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#this is actually my second piece in regards to bill and comfort in reference to tswwwit's work
bi-functional · 2 years
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In response to this ask to @tswwwit you know I love a good meme redraw
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Six Times
Part 2 of the Flipside AU: in which Ford has a bad dream, and then he and Stan have a belated but necessary talk.
Warning: this is going to be a dark short, because Stan is a very unhappy puppy.  Contains references to depression and attempted suicide, as well as kind of seventies-era opinions on mental health and therapy.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
BOOM
Ford’s eyes flew open, and he was quickly reminded that the stereotype of “waking up in a cold sweat” after a nightmare was, in some circumstances, remarkably true.
It was the sixth time in two weeks that this nightmare had manifested in full, as opposed to the numerous fragments of it that kept appearing in his dreams.
It took two minutes for his heart to calm itself down; even then, he could still feel it racing a little as he finally grabbed his glasses, got out of bed and padded down to his brother’s room.
Stan was still very deeply asleep, despite having lost most of his blankets.  His arms and legs were completely stretched out, and faint traces of drool hung around his mouth.  Ford reached out and shook one of the bedposts, having learned the hard way that shaking his brother could result in injury.
Within seconds Stan’s eyes flew open, and he sat bolt upright-a knee-jerk response learned from far too much time spent behind bars.
“Wha-Sixer?  What is it?”
“How many times?”
Stan gave him a look of groggy confusion.
“Um…”
“You said ‘a few.’  How many is ‘a few’?”  Ford’s hands had clenched into trembling fists.
“Uh, Ford, I think you’re sleepwalking or something-you’re not makin’ any sense-”
“Scars, Stanley!”  Had he been less emotional, Ford might have realized that his question had been somewhat cryptic.  But at the moment, he was very emotional, and so the words came out in an irritable snarl.  “You said that a few of your scars were made by you! How. Many?!”
Slowly Stan shifted until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyebrows scrunching together as the question sank in.
“You woke me up at-” he squinted at the clock- “two in the morning ta ask me that?”
Ford folded his arms and glowered down at him; his fingers tapped against his arm in his agitation.
“...Did you have a nightmare or something?”
A tiny bit of his wrath dissipated at the sympathy in Stan’s voice, and self-consciousness crept into its place, reminding him that he was no longer a small child who should need to wake people up to comfort him after nightmares.  On the other hand, he’d read that bottling up emotions was just as bad for you as not taking care of physical injuries, and he probably wasn’t going to get any more sleep tonight without some reassurance regarding his brother’s emotional state.  So he muttered, staring down at the carpet, “...Yeah.”
Stan sighed, and patted part of the bed next to him in silent invitation.
Ford sank down onto it, letting his hands drop into the space between his knees.  “It was about Bill. About how you made him leave us alone. I’ve dreamed about it a few times since it happened and...”  He shivered. “Mostly...what I remember is the sound.” He mimed putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. “The clicking.  But sometimes...it literally ends with a bang instead.”
Stan shivered.  “Geez.”
“Yeah.”
For a moment they sat still, with their shoulders pressed together.  Then Ford asked again, “How many times did you...hurt yourself?”
Stan gave him an annoyed look.  “Why’s this so important all of a sudden?”
“Because I-” Ford swallowed.  “I want to be able to...potentially prevent it.  If needed. I don’t want it to happen again.”
Stan’s annoyance dissipated as quickly as it had come.  “It won’t.” He leaned against Ford a little more. “I’m fine now.”
Ford was not appeased, but he stayed quiet, deciding to stop pushing and see if his twin would open up on his own.
****
At last Stan said, probably wanting to spare his brother the unhappy details but realizing it was the only way to give him peace of mind, “At first...I was too mad to feel anything else.  Mad at you, mad at myself, mad at Pa-and I wanted to show you all that I could make that fortune, all by myself, and prove that I wasn’t as worthless as you thought. Stubborn, y’know. Even after I got banned from Jersey, I still thought I could do it somehow.”
He let out a sardonic laugh.  For the moment Ford resisted the urge to immediately jump in and tell him that he wasn’t worthless and he’d never felt that way about him.
“And then I got chased out of my third state...and that’s when I got really low.”  Stan looked down, but he could still make out the sadness in his eyes. “I began to see that I was probably never gonna make millions the way I was going...and I couldn’t do anything else because I didn’t have any other skills.”  He swallowed. “Maybe this’d be easier if ya just made me wear the truth teeth.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to do that to you again.”
Stan grimaced.  “Instead ya wanna make me choose ta drag all of this out on my own.  Thanks a lot.”
There was no real heat in it, so Ford didn’t take offense.
After a minute Stan went on, “First time...I don’t remember it that well.  I think I was drunk, and depressed. And I just…” He looked down at his arm.  “Yeah.”
Ford reached out, brushed his fingers over the scars he could see there.  They looked like they’d been made with a piece of broken glass, he thought, and some of them trailed dangerously close to the inside of his brother’s wrist.  He swallowed hard.
“Someone who was passing by stopped me before it got too bad, and seeing what I’d done ta myself sobered me up pretty quick.  I think he tried ta take me to a hospital, but I just yelled ‘Non-specific excuse!’ and stumbled away into the night until I found my car.”  Stan shivered. “I didn’t know much, but I knew I didn’t wanna end up in there if I could avoid it.”
Ford shivered too; from what he knew about hospitals and how they treated suicidal cases, that was probably for the best.
“I began feeling like that...on and off.  Felt like...the world would be better off without me in it.  But there’s only about six more times I can remember where it got bad enough that I actually tried to...you know.  Mostly I just lost myself in doin’ my thing. Suckering people outta their money and stuff, and drowning my sorrows when it got ta be too much.  Trying not to think about...how I was just provin’ Pa right.” He wrapped his arms around himself, clearly uncomfortable with how much he’d revealed.
Ford wanted to take the hint and put an end to the discussion, but he had one more question.  “Were there actually bullets in the gun?”
****
A full tremor went through Stan’s body.
At last he whispered, so softly that Ford could barely hear it, “...Would it make you feel better if I said no?”
“Stanley!”  Ford hadn’t meant to raise his voice; it happened all on its own.
