(no subject)

[cottoncandypink]

After having a not-so-great night, Wilford had wandered into a promotional event in the square outside the station. Usually, he paid no mind to these sorts of things, but well. This time, the people at the table had something he actually wanted.

Which is why when he stumbles in today, looking tired and run down, he's wearing a bright green t-shirt and some old basketball shorts. He'd been trying to get some sleep, but eventually gave up on it, made some coffee, and found his way here. Here, there's a television that gets more than four channels, so Wilford finds a seat with a good view and hopes he can get the energy to do something, or exhaust himself to the point that he can finally pass out.

Comments

[iprotectyou]

Baze... Is displeased with Wilford. They parted on bad terms despite him sharing his primo weed with Baze. But the large Guardian is an adult, damn it. He can act like an adult. Hmph.

Baze watches as Wilford stumbles in and settles in a chair right next to him. Well. That's convenient.

"Wilford," Baze says with a nod. "You look like shavit."

[cottoncandypink]

It's more surprising when someone isn't displeased with Wilford. He's always irritating somebody, whether he intends to or not.

He regards Baze as he speaks, not really listening to the words, but getting the gist all the same. "I feel like it," he says.

This coffee is awful. Someone really needs to teach him how to make it properly.

[iprotectyou]

Well, shavit. Now what? Time to be honest.

"Thank you for sharing that plant in a cigarette with me," Baze says, leaning back with his tea--blueberry Earl Grey. "But I'm still upset with you for insulting Chirrut."

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford tries to figure out what Baze is talking about. "Who insulted what now?"

Even if he hadn't been high at the time, he wouldn't have registered what was said as an insult. As it is, he barely remembers what was even said.

[iprotectyou]

Baze blinks at him. Maybe Wilford was just too stoned? Maybe that's what happened.

"You called my friend, Chirrut, weird," Baze says, sipping his tea calmly.

Wilford called Baze weird, too, but that's not what sticks in his craw now.

[cottoncandypink]

"Yeah?"

He is. They both are. What's his point?

[iprotectyou]

Baze sighs. He can already tell that this is going nowhere. He can be the bigger man, literally and figuratively, and swallow his demand for an apology.

Still. It rankles. Only he gets to call his friend weird.

"Never mind. So, what have you been up to that's making you feel like shavit?"

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford? Apologise? ha.

He glances over at Baze at the question. It's more like what he hasn't been up to. There's still some hints of recent sunburn on his face and neck, and pretty much everywhere else that's exposed.

"What day were we on the beach?" he asks.

Time is so weird around here. He can never keep up between this place and back home.

[iprotectyou]

"Uhh," Baze says, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Monday? I think? It's so hard to keep track here."

Baze has become practically indolent since he settled in the bar. He wakes up, trains under a warm sun, eats foods that weren't available to him in life, and naps whenever he wants. The days kind of blend together.

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford shrugs. That does sound about right, but it's still hard to tell.

"Then I haven't slept since Monday."

This is probably admitting a weakness, but Wilford doesn't care. Anybody who spends more than two days around him can figure out pretty easily that this is a problem he has.

[iprotectyou]

"What?" Baze says, raising his brows. "Why not?"

Baze can only remember a few times in his life where he went without sleep for that long, and none of them were pleasant.

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford shrugs. "Because doctors suck. They prescribe you something and tell you you'll probably build up a tolerance, and then get all huffy and act like it's somehow your fault when that's what happens."

This is, needless to say, entirely too normal for Wilford.

[iprotectyou]

"That still doesn't explain why you didn't sleep," Baze says slowly, turning the implication of Wilford's words over in his mind and not liking it.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal's sat at one of the tables close to the window, with a large portion of French fries and a bottle of rum. He's spent most of the day at the firing range, which is why he smells like fyceline and cordite. It's also why there's a great big slab of a boltgun propped up against the wall.

He notices a familiar-looking man slumped at the bar, though without the egg-eating dog this time.

"Hello, Wilford. Bad day at work?"

[cottoncandypink]

"Nobody shot at me, so I'd say it was pretty good."

He hasn't slept in days, and he's finally reaching the end of what he can physically endure. Secretly it's a good thing, because it means he might actually get some sleep before too long.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Sounds like the opposite of my job."

In Sahaal's line of work, it's only a good day if you've come within a hair's breadth of dying. This may or may not be a good thing.

[cottoncandypink]

"Most people tend to avoid it," Wilford says. He takes a drink of his awful coffee, and tries to ignore the taste. "Unless it's sweeps. Because that shit's great for ratings."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Sweeps?"

Sahaal's gathered at this point that Wilford's some sort of journalist or reporter, but he's not sure what he's talking about now. Admittedly, his experience with such matters is limited to Hunter S. Thompson books, but still, he's unfamiliar with the term.

[cottoncandypink]

Thompson is... probably not that far off actually. Different medium, but other than that, there are more than a few similarities between them.

Wilford scratches his head and tries to de-fuzz his brain enough to explain sweeps.

"Budgets are determined off of how many people are watching your show. Every season, some egghead looks at how many people are watching what, and use that to determine how those numbers translate to money. The more eyes on your show, the more money you get."

It's hell. There are some months when Wilford doesn't even turn on the TV, because everything on it is a massive cash grab, trying to out-do everyone else.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Alright. I can understand that. It does sound like it'd lead to some massive amounts of crap getting shoved on to shock people into watching."

Sahaal doesn't really have TV back home, unless you count the Civilian Worship propaganda outlets, so most of what he knows comes from the flatscreen in his room. The vast majority of what Milliways gets is good, if a little strange and occasionally in Slovakian or Klingon. But, there was that time he stumbled onto something called 'Big Brother'. That was nasty.

[cottoncandypink]

Being on TV has made Wilford pretty indifferent to it on the whole. He pretty much only watches it when he gets like this, or he's actively trying to find someone else covering a story.

"Well. That's normal for any given day."

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

"Crap is normal? Well, I'm glad I don't watch your world's channels."

Sahaal's probably a bit naive when it comes to this, but marathoning quality dramas and watching Discovery Channel at all the right times have spoiled him immensely.

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford doesn't really respond to this. He just gets up to grab the remote, and starts flipping through channels until he finds something from his world.

It's fucking awful.

[exiled_heir_of_the_eighth]

Sahaal stares at the show Wilford brings up. There's a zombie wearing sweatbands doing... fuck only knows. Swirls of colour and neon green lighting puts him in mind of an Emperor's Children battle barge he once boarded. There's traps and head-throwing and a total disregard for basic biology.

"What the warpshitting hell is this?"

[cottoncandypink]

"That," Wilford says, as if he's going to say something profoundly important, "is the flagship of CBN's prime time lineup."

He switches to something else, eventually finding a bicycle race and sticking with that. It's also awful, but it's at least not going to sear anybody's retinas.