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Brand New Day: A Horrible RP (SevenxSome Drunkard)

Buck hadn't fully convinced himself yet that he was actually living here again and not just stopping for a visit. Things felt so much different than when he was a kid. It was still huge, yeah, almost overwhelmingly so - but it was a different kind of enormous. In his memories of the city, people loomed over him, thronged around him, and he was powerless.

He still felt small.. just not insignificant. Not like he used to.

Even though he'd been here before, even though he'd spent most of his formative years in this city, he still caught himself watching it as Moist led them to that cafe, and he was too busy studying the buildings, studying the people, his eyes and head up in the clouds that he wouldn't have noticed the sideways looks that Billy was casting him, not in a million years.

He was quiet for a long moment after Moist offered Billy's touring services, before he seemed to snap out of whatever distant reverie he had caught himself in and relaxed into a smile. "Yeah, you think so? That'd help me out a lot." And he tossed a quick, almost thoughtless smile at Billy as they stepped closer to the cafe, the expression earnest and happy.

Hopeful.

Buck's eyes were tired (he could still smell the flower arrangements from Penny's funeral), but his face was hopeful.

When he dropped down into the seat across from Billy, he didn't slouch - instead, his back was straight as he settled his laundry bag next to his leg, and he cast a glance around, scoping out the area and really taking it in. "Just felt like I needed a change," he said, and the lie was easy enough. Finally, he cut his eyes back to Billy, resting his elbows on the tabletop and leaning forward. "I mean, isn't it everyone's dream to move to the city and make it big before they get old? I mean, that's what I was led to believe in school, at least."
 
Billy had long ago familiarized himself with every aspect of the city he could observe first-hand or, failing that, get an aerial view or blueprint of - it had all been part of his decision that if he was going to be the bad guy, then he was going to be a very well-prepared one. After all, it wouldn't do to have the dastardly Dr. Horrible caught unawares, especially now that he was regularly making headlines - which the E.L.E. enthusiastically approved of.

These days, the doctor was practically a celebrity; Billy wasn't sure how he felt about it - sure, he had wanted to be known, had wanted people to finally listen to him, but it hadn't happened the way he had planned it. It hadn't gone right at all.

And the fanclub thing, he didn't even know what to do about that - he had stalkers when he was wearing his costume, which was novel considering, well - he had sort of been the stalker before, hadn't he? But at least he had been subtle about it, he hadn't leapt out of bushes to try and get a lock of her hair or anything.

Billy rubbed vaguely at the side of his head; it had grown back in, at least.

Ultimately the result of his research on the city had given Billy Buddy and Dr. Horrible a nearly obsessive working knowledge of the alleyways, major buildings, and even the sewer system - he knew every short cut and side street in the city, had familiarized himself with the most convenient areas to make a clean getaway when things were tight. He always had an exit strategy - and he had practically drilled the importance of a getaway into Moist's brain, because sometimes Moist got a little anxious at the crescendo of a heist and lost his head a little.

In fact, very recently Moist had frozen up and Dr. Horrible had been forced to bodily drag his henchman away from the scene - an act that had been met with distaste from the E.L.E - they had told him it didn't look terribly evil if he was going around being nice to his lackeys, but it was a rule the Doctor wouldn't bend on. He liked his henchman - singular - and wanted to keep him around.

After all, Moist wasn't just his employee, he was his friend. His best friend.

Really, his only friend.

He was important.

Of course, he couldn't tell the E.L.E that - so he had simply shrugged it off and told them it took too much time to train a new accomplice; they understood that much. After all, Dr. Horrible couldn't possibly be nice to anyone - after all, he had killed a Superhero's sweet, innocent girlfriend in front of a crowd of people, it didn't get much darker than that.

No, Dr. Horrible wasn't nice, he was hardly even human. Pure evil, Billy told himself.

Or, eventually he would be. He was working on it.

Billy had slouched down so far in his seat at that point that only his eyes and slightly mussed blonde hair were showing over the tabletop, his long, skinny legs stuck out beneath the table. He was still avoiding any lingering eye contact with Buck, but ultimately found his eyes being pulled consistently back to him, like he was magnetized.

A change. He had come there for a change.

"There will be lots of that." Billy said unenthusiastically; if Buck was used to a smaller city, then Los Angeles was going to make his head spin; he sank down just a little further when Buck leaned forward onto his elbows, as though there was some very specific personal space that Billy automatically sought to maintain.

