ArchivedLogs:Sometimes It Ends In Death Rays

Sometimes It Ends In Death Rays
Or entirely less dramatic things, like movie plans.
Dramatis Personae Doug, Micah	5 March 2013 There's this thing that phones do, where you can communicate with other people...but it's not texting. Weird, huh?
Location Bouncing off satellites.
The call comes on Micah's private line in the early evening, late enough to not interfere with regular working hours. The number that reads in the display reveals it is an upstate area code, but is otherwise unfamiliar. Unfamiliar numbers calling Micah's phone 'after hours' are answered in a half-casual, half-business style...because you never really know. He thumbs the 'accept' button between the second and third rings, speaking in an even tone. "Hello? Micah speaking." There's a moment, when the line clicks open, that is merely a hollow rush of air, along with a crisping of static that accompanies a soft intake of breath. The voice that speaks may or may not be recognizable; a smooth tenor that's clipped in the rushed delivery. "Steve, it's Oscar. I've got a mission for you." There is a brief span of silence as processes run in Micah’s brain. Oh, right! “This is…Doug? Right?” He cants his head, smiling a little. Because people on the phone can totally see these things. If they can, then Micah can totally see the grin that widens Doug's face and warms his voice. "Yeah! I told you I was gonna call, right?" There's a rustle and a whumpfing sound. "What are you doing next weekend?" Micah chuckles softly, the sound a little breathier than it might otherwise be for being transported via devices. “Y’did at that. I’m…fairly fluid, honestly. Never rightly know how much makin’ stuff I have to do until orders happen, and /that’s/ a bit fluid, itself. Jake hasn’t claimed me for the shop as of yet, either,” he rambles as he thumbs through his mental calendar. "Well, if you're game," Doug says slowly, his voice hesitant but no less warm. "There's a sci-fi classic double feature at the Waverly on Saturday." A shifting noise and a tapping sound that is clearly a keyboard being utilized follow. "Logan's Run and the original Planet of the Apes. Bonus factor is that the Waverly uses real butter." Again, the grin can be heard as there's another shift. "You in?" “Huh…y’know I actually can’t remember the last time I set foot in a movie theatre. I’m tryin’…comin’ up empty,” Micah muses idly. “Pretty hard to turn down damned dirty apes.” Another burst of breathy laughter accompanies the joking tone of his statement. “Sure, why not? It’d be a shame to get accused of bein’ a total shut-in.” "Awesome!" Doug's response is a shade too bright and too loud to come off as cool as he might intend. "You'll like the Waverly. It's really old-school." He laughs, and there's a moment of awkward, expectant silence before he speaks again, his tone lightly teasing. "Dude, you roam the streets in a TARDIS -- that's like the exact opposite of a shut-in." There's another shifting, accompanied by a loud mew of protest. "Hey, I was here first," Doug says, his voice fading as he moves his mouth away from the receiver. When he comes back, he sounds amused. "Sorry. One of my cats decided the couch he's been ignoring all day suddenly looks irresistible." Micah’s bark of laughter at the TARDIS comment probably could have done with /not/ being aimed directly at the receiver. Because /loud/. “Hermits United. We meet up every 10 years, swap stories about caves. It’s good fun. For a hermit.” His David Tennant impression is a little too good not to have been practiced. Probably a lot. “Cats only want things when someone else has them. They’re like furry two-year-olds.” Doug's laugh at the Tennant impression is rich and rumbly in the receiver, and there's a scrape of sort-of stubbly cheek as he adjusts the phone. "Hermits are awesome. They know all the best caves." There's another rumble of laughter for the cat comment. "And I've got two," he mourns into the phone. "Think of the /insistence/ I deal with on a daily basis." “Oh! Two /cats/. Not two /caves/. I was so confused for a second,” Micah’s half-speaking, half giggling at himself. “Yeah, I can only imagine. Double Food Slave-slash-Pettin’ Slave duty. At least they can keep each other entertained sometimes?” "Two caves would be handy, if one was the Batcave," Doug says, chuckling along with Micah's giggling. "Or, I could be a hermit with a summer home. Hermits have those, right?" He laughs, and there's a bit of a groan that accompanies a rolling sound. "Oh, they do keep from getting bored," he says. "Mostly by running around the house like it's the freaking Cat-tucky Derby. They're not /too/ demanding, though." A beat. "You have any pets? A goldfish named Captain Jack or something?" “If you had a Batcave, you would need /no