Sitting And Probably Moping
Jonothon Starsmore furnaceface
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Room 408, Sunday Afternoon
Jonothon still hadn't managed to get any sleep. He remembered, somewhat hazily, somebody nudging him back toward his room last night after what had happened in New York, making certain that he didn't manage to break his neck on the stairs on the way up, or simply miss the dorms entirely. Emma? If he thought hard enough, he could almost remember her voice, somewhere in there, asking if he could walk, and then... reminding him how.

Rough night. He'd fallen face-first onto his bed, leather and all, scorch marks be damned, and had just stayed that way, with a small kitten curling up to sleep on the small of his back for most of the night. Joni's purring and kneading played the strangest counterpoint to the way it felt as though his insides were made of rocks instead of fire. And when morning rolled around again, it was the same kitten pawing curiously at his flames that managed to coax him into at least sitting up.

Really, Jono was learning that reaching his personal moping standard was going to be a difficult task to do with any sort of consistency when there was a cat in the equation. Especially one with an empty food dish.


[Jono isn't going to the library today, nooo way, but this post is open if anybody needs him. Or if they want to play with the kitty. I'm not judging, here.]


2011-01-16 05:26 pm (UTC) (Link)

This was, Rosalind decided, entirely Jono's fault.

He was the one who asked her to head to the library every Sunday just so he could make sure she was still alive and then he had the nerve to not be there when she showed up.

The nerve.

Which meant, because Rosalind had her own issues and might have been mildly concerned--he was probably just reaching new heights of laziness--she had to go and find him. His room was an obvious place to start.

And if he'd ever wanted to hear a very professional knock on his door?

Well, that's what he was getting right about now.

Even if he didn't want it.


2011-01-16 05:33 pm (UTC) (Link)

Door. There was... there was knocking on the door. Brisk and short and to the point, which encouraged Joni to bound across the room toward it, sit pathetically in front of it, look up, and mewl.

She was a pro when it came to those 'saddest kitty in the world' sounds.

Jono's own gaze turned toward the door as well, though with far less enthusiasm, taking the scene in.

Yes. That was, in fact, a door. And there was, in fact, a kitten at the foot of it. And, presumably, there was somebody on the other side. But from there... it was a bit of a struggle, piecing together the next step. People answered doors. Answering a door involved... getting up? Standing, at least. Which he could do. Which he did do. And...

There was somebody at the door...

He was supposed to do something about that...

Answer it?

He was standing already.

Maybe he'd just... send something. A feeling of being acknowledged, toward whoever was on the other side.

He wasn't much feeling like forming words, just yet.


2011-01-16 05:39 pm (UTC) (Link)

Rosalind flinched at the feeling he sent, her hand freezing half way to the door for another knock.

The talking she could--deal with. But Rosalind was not fond of the supernatural and feelings just... nudged that line uncomfortably. Her chin set itself, and her eyes narrowed.

Now she was--rather more concerned.

"I'm coming in," she said briskly, defiantly, and turned the handle.

Studied the sight in front of her.

"You look like a mess."

She was so charming!

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2011-01-16 07:53 pm (UTC) (Link)

Leaving Warren behind had been hard. He was pretty much the only thing that kept her from being a zombie right now. Leaving her room had been hard, too, since the only thing she'd wanted to do was hide under the blankets and pretend the outside world didn't exist. She hadn't even bothered getting dressed; her bathrobe over a pair of comfy pj's would just have to do and damn anyone who had a problem with it. The act of putting on clothing, something so mundane and normal, was utterly beyond her right now. In fact, the very idea almost made her weep.

She'd forced herself to leave the safety of her room and Warren's arms. That was enough for one day. Wasn't it?

Not that she was here for any kind of unselfish purposes. She wasn't here to check on Jono, to make sure he was all right, to see if there was something she could do for him. No. She was here, slamming on his door with aching fists--how long had she been knocking already? She couldn't quite remember--because she needed someone just as broken as she was to grieve with.


