going all tight.] On the list of famous guys to aspire to, Rasputin should be dead at the bottom.

[Ha ha. Ha.

He really can't do this.

Yakko does find the strength to break loose then. He wraps his arms around Gil's middle and pushes his face into his shoulder, careful to miss anything bandaged or freshly bruised. As best as he can, anyway. He can't look him in the eye when he's talking like that. There's a spot of wetness blooming where he's hiding his gaze away, dampening the shirt. It's probably a pipe leak. Don't worry about it.]

Just because it's hard to kill ya doesn't mean it's okay....

[Sometimes it was easy to forget just how much larger than life Yakko was. Famous star, cartoon character, seemingly endless well of cheer and confidence. To see him wrapped tight around Gil's chest, burying his face and... god, crying?

Gil's never seen him look quite this small.

And when he puts his hand on Yakko's back to hold him a little tighter in a one-armed hug, he can feel his own eyes prickling as well.]

More okay for it to be me than someone who's not used to it. [It's a sincere platitude, but by god is it a grim one.] I've spent... a long time. Being the punchline for Jigsaw's riddles. Dying hurts, sure, but it's easier than letting someone else go through that.

[His mouth twists. He pulls loose of his shoulder, even if that ceiling pipe is still leaking on his face (haha that's so weird) to give the guy a look.]

If you heard anyone else saying something like that, you'd slap them silly.

[The look nearly makes him smile, but he holds that one in, instead just huffing dryly.]

Yeah, well, most other people haven't already lost track of how many times they've died. Zero to one's a bigger step than ninety-nine to a hundred.

That's no excuse! I oughta slap you silly!

[All right, now he's riled up again. He's on an upswing. He's indignant! He's ruffled! He doesn't want to see or think about Gil going through any kind of funny business ever again!

Yakko seizes both sides of his cute little face (So plush? Where did that razor sharp jawline go?) and pokes their noses together. He means business, Buster!]

I say you've done ninety-nine times in the grave too many! Give it up! You're banned from going back, you hear me? B-A-N N N N N N-E-D! BANNED!

[At which point he yanks a rubber stamp from his pocket and pops it against his forehead. It's official. Ya BANNED.]

[The grabbing makes him blink but Yakko poking his nose into Gil's makes him rear back automatically, feeling several wounds pull and sting from the suddenness of the action. The telling him off isn't even a problem, until suddenly there's a stamp being smacked into his face and he actively pushes Yakko back, largely by instinct and accident. That didn't hurt but it sure was fucking surprising - and when he goes to touch it he can feel the tacky letters sticking his fur in uncomfortable directions.]

...I don't know I didn't see that coming.

[Whoop—

Yakko tumbles to the floor, conked on his rear. He cranes his head up to Gil with an inquisitive blink.

Huh. Okay, guess he's a little jumpy. Normally he'd be happy to get thrown around, that's the status quo and it weirded him out that people were so accommodating around here. But those wounds: Yakko peers to make sure Gil doesn't flinch again, nothing starts acting up.

Only then does he clambour back onto the couch like a fuzzy limbed toddler. He takes a seat at his side instead of his lap, more cautious than needy now.]

Well it's what you deserve. It's official now. If I hear one more word outta you about all that I'll take you to court!

[Gil wonders how long it's gonna take for that BANNED to go away, if Bugsy sees it that can't end well.

Still, he leans forward to rest his elbows on his thighs again, spreading a little to make sure his torso stays mostly straight, and gives Yakko a bit more of a natural smile. Still a sly little crook of his mouth, as is his wont, but he does seem a bit more relaxed.]

Well, does the prosecution have more questions about any of this shit? [He lifts a hand, keeping his elbow planted, and gestures vaguely at himself.] For like. The entire everything.

[It's water soluble, fret not. He likes you too much to use permanent ink okay.

Yakko is happy to see the smile, easing into one of his own as he moves to finally wipe his eyes clear. Sniff a little too, get back himself together after all that freakish indoor rain. The question catches him off guard.

Does he want to know more?

His eyes flit to the scars. The bandages. Scars aren't a part of his life, not unless they've been painted on some goon for ludicrous effect. He could ask what did this, how'd you get that. Did it hurt? Did that one finish the job? If he gets the story is he going to picture the blades and the burns every time he looks Gil in the eye?

He does and he doesn't. It's a queasy curiosity pushing him to point and ask, and a quivering dread that holds him back. He likes neither feeling. They're still foreign to him, even after months in this psychedelic sinkhole.

So his smile pops on bright and bold.]

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuh — you ever meet one of those Hemsworth boys down under?

[...yeah, he's not gonna fault Yakko for going for something easier than All That. A part of him feels... disappointed, somehow, that Yakko didn't seem to want to ask - the Desire was there, that much he was certain, but too tempered by Fear to win over (and not enough to harvest, either). But his everything is a lot to take in, even for people who did understand where he was coming from.

So his smile widens, almost cheeky to match Yakko's.]

Not personally, but one of my friends served one of them at Starbucks once and got a twenty dollar tip on a grande capp, I forget which. Apparently they're really nice in person.

[Avoidance is the easiest way to never learn things! Yakko loves the pursuit of academia. He does not enjoy the pursuit of adulthood. This is in addition to the long hours he's just spent losing his mind, waiting on a text, replaying that sick crunch and the twin rumpled bodies on the cold concrete.

So he's desperate for a little levity. So what? That's what he was built for.]

Really? Dot's gonna love that. [He leans up, hand to mouth, conspiratorial.] Between you and me, hearing about Mel Gibson when we got back broke her poor heart.

[Some nineties crushes just don't age well.]

[And Gil was built for eating people and getting murdered. Sometimes you gotta break the mold.

He still cringes sympathetically at Yakko's "secret".] Yeah, yikes. Luckily I've never heard anything bad about the Hemsworths, so she's got some safe ground there. And you can have Margot Robbie, 's'long as you don't mind some Jokers on the sidelines gunning for you.

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