“What was I supposed to do?!  Let him use you for whatever it was he was planning?  I wasn’t gonna do that as long as there was another option!”
“Yes, but-”
“It’s not like I wanted to die.  I was betting that he was gonna give up when he saw that he’d lose his pawn if he didn’t.”  Stan let out a shaky breath. “But if the choice was me or you...you’d win every time.”
Ford’s throat was so tight he couldn’t speak.  After a second, he just wrapped both arms around Stan’s middle, burrowing into his shoulder.  He felt Stan’s arms around his shoulders, one of them ruffling his hair.
“It’s okay,” his brother whispered.  “I’m right here, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”  The ‘now that I’ve got a reason to stay’ hung unspoken between them.
“...If you start feeling like hurting yourself again, come and tell me, please.”
Stan stiffened.  “I ain’t gonna visit any shrinks, Poindexter.”
“I’m not suggesting that unless it turns out you really need it.  Just...”
If nothing else, I want to be able to sleep at night knowing you’re not going to suddenly decide to kill yourself.
After a long pause, he felt Stan nod.
“Kay.”
Eventually Ford felt secure enough to let go of his brother.  He was not, however, secure enough to go back to his room...but wasn’t sure how to ask without making it weird.
Stan, however, seemed to read his emotions, just like old times.
“Sleepover?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at him.
Ford blushed.  “Don’t make it weird, Stanley.”
Stan grinned, and lay back down, scooting over until there was room for Ford to stretch out next to him and pull the covers up around both of them.  It was a little snug, but right now that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“Night, Sixer.”
“Night, Stanley.”
****
Is the ending a little cliche?
Maybe.
Do I regret it?
Not even a little.
It’s probably not the last time they have to have a sleepover, either.
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shatner-the-catner · 3 years
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And the last thing he heard, before he was so violently thrust into the pits of insanity, was a terrible honking sound from that feathered demon.
HONK
PART I
Perhaps it wasn’t too soon, Olly thought to himself as he parked his Kia in the Taco Bell parking lot. He was meeting a girl he had been speaking to fairly regularly, and with increasing warm affections, both online and via texts, occasionally on the phone, frequently on video chat. It was Olly’s first genuine attempt at a romance after withstanding several storms of mental illness, culminating into a final involuntary commitment that lasted for ten months. Ever the late bloomer at twenty eight, he figured now that he had better control of his mental health than ever before, he might finally be ready for a companion. And even though the two had only been speaking for about a month, they decided that it was time to finally meet in person. After days of thinking perhaps it might be too soon, he finally decided that it wasn’t.
He saw her approaching. He knew it was her because he recognized her dark hair, styled vaguely into a messy Bob, and the red Italian leather jacket she said she would wear. When he first saw her in the distance, his heart swelled with joy as it said things like “There she is, that’s my girl, my new favorite friend.” However, as the distance between them narrowed, he was troubled by a few things.
Firstly, Olly was well aware that his new romantic interest wasn’t what would be known as traditionally beautiful. Of course, it had always been her charm, her kindness, the things that they shared in common that drew him to her. He was by no means fixated on appearances, and he would never tell her this, but by conventional standards, she would rank at about a six out of ten.
Of course, she wasn’t unattractive. She did proudly sport some of the best features of Asian beauty, her mother being Korean, but she was also very close to leaving cute chubby-ness and going right into sloppy fat-hood. Her online pictures were mildly misleading, it seemed.
But Olly knew he was in no such position to judge anyone about their weight. One of the more irritating side effects of his medication was weight gain, and this past year he had gained almost eighty pounds. With that, he enthusiastically exited his car and greeted her.
“Hello Sandra, good to finally meet you,” he declared.
“Hey Olly,” was the first thing she said, followed by “Nice Kia”.
“Yeah...” he looked at his feet for a moment, “It’s a Twenty Twelve.”
The second thing that troubled him, upon getting a closer look at her face and the expression she was making, was harder to pin down. Something vaguely unsettling. Her features weren’t exactly misshapen or asymmetric, but there was something strange and otherworldly about her face. It felt somewhat out of place, from another dimension, perhaps assembled by a false God who was only reading the real God’s blueprints on how to design a human face. There really isn’t any other way to put it. She just looked a bit...odd.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just nervous,” Olly said calmly, while brushing the back on his neck with his fingers. “I told you I’ve never been on a ‘date’ before.”
Sandra chuckled softly, “This isn’t a real date, it’s a goose date. Did you bring the bread?”
“I did.”
And soon the two companions were tearing up the stale bread into little tiny bill-sized bits, “You have to make smaller pieces, see, like this” Sandra demonstrated. She balled up a dime sized piece of bread and tossed it into the air, so that it could fall and catch the eye of three geese, sitting perched comfortably at the other end of the parking lot.
It did catch the eye of the one goose who wasn’t sleeping, who began a series of deep honking sounds that awoke the other two. They slowly rose up and began a casual stroll in the direction of the couple.
“See how that one wasn’t sleeping? There’s always at least one ‘Watch Goose’. While the others eat and nap, one will take guard duty and keep and eye out for aerial predators. If there’s a big enough flock grazing, sometimes there’s two Watch Geese. And they take turns, but it’s mostly the top ganders that take guard duty.”
“Wow, you sure know a lot about Canadian Geese,” Olly replied.
Sandra looked over at Olly and smiled at him in a way that set his boyish heart a-flutter, “It’s CANADA geese, actually,” she finished with a wink.
Olly turned forward and noticed the three geese, standing firmly at attention, like little Soviets, almost confronting him. Their gaze was deliberate, precise, and oddly impressive. After all, they were just geese. Still, there they stood, motionless but their eyes never once leaving his face. Olly started to feel, to a certain degree, a bit nervous, but that broke when he heard the calming voice of his friend by his side.
“Give them some bread,” she suggested.
Olly broke off a piece and casually tossed it towards the biggest one, who gobbled it up happily, then raised it’s head as if suggesting a second helping. Olly tossed a couple more small pieces and the three waterfowl greedily snarfed them down. They would periodically emit a low honk-grunt sound at each other, occasionally followed by a quick bite to the neck feathers.
“They do that sometimes, don’t worry,” she said, idly dropping some bread by her feet, “Siblings, you know?”