2011-01-16 08:02 pm (UTC) (Link)

The pounding. On his door. It wouldn't stop.

And there he was on his bed, refusing to think or move or function beyond what anybody forced him into, clutching his hands against the sides of his head as if somehow, that was going to make the noises go away.

The door wasn't locked, at least. But him getting up to answer it was going to be a long time coming.


2011-01-16 08:25 pm (UTC) (Link)

Eventually, Karla's hand fell down to the knob and tried it, more out of habit than coherent thought. The door opened at her touch, though, swinging open far enough for her to spot Jono on his bed. "Oh," she said, staring stupidly at the door.

And then burst into tears in his doorway. Everything was just so wrong.


2011-01-16 08:43 pm (UTC) (Link)


Jonothon remembered crying. It was that thing that he had refused to do when he was whole, and couldn't do now that he wasn't, even though he wanted to, so very much.

That there was somebody in his doorway doing so was going to take him a moment to register, sitting up and watching her quietly, almost curiously, before turning his gaze back down toward the floor.

He probably should be doing something. But doing things involved thinking, and the more he thought, the more he found himself wishing that he wasn't able to anymore, and so not thinking at all seemed to be the safest way about it.

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2011-01-17 12:07 am (UTC) (Link)

George had been giving her roommate space. He was kind of all on fire, and she was figuring that that meant it had been a bad day, and ... well. George wasn't so great with moral support.

When she came back again, he was dressed. That was something, right?

George was gong to sit, hesitantly, on her bed, and fumble around for a book.

"Hey," she said.

He could answer. He didn't have to.


2011-01-17 12:13 am (UTC) (Link)

He could answer. He didn't have to answer. He was going to make an attempt, at any rate.

It wasn't words. It wasn't much of anything but a small nod of his head and a slight telepathic brush against her mind, a sort of 'yes, I see you,' as he looked up at her.

But it was definitely better than he'd been managing for most of the day. The air had done him some good.

He still hadn't slept.


2011-01-17 12:19 am (UTC) (Link)

George nodded again. She couldn't really focus on her book, but she could try, at least.

Was she supposed to do something? Someone who was better at this might be doing something. All ... helpful and comforting and say something reassuring.

George didn't even know what was wrong.

"If you ... were ... wanting to talk?"

She could ... listen? Yeah. She'd listen. Sure. Good.

Edited at 2011-01-17 12:20 am (UTC)


2011-01-17 12:26 am (UTC) (Link)

Jonothon shrugged, looking back down toward the carpet. There was a large wet spot there, still drying, in spite of his earlier efforts to sop the worst of it up. George should be happy to know that only Jonothon's things had suffered in the creation of that water spot.

//Long story,// he replied. And just that, for a moment. //Monsters don't... get to be happy.//

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2011-01-17 01:29 am (UTC) (Link)

So, Squall had heard radio. And... well, he should... do something for Jono? People always did annoying things like hover uncomfortably or try to talk about feelings or something, so he didn't want to do that, but... he didn't know what to do.

So he hovered uncomfortably in the doorway.



2011-01-17 01:39 am (UTC) (Link)

There was a long, long silence, there.

Jono knew that Squall was there. He couldn't get his shielding down far enough to not know that Squall was there, even if he'd been blinded and deafened and hadn't suspected that people were going to leave him alone, so easily.

//Yer hovering,// he intoned, because that was almost like 'hello,' or 'come in,' without any actual hinting that maybe he'd like some company, even if he didn't feel as though he deserved it.


2011-01-17 01:53 am (UTC) (Link)

Squall shrugged. "Hey."

He didn't want to be hovering. He wasn't sure what else to do, either.

Heck, he didn't even know what was WRONG, just that something sad had happened.

"You alright?"


2011-01-17 01:59 am (UTC) (Link)

The fact that Squall didn't know, and yet he'd still made his way here to check on Jonothon... that helped, somewhat. Maybe it was selfish of him to appreciate the company, but... he did. Couldn't help it.


And at least he was being honest, now. If somewhat quiet.

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