cacophonish | APOCALYPSE HOW: IC INBOX

[His recent considerations of magic, and those who use it, have drawn a somewhat delayed realization for Stephen: that perhaps the person he spoke with on the network, regarding music and magic, could have been the same guy he had a flyer tussle with on the street. It’s worth a shot, at any rate, to reach out.]

Jeff, right? This is Stephen Strange. I have a feeling the last time you saw me, I sent a flock of handbills your way.

Sorry about that.

Irony is: finding himself walking to Bonnie's on a Saturday evening without having called ahead.

He's dressed the part of a guy eager for a night out, as much as his scheme relies on staying in for-- well, he's too... bashful? to want to presume he's staying in for the night. There's too many emotions running with his blood and making him feel too warm for the borrowed-slash-stolen jacket that's over his button-down. His hair's tamed and gelled, his jeans are pressed and just the right amount of, uhh, restrictive? and a part of Tim that he's struggled to bury alongside all the parts of himself that have died and decayed

is disappointed.

Knows this is the wrong way to get what he's chasing. Knows he's muddling waters that may be better left unchurned.

But time is never on his side, and besides--

he's grown the fuck up.

He can do this. And maybe not sacrifice some scraps of fun, or thrill, or whatever may be kin to those emotions he wishes he could be feeling instead. He can survive the utter whirlwind that is Jeff Calhoun, and better yet, learn his part. Lean into his role. He can thrive on the total disconnect between loose reins and absolute control. He hikes the backpack up his shoulder and breathes out and wonders what the hell is happening. And that's about all the pause he'll allow himself. Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne lies like he breathes-- lies to himself, most of all. Maybe. He knocks on the door he's sure is Jeff's. It'll be alright.

He knocks again, for good measure, and leans into the doorframe just ever so slightly out of consideration for neighbors as he announces, "It's Saturday!"

(Frankly he's never one-hundred percent on whether or not Jeff knows what day he lives in.)

"Put a shirt on and open up. We have plans, and I have discount bin flicks."

(God, he misses his friends.)

[He hasn't even seen Jeff in... too long.

Tim doesn't give himself the moment to have his thumb hover over the screen of his phone. It's not even in his hand. The phone just barely touches his hip, anyway, where he's laid on the fucking floor of this room. Handsfree texting. It's all the rage.

God knows Tim has enough... mana. To fuel magical instances like this. He closes his eyes and sighs and the message sends.]

Are you okay?

hey mr. calhoun
do you have any pot

Hey, it's Ches, the guy you learned throwing a punch from a while back. You still up for another lesson?

Thank you for your part in making sure my birthday was something really special. I don't think I've actually had a birthday party since...probably my 21st.

Malcolm was a little surprised to be called into the director's office. He had some concerns that they were upset with his job performance. Mainly that he hadn't much been performing his job lately.

That wasn't what they wanted. They had intel that Jeff Calhoun was sliding towards a relationship with the Spiral and they wanted him to talk to him. He'd been vocal in the past about his concerns with this. If he wants to help save someone before it's too late, this is the time. So they sent him to find Jeff and talk to him about it. Frankly. Firmly. Before he's lost for good.

Malcolm texts Jeff as he leaves ADI.

Meet me for coffee? My treat.

Can we talk? I think... We should talk. Please?

Jeff, call me when you can.

Just let me know if you are OK. I can't lose somebody else. Please.

Jeff, running away won't solve anything. You're not saving us. Just come back. Let's talk.

They're in bed. Nothing indecent! Just in bed, a mildly warm and sunny day passing them by outside. Out a window, Tim can peer at one of the now-looming radio towers overseeing the city. There's a fire that needs to be addressed off to Gloucester's east side. If Tim hadn't felt so utterly useless before, the smoke rising now does the trick, drives the nail on the coffin.

If he couldn't find his way through life after Robin, Tim finds it woefully ironic that Robin is now so explicitly off the table.

He wiggles and sits up, (right) foot going to dig a light kick at Jeff's thigh.

There's no good time to dredge this up, which means there's no bad time for it either. "There's some chick looking for you," he informs. Swallows, because he thinks of Stephanie. Except Steph isn't just some chick. "Do you know about that?"

un: strange

A Saturday (leading to potential NSFW oh no)

text, un: timjdrake, Dec 18

text;

text; un: awarewolf

text: looselystrung