“How can you tell that?”
“Can you hear that noise they’re making?”
Olly strained his ears to drown out the ambient road noise and did indeed hear some quiet squeaking voices coming from the two smaller ones.
“Yeah that means they’re still juveniles, and since these guys walk in family units, you can see that the big one is the dad and the smaller two are his sons.”
“Wait a minute…” Olly chucked for the first time in weeks, “You can tell the difference between the boys and girls?”
Sandra let out a delightfully charming, but down to earth and genuine laugh that made him feel all flippity-floppity in his stomach. An involuntary smile emerged from him. Well, how do you like that.
“Yes, I can tell them apart by gander,” she said coyly.
Okay, she made a clever pun. It had only just occurred to him how darling he found that. Still all he could manage to say was, “Haha, that’s pretty punny.”
As the geese hurriedly gobbled down the bread, the two young adults regarded each other, standing about five feet apart. She must have noticed this discrepancy and narrowed it by three feet. They were now standing right next to one another, and the emotional response Olly got from that mere action sent him to another plane of euphoria. He had no idea how good romance could feel. And being close to a girl you like. Yes. Olly decided that this was so much better than playing video games all afternoon.
“There’s a few ways you can tell the difference. The first one is the honk. The males make a deeper, two-syllable honk that sounds like ‘Ba-HONK’. They are also generally noisier. The females will make shorter, higher pitched honks that sound like ‘hink!’”
“I cannot believe how much you know about gee - uh, CANADA geese.”
“Well I spend a lot of time just sitting and watching them. And you pick up a thing or two, it’s only natural,” she said.
Olly kicked the ground at his feet, an act that should have startled the geese, but they held their own. Olly decided these particular geese must be used to interacting with humans.
“How often do you feed them?”
“I don’t always feed them bread,” she said, tossing some more bread. A very gentle breeze came flowing in that whisked her hair in a way that almost made it seem befuddled. Olly decided it was cute.
“But I usually just sit and watch them after work. My therapist once told me that if I feel like I can’t deal with people, then I should interact with animals. And gaining the trust of a wild animal?”, she looked as she knelt down, allowing the top gander to eat from her hand, a feat he hadn’t seen in person before. “It’s a greater thrill than firing a weapon.”
“You never told me that you have a therapist,” it had occurred to Olly that, in all the talks they’d had about his own mental health issues, she never brought up that she might be dealing with similar issues.
“Yeah, I’ve struggled with depression in the past. You know how it is,” she finished with a shrug. Apparently, not feeling the need to elaborate further. All in due time, he thought.
The two had finished off the bread and now just watched the three ganders munch on the last bits, periodically honking and murmuring to each other. The big one, the one he privately referred to as ‘the Leader’, began tossing his head back and forth, methodically. Curiously, the other two stood at attention and regarded his authoritarian communication.
“What’s he doing? With his head?”
“He’s talking to his sons,” she answered.
“What’s he saying?”
Sandra then laughed that humble, girl next door laugh again and Olly was fairly sure that he was falling for this odd girl, to a certain degree. Of that which, he was sure.
“I don’t know. I don’t speak goose,” she smiled.
Olly laughed and looked at his feet again, a habit he had when he felt nervous, “Could’ve fooled me,” he remarked jovially.
The three ganders stared at him. With their black, prehistoric eyes that have likely stared down dangerous predators with such regularity, they may as well regard confrontation as a sport. A curiosity occurred during this encounter, he began to feel paranoid. Paranoid like how he used to feel before he discovered the benefits of atypical antipsychotics. He wasn’t sure where exactly the danger was, but it was somewhere. He could feel it in the marrow of his bones, and he began to feel genuinely frightened.
Something was wrong. It WAS too soon for dating. He knew that now, and started trying to think of an excuse to cut the date short, when Sandra’s humble voice cut to the quick.
“Are you okay? What’s the matter?”
“N-nothing…”, his voice trembled in a way he hadn’t wanted it to, “I just think I might be having a panic attack for some reason.”
“Oh my gosh, what should I do?”
“I don’t know…”, he trailed off, only able to think about how safe he would feel once he got home, “I should probably just head out.”
“I don’t understand, did I say something wrong?”
“No, it’s not you” he panted, “I’m just feeling very nervous. I need to take one of my anxiety pills.”
“Oh, okay,” she calmly replied.
Before Olly knew it, they were exchanging goodbyes and he fled to his Kia. He sat in the driver’s seat and tried to catch his breath. He had no conceivable idea what was making him so frightened. By all accounts, Sandra had shown him a lovely time, and because of his neuroticism, he had to go an ruin it. From across the parking lot, he could see her sitting down next to the ganders, enjoying their company, since he had apparently left hers. This is what you do, he thought. You try your best to act normally and you fail miserably.
Cursing his pathological neurodivergence, he drove off. Perhaps, he would send her flowers as an apology.
PART II
“You are so sweet. And thank you for the flowers,” she said over the phone.
Olly had called a local flower shop and had them send their Sunrise Bouquet to Sandra’s house. All in all, it cost him fifty five dollars, but it was money well spent in his mind.
“No problem. Sorry I was so weird last time.”
“You weren’t weird at all,” she assured, “You just had a panic attack, that’s it.”
“Still embarrassing. Can we try again?”
Sandra paused for a moment, and the silence made Olly feel an uneasiness in his stomach. Indeed, it started flip-flopping like there was a small circus in there.
“Are you sure? The geese freaked you out last time,” she said.
Olly thought for a hurried moment. He hadn’t yet tried to figure out what it was that caused his panicky need to retreat. Was it the geese? He didn’t think so. That would be ridiculous, his mind declared. However, he did find the way they stared at him to be unsettling. In that way, he felt they were watching him quite intensely with chronic purpose. And it made the fires of his paranoia stoke and spark new life.
Olly pushed the thought out of the recesses of his mind. They were, after all, just geese.
“It wasn’t them. I’m not sure what it was. But I’d love to have another goose date. I promise I won’t freak out,” he said.
Sandra made another pause, “Okay, but can you do one thing for me?”
“Anything!”, that sounded far more desperate than he intended it to. A personal flaw that he was always trying to work on.
Sandra giggled over the phone, “Can you bring some bread? Preferably the whole wheat stuff.”
