Haunted House College AU

[worthallthis]

While the army is covering tuition, it doesn't cover living expenses, and temporary work on-campus is better than temporary work off-campus. So when the drama department managed to raise funds for a haunted house in one of the frat houses, James put on his best "I can kill you with my pinky" look, a shabby suit (shabby is really all he has, so, lucky), and his growing out hair loose around his face and "interviewed" for a spot as in-character for a creepy fucky as possible.

He had to refuse the first offer to be one of the ghosts inside. Dropping the character and donning a slightly sheepish smile, "Really not that keen on jumping out an' scaring people. Especially the ones that get punchy when they're scared." When the interviewer looked at his resume, saw his army tour (the whole "captured and tortured" thing isn't on there, but it doesn't have to be), she just nodded and stuck him at introductions and taking tickets. The pay isn't great, but it'll cover meals for a while.

So he shows up for opening night, gets his face done all pale with stage-make up and his suit a little spruced up with a very fancy shirt underneath from the costume department, and takes in the faces of the other people who'd been brought on.

Comments

[shadowsran]

"Consider me plenty awed by both, then. Fingers crossed you get through them with flying colors, and I bother to pick a major by then. And you stick around for a few of these, they really get their hooks in you. Anybody who can hold a voice like that'll be in demand."

A companionable little nudge at his elbow, to accompany the previous grin.

"From around here?"

[worthallthis]

Well, if they keep paying him, of course he'll stick around. Non-paying extra-curriculars will take a little more effort, though. "New York." And this is not a New York college. He is not from around here. His accent isn't particularly strong-- he can put it back on if he wants to, but exposure to so many other accents in the army, and here on campus, has dulled it some-- but maybe noticeable when she knows what to look for. "And you're clearly from down south, yeah?"

[shadowsran]

"Louisiana, way bottom," she answers, with a pleased little bow of her head. "Always pleased to be rubbing elbows with city folk. Liking it up here better, so far - I miss the weather sometimes, but getting real snow and having more than two stores in walking distance feels like a worthwhile trade." There's no over-protectiveness of home to be found, here. She laughs. "Miss it much?"

[worthallthis]

"Sometimes. There's enough skyscrapers and shitty apartments within driving distance, though, if I get too homesick." There's nothing to really go back to, anyway, so it's being homesick for a place and people that aren't the same anymore.

So here he is, far from home. Making new friends, apparently. He'll take that. "How long have you been here? And you're still undecided?"

[shadowsran]

"Mm, the sentimental types," she murmurs with a laugh. Could easily be a matter of humility, but it doesn't sound too high an opinion anyway. Not like she couldn't claim similar feelings herself - though thankfully, little around reminds her of her hometown proper.

"Town or school are the same thing - two years. It's hard to pick! There's so much, you know? And it's your whole life, that's something I don't want to mess up. Rush it and I know I'll regret it later."

[worthallthis]

"Gotta pick something eventually or you'll never graduate," James says with a grin.

There's a buzz of activity coming from the front, and people coming through to put props in the right places. "Looks like it's almost show time. You ready, Ophelia? Got your rosemary and fennel?" Look, he's read Shakespeare. And he remembers it really well.

[shadowsran]

Maybe she'll stay forever, punk.

No time to say as much, of course. The not-stage, it beckons. Grinning right back, she rests her chin atop her prop flowers.

"Born ready. Primed for three hours straight of skulking and lunging. I'll see you around break, probably?"

Regardless of answer, it's followed by an exaggerated bow and a carefully rehearsed twirl before she starts inside.

"Good luck!"

[worthallthis]

James gives her a playful little salute, then saunters off to the front of the frat house all decked out for the hauntings. There are already a few people waiting out there, so he gets right in character.

Well, mostly. A few pretty ones get a slightly flirty Undertaker, but that's mostly just to keep his hand in. He hadn't tried much before running into Misty and sliding almost right into it, not since coming back to the country, and he'd kind of thought he'd just lost his desire to be charming. Apparently there's still a little bit, there, at least.

There is a break halfway through for the actors to get snacks, and James loiters just inside, watching everyone converge on the kitchen, enjoying not having to talk for a few minutes.

[shadowsran]

One performer is conspicuously absent. Easily noticed given the moderate number of people in costume to begin with, and especially considering the size and coloration of the missing costume in question.

A creak in the wing adjacent, undecorated and blocked off to visitors.

A thud, too solid to be any prerecorded effect.

