There are few things St. John dislikes worse than being cooped up because nature is doing something that prevents him escape. Amongst those are root canals, the Shop, and getting seeds stuck in his teeth
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Ramon appreciates no bar-going. Booze was never, and will never be, his thing. And every time St. John drinks, it will eventually occur that he'll make Ramon do so too. So just staying to the cot area is nice. It's quiet here. Well, relatively so, barring the howling and hammering rain outside.
But the silence seems to beg something as well. It's like that feeling you get when you figure you should be saying something, that this is a moment that requires a particular profound statement or specific question, but it's not coming to him. Or he's afraid to say it.
He misses Nica. And it's a pretty sure thing that St. John misses her too, if not more. But talking about it, about her...It's funny that, in a world so full of death, and with Ramon in particular and his constant awareness of it, it's something that's had a giant, steel-clad taboo slam down between him and St. John
( ... )
St. John still operates, a lot of the time, like she's going to show up at any second, like she was just tired. He'd pushed two cots together before he'd really thought about what he was doing, which naturally resulted in a lot of angryfacing...ness and shoving belongings in between the cots, just to make it clear they were not supposed to be next to each other, goddammit.
"Think the roof leakin's the least of our problems, mate." He doesn't elaborate much on this, because apparently Ramon is expected to be able to understand what St. John is thinking at all times. If not, at least he can surely feel the weirdness in the air. ....more so than is around St. John at the best of times.
Weirdness aside, he shoves a pawn listlessly in the taller boy's direction. To um...something. Rook 2? Yes. What. CHESS IS CONFUSING.
"Y-...Yeah. I guess-...I guess so." His eyes are drawn down from the ceiling when he sees the movement of the chess piece take place, and there's hardly a pause or hesitation for his returning move: a pawn one row down pushed two squares in turn. Then his eyes are roving again, looking over the ceiling, the cots, their bags
( ... )
A chess move of some kind has occurred, which causes St. John to mumble something horrifically vulgar under his breath. He would most probably do this no matter what happened.
Some of the deliberate portal-arrangement has not gone unnoticed, although it has gone undiscussed for one specific reason: if Nica came back, and Ramon could see her and he couldn't, well. St. John would be so jealous he'd do something testosterone-laden and stupid, such as punch a wall. Or Ramon. And so he's come to the conclusion that he just doesn't want to know, if she's gone then let her be gone and let the ragged hole where she used to be close up and scab over already. He remembers when it was all right, even good to be alone all the time; it's a feeling he tries like hell to get back.
It's not working. In any event, he does answer Ramon after a time, shifting to lean his chin in one hand on his knee, where naturally his face is attacked by his hair. This is how things go. "Everything does. After a while."
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But the silence seems to beg something as well. It's like that feeling you get when you figure you should be saying something, that this is a moment that requires a particular profound statement or specific question, but it's not coming to him. Or he's afraid to say it.
He misses Nica. And it's a pretty sure thing that St. John misses her too, if not more. But talking about it, about her...It's funny that, in a world so full of death, and with Ramon in particular and his constant awareness of it, it's something that's had a giant, steel-clad taboo slam down between him and St. John ( ... )
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"Think the roof leakin's the least of our problems, mate." He doesn't elaborate much on this, because apparently Ramon is expected to be able to understand what St. John is thinking at all times. If not, at least he can surely feel the weirdness in the air. ....more so than is around St. John at the best of times.
Weirdness aside, he shoves a pawn listlessly in the taller boy's direction. To um...something. Rook 2? Yes. What. CHESS IS CONFUSING.
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Some of the deliberate portal-arrangement has not gone unnoticed, although it has gone undiscussed for one specific reason: if Nica came back, and Ramon could see her and he couldn't, well. St. John would be so jealous he'd do something testosterone-laden and stupid, such as punch a wall. Or Ramon. And so he's come to the conclusion that he just doesn't want to know, if she's gone then let her be gone and let the ragged hole where she used to be close up and scab over already. He remembers when it was all right, even good to be alone all the time; it's a feeling he tries like hell to get back.
It's not working. In any event, he does answer Ramon after a time, shifting to lean his chin in one hand on his knee, where naturally his face is attacked by his hair. This is how things go. "Everything does. After a while."
Yes, just talkin' 'bout Shaft the
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