Olly laughed, lightly and with an airy quality. It was not forced at all, “Sure I can bring some white - I mean, WHEAT bread.” He found himself smiling against the screen of his phone. How heavenly this conversation felt. And oh my, how kind and understanding Sandra was. Olly was now becoming quite convinced that this girl might be the girl of his dreams.
They arraigned to meet at the same spot the following morning. The weather was so pleasantly agreeable that day. About seventy degrees, some mild scattering of clouds, with the flamboyant morning sun bashfully peeking from behind. There were more geese this time, five to be exact. There were other birds in the parking lot, some pigeons and a few mallards, but they seemed to want to steer clear of the Canada geese. So they looked onward, from across the parking lot, to the pair of friends sitting on the ground, feeding the geese pieces of bread.
“Isn’t it bad to feed them bread?” Olly asked, while idly tossing pieces. He was sitting with his legs bent to his chest, while Sandra sat hippie style with her legs crossed. Today she was wearing a very flattering red blouse that highlighted her curves in a very charming way. That may have been the first time he realized how attracted to her he truly was.
“Not these guys,” she responded.
“What do you mean?”
She paused again briefly, “Just that they don’t get bread very often, so it’s fine. They mostly eat grass, actually. And there’s a lot of it around here.”
“Yeah…,” he began, “They seem to really like this area.”
“Oh yes,” Sandra tossed more bread, “There’s almost no natural predators, there’s lots of grass for them to eat, there’s a pond for them to swim in. They didn’t use to like the area though. These geese only started coming around here about five years ago.
Olly thought about where he was five years ago. Pre-diagnosis and pre-medication, he was practically stewing in his own fear and paranoia, and constantly terrorized that demons were everywhere. He was so glad those days were over, but it wasn’t without many years of struggle. He must have tried half a dozen different medications before he finally found one that worked. And except for the random occasion where he needed to flee to his safe space, like that first date with Sandra, it generally worked.
“Yeah…I know the feeling,” he said passively. His mind was starting to fill with many thoughts as he lazily fed the geese.
“What feeling?” she asked.
“Oh you know,” he began to put his musings together, “Like…not liking something at first but then it grows on you. I don’t know.”
“Such as?”
“What do you mean?”
Sandra giggled towards him and gave him a slight shoulder nudge, “What’s something you didn’t like at first but now you do?”
“Oh! Okay…”, and then Olly began saying something that he would come to regret quite sincerely. A series of statements that were not falsehoods, but perhaps shouldn’t have been uttered out loud nonetheless. Olly had this almost inhuman quirk in that he was incapable of lying to another person. Most of the time, it served him well. But here was a moment in which, it decidedly did not.
“You.”
“What?”, she asked. “What do you mean?”
Olly began to feel the tiny bee sting-like notions that he shouldn’t have said what he did cover him all over. But he couldn’t stop himself now.
“Just…” interesting choice of words, he thought, considering everything to follow was a justification. “I wasn’t really attracted to you at first, but you totally grew on me.” He said that last part in a tone that was supposed to sound uplifting. The look on Sandra’s face suggested that it most certainly was not.
“Are you being serious?” she finally asked.
He looked at her, he could see that she was crushed. Her stunning eyes began to subtly well up with a tear or two. It was impossible not to notice. Impossible to not know that he caused it. And absolutely impossible for him to stop. With a deep breath, he dug himself deeper.
“It’s okay, I mean, I know I’m nothing to write to Mom about. But that’s okay. And it’s really your wonderful personality and sunny disposition that I’m attracted to. All of our talks, and we just have SO much in common, it’s crazy. There are times when it’s like I feel like you could be the one I’ve been waiting for.”
His words were supposed to make her feel better, but clearly they didn’t. She looked down at her hands, like she was studying them. She didn’t speak. She was too focused on that first part. The part where he said she had to ‘grow on him’. Obviously, it didn’t sit right with her. Olly could see that he very likely broke her heart.
She looked up at him, her eyes big and shiny with fresh tears, “Olly, that really hurt my feelings.”
“I’m sorry,” he began, “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Please, can we forget I said anything?”
“I don’t know,” she sniffed, “For future reference, when you’re on a date with a woman, it’s never a good idea to insinuate that she’s anything other than beautiful.”
He felt that in the bends of his spine. It was true. Everything she was saying was true. Here you go again, he thought, ruining another good time because you’re basically socially retarded. There were plenty of times in his life that he hated himself, but perhaps, none as much as he did in that moment.
“I should probably go,” she said, hoisting herself up.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve just got a bit of a headache right now.”
“Okay,” he replied, knowing full well that wasn’t the reason she was leaving. You dipshit, he thought. You could have said you didn’t like broccoli at first, or the moon, or The Godfather, ANYTHING other than her. She’s great. Why’d you have to go and say she’s not? You stupid son of a bitch, you’re pathetic.
“Bye Olly,” she said, making a hasty retreat, and with a tone that felt cold and intensely impersonal. For the next few minutes, Olly sat on the ground, wondering why he had to say what he did, and further pondering what he could do to make it better. She’s never going to talk to you again, he thought.
As he sat, he noticed that the geese had increased in numbers by three, and they were all staring at him. Perhaps they knew. They seemed to glare at him like they were outraged that he could insult their queen. The biggest one in the front, likely the leader, in particular focused on him. The stare was long, but not in the least bit vacant. He could tell this gander was trying to convey a message, and it wasn’t one of peace and goodwill. It made his heart race.
Then, the gander did something that Olly would never forget. It stepped forward, one, two, three steps forward to be exact. It lowered it’s head, and bellowed a noise that sounded only merely goose-like. It was a honk for sure, but a terribly low, unadulterated one that sounded like it was filtered through pure madness. It sounded like an amalgamation of sixty six million years of evolution. It was only a suggestion of a honk. The sound shook Olly to his very core, and he found himself quite alarmed. He wasn’t sure if there really were demons out there, lurking in the dark places, but if there were, perhaps he was faced with a demonic goose. He was certain that only a creature from hell could possibly make such a horrid, spine-tapping noise.
And with that, Olly got up slowly, his movements being carefully tracked by the keen eyesight of the flock, and left. Quite speedily, in fact. To tell the honest truth, he probably left skid marks in the parking lot.
