NOT A REAL PERSON! I WAS SHOT & MY BODY WAS THROWN IN A DITCH IN 2005, PLEASE DO NOT BELIEVE WHOEVER IT IS SPEAKING TO YOU THROUGH ME.
SHOOT ON SIGHT: #p-p-PANIC! : reblogs -- #shoveling dirt : art -- #shotgun shell : writing
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post-mh, tim finds himself (probably) across state-lines, in a field. his car's low on gas and hes gotten this itching urge to call you. been gone for ages, doesnt even know if you still work there.
funny, that theres a payphone here, by the side of a dirt road. placement doesnt make sense, but he doesnt really concern himself with it. his beard has grown out more, and the bits of blood on his flannel are still stuck to him. cant remember the last time he slept, but he can remember the number to the antique store just fine.
fumbles with a dirty coin, punches it in and dials. lets the beeps and the slight crackle relax him as he leans against the metal casing of the open phonebox. if hes going to do anything next, he'd at least like to speak to you one last time.
phone's finally picked up, and the old lady who runs the place is on the line. tim clears his throat and asks for you, fingers tapping against his thigh. hes uncomfortable and feels nervous, all of a sudden. didnt really think through what he'd say or... anything.
poor old lady croaks out that youve quit your job a good while ago, and asks tim who he is so that, maybe, she might relay a message? but he tells her its okay and goodbye.
thats the first time hes broken down in months. crying there, kneeled, with his face buried in his scarred hands, on the side of a dirt road, in the middle of nowhere. he honestly, truly, has no one left.
it's been a few months since tim became your co-worker. during that time you've gotten quite aquainted with his habits. say, his smoke-breaks, for example.
see, tim kept the smokes consistent. same time everyday, on the dot: he'd get up, let you know he's going out for a smoke, hand rummaging around in his back-pocket for the packet, then leaves through the backdoor in the storage room. every single time, without fail.
now, the post office doesn't exactly get as many customers as it used to. smartphones, and by extension, the internet, have taken over that role. so it's usually pretty safe to leave your desk unattended for a few minutes. maybe leave a little note in case anyone passes by and can't find you.
enter: your own smoke-breaks.
you don't smoke. no reason to, nevermind the constant cost of having to buy the damn things every now and then. but you want a break too.
you want to go outside for a few minutes, breathe in the fresh air, look at the clouds and the trees. then go back in and continue your, rather dull, job. so you've come up with something.
didn't have or need to. could've just walked right out, leaned against the wall for a minute or two, then went back in. but where's the fun in that?
so you found a small box -- 'bout the size of a cigarette pack. went through the effort of decorating it to resemble some (admittedly made up) tobacco company, then filled it with pretzel sticks. et voilà! cigarettes to smoke!
putting them to the test was the easiest part. you felt pretty giddy at the idea; going out with a (fake) pack of cigs and leaning all broodingly against the wall the way you imagine tim would, only to- y'know what? here's what happened:
you *did* do all of the above. when tim told you he'd be out for a break, you got up too. "yeah, same" you said.
he stopped, looked at you for a second, a clear smidge of confusion on his face. eyebrows slightly furrowed, head tilted as if assessing, "when d'you start smoking?" almost in an accusatory tone.
you smiled, walking behind him as the two of you entered the storage room. "oh, y'know" you waved a hand. he didn't say anything.
pushed the door open, and held it as you trailed to exit. pulled out a cigarette from the pack, his back against the wall, then got ready to light it. all while you pulled your own pack from your front pocket.
he could see you from the corner of his eye, lighter turning the tip of the cigarette amber. he pulled a breath in, cig between his fingers, then turned and faced you. offering to light your own.
"smoking's bad fer you, y'know," eyes watched as you popped open the pack, and began pulling out the... not... cigarette...
it took him a moment to understand what he was looking at, a blink or two to clear his eyes. he smiled. then shook his head.
then he pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back against the wall, and let out a little laugh.
you closed the pack, mirroring his posture, tip of the pretzel in the corner of your mouth, like a farm boy.
"ha..." tim let out a breath, moving his gaze towards you again. you looked at him, eyes curious.
then you opened your pack again, extending it towards him. an offering.
he moved the cigarette away from his mouth, and took you up on your generosity. pointer and thumb pinching out a stick, then taking half of it in one bite.
