milliways_bar | (no subject)

Jim's been out in the forge all night, working on a Thing. He left in the morning, took a walk in the grounds and then went upstairs for a swim. Now he's down by the bar. He's tired. He's distracted. He's...still not getting anywhere with Bar letting him out of here.

'I already promised you I won't kill her.'

A napkin appears, which he reads and crumples in his fist (though he can't exactly argue with what it said).

'You know I could just tell Mycroft, and he'd do it for me? And I haven't. Let me out.'

Another napkin. More quiet rage. Jim sucks a breath in through his nose, and stretches his neck 'til it pops. But he (almost) sounds polite when he appears to give in, and sits down.

'Let me see some kyber crystals then.'

This, Bar will apparently oblige with, though they're as small as Galen said they'd be. And they come with an obligatory sandwich and glass of water, because even when denying him what he wants, Bar will apparently make sure people get fed.

[OOC: catch him anywhere (other than swimming, unless you have access to his room somehow). I may be occasionally sporadic due to work, but here for hours and this is open for a good few days. :)]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

'What's your obsession with trying to rile me via Sherlock?'

He shoots this back instantly, biting it out with sudden venom.

'You're like a teenager, and it's boring. Oh, and if you see your brother again, tell him Jack says hi.'

Because fuck you, Wilford. Fuck you.

Because it's easy? Because Jim lets it show plain as day that something has happened involving Sherlock, and it's an easy thing to pick at.

All of that falls by the wayside, however.

"What?"

Jim stands, turning on his heel, fast enough the stool falls over behind him.

'Your brother. Walter? With his watermelon farm, and his pink and green house, and...you know something? No, of course you don't. He doesn't have pictures of family, or pets, or holidays up in his living room. He's got pictures of watermelons.'

He takes a step forward, face twisting in something like amusement, something like disgust.

'Oh, and your mum and dad don't say hi. Lovely couple though, Wil. I can't for the life of me see why you felt the need to pull a knife on your poor old ma.'

What? What?

There's so much to take in right now. He doesn't fucking care about Walter. He doesn't care about his parents, or whatever they have to say about him. He wants to know how. And why. And all the other things. But for now, he'll focus on the important question.

"You went through my door?" he asks levelly. Because otherwise, he'd be screaming.

'Oh, darling-'

Jim chuckles, a quiet sound devoid of any humour. He steps closer, staring into Wilford's eyes.

'I live on your side of the door. My beautiful new house that you disparaged? It's in Los Santos. Sherlock loves it. I made Loki trash the city after you fucked me with a time jump. And no one has to learn how to clean your dog's disgusting inventory, because the groomers know how to do that there.'

Fuck you to hell and back, Wilford.

Edited 2017-07-23 18:40 (UTC)

Well, that was going to be the next question. So thanks for that, Jim.

No. Wait. Fuck you so hard.

"HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THERE!"

Wilford cannot remember the last time he was this furious. Probably when Jim stole the dog in the first place. It's a good thing Buster is a dog and not a person, but Jesus Fucking Christ, how careless can one idiot be?

"Where the fuck is he? I need to see him now."

He's already gained three years on Jim. Three years, while his dog was at Jim's house, in fucking Los Santos. The dog is going to die of old age before Wilford even has a chance to get him back. Not to mention the potential universe-tearing paradox that could result from the dog being there more than a decade before he should be.

Jim smirks. The priorities on show are hilarious.

He gestures vaguely towards the back door. Knock yourself out, arsehole.

Hey, they walked out on him. Why should he care about them?

"Last time you pulled that, someone dropped a bomb on me. Show me," Wilford demands.

Jim is rueing the fact he came downstairs without a gun on him today. Well, there's always the knife in his belt, he supposes.

Whatever. He walks towards the back door, opens it, and...they don't have a chance to go outside anyway, as Buster hares his way in and launches himself straight at Wilford.

Jim goes back to the bar, and orders another coffee. His mood's improving a little.

Nope, Jim isn't getting away that easily. For the moment, he ignores Buster jumping around like a lunatic and follows Jim back to the bar. He was going to do this properly, and drag Jim's ass outside before doing this, but fine. He winds back and launches his fist straight into Jim's face the second he's close enough.

And would you look at that, it seems like Wilford's able to afford that gym membership again.

He doesn't even wait for Jim to hit the ground before taking Buster to the other side of the room to check on him. He doesn't seem older, but Wilford's not an expert. All he knows is that the dog should be somewhere between one and two years. How the vet came to the conclusion he did, Wilford has no idea.

"What the fuck was he thinking?"

Jesus Christ, the world is going to end, and it's all Jim's fault.

Jim does not care if the world ends. He doesn't care about anything except someone who isn't here. He doesn't care about getting hit in the face, or being dazed on the floor, or the explosion of pain over his cheekbone, or the blood in his mouth.

He just spits it out, gets up, and leans on the bar in an attempt to make the world stop spinning. It doesn't, but he doesn't care about that either.

Wilford doesn't care about Jim right now, so at least they're even. He does, however, care about catching the glint of a security badge, and everything that goes along with it. He can't take the dog home though, and doesn't exactly want to leave him with Jim right now, since the idiot clearly doesn't know anything about anything.

There is a backup though, so Wilford stands and quickly leads Buster toward the stairs, so they can go hide out in his room for a while.