PART III
Olly had no idea what he was doing in the parking lot so late in the night. It was rather dark considering there was a full moon out. He originally thought perhaps Sandra might be there, however there was something else that was pulling him back to that empty parking lot. It was something he could not quite identify with. What are you doing, he asked himself as he exited his car. His eyes scanned the area, straining in the darkness to try and find the figure of a human. To his regret, there was no one.
Gloomily, he strolled forward about thirteen feet until he stood under a street lamp that clearly wasn’t working. That’s weird, he thought. The street lamps are always functioning this late at night.
“Why isn’t this on?”, he questioned out loud, palming the length of the post. It should have felt cold, and maybe a little damp. Instead, the skin on his hand seemed to labor to feel much of anything. At any other time, he would have noticed this, but that night he felt unmistakably numb.
A soft, low breeze whisked by and made him shiver. He could see that Sandra was not here, so he began measures to walk back to the car.
Then he heard it.
That noise again. The dreadful, resonating goose-shriek he was introduced to just hours earlier. This time, the sound seemed to rip up his spine with all the subtlety of a chainsaw. There is no earthly way to describe how startled he was, any more and he might have overdosed on the fight or flight response. That sound could make Stanley Kubrick shit himself.
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diyunho · 6 years
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The Joker x Reader - 10 Things The Joker Randomly Does That Kind of Prove He Cares
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1.   J is in a good mood more often. It strangely happened after he met you: the first year he had two good days the whole year, the second year he had four and this year is about to have the sixth day and the year is not even over yet! A new record.
The King of Gotham calls you Insanity when he’s in a good mood; that’s the signal you can ask for pretty much whatever you want and he won’t say no.
“Hey Insanity,” J greets when you open your eyes in the morning.
You gasp. OMG, he’s gonna be in a good mood today, such a rare occurrence!
“Hi handsome,” you kiss him super-fast and don’t waste a single moment so you start your tirade:
“Can we spend the day at the beach?”
“Yeah.”
Jackpot!
“Can we make love instead of having sex?”
“Yeah.”
Jackpot!
“Can we hold hands more than 20 seconds?”
“Yeah.”
Jackpot!
“Can we say lovey-dovey things to each other?” “Don’t push it, Insanity.”
Crap.
But you remember your secret weapon and sweetly smile. J squirms, uncomfortable. “Ummm…maybe…no guarantees.”
Jackpot!
“Can we make out for more than 10 minutes before you undress me?”
“Yeah.”
Jackpot!
“Can I call you “my sexy Metal Mouth” after you undress me?”
“Don’t push it, Insanity!”
Crap.
Oh no, here’s the sweet smile again and your boyfriend fusses under the covers, uneasy.
“Ummm…maybe…just once…no guarantees…”
Jackpot!
2.   The Joker never buys you flowers but he makes sure fresh ones are delivered for each room at the penthouse every three days. He likes to break a random one from the bouquets and places it behind your ear.
You’re usually reading a book but stop when he does that.
“Thank you baby,” and you smile in such a sweet way it catches him off guard. You go back to your reading and he sits there, staring and mumbling words. “Want me to get you anything?” you offer, turning the page; can’t really tell what he said.
“No, I have stuff to do!” he sulks, slowly walking away. What J actually said was that you look very cute with that flower but got pissed at himself since you almost heard him. A very unique way to give his girl flowers but it counts; gets a solid E for Effort.
3.   He is reeeaaally straining to do something nice for you once a month.
It’s July, 95 degrees out there; scorching hot and The Joker places his jacket around your shoulders. He saw that in a movie once and figured chicks dig it.
“I’m so hot already,” you try to give it back and see he’s getting angry and then it hits: must be that one nice thing he does monthly. “On the other hand, the air conditioning in the car is going to be full blast and you know I get cold easily.” You keep his jacket and J keeps his cool.
For August he plans to outrun every single nice thing he ever did for you: since you can’t swim he’s going to push you in the river, leave you in there for a bit and save you before you drawn. My God, you will love that for sure!
4.   He takes you to casinos because you like to gamble.
His business partners own your favorite so they close out and seal a whole room just for you two to play the slots machines.
“Baby, I’m not winning!” you stump your foot, pouting.
J loses his shit.
“Why is my girl not winning, hm?” he yells at the guys.
“Well, sir, it’s just luck,” one comments and The Clown Prince of Crime is not happy with the answer.
“My woman needs no luck, SHE HAS ME ! If she doesn’t win in the next 15 minutes, you’ll see what happens !!!!” and J hands you over another stack of 100 dollars bills because you like to play maximum bet and you run out of money pretty fast.
Fortunately, you win $100,000 and it makes you so excited you jump up and down, clapping and laughing. The Joker is excited too for a different reason: he keeps on glaring at your cleavage and your boobs almost bursting out of the tight fabric.
You don’t collect the money because you don’t need it: you just like to win. The blue eyed devil just KNOWS you will be this enthusiastic next month also when he will toss you in the river to let you drawn. You will certainly jump up and down after he saves you.
Probably J’s gonna have a huge surprise regarding his plan, but for now we’ll let him believe in his dream; gets a solid D for Delusional.
5.   The Joker goes insane if he only gets a hint somebody is disrespecting his Queen.
Once he shot somebody because the man said “hello” to you and J didn’t like the tone of his voice. Actually, the dude had a cold; that’s why he sounded weird. Oops!
Another time J thought a guy was giving you the evil eye and stabbed him on the spot.Actually, the dude just had corrective eye surgery and was blinking faster than normal. Oops!
Today is legit though. Both walked in at the meeting right when two smugglers were talking garbage about his Princess. They were saying you look average, not that attractive and The Joker could do better.
He absolutely lost his marbles ! Beat them to a pulp while screaming:
“My woman is not that attractive?! By whose standards you pieces of shit ?! Every time I look at her, my pants are getting tighter !! Do you understand what I’m saying?! I like her and that’s the only standard there is!” and he keeps on kicking them and punching them, completely out of control.
After he’s done and your henchmen take bodies away, you have to ice his bruised up hands; the skin is scraped too.
