[237, Thursday Night into Friday Moring, Intergalactic Communication]
Krycek
Krycek had expected to have to search her room to find something indicating who he could call about D's accident, and almost had looked forward to it - a good room sacking was just the thing, really, when you were frustrated and more than a little frightened for your best friend.
But there was her phone, sitting on the desk. He stared at it for long moments before picking it up, keying it on and searching the contacts for her parents' number.
He pressed the call button and sat heavily on the couch, waiting through the tinny rings for someone to pick up.
The Biers Family Voice Mail
After several more rings, a strong male voice answered the line.
"Hello?" said the voice, cheerful.
"Ah, it seems you have reached a recording as we are not in right now. You have reached the home the Beirs Family, Darius, M'hanjra and D'anna. If you are friend, you are most welcome to leave us a message. If you are foe, well, I cannot stop you from leaving a message as well, but I would suggest contacting the offices of my wife or me instead."
The voice stopped speaking and a few brief moments later there was the sound a loud tone. Colonial technology apparently hadn't ironed out all the little annoyances of phone frustrations including waiting for the beep.
Krycek
Krycek sighed, pretty sure he was glad not to have to talk to anyone except a machine - though it presented its own problems in relaying delicate information. "Hello, this is Alex Krycek, a friend of D'anna's at school. I'm sorry to have to leave this message, but she's had an accident - she hit her head and was unconscious for a while and," he paused, taking a deep breath as the gravity of it seemed to weigh him down a moment. "And it doesn't look good. Please, if you get this message, call me." He left his number and hung up, squeezing the phone tightly as he tried not to think about how he might have to tell her parents that she'd died, all because he hadn't thought to check in with her earlier.
Gving up the phone, Krycek found and cracked open D's laptop where he found an email waiting for D'anna from Ben in response to one she sent him over the past weekend.
Ben
To: Goddess of That Thing You Do
From God of Embellishments, Creativity and Sloth < justben@biersproductions.leonis.col>
Subject: It could have been worse, I could have said you were married...
Date: 2/28/07 - 8:37 AM LSTTo the not-pregnant one,
It was a joke! I haven't spoken to your father since, Gods, sometime last year. Marc's been getting emails from him, but not me, personally. I don't rate that kind of attention.
Picture this: me, wriggling my eyebrows quite lasciviously. You don't have to stroke anything, D, I can picture it.
I'm shocked and appalled that you know about the girl at the chip stand--her name is Rose, by the way--I suspect the copier told you just to spite me. Neither of them are speaking to me, anymore, alas. I think it's possibly Sharon's fault. Or my own for taking her to the little coffee shop on Moore Street.
As for your jibe about my getting a rash, or some highly inappropriate social disease, I'm quite careful in the women I choose.
You, on the other hand, may be too careful. You sound as though you need a good one night stand, with no strings attached, bodily fluids, and without remembering his name. Should I find a man who might work out, I'll attempt to send him your way--perhaps I'll send him via the post, though he might arrive a bit battered that way.
Oh, dear. Any man who was gay, and still doesn't appear to want you must be highly brain-damaged. Have you tried hitting him over the head, or kissing him and dragging him down to some body of water? You do remember that skinny-dipping was highly conducive to -- *text converted to odd characters* -- you do with your tongue.
Sharon's school seems to be going well, although she was complaining about the lack of originality on the part of her professors. I think she's getting all high marks, though. And she's dating a pyramid player. She occasionally complains about him, too.
I don't think I'm stable enough for her, sadly, or I'd offer to show her that there's more to life than books and studying.
I should have her write you, maybe you'll be better equipped to listen to her ramblings about poetry, engine-parts and economics (seriously. Economics. Numbers are far more boring than watching paint dry).
Darling, I have run the virus scan twice, and Debbie in marketing has locked Diane from tampering with any computer save her own. Unless she's a better hacker than Doral. You might remember him, the short, scrawny IT nerd. I've seen him gazing moonily after Debbie once or twice. It's quite disturbing.
But, no, yours came back with odd characters again. If mine is, perhaps there's something on the line between the two?
Who knows. Shall not tell Uncle Simon on you, though if you should find a nice boy (of if the not-gay-anymore, maybe, one has come to his senses), make sure he's gotten all his shots.
Enclosed, please find the latest mystery thriller from Sagitarron Ex Press. I've been told it's a good read, but there were too many words for me. Still, I may be reviewing it in short order for the paper.
Try not to miss me too much--
Wait. Cheerleading? Am I allowed to picture you in the short skirt and mid-riff-baring top, dear? Because I am, even if I'm not.
Obviously, you won.
--Obviously, in need of something alcoholic, he-who-would-be-king, Ben
Krycek
Krycek read the email on D'anna's laptop, the faint sense of accomplishment fading as he finished and pressed reply.
This was going to be difficult, though his morbid sense of humor seemed to find it rather amusing that D'anna really actually thought he was gay - he must have really wrapped up in Jake (and not anymore? a tiny voice said in the back of his mind, which he ignored) to seem that way to her.