other cave/. Because /Batcave/.” A rustling sound is about all that indicates Micah is gesturing broadly at an invisible Batcave. “I…do not currently. Kind of lacking in /space/ for critters in the current situation. Though fish-Jack would be handy. The thing dies, you swap it out for a new one. ‘It’s okay kids, he /can’t die/!’” "If I had a Batcave, I /would/ be a hermit," Doug says. "I don't even know that I would fight crime, with those computers at my disposal. I'd just sit around and hack into government files and shit." There's a chuckle, and another tapping of keys somewhere that fades under Doug's chuckle. "You got a small apartment?" he asks, then, the question low and hesitant. That comment timed with the clacking of keys causes Micah to smirk at the phone. “Are you hacking into government files /now/?” he questions playfully. A pause at Doug’s inquiry. “I’m…kind of on gypsy van status for now. It’s what comes of starting a business with high overhead and low start-up capital. Adequate income is still in the /eventual/ column. But we’re headed that direction, at least.” There's a long pause after the playful question that might indicate the answer might be positive. "Um. /Government/ files? No. Definitely not," doesn't help, with its slow delivery. There's a couple more key taps. "Just working on a side project." That sounds a little more sincere. There's a bit of a noise at Micah's confession, a strangled cough-snort sound. "You're living in your van?" he asks, the frown nearly audible. "That sounds uncomfortable." Then a long pause follows, long enough that Micah might think them disconnected, if it weren't for Doug's rhythmic breathing. "I've got a spare bedroom," is a soft, cautious statement. "My roommate moved out last month, and I haven't found a new one." “Mmhmm. That sounds /totally/ legit,” Micah feigns disbelief in Doug’s denial. “Everyone says that, but it’s a /really nice/ van. And this was actually a plan. Not, like, a particularly good plan. But a plan. I have myself sorted…honest.” He /may/ have had this conversation many, many times with concerned parties. Doug’s offer earns a moment of silence, then a sound that is…probably laughing muffled by a hand. “Doug…Doug, look at your choices. You just invited a strange, older man /with a van/ to come live with you.” The muffled sound continues. "Well, they have the best candy," Doug replies. That laughing? Not so muffled anymore. “Oh my God, you are /so/ trouble. And yet, somehow, I’m the creepy one in this scenario. I don’t know how this happened.” There’s a little thud as Micah facepalms comically. Again, because people can totally see gestures on the phone. Doug makes a noise of protest, chuffing into the phone. "For the record, I didn't invite a strange, older man with a van to live with me. I invited my cool new friend Micah who has the most bitchin' van I've never seen to move into my place that my dad pays half the rent on, so he doesn't have to sleep in the back of said bitchin' van." He chuckles into the phone, and his voice drops low. "And I don't think you're creepy at all." “Seriously, though. We’ve had one in-person conversation. I could be an axe murderer. You don’t know.” Micah /might/ make a more convincing axe murderer if he could /stop giggling/ at everything. “Really…I have had offers of crash-space. Mostly involving couches, given, but they’re there. I’m too stubborn not to pay my own way in the world. Deep-seated personality flaw.” "Well, you /do/ have the van, for the handy disposal of bodies," Doug says, his voice going thin as he wrinkles his nose into the phone. "I hadn't really thought about that. Although, you're a bit happy, for a serial killer." There's a pause after Micah finishes speaking, and Doug clears his throat before speaking. "But, whatever. You're a nice guy, and you don't have any record that I've found, so by city standards, you more than qualify as Potential Roommate material. And you're easy on the eyes," he adds in what might be intended to be a flirty tone but is really more a rush of excitement. "That's always a bonus." “/Shoot/, that’s just discrimination against serial killers, is what that is. Maybe bein’ serial killers is what brings them /joy/ in life. Happy as clams, dismemberin’ people.” Well, this conversation has taken an odd turn. Micah ‘huhs’ at the record comment. “Oh, goodness, he’s been checkin’ up on me. Should I be concerned?” His tone is still joking, and barely shifts as he responds to the rushed compliment. “Well, I had to put those extra points I got in character creation from the Deep-Seated Personality Flaw to good use somewhere, didn’t I?” It is easier to be flippant about compliments on the phone! Any potential blushing is secret. "Hey, what you do sounded interesting, and I was curious about you," Doug