“Thank you,” you kiss his knuckles and emerge them back in the iced water, smitten by his actions. “Nobody did this for me before, you’re my hero,” you point out, drunk on euphoria.
“This town already has a hero; goddamned Batsy takes all the glory! The bastard is selfish, hates to share the spotlight!” J rolls his eyes.
“Who cares about him?! You’re my hero,” you kiss him and have to say: “I think your pants are getting tighter,” and he growls:
“Either I need new pants or I need to get laid.”
“We’ll go with the second option, OK?” you sweetly smile again and he’s feeling warmer even with his hands in ice.
“If you insist,” he sighs, hating the fact that he did two nice things for you this month instead of just one.
6.   The Joker can’t cook but once a week he makes breakfast in bed.  
Takes him an hour and a half to finish and you are famished. Finally shows up with toast, a boiled egg and salt.
“What took you so long? I’m starving!” you whine, seeing there is almost nothing on your plate…again.
“You can’t rush these things, Kitten ! It has to be perfect, OK?” he raises his voice and you realize you talked too much.
“It is very good,” you take a bite of your toast. “You are getting better and better at this!” you praise his aptitudes and strike his ego.
“I am basically a chef,” J concludes and you peck his cheek, mesmerized by how he has such an outstanding opinion about himself.
“And my hero,” you add and he takes a deep breath, pride making his chest go up and down faster. “Batsy can’t even compare to you.”
“Precisely, Pumpkin. He’s just a psycho out of control.”
“Indeed,” you agree, wanting to emphasize that nobody is sexier than your sexy Metal Mouth but you already used the opportunity when he was in a good mood the other day so you shut up.
7.    J is aware you love his purple coat so he custom ordered an outfit for you made of the same crock material, this way you match.
It’s a two piece ensemble: a very skimpy little bra and an equally flimsy thong, only for him to see. You were thinking you’re getting a halter top and a skirt or something? Ha! Forget about it!
8.   The Joker comforts you when you cry.
“Seriously, Kitten, you’re not ugly,” he caresses your hair while holding you in his arms.
“I am ugly!!” you continue to bawl, making a mess of his favorite silver shirt.
“Hey, look at me,” J lifts your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet, this way maybe he can save whatever is left of his shirt also. “When I wake up in the morning and I see you, I don’t get scared. If you were ugly, I would freak out. But I don’t, which means you look fine.”
“You mean it?” you sniffle, squeezing him harder.
“Absolutely. It could be much worse.”
“So now I look bad and I could look worse in the future?!” whaling restarts.
He walked right into this one unprepared.
“Nahhhh, it can’t get worse than this,” he kisses you and then adds since you cry your eyes out. “ What the hell, I’m teasing; calm down woman! Crying makes you very ugly!”
You stop instantly.
I guess he was prepared after all.
9.    He gives you massages even if you don’t ask for them.
For some reason, his hands always slip in your undies.
“That’s not my back,” you utter and J is quick to respond:
“My bad, Pumpkin.”
For some reason, his hands always get to your boobs afterwards.
“That’s not my back.”
“My bad, Princess.”
“Did you just say my Bat?” you tease and your butt gets pinched.
“Hilarious! Want him to come and give you a massage too?!”
“I wouldn’t mind,” the reply makes The Joker turn you around and you get pinned under his body.
“Watch it, you bad girl!” he snarls, smelling your freshly washed hair.
“Did you just say Bat girl?” you giggle and he grinds his teeth:
“Are you starting to get a kink for Batsy?”
“Me?! No way! I like my hero,” you stretch your neck to kiss him and he purrs, wanting to get the most out of it.
“I am your hero; remember that next month in August,OK?”
He is surely referring to that nice thing he’ll do for you when you’ll be pushed in the river to drawn and he’ll save you in the last moment. Oh, yeah, you’ll enjoy it tremendously!
10.   J learns French just for you.
Spent the whole day fussing around with the dictionary, three laptops and five books until he realized he got what he wanted out of it.
“Princess, I’m done,” your boyfriend announces, victorious.
You can’t wait to hear everything, you’re gonna lose your mind. The Joker takes a deep breath and pronounces with perfect accent:
“Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” (Do you want to sleep with me tonight?)
That’s all he knows.
Holy Commissar Gordon! That’s sooo hot because it’s the only French you know too. Plus the answer:
“Oui, (yes)" you wink at him and he is totally turned on.
“Oh my God, Y/N, you didn’t tell me you speak French fluently!”
“Surprise,” you grin, signaling him to come closer. “We gotta compare notes, don’t you think?”
“Definitely,” J licks his lips, ready to comply since his pants are getting tighter.
Hmmm…either he needs new pants or he needs to get laid. I suppose you’ll go with the second option one more time.
 Also read: MASTERLIST
http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist
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pacificsecretsanta · 6 years
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Something for you, @antiquecompass!
Pairing: Gen Warnings: N/A
[Author’s Note: A day in the inbox of Robert Leckie, White House correspondent. This is a West Wing crossover/AU fic. I tried to make it clear who the WW characters were, but the wikia has a good list for those unfamiliar. And shoutout to mitmandlen for this Vera/Leckie edit, which was the inspiration for making both of them reporters. Anyway, happy holidays, antiquecompass!!]
To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: request from your favorite reporter 7:18
First of all, dear Robert, I wouldn’t even say you’re my favorite reporter at the Post, let alone in general, although you get points for trying.
Second, I was kidding about that last part, arrogance isn’t cute, do not attempt to charm me.
Third, for the last time, no, the White House will not revoke Webster’s pool credentials because you “don’t like his face,” and if you have an issue with his writing, I would refer you to the New York Times complaint section, not the WHITE HOUSE PRESS SECRETARY, WHO HAS BETTER THINGS TO DO WITH HER TIME.
Fourth, this whole thread was off the record and if I see it in print, I will strangle you.
Lovingly, CJ – Press Secretary White House Office of Communications
canteen’s serving BBQ for lunch. come visit meeeeeeee.
To: [email protected][email protected][email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: FWD: lunch 8:50
Ugh, I wish :( Larson backed out of the clean energy incentives bill so it can’t come out of committee yet and Corrigan’s pissed. I’ll be stuck on the hill all day trying to sort it out.