"There's lots of actors here." he added, "But usually the theatres get broken into; the last one had to be condemned due to deterioration."

There was a long pause, then he added, as a more specific explanation:

"Someone drove a big rig through it."

Miss Broadway Dork wasn't terribly original. She was also a bad driver. He wasn't sure she had even meant to ruin the theatre at the time, it might have just been a happy accident on her part.
 
If Buck was anything, he was adaptable - he had learned as a kid that change happened. A lot. Whether he wanted it to or not. So why not just.. go with it? He had found a place to crash when he'd gotten kicked out of the house. Filed for independence. Learned how to survive for weeks at a time off of cup ramen (thirteen cents per at the grocery store down the street from his apartment, thank God.) He had struggled through high school, made it through college with plans to teach high school history.

Protect the future by teaching today's young. Show them that history repeated self. Shape the world.

So things hadn't gone as planned. Maybe instead of influencing teenagers, he was helping kindergartners fingerpaint and teaching them not to jam crayons up their noses.

Had to start somewhere, didn't he? And he wasn't going to complain. At least he had a job.

"I'll manage," Buck assured Billy, looking a little concerned as the blond sank even further in his seat, and he leaned back a bit, wordlessly holding up his hands palms out, fingers curling slightly in the most non-threatening manner he could manage. Billy just looked so damn... pitiful, he thought, and he scooted his chair back just a little bit.

He cleared his throat. "Does that happen often?" Buck was doing his best to change the subject. Mission: Make This Guy Relax. Commence Mission.. now. "People driving big-rigs through buildings. I mean, should I be afraid for my life?" And he gave him what he hoped was a relaxing smile, but it was a little more nervous than he realized.
 
Billy seemed to be doing his best impression of an alligator right then, because from where Buck was sitting only the blonde's eyes would be visible over the table - though they were distinctly less threatening than any swampland creature's. His eyebrows dropped down, knitting inwards as he considered the question; Miss Broadway Dork had long ago decided that her failed acting career was a direct result of some sort of widespread conspiracy within the drama community. Rather than taking some acting lessons, she had gone a step further and decided she would destroy broadway from the inside out - but because she couldn't actually get in to any stage show to begin her plan, she had settled for just inconveniencing some theatres once in a while.

She tended to go on emotional rampages from time to time; Moist had been unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time three weeks ago and had encountered her in the hallways of E.L.E, and by that time she was a raging bundle of self-righteous anger, listening to RENT on her ipod and ranting about how she should have got the role of Mimi. Moist had unwisely told her she should maybe try for the role of Angel next time and had narrowly escaped her speeding truck later that day.

"About once a month." Billy said finally.

And, moments later, Moist emerged into the sunlight again, bearing drinks and a broad smile,

"Food's on it's way." he said, enthusiastic as he came around to the table; he cast a brief glance in Billy's direction, taking in the sight of his buddy slouched all the way down in his seat, melting from view - so he set his hand on the back of the chair and, as casually as possible, jostled it hard enough to nearly throw Billy out of it. The result was that Billy jumped from nerves and then slid back up the seat, casting a dark look his way as Moist settled himself down in another of the rickety wicker chairs,

"You'll get used to the city." Moist said, "Seems big now, but it can be conquered."
 
Buck stood out of reflex when he saw Moist coming with the drinks, ready to help him carry them to the table - it was only after a moment that he lowered himself back into his seat. It wasn't like Moist was carrying a heavy load or anything (but he couldn't really exhale until the drinks had been set on the table; a guy with such, uh, enthusiastic pores couldn't have the best grip in the world.) "Conquered?" He questioned, lifting one eyebrow for a moment, shaking his head and tossing an amused look Billy's way when the blond finally sat up right and joined the rest of them. "Strange word for it, but yeah.. that's kind of what I'm counting on."

Idly he gave his bag of laundry a little nudge with his foot, steepling his hands on the table in front of him and looking almost pensive for a moment.

".. wow. I just realized that this is the first time I've been out of the apartment for something social since I've moved here. Gotta say that it feels pretty good. How long have you guys known each other?"

He cast his eyes up, looking between Billy and Moist. Well, if he was going to get to know these guys, might as well go the direct approach. Really, he was wanting the story behind Moist's .. moistness (because there had to be some sort of story behind that, there always was,) wanted to know why Billy was so .. skittish (he reminded Buck of Lightning Rod, a friend of his back home who had been struck by lightning once.. he had been imbued with control over electricity, but he used to shock the hell out of anyone who surprised him in the least out of complete accident), but those weren't really questions you asked on the first outing.