[worthallthis]

Either someone is considering a joke, or someone is potentially in trouble, stuck on a prop or something. Or possibly found somebody to make out with and is hiding away to have a little fun. James considers a long moment whether to investigate, but the possibility of someone being in trouble (that cute Misty gal, seeing as she's missing and all) makes up his mind. Sigh.

If he walks in on somebody getting a blow-job, he's going to be very disappointed.

He heads down the hall, making sure to make plenty of noise with each step so he doesn't startle anyone.

[shadowsran]

Thankfully, despite any drama major/club stereotypes, he's spared that.

Unfortunately, what waits three doors down the untouched hallway of thud-origin isn't a great deal better. Doubly sad, given the careful setup. Lights had been dimmed. Masterfully repurposed prop wall hangings have been bound together to form a rope long enough to tie around a person twice. Once at the waist, another at the neck, and with the former under a costume it's a surprisingly fair facsimile. Comically pale, dramatic makeup had been crudely rubbed askew. Eyeliner made to run, bluer around the lips. As one does.

She isn't much of an actress, but skittering around in the woods long enough gives one a fairly good impression of truly dead eyes. And she waits, cold and still as clay, suspended with enough space between her and the floor for this to truly be a feasible hanging.

The werewolf was the intended target, or, best case scenario, Bucky and the werewolf. Steps are identifiable as a lone non-rescuer too late to do much of anything. It's less fun with just the one person, she realizes, dimly, once the door opens.

...Oops.

[worthallthis]

Oh Jesus. That is the last thing he expected. "Fuck!" he exclaims, and rushes in to grab her legs and left, taking pressure off her neck. For reference, if she's paying attention, he's clearly very strong, and one arm feels... weird and hard, under his suit jacket and glove.

But he's also yelling, "Hey! Hey somebody call 911!"

He can tell her heart's beating, so she can't be dead yet, which means ambulance and maybe CPR if she's not breathing.

[shadowsran]

There's nothing much else to pay attention to, really. The language is noted, and it would have been amusing were it not so -

That the first action, even in this seeming panic, was to move forward and assist rather than freeze. Which is for the best, because for one long moment that's precisely what she does. Really isn't breathing. Not so much as a twitch or shift at the moving, at his arm, but the command is thankfully a jolt.

Because pretending to have been murdered next to peers is one thing, but wasting real emergency resources is, evidently, where she draws the line. Frenzied blinking will be the first sign all may be well, but not by much. Both hands go to his shoulders, firm as if to exacerbate her liveliness.

"NonononoI'malrightI'msorry--"

[worthallthis]

Ironically, murder isn't even what he'd thought. He'd immediately thought suicide. Interesting how differently their minds must work.

He continues to hold her legs, staring up at her at the words and touch. A few other actors are pounding down the hall towards them, now, skidding into sight through the door just as he says, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

So his first guess, that someone was playing a prank, was right. A really, really nasty prank. He hadn't expected that of Misty, who'd seemed amiable and reasonable. Scowling, he reaches up with the gloved metal hand and rips the makeshift rope from the rafter, freeing her, and sets her down.

[shadowsran]

"I didn't think you'd show up! Or at least not just you--" Sidling out of the outermost layer, the second knot at the waist is immediately familiar to any horror production veterans. Which may well have been why that was the target audience; familiar enough with dumb stage tricks that they might have gone in with more scrutiny.

Not that she feels anything short of miserable about it now, given the expression on offer. Untying the remainder is taken up with zeal if only for being anything else to focus on.

"I am so, so sorry-"

[worthallthis]

"No emergency here, sorry guys," James tells the watching actors sourly, one of whom is starting to snicker-- the afore-mentioned werewolf-- and the other-- one of the zombies-- still looking a little panicked. "Just a bad joke."

He tosses the mangled wall-hanging aside, giving the metal hand's fingers a flex to make sure the glove didn't tear, too. Seems intact.

And he doesn't say a thing to Misty, not yet anyway.

[shadowsran]

Quite the monumentally poor joke. Succinctly said. It's a little vindicating to hear the snicker, but not much. She shoots a meek little shrug toward the onlookers, without quite the gusto required to place a little unspoken jab at her slow-to-rise lupine friend. It's unpleasant that they're there, and as they leave, she notes with some minor panic it's just as unpleasant to think they'll be gone.

There's nothing to relish, here.

"I'm sorry." Broken record could not be more apt.