To: The Guy Who Had A Chance
From The One Who Shouldn't
Subject: Re: It could have been worse, I could have said you were married...
Date: 3/02/07 - 12:00 PM FSTBen,
This is Alex Krycek - the gay friend who hasn't come to his senses? - writing to you from D'anna's account. I tried calling her parents already, but only got their voice message. I don't know how often they check it, but either way, I'm trying to get a hold of someone urgently.
D'anna had an accident. She hit her head, probably sustained a concussion or worse, and decided to skip on the clinic, apparently. She's not in good shape.
If you can write me back as soon as possible, or call me at 555-3764, I'd appreciate it.
-Krycek
Ben
To: Keyboard Usurper
From Almost, but not quite, Drunk Off His Ass
Subject: Re: It could have been worse, I could have said you were married...
Date: 3/02/07Krycek,
I'd ask what the frak you're using D's account for, but you've explained that. Instead, I shall lambast you whilst putting a call through to Marc to see if he can locate her parentals.
Letting a gorgeous, not to mention talented, incredible and wonderful girl like her go--
Hang on, got a text back from Marv. Marc. Sorry. Bit sticky on the keys tonight--too much ambrosia.
If she's not in good shape, get her to a frakking doctor.
I'll try texting you if I hear from them.
And... tell her I love her and she'd better not die, or Sharon and I will throw a seance and talk to the dead.
-Ben
Krycek
Krycek scowled as he read the return email, already not liking Ben despite how fond D'anna seemed of him.
To: Drowning In The Bottle
From Just The Messenger
Subject: Re: It could have been worse, I could have said you were married...
Date: 3/02/07If you want to criticize me for not being with her, then I guess I can ask you why you're not still.
She won't go to a doctor, can't force her since she's conscious, doesn't make any difference. She's dying.
I'll tell her.
-Krycek
Ben
To: King of Idiots
From Duke of Slight Insanity
Subject: Re: It could have been worse, I could have said you were married...
Date: 3/02/07I'd say none of your frakking business. Though, ask yourself this: if she gave up on you, would you regret it?
Frak.
Where the frak are you? Because, I will come down there myself and carry her stubborn, too-frakking-tall ass down to the infirmary or hospital myself.
-Ben
Krycek
To: Czar of Batshittery
From Earl of Losing Patience
Subject: Re: It could have been worse, I could have said you were married...
Date: 3/02/07None of your business either.
She didn't tell you where we are?
Room 237, Fandom High Dormitories, Fandom Island, Virginia, United States, North America, Earth. Milky way galaxy? If you need coordinates, I'm afraid you're kind of stuck.
-Krycek
Ben
To: Leave Your Patience at the Door
From Confused and Disturbed
Subject: Re: It could have been worse, I could have said you were married...
Date: 3/02/07Well, frak me. Earth? You're really on Earth?
Also, dude, D's email has again been frakked to high heaven by whatever server it's getting routed through--which, I suppose, coming all the way from a bloody mythical frakking planet makes sense.
Frakkin' Earth.
And I know I'm not high.
Still haven't heard from Marc about her folks, either. Dammit.
-Ben
Krycek
To: Czar of Batshittery
From Earl of Losing Patience
Subject: Re: It could have been worse, I could have said you were married...
Date: 3/02/07Right, Earth. What happened to the email? Trouble?
-Krycek
Ben
Ben stared at the half-empty bottle of ambrosia, then at the blinking cursor on his screen. The text message from Sharon had been replied to with something incoherent, he was certain, not that it mattered.
His best friend--yeah. He wasn't thinking about that. Not yet.
To: Really Are An Idiot, Maybe
From Dogsbody of Enlightenment
Subject: Re: It could have been worse, I could have said you were married...
Date: 3/02/07I'm supposed to be writing an article on the rites of indigenous populations in the southern hemisphere, but I can't concentrate.
D'you know, I can't remember a time when I didn't know D?
Uncle Simon always seems to have been there, too. 's odd. But I can't figure out how the universe works without her there. And this is frakking awful. It's bloody poetic, too. Stop it, Ben, your humanity is showing. Pathetic. That's the word.
It's not like she's some brilliant breath of sunshine. More like she's that last drop of whiskey that you've been dying for and it explodes at the back of your throat and you're arse over tits into the gutter, looking up at the stars and wondering if the last thing you'll ever see is that brilliant streak of light that burnt itself into your corneas.
Maybe I am pathetic.
And maybe I'm regretting letting her go. They say there's honesty at the bottom of a bottle, and I've had one and a half. Swear it's medicinal purposes.
And maybe you're a gods-damned idiot.
Shut up, Ben.
Note to self: stop talking to yourself.
There's something garbling the emails. Firewall, maybe? I'm not some tech-junkie. Maybe I'll drag someone from IT up here to stare at it.
Shit. Ending this before I get more maudlin. More? You're a frakkin' idiot, Ben. Shut up.
-Not quite sober and stable lad.
[OOC: NFB. Compy issues like whoa. Preplayed with krycek_rat and notavegetarian. Code gakked from the most awesome needsaparrot. Closed. Thanks.]