A pause.

"Sorry. I'm nosy. And apparently I talk a lot, too."
 
Moist briefly pulled a face at his own verbal miscalculation,

"Yeah, uh. Conquer. Gotta have confidence that you can take on a big city like this one, you know?," Moist said flippantly, then smoothly transitioned to the next topic while avoiding looking at Billy because he just knew that his Buddy was on his way to dropping his sad little face into his hands out of sheer mortification. As far as Moist was concerned, it was the League's fault - they put special emphasis on training Henchmen to use the proper lingo for the occupation.

"We'll get you outside more often," Moist said, with special emphasis on 'we', considering he was still avoiding Billy's eyes anyways so he may as well make it worthwhile; Moist leaned his elbow forward onto the table and propped his chin up on his hand, eyes rolling skyward as he mentally calculated how long he had known Dr. Horrible.

"Six years." Billy intoned, and Moist finally looked over at him, then motioned a hand in a circular gesture that was accompanied by a broad and knowing smile; Billy sighed, then added flatly, "- and eleven months, two weeks, and three days."

"We're close to an anniversary." Moist said brightly, "I think I should get posies this year - what's the gift for seven years, anyways?"

"Copper." Billy said, and then paused for a moment, frowning, "Or wool?"

"You could get me a sweater."

There was a hesitation, and then both of them glanced at Moist's currently sweat-dampened t-shirt.

"Yeah, maybe not." Moist said, and then looked back at Buck with a crooked smile, "It's cool, you know, between the two of us, we could make up for all of the talking Billy doesn't do."
 
Buck laughed out loud, watching the exchange between Moist and Billy, and it was hard for a moment not to feel a strong pang of loneliness. This was what he was out here trying to fix, wasn't it? Trying to establish webs of human contact, make himself feel like an actual member of society again? It seemed to be working, at least. Was kind of working.

Well, he felt himself smiling, which was about all he could ask for.

He glanced at Moist, nodding as he leaned the chair onto its back two legs, balancing it a little precariously as he took a sip from his drink.

"He'll warm up to me eventually," he said with a vague nod in Billy's direction. "I mean, unless he doesn't." He cut his eyes back to Billy, lifting both of his eyebrows and canting his head a few degrees to the right. "I mean, seriously, if I start getting on your nerves, you'll let me know, won't you?"

Buck made an attempt to take another sip from his drink, leaning back a little more - his eyes widened just marginally as he overbalanced and toppled backwards with a hard 'thud' on the ground, his own legs tangled in the legs of his chair as he surged to his feet in an effort to regain a little bit of his dignity (which was hard to do with the entirety of his coke soaking through his shirt.) With a cough, he hastily righted his chair, blushing red as he hastened to sit back down in his seat.

"So, Moist," he added in a rush, "what kind of sandwiches did you order? Not that I'm picky."

He put his empty cup on the table as surreptitiously as he could.
 
"He's warmed up already," Moist replied promptly, "The fact he's even spoken is a good indication - he's like a little hermit."

"I'm still here." Billy said flatly.

"You are," Moist agreed, slapping Billy on the back so hard that he nearly slammed his head into the table, "It's a big step for you."

Billy shifted in his seat and opened his mouth to respond, but his words caught in his throat when Buck toppled over backwards, sending half a litre of coca-cola into his face and up his nose at the same time; both Moist and Billy were frozen in their seats, staring at the spot where Buck had been only moments ago.

Seconds later, he popped back up and casually re-established conversation.

"Uh, they're, um, house special -" Moist began, but he fell silent again when a strange sound came to his ears - it was a little like a whimper, and he slowly looked to his right, where Billy was now sitting upright in his chair with his jaw clamped shut, and his bottom lip - quivering, "Hey, Billy, um - ?"

Billy's shoulders hunched, his head ducked down, and he was quaking in the chair just a little.

"I think you broke him." Moist said, truly astonished as Billy began to giggle helplessly.
 
Buck's face and the tips of his ears went red, dark enough almost to match the color of his hair as he leaned forward to grab a napkin from the table. He wiped his face, then coughed a little bit into it. A tendril of his hair clung damply to his cheek, and there was a distinct splash pattern on the front of his shirt.