[worthallthis]

Not gonna get any more pleasant, either. James turns around, hands on his hips, and looks Misty over. His expression is thunderous. He's shaken, his hand trembling, the metal one wanting badly to buzz but he's not letting it. He's keeping it locked down, which means the mad is what shows. "The fuck gave you the idea to pretend to kill yourself?" he demands. "In the middle of a college show? Where anybody could walk in?"

[shadowsran]

And she shrinks. It isn't merely the expression, but the harsh contrast with what little impression she could work off of. A fairly breezy, relaxed person veering right into this.

Of course, being the one in the wrong isn't much of a help. Though confusion cuts through enough for one fleeting quirk of an eyebrow.

"It was a murder," she corrects, not to be a wiseass but because the former, intended read fits much better with the context of...well, college show. Silly, that any of a bunch of loosely connected college kids would have conflict enough to kill over it. His is much. Realer.

Which is even less of a help, if good to know.

She continues reproachfully, "I'd figured more than just one person was going to come over, and I was talking to Jasper before about this kind of thing--" Traitorously late werewolves, god. "--It wasn't supposed to read that seriously, I'm so sorry."

Hardly any proving anything, but there's a non-affected new sheen to her eyes.

"Are you okay?"

[worthallthis]

This. This is why he doesn't fucking socialize with anybody anymore. Fucking stupid-- jokes-- and ideas-- and not thinking things through, and pretending to be dead and--

"Fine, I'm fine, I'm--"

He is not fine. He is rather abruptly not fine, and he has to grope for one of the chairs set to the side of the room and slump down into it, curl his feet up onto the seat awkwardly, and tuck his head between his knees to count his breathing in a space where hair and legs hide the rest of the room and he can focus. The metal arm makes a few mechanical noises under his sleeve, and he can't quite lock it down fast enough to keep it from being obvious.

[shadowsran]

"Hey--"

He's very obviously not fine, which makes her nosedive even harder. It's more familiar than she would like it to be, that gesture, and her stomach twists at the sight of it. And then the noise, which. Isn't at all part of his character. The confusion is latched onto with fervor, because it's better than a nerve-and-sympathy cry. Wonder at, but not question yet. Priorities.

Dropping to her knees a pace away, her voice too drops to something barely beyond a whisper.

"I'm sorry, it's okay, I-I...do you need anything? Water, or-something?"

[worthallthis]

It takes him a minute of breathing, counting, and focusing on shifting the metal arm plates as quietly as possible (which can be kind of calming, in its own way) before answering. "No, I'm. I'm okay. Sorry."

He starts to uncurl, embarrassed and still a little upset about the whole thing, but it didn't need that kind of reaction. He hasn't had a panic attack in public in... months. Mostly because he's been good at managing it, and avoiding potential situations that would set him off. This wasn't one he'd expected to have to avoid.

[shadowsran]

"Don't apologize, you don't need to, this was - my fault."

Painfully concerned is written over absolutely every inch of her, tone and face and body language, though she stays rooted to her current spot on the floor. The evening has taken quite the turn in tone. She can't appreciate it yet.

"I'm so, so sorry, it was dumb and, I really mean it, if you'd be better with something to drink or a lap around the house or something, anything, I'd really want to help. This isn't-- I'm sorry."

Someone's innocent first encounter with the program has been pretty significantly sullied!

Was not her goal, at the outset!

[worthallthis]

"I know. It's fine, I know." Hell, maybe if he'd been somebody else, it might even have been a funny joke. Somebody else probably wouldn't have gone to pieces over it, at least. He's so damn tired, and he's still got two hours left of this show to put on. "You want to help-- how about you get me a beer from the break room, yeah?" They've got something like ten minutes until the second round. He could stand a damn beer, even if it won't do much for him besides taste cold and distracting.

[shadowsran]

There isn't even an answer, she's up and gone from her resting position faster than one might expect of a theater-adjacent-kid. Champing at the bit to be of use, as it were. It's a relief to be given a task. Two bottles are retrieved with no break longer than it takes to throw a firm elbow into a certain fake-furry bicep in passing, and to kick the door closed behind her upon reentry. They're both for him, one offered and the other set at his feet in case it wasn't obvious.

Back to her kneel, then. And, after a beat, caution prompts her to ask, "Not to press if it's personal, but, uh, your - arm?" Some bizarre kind of pace maker or insulin pump seems outlandish, but possible enough. Buzzing prosthetics seem a little more far fetched, but no option is a good option. The new worry is if she'd inadvertently made him strain it in some unintended way. Which is why she continues vaguely. "If I broke something, damaged, whatever, I'll pay for it?"