(no subject)

[likeamonster]

[There are monstrous roars, followed by human-esque groans of pain and deep panting from the alleyway. Follow it and you'll find an exhausted man huddled against a dumpster, pulling an abandoned jacket around himself. What do you do?

A. Offer some money and your own jacket?
B. Run the fuck away because HOLY SHIT WHAT WERE THOSE ROARS?
C. Help bring him to the nearest motel for a soft blanket, warm soup, and maybe sex in the shower?
D. Sit by him and tell him your life woes because its not like he's going anywhere?]

Comments

[moralimperative]

[He surveys the damage as though seeing it for the first time. Considering how bad it looks, that he only raises his eyebrows is perhaps not a proportionately appropriate response.] Impressive.

In my experience the sabotage route resulted in a lot less property damage. Or more centralized damage. [Pause.] Are you disguised as a flasher or is that just next on the agenda after fighting the military? Your day planner must look interesting.

[likeamonster]

[It was his turn to raise his brows, a slight head tilt in Chris's direction.] How the bloody hell--no, nevermind. I don't want to know. Not from you. This is not a disguise. Right now, this is hell.

[One that he's stuck in, with an annoying gnat of an eccentric... something. He hasn't decided on what to call him yet. He surveys the alley. Buildings weren't too tall, and had he the strength, he could scale them easily. Burrow into an empty room for the night.

But he lacked... well, everything at this point. He licks his lips, considers his options. Those, too, were very limited.]

You from around here? Know of a place we could-

[His words, breathing, everything stops. He's tense, listening to sounds that, very soon, Chris would hear as well: footsteps. Two soldiers, stances indicating weapons drawn. Blonsky leans in close to Chris, quickly hisses in his ear:]

You rat me out and you'll be dead before they get me.

[Then with surprising speed given his state of exhaustion, he's diving into the dumpster, dignity be damned, and huddles into a corner. Not twenty seconds later a bright flashlight would shine down the alleyway, followed soon by an authoritative, though tired, voice.]

Hey, uh... you there! Kid! Seen a giant--shit, Steve, you know how this sounds? Whatever. A giant uh... monster thing? Or a man about... this tall? Bad hair, British accent?

[moralimperative]

[Sorry, Blonsky, 'eccentric something' is about as far as anyone's ever gotten with that. He doesn't seem overly perturbed by the threat, which all in all is probably good for both of them when the soldiers round the corner with their flashlight. Chris just smiles pleasantly at them.]

Not since graduation. [He answers the first portion of their inquiry in that vague offhand way he has. One of the soldiers shifts awkwardly on his feet, muttering something that's unintelligible from this distance. Before they can say anything else, though, Chris speaks up again.] Brit with bad hair, though, I saw him just a little while ago. I don't get what all the fuss is about, really-- I mean sure he's good, but there are plenty of other people who can play piano, it's not like they're hard to come by.

[The soldiers are, understandably, thrown for a moment by the apparent non sequitur. Chris frowns at them, like somehow they're the ones wasting his time.] On television? What are you talking about?