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dont have the brain power to write this right now, but picture with me: tim, absolutely, unabatedly miserable (as per), but this time, he has a crush. you in that run-down little antique store, behind the counter, letting him wait. of course, in this scenario, its very much a requited crush; the two of you do like each other, but tim… poor tim. hes got issues to deal with.
a kind of missing friend, some guy he barely knows following him around and sharing his medical records on the internet (who the hell does that?), another guy ALSO hunting him down by pure association, and some freak-monster-thing he can vaguely comprehend causing his health problems to escalate. hes grief-striken about the past and therefore the present, blacking out and doing things he cannot control. hes getting tied up, hit upside the head or finding himself in other forms of danger. but hes had a crush on you for a while. except he cant do anything about it.
he aint got the time, more pressing immediate problems happening at every turn, and you cant exactly chase him down after he stops showing up at the store one day. but you like each other, and its obvious. one time he came so close to doing something about it, asking you out or maybe just trying his hand at a decent conversation. but a customer showed up and he waved it off when you asked about it after.
anyway. tim yearning and pining but hes far too busy trying to keep himself and his kind of not really buddies alive.
tim's a decent enough cook. i mean, he's gotta be; had to live on his own for the majority of his life, no support. just him & himself, maybe a roommate if he's lucky (he often isn't).
his food's edible. not delicious, or outstanding -- doesn't have the time or money for anything that could delight the taste-buds, just food. sustenance. so he doesn't die.
shaves every morning. not because he particularly likes it or finds it necessary, mostly uses it as something to stick to -- a strict rule to follow. something to make him feel at least somewhat normal, as if he has control of his life.
shoulders always up to his ears, even after it's all "over" -- it never feels over, not when his body still reacts like he's both the hunter and the hunted, as if there's still a secret punch hidden between his knuckles that he's ready to subconsciously throw.
body tense and frigid, rigor mortis setting in when he's still very much alive. more than he'd like to be.
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tim's a decent enough cook. i mean, he's gotta be; had to live on his own for the majority of his life, no support. just him & himself, maybe a roommate if he's lucky (he often isn't).
his food's edible. not delicious, or outstanding -- doesn't have the time or money for anything that could delight the taste-buds, just food. sustenance. so he doesn't die.
shaves every morning. not because he particularly likes it or finds it necessary, mostly uses it as something to stick to -- a strict rule to follow. something to make him feel at least somewhat normal, as if he has control of his life.
One of my favorite things about Totheark and Brian as a whole is how useless everything he does ends up being. Like yeah man go make scary videos and chase your friends around nothing you do ultimately matters
Like I have to admit. The way Brian desperately tries to get Tim to engage with his arg shit only to have everything crumble and end with him dead does make me a little insane. What was he even trying to do. Did he even know what he was doing? Probably not. It’s kinda lowkey peak
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im giggling over the mental idea of brian having to deal with someone who doesnt operate on a fixed schedule and is the closest thing hes found to a human random generator (and this is the guy whos usually characterized as a stalker who likes to KNOW) put in the shoes of "oh no he doesnt know"
brian likes to think of himself as observant. thinks he's got a keen eye and good ears. maybe lucky, too. always finding himself in the right place at the right time. but, truth be told, he isn't sure about all that anymore. not since meeting you, at least.
bumped into you on his way out of class, too busy talking to tim. he hadn't noticed you and grazed past, rough shoulder against yours. "oh, sorry!"
you waved a hand, then, a little smile on your face. "nah, it's alright." and something in his brain fired. a root system of electricity connected to every corner, like a working tesla coil circuit. huh.
brian gave back that little smile of his, head tilted to get a better look. "say," he smiled a little wider, fully aware tim was starting to walk away, "i've never seen you around before."
you blink for a second, registering. "right, yeah," a laugh leaves your lips. "i don't... show up often, actually." well, he'd notice if you did.
"nice to meet ya," he held out his hand, posture straightened up just a little, "names brian." -- and to think a handshake changed the trajectory of his daily schedule.
because you were right. you barely showed up at all, most days. hard to catch, could scarcely talk to you. he thought he'd like to build some rapport first; get a better idea of what he's getting himself into -- maybe get your number? but you're as enigmatic as an urban legend. can't find you. can't catch up to you, either. it's almost like you go up in a puff of air whenever he sees you rounding a corner.
thought himself going crazy, asked tim if he'd seen the person he'd bumped into that day, if brian had bumped into anyone at all. "sure ya did. i left when you started talking." tim huffed. so you do exist.
real flesh and blood, and a real phone too. found you, late one evening, alongside an excuse to ask for your number. luminous amber under the sunset, a prize after all his running around. and you gave it to him.
"see you around," you almost waved, but he's not letting another chance like this slip by, no sir, so he exclaimed a 'wait '.
and a little awkward laugh escaped him. who was he becoming? "i was thinking..."
you turned back to face him, hand fiddling with the phone you're putting back in your pocket, eyes curious and wide.
"wanna go out?" he... didn't mean it like that. "for a coffee, maybe?" but you didn't seem to notice. real smooth, big guy. suave as ever.
but he put his mental beating aside when you agreed, his smile genuine, replacing the awkward one. watching the pot in his mind simmer on a new breakthrough.