I’m game! But it’d better be Carolina or Texas style. If it’s dry rub I’ll still come but I won’t be happy about it, that’s all I’m saying.
Sid – Petty Officer Second Class Assistant to the Surgeon General Office of the Surgeon General
Did you really just forward that to a non-governmental email? Seriously?? lol.
P.S. I’m free at 12:30, Hoos! I’ve only got about half an hour, though; I need to check in with CJ before the afternoon briefing and her schedule is packed.
Yes I did! We talk shit about the people we work with WAY too much to be sending mail from a governmental address that can be subpoenaed whenever. You should all switch.
too much work
Hey, speak for yourself, Runner. I don’t have anything to be ashamed about, unless you count my poor judgement in being friends with you rascals in the first place.
Sid – Petty Officer Second Class Assistant to the Surgeon General Office of the Surgeon General
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: re: healthcare vote draft 9:39
Hey Bob,
Looks great, except for the third paragraph. While I appreciate the eloquence of the insult, I seem to remember we’ve already talked about not calling the Majority Leader a moron in print? Other than that, you’re good to go.
Evan
Evan Wright Politics Editor Washington Post
You should switch emails more than anyone, WIL SMITH.
hey, not my fault I’m the third william smith in the white house. I told them they should give me hsmith but they said noooo, gotta be the real name. oh well.
also if you’re worried about privacy you really shouldn’t be CC’ing a reporter on half the emails you send out, you know? (looking @ you leckie)
Well, fuck
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: re: healthcare draft 9:58
If you leave in the part where you call the majority leader a “moron of the first water, a classification which will cease to have meaning if his environmental policies ever become word of law, thereby corrupting our water supply and bringing plague unto the land” I will personally see to it that you get a government pension and 45 minutes on the record with the president.
Josh
(No he won’t - Donna)
Josh Lyman Deputy Chief of Staff Office of the President
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Profile 10:18
Dear Bob,
I apologize for the delay, but I wanted to let you know that I finally got around to reading the profile you wrote on me. I thought the writing was excellent, and I promise I’m not just saying that because it was, on the whole, complimentary. The White House may occasionally bemoan the need for reporters, but the truth is that we all–and I, personally–do read the Post religiously, and you certainly lend it some flair.
My husband was very amused by your brief paragraph on him, by the way, and wanted me to let you know that he recognized instantly, from the way you described his hometown, that you must also be from New Jersey. I don’t know what that means, and my attempt to press for details only garnered a “It’s just a feeling, trust me.” I gather it was a compliment.
Anyway, thank you again and best of luck with the rest of your time covering the White House. I’m sure our paths will cross again.
Regards,
Lena Riggi-Basilone
—— Lena Riggi-Basilone Lt. General, USMC, retired Secretary of Defense Department of Defense
To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Question? 10:34
Hi Bob!
I’m back in the States, in case you haven’t heard, although I hadn’t had a chance to swing by the office yet. I just called Toby Ziegler’s office to get a quote on the Paris embassy piece I’ve been working on, and while I was on the line, Bill told me to remind you you had a question for me? He said he didn’t know what it was, except that you keep forgetting to ask. Any ideas?
Hope everything’s going well with you!
Best,
Vera
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: FUCK YOU 10:48
LANGUAGE!!! ;) ;) ;)
You guys are never going to believe this… I was just talking to a buddy of mine who works for Winters in the Senate, and guess who’s thinking of a presidential run? ANDY FUCKING HALDANE.
It’s early stages so far, but apparently he’s approached a couple of other senators, people he’s friends with, you know, not just Big Names in the party, asking what they think. His aide wants to put a poll in the field. I don’t know if it’s going anywhere, but god, a guy can dream, right?
DEAR GOD PLEASE YES
God, I’ve been hoping to hear that since he gave that speech on the floor about voting rights. You guys remember that, right? It was a thing of beauty–I swear I even saw Republicans with tears in their eyes!
Also I just asked CJ if she heard anything and she looked like Christmas had come early and then told me to shut up about it, so I’d say that’s a good sign.
he’s smart and he’s got good hair. I’d vote for him.
I don’t know, Leckie… I don’t think I’m comfortable being an individual source, even a blind one, when I’m three or four steps removed from the decision-making processes. I can put you in touch with my guy in Winters’ office; if you can get the names of the other senators he’s talked to, you can hear what their staff has heard and call it “rumors on the Hill” maybe? Don’t you have to have two separate sources before you can use a blind quote, anyway? Or is it different if it’s not a direct quote?
I just think citing “a high-level congressional aide” (and thanks for that, by the way) would be misleading. People would probably assume it was one of Haldane’s staff, and depending on how it goes, that might be a fireable leak.
Listen… I don’t want to make any promises, but one of my friends from Mobile actually joined Haldane’s staff a few months ago. (He was in the Marines, then moved to MA for college and actually met him in person at some veterans’ events. He just graduated and moved down here.)
I don’t know if he’s in a position to comment, but I can vouch for you if you want to talk to him. Here’s his contact info:
Eugene Sledge [email protected] (413) 734-8551
Sid – Petty Officer Second Class Assistant to the Surgeon General Office of the Surgeon General
hey so we were making fun of Runner earlier for being super-professional with his email, but how come we never make fun of Sid for putting his rank in his email signature?
Hey now, that’s not my fault. The Surgeon General likes to be formal. Besides, I worked hard for that rank and it makes my mom happy :)
Sid – Petty Officer Second Class Assistant to the Surgeon General Office of the Surgeon General
I think it’s cute, Petty Officer Second Class Sid. Bet your mom would be happier if you went back to real med school and became Petty Officer Second Class Sid, MD.
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Parents visiting 1:47
Robert dearest,
Hello! How are things? Writing going okay? Government running smoothly?
You’re a clever boy, so I assume you read the subject line of this email and figured out the rest. Mum and Dad are coming to D.C. next month for my birthday. It’ll be their first visit and I really want to pack in as much as possible. Is there ANY chance at all you could talk to somebody and make sure we get on the list for a White House visit? I know, I know, I’m cutting it a little close, but I’ve been trying to get them to tell me what they’d like to do for weeks and they’ve only just told me they’d like to see the White House.
