#;baxter threads

"you don't- you don't, that's." Baxter wants to dismiss the advice outright. Instead, he wrinkles his nose, crosses his arms and says after a few moments, "i don't do cocaine, you know."

Nor does he have a yacht, but he gets that's not the point. He knows that's not the point but it doesn't make his annoyance drift away like he thinks it should. Instead he feels more like literally ripping his hair out. Another good reason why he shaves it so short.

"any- hey, any-anyway," he glances over to a woman sitting at a table near them who keeps sniffling. God, it's driving him nuts. It's worse than this shit advice. He pulls his cup to his mouth and takes a tiny sip of water then puts it back down almost as quickly. "she, the, the waitress didn't give us straws and, look, and i get it! save the turtles! i get it, but the ice, she put too much ice in this drink and it keeps hitting my teeth."

He runs a hand over his face and leans back, shifting in his seat a little. He should at least make an attempt to stay on topic.

Baxter shows up that evening dressed as nice as he can. Which is to say, he's dressed in his best hockey jersey (Sidney Crosby) and a pair of canvas pants that aren't stained. The slides and socks are still on, of course, he doesn't seem to own any other pair of shoes. He's also showered, brushed his teeth... He's done all the things, at least as far as he's concerned.

He's not even sure this is really a date, exactly, it's more like a... What? he doesn't know. He doesn't know! He has three dvds with him in a walmart bag and a handful of sea oats that he picked, (he knows you aren't supposed to, but no one stopped him), which are in lieu of flowers that he didn't think of until the last second.

"i'm going to be sick." Baxter's voice is low, as casual as he can make it. i'm going to be sick, he's said, code for , if you don't get me out of here soon i'm going to start swinging. Code for anger, code for near panic. Code for i'm begging you, get me out of here before i really do something i regret.

Gaze flicks up at Utterson, animal fear barely disguising something much more feral sets on him. Back to a woman also in the art gallery chewing gum, chewing loudly and snap, snap, snap, the gum goes and Baxter physically cringes. Now his eyes are set on her, and almost all the fear is gone, hands are in fists, jaw is set.

This place is a nightmare. It's a goddamn nightmare that Baxter can't even begin to reckon with. The music is too loud, the lights are flashing, all around him people are just... Touching each other and trying to talk and just acting as if this isn't some kind of goddamn nightmare!

He's going insane. Baxter feels like he's going certifiably insane. They are going to lock him up and not let him out this time. This time he's going to stay in the psych ward forever, and hell, he might even welcome it if it gets him out of here.

This place is a nightmare. It's a goddamn nightmare that Baxter can't even begin to reckon with. The music is too loud, the lights are flashing, all around him people are just... Touching each other and trying to talk and just acting as if this isn't some kind of goddamn nightmare!

He's going insane. Baxter feels like he's going certifiably insane. They are going to lock him up and not let him out this time. This time he's going to stay in the psych ward forever, and hell, he might even welcome it if it gets him out of here.

"hold- no, just hold on, i have to go, this. this woman thinks i'm talking to her. okay, yeah. yeah. bye." Baxter lowers his phone and taps the end call button. His gaze stays stuck down on his phone for a moment before he turns fully to stare at Haven, brows pushed together and a slight frown on his face.

"no, okay, you have to- stop. just stop doing that." Baxter's hands are curled in fists by his sides. His skin crawls at the noise that sends rage coursing through his veins like it's his very lifeblood. "i'm serious. please."