"Oh, come on, it's not that funny," Buck said, before looking down at his mostly empty cup. ".. alright, maybe it is."

He cast a sidelong glance down, as if to make sure that his bag of clothes hadn't gotten hit by the spill. Clean, thankfully, but he was going to have to go home and shower again now. His face was already sticky from the syrupy drink.

"House special sounds great," he deadpanned after a pause, looking up to Moist with a raised eyebrow, before he smirked and fished a piece of ice out of his lap, silently standing up and leaning forward. Well, while Billy's head was ducked, might as well take advantage of it: he slid the piece of ice down the back of the blond boy's shirt.

Billy's giggling shouldn't have made his stomach flop like that. Bad Buck. Down, boy.
 
Moist seemed to be awed by the sight of Billy caught in a fit of quiet giggles; it was barely audible, save for the tiny inhalations that came between the lengths of silence.

"Haven't seen him laugh like this since -" Moist began, and thought back to the video blog where Dr. Horrible had been practising his evil laugh; it wasn't really a legitimate example, but he couldn't actually think of any other time Billy had really laughed beyond a half-hearted 'ha' or derisive snort. Also, he wasn't sure he should mention it. Probably not.

"- a long time." he finished lamely, and his eyebrows shot up when Buck dropped a piece of ice down the back of Billy's hoodie.

The blonde jerked upright suddenly with a sharp gasp, which was followed by an odd, strangled noise as he flailed on the spot, jamming one hand up the many layers he wore in an attempt to fish out the bit of ice that was currently taking up residence somewhere in the middle of his back. Moist watched in silence and drank through his straw, up until the point a shadow loomed over their table; the owner of said shadow was a broad-shouldered woman who stood at around six-foot-five and possessed more arm hair than most pro-wrestlers. And, from the looks of it, more chest hair too.

"Hey Chewie," Moist said brightly, "This is Buck - new guy to the city."

Chewie peered down at Buck, and offered him a broad, white smile,

"Do not let him fool you," Chewie said, and she was possessed of a thick, Polish accent, "He's more evil than he looks."

"Thanks babe," Moist replied, offering a wink, which was promptly returned, along with a fond pat on the head before she set down their sandwiches; her hands were roughly the size of Buck's entire head. She looked over at Billy, who was continuing to flail and curse quietly,

"Good to see you, Lekarz." she added.

"Równie dobrze." Billy replied off-handedly, and Chewie's expression briefly registered surprise, but it was quickly followed up by another of her smiles before she pinched Moist's cheek and headed back towards the deli. Billy continued to contort himself for a moment longer before sending a mock-dark look at Buck, and chucking the remaining bit of ice at him.
 
Buck hardly cast a second glance at Chewie - not because he wasn't surprised at her size (he'd been warned at least, hadn't he?), but because he didn't want to gawk. She probably got that enough, poor woman. It probably wasn't wise to think about how she could probably wring his neck without any effort at all on her part. How did you bowl with hands like that?

"More evil than you look, huh?" Buck asked of Moist, waiting until Chewie had disappeared before speaking again. He ducked and flailed a little bit in attempt to make sure he wasn't hit by the
ice. "No offense, but the both of you seem pretty .. nice."

He leaned forward to take one of the sandwiches, holding it up and waving it slightly in Moist's direction, as if this were some sort of indicator of just how nice the both of them really were.

Buck unwrapped the sandwich, then took a bite, looking privately pleased with Moist's selection of restaurants in the city. He'd make a note to come back to this place - it really was pretty divine.

Even if he didn't have any coke left to wash it down with.

"So what do you guys - do? I'm subbing for an elementary school on my block until the kindergarten teacher finishes out her retirement stuff... kind of weird teaching kids used to the big city." He had been subbing in class the day before and had heard a five year old say 'shit.' It had shocked the hell out of him. "Uh. Not trying to be nosy." He waved the sandwich a little vaguely in the air, and then picked slightly at his sticky shirt. "Just curious."
 
"Bad to the bone." Moist replied nasally, offering another of his grins and adding in a low, secretive murmur, "Don't be fooled by the niceness ploy, we mean serious business."

"We were plotting to drown you in Pepsi, but you were one step ahead of us." Billy added, completely deadpan as he peered under the thick panini bread of his sandwich, eyeing the contents with something that seemed like suspicion; Moist, however, had already set into his food, making it clear that he wasn't thin from lack of appetite.