I can make it worth your while. My mom will be making pavlova for my birthday dinner and you’ll be invited, my father will probably be bringing ouzo, and if for some reason you ever want to write an article about kangaroos, I’m pretty sure I could pull some strings and make that happen.
All my love,
Stella
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Favor? 2:02
Sure, I’ll ask her. But you know there’s like a 50-50 chance she’s going to tell us both to stuff it, right?
- Danny
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: cabinet meeting draft & welfare draft 2:42
Hi Bob,
Looks good! Also do me a favor and send your notes on the welfare issue to Anna; she wants to do a deep dive on it.
Best,
Evan
Evan Wright Politics Editor Washington Post
guys, I’m hurt. my boss thinks I could never run for office. zero confidence in my ability to win an election. now I’m sad.
That’s… rough, man. But I would have thought you would come to that conclusion on your own? You like dogs and booze and blankets and like nothing else. If you had to debate somebody in public I’m sure you’d give up halfway through and just tell them to fuck off.
no, that’s what Leckie would do.
True
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: oh, you 4:02
Have Stella send me her parents’ details and I’ll get them on the list, barring any dramatic reveals on the background check. I will also drop in for five minutes of chit-chat, but that’s because I briefly met Stella at that state dinner a few months ago and she’s a nice girl, so don’t you and Danny get full of yourself.
Incidentally, I need you to put out something about Haskill and Roberts holding up the welfare vote. I know you’ve probably got your copy in already, but call me and I can give you some quotes. Carol’s got them if I’m not in. We’d prefer a little misdirection about the source, but don’t just drop them in, okay? You’re not the reporter I go to for a light touch.
Also you owe me one held story, but we’ll talk about that when the time comes.
CJ
P.S. I tried to tell you this in person but you weren’t in your cube and I don’t have time to chase you around the White House. You have too many friends.
– Press Secretary White House Office of Communications
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected]   Subject: Re: Parents visiting 4:18
YOU’RE THE BEST!!!
And don’t worry, I told my parents we’re really not dating anymore and I’m pretty sure they believed me. But if we could both get girlfriends by the time they get here, that’d go a long way towards convincing Mum. I’m working hard on my end; Bill says you still haven’t asked out that Vera girl yet? I say get on it or give me her number ;)
Xoxo,
Stella
I could probably run for office. What do you think. President Juergens, got a nice ring to it?
Not if Haldane’s in the race. Otherwise yeah, sure, out of all us I think you’d have the best shot.
Sid
– Petty Officer Second Class Assistant to the Surgeon General Office of the Surgeon General
let’s not kid ourselves, Sid is the only one of us who can ever win ANYTHING. I mean come on, look at that face. who wouldn’t vote for that face?
External image
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: re: Following up 4:43
Hi Bob,
Thanks for the email. I wanted to get a chance to talk to some of my supervisors before getting back to you. Now, Sid gave me his word you wouldn’t print anything I wanted to be off the record, so I’m going to be candid, and I appreciate your discretion.
The senator’s been having some conversations. Everyone in the office has figured out what they’re about, because he’s asked some of us for our opinion, too, but it’s been framed as a hypothetical and we’re not 100% sure it’ll happen. As far as we can tell, he’s still in the “do I, as a person, want to run?” stage, not even the “CAN I run?” stage. There’s a chance you’ll hear in the next few weeks that fundraising in starting to pull in more than usual, but even that is more because the lower-level staff is getting excited and taking initiative, not because we’re getting directives from above.
Anyway, I talked to Eddie Jones and he says we’re not ready to put out a statement or even a leak yet–not one that mentions the “p” word, at least. But I’ve been cleared to tell you my opinion, which is that the senator cares very deeply about this country and is committed to doing right by it, and as a result he’s thinking of angling for a greater leadership role in the party. Without commenting on what that would look like, I can say it’s something he has his staff’s full support in. You can work in the fundraising part, too, if you like, but the rest is off-limits. (And please don’t try to make him sound indecisive or anything; on a personal level, he’s a really great guy, and honestly I think this country would be in better shape if more legislators deliberated the way he does.) Eddie says “a mid-level staffer in the senator’s office” or something similar is okay, and you can tell your editors he’ll back it up, if they ask.
By the way, I’ve been following your work for a while now. I think some of the things you say about Congress is a bit cynical–but then again, you’ve been in DC for longer than I have, so maybe I’ll come around. Good talking to you, and I’m sure our paths will cross again, through Sid if nothing else.
Regards, Eugene
Aw, shucks. I started this morning as a Petty Officer, and in the course of one day you guys are angling for me to be Dr. Mr. President. I’m flattered.
Sid – Petty Officer Second Class Assistant to the Surgeon General Office of the Surgeon General
To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Question? 5:18
Sure! I’m still a bit jet-lagged, so maybe tomorrow would be better than tonight? I’m free at the same time, if you are. I know pool reporters have a pretty packed schedule, so if that doesn’t work let me know and we’ll figure something out.
Sorry if this is awkward, but just to be clear, is this a “hey friend, welcome back!” drink or did I just get set up on a date by the assistant to the White House Director of Communications? Because that would be a new one for me. I’m game either way.
Vera
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Question? 5:20
Awesome! Then it’s a date. :)
WHAT
SHUT THE FUCK UP
ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS
Congrats, dude! :D
Sid – Petty Officer Second Class Assistant to the Surgeon General Office of the Surgeon General
WHAT
ur welcome!!!
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Vera??? 5:29
I just heard from Donna that you ACTUALLY asked out Vera Keller? Yeah right. Is Donna lying or are you lying?
Josh
 To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: FWD: Re: Question? 5:35
Well. I stand corrected. Mazel fucking tov to you, man.
P.S. I am not interested in Donna! And even if I were, it would be totally inappropriate because she’s my assistant, and that’s not relevant because I’m not interested in dating her. So shut up.
Unless something REALLY exciting happens in the next hour or two, CJ’s planning on giving her last briefing in about twenty minutes. Leckie, I WILL be finding you and we WILL be going for a drink. Thinking of heading up to U Street somewhere? The rest of you in?
Except you, Gibson, you’ve been ignoring us all day so no alcohol for you.
Umm… is Gibson even on this thread?
oh… shit. my bad, guys.
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