just have fun wanna play you like a game boy

[oedipusrat]

WHO: Silva and Cross
WHERE: Cross' flat
WHEN: today-ish??
WARNINGS: Well, it's Cross and it's Silva, so...
SUMMARY: Dumb idiot sort-of-friends need to talk things out gdi
FORMAT: pick your poison

It starts with Timcampy following Silva around. Mostly hovering around his shoulder with that too-wide mouth of disconcerting teeth grinning. Every annoyed question of what do you want usually ends with some kind of voiceless insistence that Silva follow, and there's really only one place he can think of Tim taking him. If Cross had gone missing again, it would be more frantic and urgent, and the golem would probably flutter off to Hank instead.

This goes on for days, leaving Silva to wonder just how Tim finds him like he does and why he cares so much. Though the ex-agent is a fan of being in tune with his emotional state, he's left chatting with Cross for...never. He blames Cross, really, for his petulant nature and ability to ignore everything important.

Silva finally gives in, especially after the conversation lingering in his inbox, and lets Tim excitedly lead the way right up to Cross' door. He doesn't bother knocking; he'll just let Tim alert his master at the unexpected company.

Comments

[ioudas]

Actually, Cross doesn't know that Silva had been harassed by Timcampy. He had spent nights hanging around bars and drinking his problems away. It's actually Timcampy that buzzes Silva in, punching numbers with his odd tiny little hands and fluttering towards the elevator.

Ocassionally, a small animal will start barking at him and Timcampy will act very much like his owner and antagonize it. As soon as they get into the elevator, Timcampy sits on Silva's shoulder, spitting out a key to Cross' apartment at him before settling in.

Inside, Cross is laying on the floor naked, basking in the sun and trying to do something.

[oedipusrat]

It's like having a strange, massive parrot on his shoulder. But he's been trying not to let the oddity that is Timcampy get to him these days. What's more important is letting himself into Cross' flat. Cross has no one to blame for this but Tim.

Silva leans in the doorway, arms lightly crossing and eyebrows raising. "Am I interrupting something?"

[ioudas]

Cross opens his eyes, as if he almost reached a moment of clarity before Silva had to run his mouth off. Maybe, there was a sense that something in the air was just a little off, that maybe something was happening that shouldn't.

Timcampy flutters down from Silva's shoulder to the bedroom to bring Cross pants. A task that he doesn't take too kindly to, but who wants a sunburn on their genitals anyway? Cross puts them on like a child, legs up in the air and then in one fluid motion getting up and pulling them up.

"I think you time these things." Cross mumbles, fumbling for the kitchen counter to make a hangover cure.

"Did we do something last night?" Because there is no reason why anyone should be here.

[oedipusrat]

"Only in your vivid imagination, dear."

Silva saunters the rest of the way in, following slowly to the kitchen. Eyes wandering about to take in the scenery around him. "It seems to me that our irritating little friend here would like us to speak. That, or he's trying to set us up on a date, in which case, there are easier and more romantic ways, you know!"

[ioudas]

Cross casts Timcampy a dirty look, something so encompassing that it's not even remotely polite to use on humans. As if to spite him, he takes a Victoria's Secret catalog and starts to shred it, much to Timcampy's dismay.

"I don't talk." Cross mutters, hands flying on the shelves pulling out terrible combinations of spices like turmeric, cinnamon and anise and putting on a cup of tea before slumping on the ground to get away from the sun.

"Make yourself useful, make breakfast." Because obviously, him acting like an adult is just a little hard at the moment.

[oedipusrat]

"Someone's tired of you not talking." And Silva not talking. Every bare attempt at talking has ended mostly with hanging up on each other.

He could say to piss off and make his own breakfast. Or make a show of ordering in. But with a little face made, considering the demand, he shrugs and steps to the kitchen, shedding his jacket and rolling up sleeves. Breakfast it is, and he'll make a damn good one.

Silva will also be the bigger man and start. "It was much more difficult than it had any reason to be, what you asked me to do. I found some of your highlighted passages to be very telling. Resurrection, rebirth."

[ioudas]

"Freedom," Cross mutters, head rolling on the ground (or the wall, he can't really tell what position he's in).

He really isn't in the mood to talk about anything that happened. Those highlighted passages providing him some support for why he does what he does. It's strange to think about it, that someone would actually bother to learn.

"The release of death, and the prison of our being on this Earth."

[oedipusrat]

"And yet, we are all condemned to live here as long as we can, until we die, and we are judged. There are always some things we simply cannot escape," he adds with a touch of humour as he digs out a clean pan, rummages through the fridge. "I suppose that was a little breach of privacy, but all you told me was to destroy it. I found no harm in doing a little light reading before doing so."

[ioudas]

"You wouldn't understand anyway." He mumbles, forcing himself up and going through the cabinets to pick out odd things here and there.

Even as Silva talks, Cross moves like he's in some sort of trace - so many hangovers have mad this entire grueling process almost robotic.

"Eggs." He calls for, hand out as he adds bits and pieces to create something that smells absolutely noxious.

[oedipusrat]

Silva considers not giving in at all, but since he was going for eggs anyway, he merely rolls his eyes and puts two in Cross' palm. "You know, I might understand a little more than it seems you think you do. If you would even bother telling me."

[ioudas]

Cross makes a face, as if he's considering the ridiculous notion before cracking the eggs in whatever foul concoction that he was about to drink.

Timcampy has to bury his face in Raoul's chest, because every time Cross drinks this, he dies a little inside (if he could). Cross opens up the drawer, grabbing a chopstick before expertly winding it around his hair before it's in a high tight bun. Holding his nose, he tilts his head back to down the sludge.

"Every time, every time I say I won't add the turmeric." It's a ploy to get away from the subject at hand.