fuckitybye | 022

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022

[Malcolm's been awake for the last few hours and doing nothing but reading through all the postings he's missed while in his hiatus coma. Colour him gobsmacked.]

Right.

So, this sort of thing happen often around here? Go for a quick lie-down and wake up a fucking week later?

...

Glad to see you fucks made it back from the Bank Holiday of the Living Dead, anyhow. ~~Really fucking glad I missed out on it too~~

ADDED LATER: [Private to the Baroness]
Hey, look, I'm sorry I stood you up, yeah? I didn't expect I was going to fall into a fucking coma before meeting you.

[OOC: And with this, I am officially back from hiatus. Hello to all the new folks who arrived while I was away!]

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Parker opened the door quickly and grinned when she saw Malcolm, but the grin was smaller than normal, and she looked just incredibly fucking tired. "Glad to see you're still fucking kicking." And she was, because god damn it the number of people she fucking cared about on this boat was getting smaller every fucking day.

"Cheers, love," Malcolm replied, stepping inside. "Brought the ice." He gave her a once-over look, frowned a little. "Christ, you look like hell, sweetheart."

"Shit, if you're calling me sweetheart, I must look like real fucking hell." Parker said with a muttered laugh. She frowned quickly, and then went to the closet to pull out a rather large bottle of gin. Gin wasn't so high on her favorites, but she'd run out of vodka and there was no scotch left aboard anywhere. From the pocket of her jacket, she grabbed an orange.

Malcolm set the bowl of ice down. As a rule, he rarely drank—he didn't have the time for it, back home. Here, however, there was nothing but time.

"Aye, well, you just look like you've been run through a fucking laundry mangle," he said, almost but not really joking. "Course, same can be said for all the fucks that just got back from Zombie Brighton."

Parker se the booze down on the desk, and pulled out two glasses, adding ice to them and then pouring a large amount of gin into each glass. She wished she had a fucking knife; after having one for those four days it felt incredibly weird not to have one, but she just started to peel the orange.

It made her think of Paddy and her hands trembled for a moment before she clasped them tightly around the fruit, her nails digging too deeply into it. "Fuck." she muttered quickly, before she held the dripping orange over the glass that was going to be hers.

"Zombie Brighton, huh? Wanna hear the really fucked up thing? Vidal died, Snape died, Paddy fucking died and it was me, Billy and fucking Judas and you know what the fuck our safehouse was? It was a god damn fucking cruise ship."

Malcolm glanced around for a towel or napkin—hell, tissue paper would do. "A what? Jesus Christ, that's fucked." He looked up at the ceiling, as if expecting to find some manifestation of the Admiral up there. "Sick fucking sense of humour, that cunt."

Parker didn't need towel, the juice was going right where it was meant too now. "Yeah, the Admiral's a fucking dick. I'm going to punch him in the fucking face if I ever graduate and he wants to make a fucking deal with me." It was a moot point; Parker would never graduate. She handed him the gin that didn't have the bits of juice in it.

"You and me both, love." Malcolm took the glass and raised it. "Here's to getting the fuck out of here and punching that sod in the face."

Parker raised the glass, but she didn't want to get into why the fuck she was never going to graduate from this place. "I hope some fucking day we land in a port where he's the one who needs to go through all of the shit that we did."

Malcolm chuckled. "That'd be something, eh? Maybe we could fucking well sell tickets."

"Sell tickets? We'd make a fucking mint. Maybe if we all fucking collectively wish it would happen, it would." Parker laughed, and then she took a long sip of her drink.

She really hated gin.

"Course, the way things usually fucking seem to run around here, the sod would probably drop us on a planet full of fucking ... lava or something, just out of spite." He took a sip of his drink. Really, he'd have preferred whisky, but beggars and fucking choosers and all that. "You come from a pretty normal sort of fucking world, yeah? No aliens or zombies or vampires or any of that shit?"

"He did put a fucking volcano in ancient fucking Rome when we showed up, the asshole." She watched scotch. It was ironic that the best fucking scotch she'd had in a long time came in the middle of a fucking zombie attack and she didn't get more than a sip of it before her best friend had to go die on her.

"Just geniuses who have the ability to become anyone they want to be by just fucking reading books about it. Not as fucking weird as some." And there was that whole shadowy organization and scrolls, but she didn't know about them yet.

Malcolm shrugged and drank a bit more. "This is what I'm wondering about, yeah? Like what sort of fucking effect all this is supposed to have on those of us what come from worlds where all this shit is safely confined to a fucking telly."

"I don't fucking think the Admiral gives a fuck. It's why some of us are fucking fictional and some of us fucking aren't. I don't think he fucking knows the difference. I mean shit, even the fucking wardens are god damn snapping; how the fuck is this meant to be for our own good?"

"Too fucking right." Malcolm frowned into his drink. "I don't like the fucking mood in this place. Feels like ... fuck, I dunno, like the night before a fucking British Rail strike but with vampires in, yeah? Like something's gonna blow."

Parker nodded quickly. "I've only felt the mood like this one fucking other time before. There was a god damn flood and people fucking ended up changing into their opposite selves, the whole barge did. There was a fucking riot and shit with that. That's how it feels now, like the calm before the shit hit the fan." Parker took another drink of her gin and then set it aside; it was reminding her too much of pinesol at the moment.

"Fuck I'd sell my soul for some scotch."

Malcolm frowned for a minute, wondering what his opposite self would be like. Probably Neil Howie.

"Christ," he said out loud. "Fucking powder keg, this place. And I got no fucking confidence in anyone keeping it under control, I'll fucking tell you that for nothing." He finished off his glass in one swallow, wincing a little at the burn. "Funny thing. I don't normally drink much. Didn't, I mean, back home. But I'm right fucking with you on the whisky right now."

"Yeah, yeah it fucking is. And it keeps getting fucking worse and I don't even know how the fuck that's possible." Parker hated this place in the best of times, but right now it' insufferable. "I had thought some of the wardens were all right, but this, this just proves that no one is. They're just as fucked up as the rest of us are." And they were. "Apparently the fucking stores are gonna restock when it comes the first, so that'll fucking help. The Admiral is such a dick he couldn't even fucking fix that."

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