Moist was the first to answer Buck's question:

"Laboratory assistant." he replied automatically, and Billy continued to prod at his sandwich like it might get up and do something un-sandwich-like, "I don't get to work with the chemicals or anything, but sometimes things blow up so it's pretty cool."

There was a moment of silence, then Moist added almost dreamily:

"My boss is awesome."
 
"Laboratory assistant, huh?" Buck echoed, resisting the urge to ask what you major in in college to land a job like that. He glanced between Billy and Moist, noticing their treatment of their respective sandwiches, before he brought his own to his mouth and took another hearty bite. "I was never good at the science thing growing up. I mean, it was fun when we - got to make play-doh in my chemistry class, but the numbers, and, um, formulas. Kind of over my head."

He blushed suddenly a little bit, as if realizing that he had just called himself an idiot in front of the two of them, before he put the sandwich down and continued.

"I mean, there's a reason that I stick to kindergarten."

And there was something he found privately respectable about molding America's young minds - and if not respectable, at least he could help give kids a good start. Help out the ones that needed help. Instill a love of learning in children while they still had the capacity to love learning.

So maybe it wasn't working in homeless shelters like his sister did, but Buck wasn't ashamed of what he did.

He chewed his bite of the sandwich a little bit thickly, swallowed, before leaning across the table and looking up at Billy. "So what do you do? And, um, do you mind if I have a sip? I promise I don't have any weird diseases," he said, fingers lightly touching the cup.
 
"Yeah, I don't really do the math thing either," Moist admitted, already impressively halfway through his sandwich, "That's the Doc's thing - numbers, equations, astrophysics and biomechanics. The guy can do it all in his head, never seen him use a calculator, don't think he even owns one. He just puts it all on a whiteboard and I try not to knock anything over."

Moist lifted his shoulders in something of a dismissive shrug while Billy finally took a polite, surreptitious bite of his sandwich and began a slow descent down his chair again, shoulders slumped. His voice came from nearer to the table when he spoke next,

"The world needs more dedicated teachers anyways." Billy said vaguely, and he gave Buck a sideways look before delicately pushing his drink towards him, proferring it. He was silent for a long moment afterwards, eyes on his sandwich as though it might try to run off his plate if he looked away,

"I'm a -" Billy said, and squinted at the food; he hadn't been asked the question before - he'd never really thought about it; he ended up saying the first thing that came to mind, "- an accountant?"

He didn't bother looking over at Moist; he could feel the flinch.
 
Buck shook his head in slight wonder. "I did really well to pass biology in college," he admitted with the same slightly sheepish look, and when Billy proffered the drink, he leaned forward and took it, pulling a quick sip before pushing it back to him with a murmured thanks. Billy kind of looked like an accountant - not his outfit, but his demeanor. Quiet. Kind of shy. He looked like a guy who would be comfortable sequestered in a cubicle somewhere.

"And you're right.. there aren't enough good teachers in the world. I mean, most of them start out fine - you don't go into teaching for the money, I can tell you - but they lose sight. The kids are supposed to come first."

He bit his lower lip thoughtfully before taking another bite. He felt almost guilty for taking up their time; Billy kind of seemed like he wanted to melt into the seat and away from the both of them, but Moist seemed genial enough. (He still couldn't get over what an odd nickname that was. Fitting, at least, for as soggy as the guy seemed to be.)

"So - what are your guys' plans for tonight?"

Oh, Buck, he thought. You need to keep your nosy ass out of their business, and stop butting in. You're a stranger. This isn't how you treat strangers in Los Angeles.. you're not in a little, unremarkable town anymore. 'But they can just turn me down if they've got something going on.'

"I mean, if you have any, don't worry about it. I was thinking - maybe we could all catch a movie or something. Or -" What did guys do when they hung out? "-..go.. to a museum.. or something." He trailed off, trying not to look painfully embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm not sure how to make friends in LA yet."
 
As far as work relationships went, the dynamic between Dr. Horrible and Moist was a strange one - at least in E.L.E terms. Even though they got props for sticking around, being loyal, and not being swayed into good deeds by some good-looking protagonist, Henchman were widely considered disposable subjects by a majority of villains in the League.

In fact, at one point Billy had observed that the number of henchman heavily outweighed the number of actual villains, and while on one hand it meant there were a lot of unemployed cronies wandering around the League building looking for someone to order them around, it also meant that if it came down to it, the henchmen could probably take down the E.L.E single-handedly. Just, most of them sort of had a problem doing anything without orders - except, as it turned out, Moist.

