#that-one-stranger

[10:56:08 PM] deadpanSnarker: He saw the decrepit shack out of the corner of his eye as his turned down the narrow street, harshly illuminated by flickering streetlights, only making the deep cracks in its foundations all the more obvious. The young man gulped, shivering as he quickened his pace. He wasn’t sure if the quiver in his narrow frame was out of excitement, fear, or the chilly autumn wind biting at his back.

This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

He felt his breath catch in his throat as the single-level house drew closer. The suitcase swung heavily by his side, occasionally whacking into the back of his knee and nearly making him keel over. The assorted blades within clanged against each other, startlingly loud and abrasive to the teen’s ears. He glanced up and down the street, curious if anybody had seen him. There wasn’t another person in sight. He swallowed hard again, and just about tripped over an unseen sign on the lawn as he headed towards the front door. He stumbled across the loose dirt on the yard and waved his arms in a desperate attempt to regain his balance. As soon as he was steady on his feet again, he let out a small sigh, stretching his shoulders and smoothing out the wrinkles on his striped shirt.

/You got this, Jimmy/ he thought. /Don’t sweat the small stuff./

As much as he was occupied at the moment – furiously rehearsing a little introductory speech he’d prepared for the last time, checking to make sure his fly was up, internally squealing at the prospect of actually meeting this man for the first time – Jimmy couldn’t help but feel calm and confident as he neared the front step.

He got this. There was no way he could go wrong now.

His mouth curled into a wide, toothy grin, lighting up his entire face.

/This is it./

He raised a lightly curled fist and brought it inches from the wooden door.

[11:31:55 PM] Effie: After 'waking up' from being dead, Nny had done some cleaning to the horrible shack that he refferred to as his 'home'. He had returned to the living world with his house looking like shit-- well, looking /more/ like shit than it usually did. Since he didn't have a wall to attend to or a need to kill, and an actually speechless ceramic object that seemed to be keeping silent for the moment, Nny actually had gotten some cleaning done. He could see the floor again, at the very least. There was nothing done about the dust and the permanent blood stains, though. Not like he ever tried to clean such things anyways. But tonight was a rare night where Nny only had himself to talk to. Without those Doughboys causing such a racket in his head, everything was quiet. He could actually hear himself think. He leaned on the window sill and gazed up at the night sky, as he often did. He couldn't see as many stars as possible, since the city lights were nearby, but it was always comforting to see the stars and their everlasting presence. The stars were the only things out of many that hadn't left him. Nny's train of thought began, and saw a problem and his current state. Even without headvoices, everything wasn't perfect. "...Systematic detachment from emotional reaction. Terrifying to realize how easy it is to be affected." Nny began talking to himself. He was addressing how easy it was to be affected by one's own emotions. Without the headvoices affecting him, Nny now noticed how much his emotions were. Why else would he be gazing at the night sky for comfort while feeling so heavy-hearted? "It seems an emotional enema is next on the agenda. Flush out the excess humanity." As if flushing out excess humanity was easy, but he didn't like how the emotions affected him. He didn't like how emotions felt. He honestly didn't like being human. What an idiotic race it was. "Whether what happened was a dream or not, it still signifies the start of something new and untainted by slavery to some external thing. I feel more whole than before, and that brings its own danger-- that of self-servitude." It didn't matter if his trip to heaven or hell was real or not; dying somehow 'erased' the Doughboys and whatever was behind the wall. Now that he had nothing external to fight, he had to fight an internal battle, which was to combat his emotions and other human needs. He didn't want to sleep, he didn't want to eat, and he didn't want to feel. He just wanted to do barely the neccessary to function. In a sense, he wanted to be insect-like or robot-like, but in the back of his mind he feared he might be in control of a broken machine.

[12:20:23 AM] deadpanSnarker: Just as Jimmy was about to rap his knuckles against the dry wooden door, he heard a voice from inside the house. He stopped on the spot, his hand hanging in mid air.

Had someone gotten to Johnny before he did?

The broad grin on Jimmy’s face quickly fell flat, and his thin brow knotted in confusion. Someone else was already in there with Johnny /and was currently talking to him/. He felt his shoulders slump as he backed away from the door, gripping his suitcase full of knives tighter than ever.

When did this ever happen? Jimmy was certain that Johnny had no relationships to occupy himself with at this time, romantic or otherwise. The last girl he went out with ditched him months ago after beating the shit out of him. And Johnny was definitely not in the habit of making ‘friends.’

/How the hell did something like /this/ slip past me? I can’t believe I missed something this important!/ the teen thought to himself. There was no way that his suspicions could be correct; he’d been following Johnny for months, watching and observing and admiring from a distance. If Johnny had ever gotten involved with someone, Jimmy would have known.

He paced on the spot, getting increasingly infuriated by this new development. Who knew how long this other person would be there? Jimmy couldn’t possibly go in and meet Johnny with that stranger standing there! All the young man could do now was sit around and wait. He sighed, cursing under his breath. He’d have to delay his visit yet again. This was the fifth time he had to reschedule, and quite frankly, Jimmy was sick of it.

Just as he was about to turn on his heel and stomp home, he heard the voice again. The teen paused. There was only one of them, and he was absolutely sure it was Johnny who was talking. Even though Jimmy was ready to leave right this moment, his curiosity got the better of him. He laid his bag on the concrete step and leaned in to the door, pressing his ear against the thin plywood. He couldn’t hear much from here; it sounded like the voices were on the other side of the house. He could only pick out a couple words here and there: “emotional enema,” “slavery,” “self-servitude.” The teen raised a single brow. From this location, he couldn’t figure out a damn thing Johnny was saying.

Jimmy stood up straight, pondering what he had heard. Now that he thought about it, it didn’t sound like anyone else was in there besides Johnny. Which meant that he could, theoretically, knock on the door now and continue from where he left off.

But that wasn’t a risk that he was willing to take. He had to know what was going on in there, just to make sure. He grabbed his suitcase, hopping off the front step and walking across the filthy yard, peering around the corner of the shack. Having tracked down this house in the past, memorizing its entire floor plan, he knew that there was a window on the other side of the room, facing the backyard. Perhaps if he hung around there, he could get a better grasp on what Johnny was talking about.