IMDb flu

[just_cant_lose]

 
Ohhhh, headache. Ohhh sore throat, and sneezing. Ohhhh waking up in a strange room, next to a strange man. 

Jones is curled up into a tight ball in an armchair by the fire, both hands wrapped around an enormous mug of hot chocolate. He doesn't even know how he got it, except that he sort of wished aloud he had one and then suddenly there it was. Which is highly suspicious really, but he's not well enough to care - and anyway, he's sure, sure, no one would do anything horrible like give him a poisoned drink. Why would they? That's ridiculous. People don't do things like that.

Of course, people don't usually wake up in bedrooms above a pub that appears to be in space, either. This is like one of Art's film script ideas come to life, only without Art to make it make sense. So Jones is just going to sit here until it makes sense on its own. It's bound to happen. He has faith in these things. 



[OOC: IMDB, obviously - Jim thinks he's Jones from My Life in Film.]

Comments

[cottoncandypink]

The entire bar is diseased lately. It's like someone came in and sprayed flu germs all over every surface or something. Gross.

Wilford almost turns right back around and leaves again, until he sees a familiar face, looking decidedly miserable. A quick hello couldn't hurt.

He says hello in the way of his people. Which is to say, Jim, or Jones, or Jack, or whatever his name is today gets a cigarette flicked at his face by a man with a pink moustache and a candystripe jacket.

[just_cant_lose]

Uh...what? Wait - what?

Jones flails at the cigarette. Hot chocolate and cream slops out over his hand, soaking his shirt sleeve and running down his arm. A second flail because it feels icky, and a load more lands all over his jeans.

Bugger.

'Um. Sorry. I think you dropped your cigarette.'

[cottoncandypink]

"That's for you, dumbass. You need it, by the looks of you."

Wilford sits down far away from Jim as possible without having to shout at him, and lights up a cigarette of his own, before tossing over the lighter.

"What's wrong with you today? You look like hell."

[just_cant_lose]

'Oh. No. Thank you! But I don't smoke.'

Jones doesn't mind this man sitting a long way away. Not because he doesn't want to talk to him, or thinks he looks weird or anything! It's just sensible not to come near someone with a cold. He sets the cigarette aside so it doesn't get chocolate on it, and looks for a napkin to clear some of the mess off the arm of the chair. There's nothing, so he suppresses a sigh and starts using the one clean sleeve of his shirt.

'I don't think we've, ah - or maybe we have, but I don't...I mean, I'm fine, thanks.'

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford almost asks if he's still on his stupid health kick, but something is very much wrong with this situation. So instead of asking, he just scrutinises every movement his friend makes.

Using his sleeve to clean up a spilled drink is just plain wrong. It's something Wilford might do, but Jim? The world would implode.

"No, I don't think we have," he agrees. "So I'd like to know why you're wearing someone else's face."

[just_cant_lose]

Every movement Jones makes is the exact antithesis of Jim. It's not exactly that he's trying to take up less space in the world, rather that he makes sure he doesn't take more than has been allotted to him. His clothes were taken from Jim's dressing room, it's true - but the fancy dress end of the room, for when he has to dress like a hard up student. Cord jeans and a checked shirt, with old Vans.

'Why I'm what?'

Jones looks alarmed. Did he steal someone's face and didn't realise? If so, he didn't mean to!

[cottoncandypink]

"That face belongs to a pain in the ass called Jim. I bet you took his clothes too, and when he finds out what you did to his shirt just now, he's gonna cut your damn head off."

He hopes he gets to see it! It'll be funny to watch the little bastard turn red with rage!

[just_cant_lose]

'...but-'

Um?

Jones realises he's stopped cleaning up the mess, and resumes it even though it's futile. He's put the chocolate down, so his free hand examines his own face. It looked right in the mirror when he woke up, and it feels right now, so...?

'-I don't know how to steal anyone's face.'

[cottoncandypink]

This is delightful! Wilford has no idea what's going on, but he wants to poke it with a very sharp stick for as long as he can.

"Where's the husband?" Wilford asks. "I'm sure he'd love to see what you've done with the man he just married."

[just_cant_lose]

'I'm not - no one's married me, I'm...'

The words buzz around Jones' head, trying to find something to connect to and coming up blank. They just go round and around, bumping into each other and creating noises like, 'um' and 'what?' and 'uhhh'...

'I took the ring off. It's not mine. I'm not married.'

[cottoncandypink]

"The man whose body you've stolen is. And you took off the ring, so you knew that."

He tsks and shakes his head.