No, Moist was different from a majority of the henchmen in that he had a mind of his own - the exact reason why Dr. Horrible had chosen him. He wasn't sure when the relationship had gone from Villain-Henchman to Best Friends, but somewhere along the way Moist had slipped into his life outside of Evil - usually via the emergency staircase outside his window. They called it the Moist Door - Moist thought it was hilarious, though Billy wasn't entirely sure why.

At work, Dr. Horrible was the genius villain and Moist was the henchman. Outside of the League, however, Billy was rapidly recognizing that Moist was very much the dominant personality - and he was okay with that, he just wasn't sure he liked the look that was currently on Moist's face, a gleam in his eyes that told Billy he was up to no good.

"Nothing planned." Moist replied almost instantly, speaking for the both of them, "I mean, you guys have to drop off your laundry, but maybe you can just come over to Billy's place and we can go find something awesome to do - L.A. isn't exactly short on entertainment. Right Billy?"

Billy just sat there for a long moment, boggle-eyed and staring at Moist.

"Billy agrees." Moist said crisply, and Billy felt just a little less badass about being Dr. Horrible.
 
Buck had toyed with the idea of a sidekick before, for the company if nothing else. He just really couldn't justify the thought of throwing some spandex'd kid into danger; he could barely keep himself safe most of the time. (Not that it was extraordinarily dangerous where he was from, but where there were heroes and people, there would always be villains.)

And besides, it was kind of nice sometimes, the whole alone thing. Maybe it was why he tried to avoid steady relationships; it was hard to explain why you were crawling into bed at four in the morning with a busted lip and a broken hand. Hard to explain why he would inexplicably stop answering phone calls or text messages. (People tended to take him less seriously when an impassioned speech was interrupted by a cellphone going off in his pocket.)

He snapped back to the conversation at hand, smiling at Moist and looking relieved at the answer.

"Only if you don't mind," he said again, nodding a little bit and reaching down to touch his laundry bag, as if to make sure that it was still there. "I might use your sink to rinse off and change clothes, too, if you don't mind, Billy." His eyes cut back to the blonde; he was doing his best to be as disarming as possible, speaking in soft tones, as if he were afraid that Billy was some sort of wild animal that might skirt away at the first possible chance.

"I mean. I'm just kind of sticky from the soda."

He picked at the front of his shirt, as if to demonstrate.

"But I'm done with my sandwich, whenever you guys wanna go."
 
Moist had long ago learned that there was a perceptible difference between Billy Buddy and Dr. Horrible, even though they were the same person - sort of; where Dr. Horrible had flair and confidence, Billy completely lacked it and tended to be more like a - skittish little squirrel. So really, Buck wasn't terribly far off in thinking of Billy like a startled, wild animal.

Just, a wild animal that build laser beams and ray guns. A really smart squirrel.

He wasn't so sure he should use that particularly analogy with Buck around, though.

Moist followed Buck's line of vision back to Billy, who, in turn, was staring at him accusingly; Moist just kept his expression admirably blank and pretended he had no idea what was going on. Billy's lamplight stare only lasted until Buck spoke to him, and then his eyes flicked back to the redhead, and Moist watched with interest as Billy seemed to completely freeze up, like he had been hit by his own ray gun. Of course, he'd seen Billy's painful social interaction many times before but this one somehow seemed different.

Maybe it was a thing about redheads.

"I'm fine with that." Billy finally choked out, on his feet the moment that Buck mentioned he was done; Moist had finished his food, but Billy had barely touched his. Barely resisting rolling his eyes, Moist wrapped it up in the wax paper it had come in and tossed it into Billy's laundry bag while he was distracted; maybe he would find it and eat it while digging for one of his lab coats. Or maybe he'd do an experiment on it; either way, it would be used.
 
"You barely ate.." Buck started, and trailed off as Moist wrapped the sandwich in the wax paper and tossed it in with Billy's things. He canted his head to the side almost imperceptibly, really looking at Billy for the first time. God, the guy was skinny. A look of concern flashed across his face, before he forced it to drop.

Wasn't his responsibility. Billy was a grown man - he didn't need a stranger from the laundromat telling him to eat.

He leaned down to grab his laundry bag, hoisting it over his shoulder.

"Only if you guys are positive. I really appreciate it."

