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]

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?"

[worthallthis]

James snorts. "If you damaged it, you'd be the first." He accepts the bottle, and pulls off the glove on his left hand to use the metal finger to pop off the cap. She can get a good look at the fully-articulated plates around each individual finger scaffolding while he drains half the bottle in one go.

"Got it overseas. POW status for a year and a half. Nobody's sure what the hell it is, but can't get it off, so."

[shadowsran]

What the shit is that. What. Christ, she can't even be interested fully, she's so preoccupied with what that information really means. "I-- didn't know." Because maybe this is common knowledge to those who know him, it would be sensible enough he wouldn't mention it to anyone crossing his path. "I wouldn't have done that - at all, if I did. I swear."

He's a veteran, and a POW, and she'd really done this to a goofy evening. God damn it.

[worthallthis]

"Unless the director gal is gossiping, nobody knows," James says wearily. "It's not like I talk about it much. Or know anybody here. It's fine." Expecting regular college kids to be serious and think things through is really too much to ask of them, especially drama kids, especially drama kids on opening night in the middle of a haunted house. Ain't there fault he's a headcase. He probably shouldn't have yelled.

He holds up the beer in her direction. "Hey, I really am sorry I freaked out at you."

[shadowsran]

A polite wave of dismissal; that won't do.

"Don't be, that wasn't nearly as well thought out as it should have been. Exactly because of cases like this, I-- you're not supposed to assume, and especially when it's someone new and their first night on..." Her head shakes, and her hands drop to her lap. "You're within your rights, I'm sorry I put you through that. I hope it doesn't turn you off of these completely, they usually are just fun."

[worthallthis]

He doesn't know if it'll turn him off to them. At the very least, he needs to see this one through to get paid. And he'd said he would.

At least next time, he's pretty sure nobody will try that particular prank. He'd rather have walked in on somebody getting a blow-job.

"Well. You did a pretty convincing job of looking dead, at least," he offers. He could tell she wasn't, but he's already shown her the damn metal arm, he's not going to let on he can hear heartbeats and breathing and shit. "Full marks, there."

[shadowsran]

One hand rubs the back of her neck self consciously. No room for flattery, at present.

"Not something I'll get to show off again anytime soon, I'm thinking. But thank you." Any other day, she'd be quite proud. On the comedown, it's still...too fresh. She'll be wincing about this for years. "The offer's standing, not wasting it on beers twenty feet away. Anything going forward I can help with, really, let me know. This was all. A bad idea, a terrible thing to pull on someone's first go."

[worthallthis]

He considers her a minute as he finishes the first beer. "I'll think about it," is what he finally says, plucking up the second and pushing to his feet. "Gotta get back to work, for now, I think. You here for the rest of the run?"

[shadowsran]

"Yeah." Time has completely gone out the window, so she'll take the shift in focus to mean they're nearly due back to posts, and take it at face value. "The rest of the night'll be. Quiet." Not something she can technically guarantee, but she's a little desperate.

"I'll, uh, check in when we close?"

[worthallthis]

"Sounds good." He bumps her shoulder lightly with the cold beer bottle, then heads on out, squaring his shoulders and looking for all the world like he hadn't been shaking and practicing grounding techniques five minutes ago. He tosses casually over his shoulder, "Better put those curtains back, or your room won't look half as scary as it did for the first half of the night."

[shadowsran]

"Fair point."

Hardy har. She sits a minute, composing herself, and eventually...has to grab those curtains, yeah.

The rest of the night is uneventful and blessedly so. Some exchanges over the reclaiming of places she would have rather avoided, really she's looking to put most of the night behind her, but it's back to business as usual. (An incredibly panicked reapplication of stage makeup was the closest she came to real worry afterward.)

And the night...ends, as nights do. Actors are thankfully asked only to return their costume and dismantle their portion of set, which is quick work for anyone half as industrious as her. There's a last round in the rest room - divvying up food to take home, a cherished tradition - but she'd rather not chance missing a final check-in.

So she works quickly and races, in street clothes and the same done-up face, to the entryway. Nothing for him to take apart, no telling if he'd have taken off.

"Hey--"

[worthallthis]

He's still here, chatting with one of the guys doing clean-up, helping put the podium he'd been using back inside. He absolutely doesn't look like he had a panic attack a couple hours ago, it's impossible to tell there was anything unpleasant about the night, at all.

He gives her a little salute as she approaches, with the empty beer bottle, that he meets her halfway with, as he's carting it back to the clean-up in the break room to trash with the rest. "How'd the rest of the night go?"

[shadowsran]

"It was fine! Good, normal everything all around." Not her chief concern in the slightest, but then the demeanor he has going answers a lot of her question before she can even voice it. "Everything was good out here too, then-?"

[worthallthis]

"Had one rowdy drunk guy, but I handled it," James says with a shrug and a smile. He tosses the empty bottle into the recycling bag, from four feet away, and makes the mark easily. Pauses then to claim a final slice of pizza (always hungry, these days), and finishes for her benefit, "Everybody else seemed to enjoy the show, and was pretty nice to boot."

[shadowsran]

Thank christ. Taken only marginally aback by the cool, it's primarily relief stilling her. Good shot. "Good. Great-! That's a relief. Just wanted to check and see, you know, the night on the whole wasn't bad. It's always good to get new people in, and I'd hate to see somebody have a - bad first experience and bail. Worth coming back, you think?"

[worthallthis]

"As long as they're paying me," he promises with half a smile. Then, in the interest of honesty, he adds, "We'll see about next time there's one of these things. Ain't just that, anyway, though I doubt you're the only person with a mind for practical jokes." This whole night has been kind of exhausting. While he loves people still, even after everything, interacting with them for this long, having to keep a character, had been tiring.

[shadowsran]

"Well if you're around again, I'd make sure no jokes happened. They're a rowdy bunch, but if I brought it up - not you, specifically, just the idea - they'd probably be a lot better about it." There's little to sell him on, of course. He'll make his own call. Just a shame, were a resignation to do with a poor decision not made on his part.

"And the drunk wasn't too bad, right-?" He's unmarred, so it must have been handled well. "No issues, is all?"