says with a chuckle, and the phone scratches again as he rolls and changes ears. "I wasn't going to sit in a movie theater for four hours with some weirdo." His tone is equally playful, and drops to a baritone, suddenly. "Well, those were points well-spent," he rumbles, smiling through the phone. "Although, does 'serial killer' fall under the list of DSPF?" “Oh no, we might have to cancel, then,” Micah teases. “I’m /definitely/ a weirdo.” He doesn’t miss a beat responding to the next question. “Well, it definitely fits in the Flaws list. Could count as a Derangement, maybe. Or Wanted, if the law were after you…” "Yeah, but you're the right kind of weirdo," Doug counters. "Geek-weird rarely ends in tragedy, I've found. Unless it's heartbreak." He chuckles, and exhales into the phone. "Well, you're not Wanted, and you don't seem all /that/ deranged..." he chuckles. "No more than anyone else I've met, lately. But, sleep in your van," he says, his voice going into lofty mock hurt and dismay. "If you must." “…or Death Rays. Sometimes it ends in Death Rays,” Micah chimes in glibly, in regard to geek-weird. That breathy sound of light laughter comes through the phone again. “I truly must. I’ve gotten so /good/ at it, you see. Much skill in van-sleepin’. Be a shame to waste it.” Doug chuckles into the phone. "Must be hell, when you want to take a date home." Doug receives a strange hybrid laugh-sigh in reply from Micah. “Eh…it really hasn’t come up.” It’s a simple response, for once. Doug echoes the sound. "Pity. New York doesn't know what it might be missing out on." It's a tease, soft and slow, as if the teen is unsure of saying it. “Heh…I really ain’t been here that long. And it’s been a whirlwind settin’ up the whole venture. Workin’ another job on top of it. I really just hadn’t started socialising outside of my very small friend group until recently…” Micah feels the need to explain for some reason. “Anyhow, plan is to try and get things all semi-reasonably profitable within a year of start-up. We’ll see how it goes!” "Huh," Doug seems uncertain how to reply to that, and there's a brief moment of silence. "How long have you been in business? Or are you still looking for venture capital?" “Functionally?” Micah pauses, mental math ticking away, “Six months-ish. Just building up the client base to have income slowly make up for the crazy up-front expenditures in…well, mostly equipment.” Doug hums thoughtfully into the phone. "Are you on-track for your goal?" he asks, and then he makes a noise that sounds like it's through his nose. "Sorry. That's kind of a rude question, isn't it?" “More or less.” Micah chuckles at Doug’s concerns for rudeness. He’s gesturing dismissively--not that more than a faint sound of movement is evident by phone. “Depends on me charmin’ some more physicians in the area to ensure steady referrals. But I’m /really good/ at that, once I can get a foot in the door.” Doug's reply is a smoky purr. "I'll bet you are. They don't stand a chance." Then there's a yelping noise that's faraway sounding, and Doug's back on the phone. "/Shit/. I totally forgot about my study group," he says apologetically. "I need to go, 'cause mid-terms, and everything..." he pauses, and there a deep inhale. "You've got my number, now, so feel free to call me, if you want. Or text," he adds in a rush. "I always answer my texts, unless I'm in class." Another pause. "I'm looking forward to the movie," is offered hesitantly, and sounds a bit shy. Micah…had been not quite knowing how to respond prior to Doug’s sudden recall of another engagement. “Shoot, go ahead. Been on this thing long enough to feel like it’s growin’ out of my ear. And I’m not so far away from the exams myself that I’ve forgotten the panic.” He stops rambling after a bit. “Yeah…we can firm up the logistics closer to the day. Have fun…okay, not fun, but…don’t drive yourself too crazy studyin’.” His tone remains light. Doug chuffs a laugh. "I hope it wasn't boring," he says, and there's a sound like he might be getting off the couch, with a small grunt of effort. "Because I was going for charming." His tone, too, is light, and there's a rush of air over the phone, as if the younger man were moving through a hallway. "Sounds good," he says about firming up the plans, and there's another laugh at the awkward send-off. "Oh, it'll be fun," he says. "I'm doing /Econ/, tonight. You could cry from the amusement to be found." There's a final beat. "Okay, then. I'll talk to you soon." But he lingers, waiting. Micah chuckles softly. “No, never boring. And /decidedly/ more entertaining than econ.,” he adds in jest. “Lookin’ forward to it.” "I'm more fun than advertised," Doug agrees, chuckling into the phone. "You'll see." Then he's gone, the line going hollow after the soft sound of disconnection.