Buck eyed Billy again, trying to be sly about it (though it was pretty difficult to hide exactly where bright green eyes in a pale, freckled face were pointing). He was so.. nervous. It was kind of adorable, in a way that made Buck kind of want to feed cookies and milk to him.

Normal people. It was fun to hang around normal people, and to do normal people things. Why did he feel weird about this? He made himself relax; he wasn't going to have any fun at all if he persistently over-thought everything that was going on. "Lead the way, guys."
 
Moist's eyebrows popped up briefly at the sound of Buck's half protest to Billy's eating habits; there were some things that Moist just didn't prod Billy about, and his eating habits were one of them. As it turned out, it was a little distracting for Dr. Horrible if his henchman was trying to surreptitiously slip a peanut butter sandwich into his gloved hands while he was doing work - it just didn't go well; Moist knew from experience.

Of course, the Doc was one of the rare villains who didn't take his issues out on his cronies. In fact, Moist wasn't sure that Billy really ever let his anger air out - it probably wasn't healthy.

"We're positive." Moist said, cheerily slapping an arm each around Buck and Billy as they moved down the smoggy L.A. sidewalk; Moist reacted predictably to the heat, but Billy didn't seem to even notice it, sunk into his sweaters and looking vaguely uncomfortable with even Moist's touch. They ended up leading Buck back in the direction of the laundromat - and Billy suspected Moist had chosen this route so that, ultimately, Buck would be able to find his way to the apartment again in the future - and in another half block, they encountered the apartment complex.

It was a odd little building; it was six stories high and at some point around the eighties someone had decided it would be a wonderful idea to paint the place mint green, baby pink, and mauve, and with all of the bizarre, sharp angles, it looked rather like an art deco easter egg. Or maybe like Ronald McDonald hurled on the place. One or the other.

It wasn't terribly ambient for insane science projects or world domination, though. Even rolling thunder and a well-timed lightning strike couldn't salvage the monstrosity that was the apartment complex.

"Just try not to stare at it too long, or your eyes kinda cross." Moist said, and Billy extracted his keys and dialed at the front door to let them in, "There's also no elevator. Well - uh, there is, but it broke down like five years ago and never got fixed."

"It just hangs between five and six." Billy added, leading them through a peaches-and-cream hued foyer and up a stairwell that was violently purple, "It's probably stuck in the twilight zone."
 
Buck seemed to be keeping pretty close track of where they were going. It wasn't as if he were consciously mapping out the way to Billy's house, but hey, first possible friend in the city; might as well know where he lived.

He looked over at Moist as he slid an arm around his shoulder, laughing a little bit. Well, if Moist's, uh, moistness, seeped through to his shirt, it wasn't like it could do any more damage than what he had already done with his coke. (And actually, he was tried not to think about it too much. Dwelling on the fact that this guy was probably - leaking on him wasn't the most pleasant though in the world.)

"Well, hey," Buck said lightheartedly, lifting one hand to shield his eyes against the colors of the building. "At least it's got a lot of character."

No elevator? No wonder the two of them were so skinny.

And it was certainly more interesting than his own apartment. Buck lived in a tall, skinny apartment complex, down a narrow hallway into a narrow little corner cluster of rooms. He liked it, but everything was gray and beige. Neutral and dull, save for the foreign landlady who liked to yammer at him from his doorway.

He followed Billy up the stairs, still almost dazed by the colors.

"Hey, I kind of like this place. All the benefits of dropping acid without all of the nasty consequences."
 
"Well, except maybe for the headache and the horrible compulsion to purge everything you ate." Moist replied, and Billy peered back to give him a sideways look before he added quickly, "Not that I know anything about dropping acid. Just saying."

At that juncture, it would be notable that Moist had dropped back, trailing along behind them on the staircase; this wasn't because he was particularly slow, but rather as a courtesy,

"I generally advise people not to walk behind me, especially on staircases - kinda risks you breaking your neck," Moist said conversationally, as they began up the third flight of stairs, "Normally I don't even use these staircases; I use the outside ones because Billy's landlord gets irate about having to wipe up ten flights, you know?"

"Mr. Baranyai keeps a storage crate of extra mops." Billy added, nearly a full flight ahead of them.

"Billy's on floor six," Moist said, "There's like, two apartments per floor, but no one wants to rent out the other one since the last tenant died in it."
 
Buck had noticed that Moist was trailing behind, but it wasn't until he explained why that he really got it. He was suddenly glad that Moist was behind them, then, and not able to see his face as he wrinkled his nose in slight, sudden disgust. He fought to suppress the vivid mental image he has just gotten of Moist as a snail.

