notafuckingnut | [006] you blow it all with paranoia; you're so insecure you self-destroyer

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[006] you blow it all with paranoia; you're so insecure you self-destroyer

[After the conclusion of this, there is a very worried looking Richie on-camera; wild eyes, twitching fingers, general restlessness - it's clear he's had some kind of shock and isn't handling it at all well.]

WILL SHE'S-

[Feed cuts out, only to click back on a few seconds later mid-rant]

- I FUCKING SWEAR I'M GONNA -

[Cuts out again]

[Private to Graham, only this time it's text]

WILL SHES HERE. SHES GOING 2 TRY 2 KILL ME AGAIN I FUCKING SWEAR. I NEED A GUN OR SOMETHING. I had a visit 2. From some guys who seemd 2 think I did something I didnt do. A few nights ago. Thought u should know.

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[Hoffman has settled into something of a routine with this. He's hoping to convince people that he's good to get out-that he can control it for the rest of the two days he'll have it. So he responds. Audio.]

Calm down, and remember the private button.

[He punches the button to switch over from text with more force than entirely warranted, and now Hoffman can have a glaring and snarling Richie; anger's easier than fear, he can handle just being angry.]

Yeah, I fucking found it. And I'll calm down when I want to calm down, so shut up. What's it to you?

[Have creepy high pitched laughter. He enjoys your pain, even though he has no clue what the context is.]

WHO'S DOING THAT?!?

[Don't mind him, he's just...extra paranoid. She was laughing at him too.]

[Misguided concern?] Absolutely fucking nothing. Pardon me for trying to be helpful dick.

[He switches over to video. Yes. glowing eyes and teeth. because-vampire.]

God, you try to be nice and people jump down your fucking throat...

[More laughter. He's delighted!]

I'm sure you remember me, madman.

[That isn't a yelp, I have no idea what you're talking about. He does back away from the communicator though, knocking it over in his need to get away from it. The angle changes joltingly, showing a wonderful view of legs and shoes as it goes skittering away until it comes to a stop and rights itself somewhat, and now there's a face again but it's very far away, and promptly back to freaking out.]

You-- What the FUCK?! Is everybody a fucking vampire here?

[Because CLEARLY "four that he knows of but really only three" equals "everybody".]

The fuck I do. CUT THAT OUT.

[There is only so much that one person can take being stuck-two days in a hole. This guy doesn't matter. He isn't one of his friends and therefore Hoffman can fuck with him right?

right?]

You don't like my kind?

[Inwardly he shivers. Outwardly, he has his same toothy grin.]

[Richie's butchering of English makes his brain hurt. Oh, look, aspirin. Let's take two. Or three.]

I can talk to you over the network, or just stop by. Which would you prefer?

[His face twists into an expression of pure loathing (mixed with the anger and fear from before), and his fingers start visibly twitching; he wants that damn gun. NOW. Or...something, he doesn't like feeling like this. Not one bit.]

"Your kind" is the whole reason I'm here. 'Scuse me if I'm not jumpin' over myself to be fucking nice.

[His kind. He's a part of something again. Better, faster, stronger. Hoffman stretches, cracking his neck and running a hand through his hair.]

My "Kind?" That's not very PC of you man. Not fucking cool at all.

I don't-- Uh.

[He's kicking himself; this is just an all-around terrible situation with NO good choices; he likes exactly NONE of them.]

I'd prefer my fucking brother be around.

[He always knows what to do, he'd know what to do here too.]

But, uh. If you could...

come here. I guess that'd be okay.

[More laughter! And then he starts coughing. A hacking, wheezing cough. The sound of heavy drinking can then be heard, and the wheezing slows. Then he rasps out the words,]

I remember you.

Be there in five.

[This time he doesn't even bother knocking. Respect of personal space was nice and all, but only if the inmate actually wanted it. And they weren't in the midst of freaking out.]

If I could bring your brother here, believe me, I would. But right now, I'm the next best thing.

[Pause. Let that sink in.] Now. What happened?

Such foul language.

Whoa, Richie, what's going on?

[He's pacing when Will gets there. He doesn't normally pace, it's not his thing; he's usually happy just to sit quietly and wait once he's sure the cavalry's on its way. But he can't, he can't get comfortable when his head's a mess of straight-up paranoia, advice on what he should be doing, what he shouldn't be doing, and everything just a jumbled mess.

But when Will gets there he stops, at least for the moment.]

Doesn't mean I can't still prefer him to you.

[It's an empty jibe, something automatic without any real intention behind it. Yes, it's the truth, but Will's here now, and Richie knows that he's supposed to help, even if he doesn't like him much.]

I told you, she's here. That fucking bitch who killed me. She's calling herself something else, Koi-hockey or something, but it's fucking her, she practically admitted to it. ...She said she'd see me in the dining room.

I need a gun. Or a stake, or...even a fucking cross or something. ...Those work, right?

[The fuck does he know? He was dead when everybody was actually fighting back. Either way, here, Will, have a Richie acting very much like a kid scared by a boogeyman in the closet; he's either waiting for you to explain the whole thing away or give him something helpful. He'd be happy with either at this point.]

You said it first, don't get all over my ass 'cause I said it too.

[Have some false bravado, Hoffman.]

Oh. ...Hi Claire.

[Please hold as he tries to get to something approximating "under control". And fails. He's a little better, but that's like saying only stabbing twelve times is an improvement over thirty two; it's still less than good.]

The, uh, bitch who killed me? She's on-board, apparently. ...How the fuck does shit like that happen, that's not...

She said she was gonna find me.

Hadn't noticed. An' anyway, it wasn't meant for you, I was talking to somebody else.

Yet it was I who heard it. Perhaps it would be wise to restrain from speaking such filth in future.

Congratulations?

[Pause pause]

OH. The fucking asshole who called me nuts. Hi, how ya doing? Crack any ribs?

[False bravado; he has ALL OF IT.]

...What filth? They're just words.

They were not words that ought to be spoken in good company.

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