TLV: IC Inbox

[statementfuckingends]

You've reached Timothy Stoker, leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you.

Text | Voice | Video | Action

Comments

[mrballisticsdummy]

[Kepler.

He's not sure that Tim would have figured that out on his own. And so, annoyed, he pulls his legs from Tim and sits up.]

What do you mean 'cut me off?'

[statementfuckingends]

[Yeah he's not surprised Jacobi's instantly on the defensive. He pulls his feet back and puts them both on the floor.]

I mean 'stop you from taking revenge on someone because you want them to hurt as much as they made the people you care about hurt'.

[mrballisticsdummy]

I already told you how to stop me. You've done it.

[Jacobi spreads out his hands a bit, annoyance turning a bit smug.]

There's nothing else you can do at this point, Tim. Unless you're planning on just putting me in Zero. Which I'm happy to do if it makes you feel better.

[statementfuckingends]

[Tim maintains his unamused look.]

Alright then. Why did you reply to Maxwell out loud in front of Warren? What was she saying?

[mrballisticsdummy]

I slipped. I was angry at him.

She just was reminding me that I can't lie to him. That he would know.

[He raises his eyebrows at him, staring straight at Tim.]

She's not telling me to blow anyone up. And I'm not taking any advice from her to do so.

[statementfuckingends]

[His frown just deepens a little. Curious more than mad.]

Why mad at Kepler?

[mrballisticsdummy]

Because he wanted me to be.

[Duh.]

I needed to be angry with him because it helped me not be angry with anyone else.

[statementfuckingends]

[He just scoffs as he looks away, and it's not a subtle eye-roll.]

So because you had a little hissy fit at your boyfriend and got your toys taken away, suddenly everything's totally fine. No lingering issues based on old friends dying preventable deaths at all.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He looks up to the ceiling.]

Jesus Christ, yeah, Tim. I'm peachy keen about it.


No, I'm pissed off. But I'm not going to go blow off his hands or anything. I know how to play nice.

[statementfuckingends]

Yeah, well. Forgive me if you getting pissed off is suddenly a major concern for me since I'm your fucking warden now.

[mrballisticsdummy]

Oh I'm not allowed to be pissed off?

[He snorts.]

Then what am I allowed to do?

[statementfuckingends]

Find a way to deal with it that isn't plotting horrible vengeance against people? [He throws a bandaged hand out in exasperation.] Get a fucking hobby like the rest of us. Do something different.

[mrballisticsdummy]

What do you think I'm planning, Tim? I don't have access to anything. I don't have supplies. I don't have weapons. I have you on my ass. What can I possibly do?

And I have a hobby, thanks.

Fuck off.

[statementfuckingends]

[He sighs quietly, and braces himself for the inevitable.]

Talking to yourself isn't a hobby.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[Jacobi hasn't ever wanted to put hands on Tim. Not in a serious way. Not like this.

But it's a show of how volatile he is at the moment, how little control he has, that it takes only a moment's notice before he launches himself across the couch towards him to try and hit him.]

[statementfuckingends]

[If Tim hadn't been expecting it he wouldn't have had time to defend against the hit. But since he is?

He just doesn't try.

The hit lands hard and Tim gets slammed back against the arm of the couch, knocking the wind out of him even as he's seeing stars from the fucking blow. He's sure as shit not fighting back.]

[mrballisticsdummy]

[Jacobi sits back, breathing heavily.]

What the fuck, Tim?

Breathe, Daniel.

[He takes a breath.]

[statementfuckingends]

[Tim's slow in pushing himself back up, and leans heavily on one hand as he rubs his jaw with the other. Fuck him, Jacobi can punch.]

You think that really qualifies as fucking okay, Daniel?

[His voice is bitterly amused, as he looks up at Jacobi.]

Don't fucking lie to me, you bastard.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He shrugs, giving Tim a haughty look. He doesn't move from where he sits.]

You are like...the King of always saying the wrong fucking thing.

[statementfuckingends]

[Tim doesn't either. He just gives his jaw another rub, runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek to check for blood.]

You know what a stoker is, Daniel? Historically they're the poor bastards shovelling coal, keeping the boilers steaming. Keeping the heat up.

[He opens his mouth wide and it pops gently, making him wince.]

So you and Maxwell in there can shove it up your collective arse, since I'm not letting you fucking cool down without a proper explanation.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He laughs an ugly laugh.]

To what end? Huh? What do you plan on doing?

Just making me really mad? Oh how sad.

[statementfuckingends]

[He pushes himself off the couch.]

Maybe if I make you mad enough you might not gloss over the fucking details of why you're a dumb piece of shit with emotions, heavens for-fucking-bid.

[He throws his arms out.]

So come on, Daniel. Hit me.

[mrballisticsdummy]

[He shakes his head as Tim stands up.]

I'm not trying to hurt you, you big dumb brick wall.

Say it.

No.

This is a stupid game. You don't know what you're doing.

[statementfuckingends]

No, I don't.

[He tips forward a little, like a shitty little stage bow.]

Now put up or shut up, short-ass.

[mrballisticsdummy]

No. Goddamn it!

[There's a ringing in his ears so loud that he's afraid everyone might hear it. There's a roar in his head. A migraine forming behind his eyes.]

Say it.

I'm trying to protect you, Tim. Not hurt you. You and Jon and Martin.

You didn't - you weren't there. He's a goddamn wreck.

I'm not going to listen to someone else suffer when I can do something about it.