paradisalost | jukebox selection D09 - Bad Morning, Alien Ant Farm

Nice. That's real fucking NICE. What about the people who might have wanted a chance to, I don't know, show that they give a shit? You might as well have just spat in their faces.

So, hey, Joanna Beth Harvelle, I say YOU can suck it.

[Max's hackles are up. She's slept some of it off, but exhaustion as given way to anger and she's just about as protective of Jo as she can get]

How 'bout you shut that mouth of yours for a hot minute and think that maybe he wouldn't have wanted some asshole he didn't know "showing that he gives a shit"? People who know Sam know how he would have wanted to be commemorated.

Did you even think to ask the actual loved ones of these people what would be best before you went and set up your little candlelight vigil?

[oh my god. is she even serious. people are dead and she's poking the troll. his jaw tightens] So let me get this straight. His close friends are the only ones whose feelings matter? That's real sweet. I'm sure the next time a stranger gives a flying fuck that something awful happened to ME, I'm gonna have my blood brothers and tree fort club members tell him or her to sit on it and rotate. Thanks for filling me in on how polite society operates around here. Maybe yov should write a column!

[she's itching to hit something. she doesn't care if he's serious or not.]

Oh, yeah, I'm sure Sam will think it's real sweet that you decided to throw him a memorial. That really shows you care. And pardon me for saying so -- but it's a little disrespectful to tell the girlfriend of the guy you supposedly care about to suck it when she thinks that your little memorial is spitting in her face.

Where the fuck were you when he was alive? When Isis had him and hadn't killed him yet? That was when we could have used the care about Sam's well-being. Not now.

Too little too fucking late.

[and something in him just snaps. the pleasantness is gone from the edge in his voice, and now it's just as cold as it is hard]

Hey. I may be new. I may be green. I may not know everyone and how they know everybody else. But I still know what my place is in this shithole. I'm not strong, I'm not fast, I can't fight, and I sure as hell don't know anything about magic, or goddesses.

All I've got is my bleeding heart and my big mouth. And if I'd gone out there with the rest of you, all it would have earned would've been one more basket in the lobby, if anyone else had cared enough to do such a thing.

Forgive me for having some common SENSE along with my common decency. They're both looking a little rare around here. Or is that something you lose after long enough here, too?

If that's what I've got to look forward to? I'd rather die.

[and with that, he'll slam the journal shut, because he's at least got enough control left to see that this is too raw for both of them. see you at ten o'clock, Max]

[And Max would tell him that even if he's not fast or strong, there are ways to help without being STUPID. Sam wasn't super human either but he was still trying.

But yeah. She was done. She's going off to hit something now]

[Haha. Wrong thing to say, man. He's tempted to let Max take care of it, but since Jo's his best bartender...]

You're the guy keeping track?

Of how many assholes are living here? Yeah, I guess I am. What can I do for you?

[Sounds a little familiar -- but he hears a lot over the journal anyway.]

What's your name?

[overly polite] Happy Harry Hard-On. You need me to spell it for you, sir?

Nah, I got it. Just needed to know who to come to for information next time. [:)]

[this is the second time he's been glad his alias isn't on his door] What kind of information?

I like to keep track of who died. You must have heard about them before I did.

[well, that sounds serious enough. he sobers, the smart-aleck tone bleeding out of him in a slow sigh] Every Monday, I read back over the week to prepare for my broadcast. ... I ...

This isn't the kind of thing I like having to put out there as news. And I missed a couple, I think. Another basket showed up since I put them out. [he sounds genuinely sorry about missing Kara's death]

And now I'm catching flack for honestly caring about strangers. I gotta tell you, it really warms my heart.

[Considering pause...! Just to make him nervous.]

Yeah, I thought I'd listened to you before. -- Is that what you did back home?

Yeah. Only, I had a real radio set-up instead of a journal. Kinda not as much fun when I don't have stuff like balance and gain to mess with, but ... you take what you can get, y'know?

At least here you've pretty much got a captive audience, right?

Not that I want 'em to be. I mean, if they don't wanna hear it, they can still just close the journal. But I'd rather that none of us were stuck here.

You're always stuck somewhere.

Ain't that the truth. They tell you it gets better when you're older, but ... I've seen my father. I know he's stuck, too. The cages just change.

They'll only get smaller until you learn to deal with it.

That's why I just pace and file at the bars.

Whatever works for you.

Hey, thanks. So far, it does.

Nice. That's real fucking NICE. What about the people who might have wanted a chance to, I don't know, show that they give a shit? You might as well have just spat in their faces.

So, hey, Joanna Beth Harvelle, I say YOU can suck it.

[Max's hackles are up. She's slept some of it off, but exhaustion as given way to anger and she's just about as protective of Jo as she can get]

How 'bout you shut that mouth of yours for a hot minute and think that maybe he wouldn't have wanted some asshole he didn't know "showing that he gives a shit"? People who know Sam know how he would have wanted to be commemorated.

Did you even think to ask the actual loved ones of these people what would be best before you went and set up your little candlelight vigil?

[oh my god. is she even serious. people are dead and she's poking the troll. his jaw tightens] So let me get this straight. His close friends are the only ones whose feelings matter? That's real sweet. I'm sure the next time a stranger gives a flying fuck that something awful happened to ME, I'm gonna have my blood brothers and tree fort club members tell him or her to sit on it and rotate. Thanks for filling me in on how polite society operates around here. Maybe yov should write a column!

[she's itching to hit something. she doesn't care if he's serious or not.]

Oh, yeah, I'm sure Sam will think it's real sweet that you decided to throw him a memorial. That really shows you care. And pardon me for saying so -- but it's a little disrespectful to tell the girlfriend of the guy you supposedly care about to suck it when she thinks that your little memorial is spitting in her face.

Where the fuck were you when he was alive? When Isis had him and hadn't killed him yet? That was when we could have used the care about Sam's well-being. Not now.

Too little too fucking late.

Edited 2011-01-25 00:10 (UTC)

[and something in him just snaps. the pleasantness is gone from the edge in his voice, and now it's just as cold as it is hard]

Hey. I may be new. I may be green. I may not know everyone and how they know everybody else. But I still know what my place is in this shithole. I'm not strong, I'm not fast, I can't fight, and I sure as hell don't know anything about magic, or goddesses.

All I've got is my bleeding heart and my big mouth. And if I'd gone out there with the rest of you, all it would have earned would've been one more basket in the lobby, if anyone else had cared enough to do such a thing.

Forgive me for having some common SENSE along with my common decency. They're both looking a little rare around here. Or is that something you lose after long enough here, too?

If that's what I've got to look forward to? I'd rather die.

[and with that, he'll slam the journal shut, because he's at least got enough control left to see that this is too raw for both of them. see you at ten o'clock, Max]

[And Max would tell him that even if he's not fast or strong, there are ways to help without being STUPID. Sam wasn't super human either but he was still trying.

But yeah. She was done. She's going off to hit something now]

[Haha. Wrong thing to say, man. He's tempted to let Max take care of it, but since Jo's his best bartender...]

You're the guy keeping track?

Edited 2011-01-24 23:54 (UTC)