Ok well... I've been looking around a little, and pretty much everyone seems like they're gone? Except for Retrospec users and cats. So I guess this must be what Mr. Carlisle's messages were about last night, maybe.
Are you ok? You can come over if you want. Or I could come to you, I guess. (Or we could meet somewhere?) (or we could also just both stay where we are, or go other places independently)
[ hoo boy... celine dion is NOT a good sign rn. but true to his word, jamie immediately pushes down the switch on the toaster. then he heads outside. ]
Hey.
[ if there's a suitable break in the music, he might try gently taking the guitar... and/or gently taking gamzee's hand. ]
[ luckily, there is a strap to the guitar to keep it hugged onto him just under the straps of his travel bag, so when his arms slip down and there’s a smol hand there for him,
bro
he’s going to start crying again, if not just squeeze it like a honk horn. this motherfucker is all tearing up :’o( ]
This the part where Rosie just be all like, “come back, come back”, and, [ there are a lot of unresolved feelings here!! gamzee snorts. this whole layer thing is triggering. ] And I tried t’chill with some green but it ain’t smoothin’ out this disappearifying act, amigo—
[ that was weed at the wrong time . . . it’s not long before he’s squishing jamie into his guitar-protected bosom, not a care in the world for the crashing sound it makes. ]
I don’t dig being alone, Jay. It snaps my heartstrings.
[ he's gonna start sympathy-crying... and maybe also just regular crying, since he can't help thinking of his own lost family, presumably safely out there in Long Beach and Sendai and wherever his brother's living nowadays; Chicago?--but unreachable and unverifiable now for over six months.
the guitar wedged awkwardly between them is uncomfortable enough to save him from melting down right here. (thank heaven for small favors.) he shifts enough to make an attempt at eye contact... ]
It's not... It won't be forever. We'll get them back. I really think we will. Come inside?
[ that face paint... jamie suddenly feels weirdly guilty that he owns no face paint gamzee could use to do some retouching. ]
Bagels.
[ he leads gamzee inside and sits him down at the little table... the giant fluffy norwegian forest cat known as kitty sidles over to see what's up while jamie spreads peanut butter. ]
Um, can I get you something to drink? There's... juice. And water, of course. Oh, there's milk!
[ said a little sadly and down in the dumps. god, you how noses get all gross and slimy when people cry? gamzee needs a tissue or something other than his own clothes . . . he sets his guitar down to the side by his leg and sniffs. hello, kitty . . . come to him? for scritchies? ]
[ kitty inspects gamzee's fingers with great interest, then slams her whole face into his hand. jamie takes a break from bagel and milk prep to set the roll of paper towels on the table... (he and minato have some actual tissues somewhere, but who can remember where that stuff is??) ]
Uh, yeah! Of course! Sorry, I should've... yeah. Do you want to use the kitchen sink? Or there's the bathroom. The washcloths on the shelf are clean.
[ oh— that is good. gamzee’s already up and more than halfway toward the sink by the time he’s given an official yes, drowning sorrows and paint away where you usually wash your food dishes. this is fine. a bit of rubbing and blublublub later, gamzee’s reaching around for anything to dry off.
shelf? washcloth? he’s grabbing whatever feels as such before putting it back where it belongs, walking over to jamie with a freshly cleaned face. it’s a weary sort of an attempt at smiling, but he gives one, patting his back. ]
. . . Thanks, for all this hospitality you’re chuggin’ at me.
[ jamie smiles back, of course. it's unrelated to the issue at hand, but he likes the way gamzee looks without the face paint; he can't say as much, though, particularly not now, with this crisis of invisible family. ]
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no subject
:(!!
Ok well... I've been looking around a little, and pretty much everyone seems like they're gone? Except for Retrospec users and cats. So I guess this must be what Mr. Carlisle's messages were about last night, maybe.
Are you ok? You can come over if you want. Or I could come to you, I guess. (Or we could meet somewhere?) (or we could also just both stay where we are, or go other places independently)
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Yeah, of course.
How do you mean?
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everywhere i be hearin, alls i hear is some haunted motherfuckin shit
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I'll see you soon, then!
Oh, have you eaten?
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I was going to have like a bagel probably. How does that sound?
There's peanut butter.
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gamzee’s face paint is streaking like mascara in the rain. poor guy’s actually been crying. ]
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Hey.
[ if there's a suitable break in the music, he might try gently taking the guitar... and/or gently taking gamzee's hand. ]
no subject
bro
he’s going to start crying again, if not just squeeze it like a honk horn. this motherfucker is all tearing up :’o( ]
This the part where Rosie just be all like, “come back, come back”, and, [ there are a lot of unresolved feelings here!! gamzee snorts. this whole layer thing is triggering. ] And I tried t’chill with some green but it ain’t smoothin’ out this disappearifying act, amigo—
[ that was weed at the wrong time . . . it’s not long before he’s squishing jamie into his guitar-protected bosom, not a care in the world for the crashing sound it makes. ]
I don’t dig being alone, Jay. It snaps my heartstrings.
no subject
[ he's gonna start sympathy-crying...
and maybe also just regular crying, since he can't help thinking of his own lost family, presumably safely out there in Long Beach and Sendai and wherever his brother's living nowadays; Chicago?--but unreachable and unverifiable now for over six months.
the guitar wedged awkwardly between them is uncomfortable enough to save him from melting down right here. (thank heaven for small favors.) he shifts enough to make an attempt at eye contact... ]
It's not...
It won't be forever.
We'll get them back. I really think we will.
Come inside?
no subject
Bagels?
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jamie suddenly feels weirdly guilty that he owns no face paint gamzee could use to do some retouching. ]
Bagels.
[ he leads gamzee inside and sits him down at the little table... the giant fluffy norwegian forest cat known as kitty sidles over to see what's up while jamie spreads peanut butter. ]
Um, can I get you something to drink? There's... juice. And water, of course. Oh, there's milk!
no subject
[ said a little sadly and down in the dumps. god, you how noses get all gross and slimy when people cry? gamzee needs a tissue or something other than his own clothes . . . he sets his guitar down to the side by his leg and sniffs. hello, kitty . . . come to him? for scritchies? ]
Can I grab some water for my face?
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Uh, yeah! Of course! Sorry, I should've... yeah.
Do you want to use the kitchen sink? Or there's the bathroom. The washcloths on the shelf are clean.
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shelf? washcloth? he’s grabbing whatever feels as such before putting it back where it belongs, walking over to jamie with a freshly cleaned face. it’s a weary sort of an attempt at smiling, but he gives one, patting his back. ]
. . . Thanks, for all this hospitality you’re chuggin’ at me.
no subject
Well...
I'm just glad if it helps at all.
[ and now, Bagel is served. ]