He really wanted to ask Moist how long he had been leaving goo trails wherever he went, but figured that was probably a second or third date question.

"I can't lie, Moist," Buck finally admitted after a moment of silence, "that's pretty gross."

He fell quiet after Moist's last comment, waiting until they were all on the landing before he turned to look at the shorter guy, contemplating him for a second. "Someone died here? Who? How? Is it safe here?" Unconsciously, he cast a politely concerned look Billy's way. And perhaps he was a little bit more than just clinically interested, but he couldn't help himself. It was taking all he had not to drill Moist to ask if it was a murder, if the ELE was involved.

It wasn't until a moment later that he forced himself to calm down. People died of natural causes. Hell, it was Los Angeles.. people died of normal crime, and not the ELE kind.
 
Moist didn't seem especially insulted; he just raised his shoulders and shrugged his mouth in a silent 'what can you do' - he was used to it at that point in his life, but made up for it by being unceasingly cheerful and intensely likeable.

"Yeah, it's not even a really useful mutation, not like the X-Men get," Moist said, following Billy into the hallway of floor six, which had been painted a sunny yellow, with similar carpeting, "But it was great for grossing out girls back in grade school - and, you know, now."

While Billy unlocked the door to his apartment, Moist gave Buck a sideways look,

"Didn't really get all of the details - guy was a hermit, though," Moist said, after a moment of thought, "Seems kinda common for this floor."

Billy didn't respond to the veiled accusation; he simply stepped into the apartment and flicked on the lights. The interior consisted almost entirely of black, white, and stainless steel, and it had been kept almost obsessively clean - the kitchen was open concept and connected directly to what was probably meant to be a sitting room, but had been taken over by a length of bare, steel tables. On the far side of the room, there was a couch and an ancient-looking television - which seemed to be the only dusty thing in the place.

Down the hallway there was a bathroom to the right and a bedroom to the left; the entire place seemed smaller than the floor itself would imply, but that may have had something to do with the fact that Billy had simply taken it upon himself to very cleverly disguise the spare room behind a sliding wall. All in all, the apartment seemed bare and unwelcoming, lacking all of the personal effects most places would have - there weren't any pictures, so the most information that could be gleaned about the owner would come from the massive and overflowing bookshelf on the far side of the room; all of it had been neatly alphabetized at one point, but when space had run out, the extra books had simply been piled on top and stuffed into the tiniest spaces, along with sheafs of paper that made it look vaguely like it was about to explode.

Billy set down his bag of laundry and pulled off the soapy grey hoodie he had been wearing; underneath was a red t-shirt over top of a charcoal coloured long sleeve shirt, and he might have even had another layer on under that, it was hard to say. Either way, without the hoodie on, he looked more lean than ever.

"Make yourself comfortable," Billy said uncomfortably, as though he wasn't used to saying the words - which was likely, given that Moist was really the only other person he'd ever had in the apartment.
 
Buck forced himself to shudder a little bit at Moist's words as he followed the two into the apartment. "I could imagine living with a mutation. I mean, it was hard enough growing up with red hair and freckles. Not sure I'd be able to handle anything else on top of that." The look he gave Moist, however, was sympathetic. At least red hair didn't make it hard for him to go up stairs.

He turned then and finally looked at the apartment, expression shocked for a moment as his mouth fell into a soft 'oh.' It was very - Spartan.

'Well, Buck-o, you've been wrong about people before.' He had kind of imagined that Billy's apartment would be a mess, with books and papers and CD cases all over the place. It took him a second to snap himself out of the thought. Why had he put that much thought into what Billy's place might be like, anyway?

At the invitation, he stepped inside further, moving to the couch and dropping his laundry bag atop of it. Ducking his head, he pawed through the folded clothes, before finally pulling out a sleeveless black shirt that was just very slightly faded from age. He opened his mouth, as if about to ask something, before he turned around to put his back to both the other boys, hastily changing from the soiled shirt into the new, clean one.

He straightened up as he turned to face Billy and Moist again, smoothing the wrinkles out of the front of his shirt as his hands reflexively patted down his own pockets to make sure that he had
his wallet and cell phone on hand.

"So?" Buck asked, and his eyes lingered on Billy's narrow frame with a look more of curiosity than sexuality. "Where we headed?"
 
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