∗ ∗ ∗
"how was it?" wasn't much of a question, given it came from tim. eyes half-lidded, body sprawled out on the couch, arms crossed.
brian had made a few decisions. "pretty good," he groaned, sitting down, eyes trained to the ceiling.
he wants to know you more
he wants to...
actually... getting the first point out of the way would be a start. he's usually ambitious, wants to get a list of things done at any given opportunity, but this time? he'll slow down a bit. speed up only when it starts to count. he'll play the rhythm as it presents itself, for now.
he pulls out his phone, shooting you a text:
> 'Had fun :)'
he paused, the caret blinking against his eyes, waiting.
grabbing lunch or even dinner seems too forward, but another go at a coffee shop is just repetitive.
he turned, looking over at tim dozing off.
...
> 'Had fun :) Would you want to grab breakfast tomorrow before class?'
he didn't exactly know your schedule, but asking couldn't hurt. surely you'd be free enough in the morning?
he sat there, pointers tapping against the sides of his phone, staring at the open chat. ehh... you'll reply eventually. he should just wait.
with a sigh, he leaves his phone behind on the couch, getting up to shding!
> 'Sorry, no can do! How about lunch instead? '
he thinks about it for a bit.
you always seemed busy around midday, but... maybe tomorrow you weren't?
... ah, to hell with it.
> 'No problem!'
∗ ∗ ∗
12:09, brian is waiting at the spot you agreed upon. he imagined you'd arrive somewhat soon, any later and lunch wouldn't be that anymore. more like... lunner... dinch? whatever lunch plus dinner equals, it'd be that.
> 'I'm here :)'
> 'Where? I don't see you '
he looks up, head on a swivel, trying to find you. door, then front-of-house, but he can't seem to. where are you?
the chair under him scrapes as he gets up, another text to specify the seat he's in.
but the reply you send back has him pausing.
> 'Thought we were supposed to meet at 2? '
what?
> 'Isn't that too late?'
> 'When do you usually have lunch?'
he couldn't stop himself with that last text, befuddled completely by how late you thought the meeting would be.
> 'Depends. Usually 3 ish though '
he sits back down, bottom lip caught between his teeth. what?
brian couldn't really decide whether or not he should ask you to just come now, or if he should wait around until the time you're used to. he let out a little puff of air, leg bouncing anxiously.
still, three pm seems far too late, even for him. just move it to dinner? maybe... reschedule the whole thing to some other day. damn, he should'a specified the time. who does that? forgets to mention the when. still, who eats lunch at three? when do you have dinner, then? or breakfast?
but his worries are cast aside when you say you'll be there in a bit.
∗ ∗ ∗
see, brian thinks most of the world runs on a pretty similar schedule. meals are set at certain times everyone is used to, work and school are pretty standard. even if someone were in college, their schedule would be pretty predictable. he's never faced an issue with someone before, especially when going out to eat. but you? honestly, he's got no clue how you run.
his printer fucked up. wouldn't work, for whatever reason. ink was fine and full, printer was plugged in where it should be, all the buttons are completely functional. but nada -- no print.
he grumbled and groaned, but eventually decided he'd head over early next morning to the campus library, housing the closest printer in the vicinity.
got up, got in his car, arrived at campus, then walked into the library. at this hour, you wouldn't really find anyone. well, maybe except for...
"oh, hey brian!" you smiled up at him from your seat. leaned against the table, a giant book open, cover propped up against your arm.
he blinked. once... twice... before finally smiling back, lop-sided and a bit bleary. "good morning."
he fiddled with the printer for a bit, "what's got you up here so early?" can't a man quench his curiosity?
you hummed, "hah, couldn't sleep anymore. thought i'd hang here for a bit."
right on, right on. what do you mean by 'anymore'?
letting the papers file through the machine, brian takes a seat adjacent to yours. he crosses his arms and lays his head down to face you.
"your timing's all weird." there, he confessed it. tried to be polite, but he really couldn't word it any better.
you let out a chuckle, closing the behemoth and focusing your attention on him. "how so?"
he closes his eyes to ponder, then opens them again, looking directly into your eyes.
"you're never around when i expect you to be," he thinks back to your similarly majoring peers. how they're around, but you aren't. "classes, for example."
you nod in acknowledgement, crossing your arms, then mirroring his position on top of the book you were reading.
"and that time," wasn't too long ago. give it a few days, "when you said your lunchtime was at three..." he trails off, still baffled.
you let out a sharp exhale through your nose, "who has lunch at three?" brian exclaims. that got a laugh out of you.
"and what do you mean when you said 'depends'?" he recalls the text you sent, having never gotten a chance to ask about it.
your eyes have a pretty glint in them, a little humour. "can't catch you when i expect to."
"expect to?"
he lifts his head, leaning it against the crane of his arm. "like now,"
his eyes study you for a moment, "wouldn't have guessed in a million years that you're awake, and here, in the library." then a tired smile graces his face.
"i'll write it down for you then. my schedule." sweet release.
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