[OOM: Up on the roof]

[mnt_raph]

*It's a nice dream. One might even say a happy dream, which is why there's an inadvertant reaction with the Pixie Dust he'd had sprinkled on him two days before. Raph doesn't know it, but he's been floating an inch or so above the bed for a good five minutes now. As one stage of sleep flows into the next, the dream ends and Raph comes crashing down onto the bed. This wakes him up enough to realize he's in bed, and he's not alone. Rolling onto his side he sees a mop of black hair sticking out from under neath the blankets. Half asleep he scoots over and wraps his arms around the sleeping figure, placing a kiss on the nape of her neck.

Something doesn't seem right, but he's too groggy to be able to put a finger on what exactly that is.
He rests his forehead between her shoulders.....her....broad shoulders.....waitaminute....

Eyes opening slowly at first, and then wider when the changes begin to sink in.....'round about now is when the screaming starts....*

Comments

[timsbooks.livejournal.com]

Mhmm... Shhh Molly, I've got a hangover.....

*And Tim rolls over, pulling the blanket tighter around him. My Molly has a deep voice. Oh...shit... His eyes pop open.*

Raph?!??!

*Tim scoots back, trying to cover his boxers.*

Why the fuck you kissing my back man? There something we need to talk about?

*Yeh, shelter in humor, it might help.*

[mnt_raph]

TIM?!?
WHA-...WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN' HERE?!?

[timsbooks.livejournal.com]

What the HELL am I DOING in here?

*Tim looks around...this is NOT his room.*

WHAT the hell AM i doing in HERE?

[mnt_raph]

*Raph grabs one of the pillows and uses it to cover his boxer-shorted...and only boxer-shorted, self.*

HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW?!?!
YOU....YOU'RE NOT DEATH!

*his grasp of the obvious?
Legendary.*

[timsbooks.livejournal.com]

And you aren't a chick!

*Tim moans, putting one hand to his head. Oh, that cider hits hard. He drops the blanket revealing his own smiley face boxers.*

[mnt_raph]

NO Frickin' Shit, Sherlock!

*The silence in the room is deafening.
Uncharacteristically, the trail of clothing that leads from the door to the bed is still on the floor. Seems the tent didn't want to interrupt the festivities in order to clean.

The empty bottles of cider are still on the night stand next to the bed.

Raph has begun to turn green.*

i think i'm gonna throw up.

[timsbooks.livejournal.com]

*Tim stares at the trail of clothes. Thats his shirt, but thats raphs shirt, and his pants, and raphs pants.... You can see it all adding up in his mind. His eyes land on the cider, going wider if possible.*

Oh.... god...

*And Tim bolts, screaming. Theres only so much he can handle.*

[mnt_raph]

*Raph takes that as his cue to move, and he too bolts for the bathroom.
Dry heaves are followed by a very long shower. A shower he'd never leave, he he had that choice.*

[locks_it_up]

Somewhere around mid-morning, after coffee, she wanders up.

"Raph?"

Oh, shower. She actually waits for a moment for a response before she barges on into his bathroom.

[mnt_raph]

*He doesn't hear her call out to him. He stands under the showerhead, forehead pressed against the tiles.*

[locks_it_up]

And it's about here that she notices the extra set of clothes.

She opens the door to the bathroom, and... bottles? She knows those bottles.

Death is very, very still.

Her voice cuts through the sound of the shower, flat and sharp.
"What happened."

[mnt_raph]

fuck
*He smacks his head against the tiles repeatedly.*
i don't know.

*Oh how he means that. With every fiber of his being....*

[locks_it_up]

"Stop that."

She finds herself taking a breath as a calming mechanism... and stops herself.

"Would this have anything to do with Tim running half-naked and screaming into the bar this morning?"

[mnt_raph]

*The dull thud of skull against tiles stops, and were there not a showercurtain obscuring her view, she'd have seen his cringe at her mention of Tim. When he opens his mouth to answer, the only thing he can muster is a dry heave.

Not exactly his most proud moment. Still wearing his boxershorts, arms braced on the corners of his shower, wanting to to die while Death stands beyond a plastic curtain.*

[locks_it_up]

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't hurt. So she doesn't say.

There's a whole lot of silence, actually.

Then: "My brother's getting married. I... I was going to ask you if you wanted to come with me."

[mnt_raph]

*His head drops.Somehow he manages to croak out...*

take me. please...

*No, he's not talking about the wedding.*

[locks_it_up]

She starts forward a half-step... and stops.

"Not yet, baby."

[mnt_raph]

*The water shuts off. There's a sound like someone wiping wet hair from their eyes, and then the ever familar sound of a wall being punched full force. The tile has the good sense to break.*

[locks_it_up]

She wishes he wouldn't do that.

Death hugs herself. She's not actually physically cold, but she feels somehow quite alone at the moment.

"I'm not happy at you."

[mnt_raph]

*Still behind the curtain, he flexes his hand. Joints pop and relocate. Bones shift.*

ain't exactly tickled wit'myself at the moment, either.

[locks_it_up]

The sound puts her teeth on edge.

"You didn't hurt anything seriously there, did you?"

She might not be happy with him, but he is still hers.

[mnt_raph]

Nahhh.
*The ego is begining to wellback up to the surface.*
Jus' my pride. Ain't like I'm gonna miss that.

*He pushes the showercurtain over and stands before her a sopping mess. Seriously, we're talking full on pathetic here.*

[locks_it_up]

For her part, she looks like she's been kicked in the stomach.

She doesn't have words.

[mnt_raph]

*His expression shifts. Neutral to penitant...all the while anger lurks in the background. He'd reach out to her, if he didn't feel so damn dirty.*

[locks_it_up]

Her arms drop to her sides.

She knows damn well he didn't mean to. She should reach out and tell him it's okay. She wants to, even.

But she's hurt.