[003] I guess there's got to be a break in the monotony [backdated because mun is failtastic]

[notafuckingnut]

[Here Barge, have a very pleased-looking Richie; SOMEBODY was enjoying himself during the flood.  Don't mind the lump on the bed, it's nothing important.  I'M LOOKING AT YOU, WILL.  Don't look.  Really.]


Well that was fun.  More things like that and I could get used to this place.





[Because the mun was minor!fail this week, just pretend this is the day after the Flood ended.]

Comments

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[grahamcommawill.livejournal.com]

[Yeah, that lump? He saw it. Guess who's knocking at your door now, Richie? All neutral as usual, or trying to be, but any notion he's still mirror!Will is going to be dashed right away. He's tense, trying not to show it, but it's clear enough to anyone who looks.]

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[notafuckingnut.livejournal.com]

[Have the usual shout/bleat of a "what", Will, as if he's never had somebody knock on his door before. He will never learn. Ever. Although you can probably just let yourself in.]

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[grahamcommawill.livejournal.com]

[Will is not in the mood to play the 'yelling through the door' game today. He tries the door and - oh, lookie here, unlocked - and lets himself in.] Where's the gun? [Clipped, 'dont-fuck-with-me-right-now' tone.]

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[notafuckingnut.livejournal.com]

[And now he's playing innocent. As if it will fool ANYBODY, particularly the person who GAVE him the gun. Clearly he does not know how you're supposed to respond to that tone, or at least doesn't really respect Will enough to actually heed it. By the time Will gets there the gun's safely concealed, which is pretty much the only reason he's pleading ignorance.]

...What gun?

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[grahamcommawill.livejournal.com]

[Will sighs with frustration. He's trying to be civil here. But his patience is wearing really thin right now.] The gun you had on the video feed. The gun that my other self gave to you. That gun. Ring a bell?

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[notafuckingnut.livejournal.com]

What about it? You gave it to me.

[A pause as he considers what Lua said and the whole "Will is not mirror!Will anymore" concept which is proving to be very much truth.]

It's not like I fucking shot anybody, you don't have to take it back.

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[grahamcommawill.livejournal.com]

No, I didn't give you shit, Richie. That wasn't me. That guy was out of his damn mind. On this ship, inmates aren't permitted weapons, period. [He advanced a few steps toward him.] I'll ask again: where is the gun?

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[notafuckingnut.livejournal.com]

No. That guy was fucking you; he looked like you, he sounded like you. He was more fucking fun than you, but he was still you. You can't just give me shit and then take it back because you suddenly second-guess yourself, that's not how it works.

[He's not giving any ground, he's not intimidated enough by Will to think he should. WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT.]

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[grahamcommawill.livejournal.com]

[What he's going to do is grab your shirt front and shove you against the nearest wall. None too gently. You might have a bruise there later.]

How this works, is however I decide it works. He was only fun because he would've let you kill anyone. I won't. Nor will I put up with any of your backtalk, Richie. Not today, not ever.

[Personal space, what is that?] Last time I'll ask: Where is the gun?

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[notafuckingnut.livejournal.com]

[There's a grunt as his back hits the wall, and he squirms under the intensity of Will's gaze, but he's not Seth. And he never will be. Richie doesn't have to listen, or so he tells himself. Like a horse that has yet to be broken, or a dog that has yet to be trained, he can't resist testing the boundaries, pushing them to the limits just because he doesn't think they should apply to him. And so he scowls and snarls and refuses to budge, furiously wishing he'd hidden the gun on himself rather than under the pillow where he can't get to it if only so he can make the other man go away.]

Or what?

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[grahamcommawill.livejournal.com]

[Richie doesn't intimidate him. No matter how much he might try to look like a bulldog, the squirming made him seem more like a puppy trying to act tough.]

Or this cabin will seem like a goddamn luxury compared to what you could have. With a simple request, I can turn this whole room into a jail cell. I've done it before with my last inmate, and I could do the same for you.

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[notafuckingnut.livejournal.com]

[A snarl; he's fully intent on calling Will's bluff because he just flat out refuses to believe it's a possibility. So he'll bare his teeth, try some alpha posturing on for size and assume he's untouchable. No part of this plan can possibly go wrong, right?]

Fuck. You. Do it, then. It's mine, I'm not giving it to you.

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[grahamcommawill.livejournal.com]

[Will steadily meets his gaze. The alpha posturing does nothing for you, Richie. It wasn't a bluff, he meant the threat, but hadn't expected to actually have to use it. He finally lets him go with another shove.]

You won't have a choice. Kill or injure anyone with that gun, and things will be worse for you.

[He began to head out, forcing himself to keep his fists unclenched.]

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[notafuckingnut.livejournal.com]

[There's a moment of wariness, uncertainty, that flickers openly across his face because he's too surprised to try to conceal it. He stumbles slightly, steadying himself against the wall, and watches Will go, trying to convince himself that he won despite knowing full well he didn't.]

Why does everybody just fucking assume?

[Whiiine. He tried Alpha, and failed, so now he's back to his old standby; innocent victim.]