(no subject)

[hobocop]

🏠︎ Harrier Du Bois | 105
✉ hdb41@dualislink

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🕪 "You reached Harry Du Bois. I'm, uh... busy or indisposed right now, but leave a message and I'll give you a ring-a-ding later."

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[blitzcheer]

[ so on some day at some time that shall not be assumed: ]

are you in the dorm cause i have a question

[hobocop]

[Oh! Somebody just received his first text! That long pause? It's the pause of a man from a world of payphones and radios.]

HELLO???

[Give him a minute. Dualis remains A LOT.]

JUST SAW THE NAME, SORRY. TIDUS! HAD COUPLE OF BEERS BUT AM AROUND. YOU OK?

[blitzcheer]

[ oh no, he's such an old person on text. ]

yeah im ok just want to talk in person

prob better for you

just have pants on ok

[hobocop]

[He's wearing pants, okay?!

...He'll don a shirt though. And uh:]

SURE, MAN. WHERE?

[blitzcheer]

[ Roof would work-- oh, wait, Harry has that bad leg... ]

your room?

i dont know what a couple of beers is to you

unless you want some fresh air then we can get tacos

[hobocop]

[And find out how he lives? Oh no no no. But he's also mid-beer, and walking off his current buzz to head out into the cold sounds... bad.]

ROOM IS FINE. 105. JUST GIVE ME TEN MINUTES.

[Cue him rolling from his hunched-sprawl pose, off the bed and onto his feet. A cat-like acrobat. From his new vantage point he's able to reevaluate the state of his kingdom.

VISUAL CALCULUS — Several glasses scattered about on various surfaces—one a quarter-full of what was once water, now a cigarette-butt graveyard. Crushed cans. Numerous bottles. Scattered clothing, some dirty and balled up, others clean and... slightly less balled up. Magazines, books and a selection of boardgames stacked up on top of each other with a precarious lean. Wrappers, screwed-up receipts and tissue. Plates and cutlery. Unmistakable drug paraphernalia and...

He stands there for a long, long moment, then looks down to his phone again, like maybe he should just text back and say tacos.

VOLITION — No, you can do this. Triage.

With a steadying breath, he explodes into action. A hurricane of hiding smaller bad things in larger bad things—matryoshka dolls of sin that get slammed into the depths of his cupboard. Some things get binned, others survive the purge.

When time's up, he's a little red-faced, sure, but the room looks more shitty bachelor pad than crime scene. He even remembers that aforementioned shirt, buttoning it up as he waits for the knock.]

[blitzcheer]

[ ten minutes?

ugghhh. ]

ok

[ better play some tetris or something. ]