"It's too bad, because Jim's not a forgiving man. Neither is his better half, from what I've been told. I'd run if I were you."

[just_cant_lose]

'But I haven't, I-'

Oh God, what if he has? Is that something that can happen? Jones doesn't know all that much about science, so who's he to say whether it's a thing or not? Not that he failed it in school, or anything. Just...yeah. No.

Right. Logic.

'I'll just explain to them. That's all. I only took it off because I didn't want to steal someone's jewellery. They'll get that.'

Right?

[cottoncandypink]

"You didn't think to wonder why you were wearing it?" Wilford asks. "You're putting a lot of stock in these guys' ability to be reasonable."

He flicks ash toward the fire. The fire with fish in it.

"We're talking about a guy who throws people out of helicopters on a bet."

[mightbeagoodone]

Stephen woke up alone, which was not a surprise given everything Jim said about this malady, but was still something of a disappointment. (It was a good night. A very good night.) Bundled up against the chill, he makes his way downstairs for something hot and soothing, when he spots Jim.

Or maybe not Jim?

He approaches the young man with caution. "Good morning. Are you still James?"

[just_cant_lose]

Jones was in the process of sipping from his chocolate, and then there's a man and he's preeeeeeety sure it's the man he woke up next to.

There may be a bit of spluttering. Alternatively, quite a lot of it. Chocolate and cream might end up on his shirt.

'...sorry. Hello. No.'

That made sense, right?

'I mean, I've never been James that I know of. There might be one in my body back at home, and he might be killing everyone in my house, but that's not me.'

So...good?

[mightbeagoodone]

Stephen waits until the sputtering stops.

"My name is Dr. Stephen Strange. I sincerely hope he's not killing everyone in your house, as that might make things difficult for you when this is over."

[just_cant_lose]

'...yeah.'

He would certainly think so. But it might seem rude to point out to what extent that might be inconvenient, so he just smiles awkwardly and tries to clean up some of the chocolate with the hem of his shirt.

'Are you his husband? I've been told you might...' also be crazy, '...that he's married.'

[mightbeagoodone]

"This body belongs to his husband." Stephen curls up in the armchair beside Jones's, tucking his feet under the coat. (He really loves this coat. It doesn't make up for not having the Cloak of Levitation, but it's still really nice.) "You might have noticed the matching wedding rings." He holds up his left hand.

[just_cant_lose]

This man has a far more calming demeanour than the last guy Jones talked to. It lets him breathe a bit, even if all of this continues to make no sense.

Annnd his left hand curls into a ball and hides down by his side.

'I did.'

Lalala.

'You know about this then? Because I don't, and - oh, sorry, my name's Jones. I don't know how to give the body back.'

[mightbeagoodone]

"If I understand correctly, it will resolve itself once the illness runs its course." He sneezes into a tissue. "James and Inhad an interesting conversation about it yesterday."

[just_cant_lose]

'Oh. Really?'

That seems too easy. Too undramatic, after the conversation with Wilford and the implications he was left with.

'So you're...not going to murder me, or throw me out of a helicopter?'

[mightbeagoodone]

Stephen blinks at him.

"I'm a doctor."

In other words, no.

[just_cant_lose]

'Right. Yeah. Right, of course.'

Jones, it should be mentioned, is not at all like Jim. He's affable to a fault, nods and smiles a lot, and exudes the air of a born people-pleaser.

'Of course, Hannibal Lecter was a doctor. And there was that Harold Shipman. And Doctor Jekyll. Doctor Frankenstein. Doctor...Doom...'

He trails off, looking uncomfortable, like it might not be a good idea to imply a doctor is mad and dangerous to his face, if he is mad and dangerous.

'But I'm sure you're fine.'

[mightbeagoodone]

"They are all also fictional characters, often born of nightmares, or in the case of Dr. Jekyll, an opium haze."

He sneezes again. "In any case, I will not murder you or throw you from a helicopter. I'm sworn to protect the Earth and its inhabitants, not treat their lives as expendable."

[just_cant_lose]

'Harold Shipman's not fictional.'

And included only because he's the only real life bad doctor Jones could think of. He does spend a lot of time thinking in terms of fiction.

But no, of course, I know you'll not throw me out of a helicopter. There's no helicopters in a pub.' He shifts uncomfortably. 'Was it you I...I mean, have we seen each other apart from now? I know you said you talked to someone else, but-'

If there are body-swapping shenanigans going on, Jones wants to know whether he's done stuff his girlfriend would not be pleased about.