[ has he been ignoring Steve? no, of course not. he's not a bitch, and it was — Steve, wasn't it, who was putting up walls? not Billy, who had needled and wanted and...
his thoughts are slipperly, inky. just a moment ago there was theriac and a feast, the baths and an argument, inky vomit and his room covered in bloody writing. just a moment ago... ]
JESUS CHRIST. [ no, Steve, he didn't know that! but he knows it now with blood dripping from his nose over his lip. for some reason, his back is against a stone wall. he stares at a portrait across from it. he's never seen it before. where is he?
breathing hard and licking at his lip, he bellows back mentally: ] WHAT, HARRINGTON?
( why is it a relief to get an answer? Billy has been around. around-ISH. Steve's seen that stupid blonde head going in and out of his peripheral. and yet not, all at once. because not to be DRAMATIC, but Steve is aware he gave the guy a loaded gun for rampant bullying, what with the falling in a monster pit for hallucinating his ex reasons. even with a preemptive silent treatment, Billy hasn't bothered to haze him about it at all. which was ... weird? decent? confusing? not like Billy at all?
at some point between dreaming, freezing, eclipsing, and dying, all that got a little blurry. whatever Billy was up to got back burnered big time. so... is it kinda a relief to have that familiar rumble rattling around in his head? despite the bloody nose he gets about it? whatever. don't worry about it! )
--the hell ... you been? ( is this important right now, Steve? no. regroup. ) I'm stuck. In the... OW. Christ! The pit. THE PIT.
[ in an unfamiliar place, Steve is the most familiar thing Billy has. that's crazy, isn't it?
steve's asking a good question. where has he been? Right here, he nearly sneers, lip already curling. he's been here, right as rain, not leaning forward, head against a stone wall, blood dripping from his nose. ]
The fuck you mean the pit? [ yeah, yeah the pit! we all remember the pit, Steve! but what are you doing back in the pit? ] What? You fell back in?
( Steve doesn't get why brain talking hurts all of a sudden. it's like every word is digging a migraine deeper and deeper into his skull. Quentin might even hear him whimpering about it like a baby. )
-—didn't fall. ( no, he jumped. on purpose this time. so it's better! Steve presses the back of his hand against his nose, but the pressure doesn't help the blood OR the ache in his brain. he can't afford to pass out about this, so he tries a different tack. like a brain telegram, instead of a brain conversation. stick to the important parts. )Cold. Stuck. Help.
[ it's a strained call; Billy doesn't know why. he probably should. hasn't he been calling, griping to those he knows? (no, he hasn't been — where has he been?) he's disoriented, not picking up on Steve's new tactic.
he pushes through, each word a jagged piece of glass from one brain to another. ] Quit sounding like some robot. We're all fucking cold.
[ he pushes away from the wall, wipes the back of his hand across his nose, then his fingers through his hair. it's lank. where has he been? ]
( brain texting is weird right now. not everything is coming through. but Billy will feel the INTENSITY OF STEVE'S ANNOYANCE about that princess line anyway, because that's how oppressive it is. beggars can't be choosers. nobody said they can't be moody little bitches.
but the anger flags fast. because Billy is Billy. he could have fucked off, gone back to sleep, fucked some random girl about it, and been sure to let Steve know about it after the fact. Billy has no particular reason to give a fuck, besides ... what? they know each other, kinda. they both got Upside Downed and are messed up about it. if it is just a matter of getting even, then between sentient puke and badly executed baths, they're already even. Billy doesn't owe him anything, just because they are a matched set from the same fucked up slice of 1980s americana.
and yet when Billy says he'll come, Steve is stupid enough to believe him. he doesn't even press his luck with a hurry. just a flicker of warmed up something — relief, gratitude, appreciation — and then it's gone. Steve's brain is too fucking broken to keep texting his boyfriends under duress. Billy is just going to have to nut up and show. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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his thoughts are slipperly, inky. just a moment ago there was theriac and a feast, the baths and an argument, inky vomit and his room covered in bloody writing. just a moment ago... ]
JESUS CHRIST. [ no, Steve, he didn't know that! but he knows it now with blood dripping from his nose over his lip. for some reason, his back is against a stone wall. he stares at a portrait across from it. he's never seen it before. where is he?
breathing hard and licking at his lip, he bellows back mentally: ] WHAT, HARRINGTON?
no subject
at some point between dreaming, freezing, eclipsing, and dying, all that got a little blurry. whatever Billy was up to got back burnered big time. so... is it kinda a relief to have that familiar rumble rattling around in his head? despite the bloody nose he gets about it? whatever. don't worry about it! )
--the hell ... you been? ( is this important right now, Steve? no. regroup. ) I'm stuck. In the... OW. Christ! The pit. THE PIT.
no subject
steve's asking a good question. where has he been? Right here, he nearly sneers, lip already curling. he's been here, right as rain, not leaning forward, head against a stone wall, blood dripping from his nose. ]
The fuck you mean the pit? [ yeah, yeah the pit! we all remember the pit, Steve! but what are you doing back in the pit? ] What? You fell back in?
no subject
-—didn't fall. ( no, he jumped. on purpose this time. so it's better! Steve presses the back of his hand against his nose, but the pressure doesn't help the blood OR the ache in his brain. he can't afford to pass out about this, so he tries a different tack. like a brain telegram, instead of a brain conversation. stick to the important parts. ) Cold. Stuck. Help.
no subject
he pushes through, each word a jagged piece of glass from one brain to another. ] Quit sounding like some robot. We're all fucking cold.
[ he pushes away from the wall, wipes the back of his hand across his nose, then his fingers through his hair. it's lank. where has he been? ]
Quit crying, princess. I'm coming.
no subject
but the anger flags fast. because Billy is Billy. he could have fucked off, gone back to sleep, fucked some random girl about it, and been sure to let Steve know about it after the fact. Billy has no particular reason to give a fuck, besides ... what? they know each other, kinda. they both got Upside Downed and are messed up about it. if it is just a matter of getting even, then between sentient puke and badly executed baths, they're already even. Billy doesn't owe him anything, just because they are a matched set from the same fucked up slice of 1980s americana.
and yet when Billy says he'll come, Steve is stupid enough to believe him. he doesn't even press his luck with a hurry. just a flicker of warmed up something — relief, gratitude, appreciation — and then it's gone. Steve's brain is too fucking broken to keep texting his boyfriends under duress. Billy is just going to have to nut up and show. )