Dan Sagittarius (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hallelujahjunction) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
goneawayworld2021-04-08 04:01 pm
hallelujahjunction) wrote in goneawayworld2021-04-08 04:01 pm
Entry tags:
Some Kind of Jubilee Rains Down a Remedy That I Soak Up [Closed]
Who: Dan and Sam and maybe Ric?
What: The boys talk about the perils of monster-hunting over some contraband.
Where: Triple dorm.
When: After the 50's plot and after the Rig's gotten gross and swampy.
Warnings/Notes: Alcohol, cursing and lots of manpain of the urban fantasy variety.
Dan's a great roommate, or at least that, that would be his official take on things. He's friendly and quiet, even when he's staying up until dawn as his internal rhythm demands. He isn't tidy, but he keeps his hoards of things to his own bedspace and locker. He isn't bothered by any noise, clutter or requests his roommates usher in. When he scores extra snacks or liquor or other sundries from his many hookups in the cafeteria, secretarial pool, shipping, the mailroom, IT, etcetera, etcetera, he always brings some back to share with his roomies. He does laundry for the whole group and makes sure there's always a light on and stocked cabinet of easy pharmaceuticals in the room. He does a good job of not being oppressive about it, but his natural caretaker streak pops up with regards to the comfort and wellbeing of the denizens of the triple room.
Dan's a great roommate usually, but he's been a bit of a pain in the ass lately on account of being vocally displeased with the change in climate. It's been too humid to sleep, and between early Planker hours, his night-loving internal clock, and his frequent nightmares, Dan's already been struggling to get enough rest. Sweating makes his nicotine and librium patches flake off, so he's irritable and spacey and miserable from bouts of withdrawal - and the rooftop smoke breaks he does manage have been interrupted by the new fauna attacking. He's been changing clothes multiple times a day to avoid rashes from damp attire, and during his frequent bouts of laundry-doing to keep up he's accidentally put several things through the wash that shouldn't go through the wash, including people's snacks, keys, and someone's communicator, although he can't tell if was his or not.
That's coming off the back of a mission that rattled Dan a little more than he foresaw - it keeps him up, wondering if that 1950's role Joshua created would have been a better captain of this vessel - and a such after a particularly punishing day of Jorgmund-scheduled shenanigans, Dan decides to say "fuck it" and throw himself a party while Sam and Ric are off doing something somewhere someway. He managed to talk Jenna in the gym stockroom into parting with a bottle of something strong and perfumey, and Poppy in engineering handed over some of her "stress relief" snack cakes in exchange for a stream of compliments and an IOU, and he grabbed a pack of cigarettes from where he stowed them in between the highlighters and reams of paper of an office supply closet, and even if he can't get himself to sleep tonight he's going to get himself relaxed or he'll be damned.
"Who do I got to vote for around here to nix global warming?" he sighs, setting up in his top bunk.
The vent in the ceiling doesn't give him the mercy of AC, so instead it just serves as a way for him to siphon rising cigarette smoke out out the room. He's exhaling into it when he hears Sam's footsteps - Dan's good at recognizing them, now, the way Sam carries that tall frame as if he's always ready to jump into action. A hunter's walk.
"Hey, Sam. Come on in. I got treats for us. You probably can use them much as I can." He sits up and gestures with his nose at the smoke detector. "Humidity kept setting off that son of a bitch, so I disabled it for now."
He puts out his cigarette anyway, since Sam doesn't smoke.
What: The boys talk about the perils of monster-hunting over some contraband.
Where: Triple dorm.
When: After the 50's plot and after the Rig's gotten gross and swampy.
Warnings/Notes: Alcohol, cursing and lots of manpain of the urban fantasy variety.
Dan's a great roommate, or at least that, that would be his official take on things. He's friendly and quiet, even when he's staying up until dawn as his internal rhythm demands. He isn't tidy, but he keeps his hoards of things to his own bedspace and locker. He isn't bothered by any noise, clutter or requests his roommates usher in. When he scores extra snacks or liquor or other sundries from his many hookups in the cafeteria, secretarial pool, shipping, the mailroom, IT, etcetera, etcetera, he always brings some back to share with his roomies. He does laundry for the whole group and makes sure there's always a light on and stocked cabinet of easy pharmaceuticals in the room. He does a good job of not being oppressive about it, but his natural caretaker streak pops up with regards to the comfort and wellbeing of the denizens of the triple room.
Dan's a great roommate usually, but he's been a bit of a pain in the ass lately on account of being vocally displeased with the change in climate. It's been too humid to sleep, and between early Planker hours, his night-loving internal clock, and his frequent nightmares, Dan's already been struggling to get enough rest. Sweating makes his nicotine and librium patches flake off, so he's irritable and spacey and miserable from bouts of withdrawal - and the rooftop smoke breaks he does manage have been interrupted by the new fauna attacking. He's been changing clothes multiple times a day to avoid rashes from damp attire, and during his frequent bouts of laundry-doing to keep up he's accidentally put several things through the wash that shouldn't go through the wash, including people's snacks, keys, and someone's communicator, although he can't tell if was his or not.
That's coming off the back of a mission that rattled Dan a little more than he foresaw - it keeps him up, wondering if that 1950's role Joshua created would have been a better captain of this vessel - and a such after a particularly punishing day of Jorgmund-scheduled shenanigans, Dan decides to say "fuck it" and throw himself a party while Sam and Ric are off doing something somewhere someway. He managed to talk Jenna in the gym stockroom into parting with a bottle of something strong and perfumey, and Poppy in engineering handed over some of her "stress relief" snack cakes in exchange for a stream of compliments and an IOU, and he grabbed a pack of cigarettes from where he stowed them in between the highlighters and reams of paper of an office supply closet, and even if he can't get himself to sleep tonight he's going to get himself relaxed or he'll be damned.
"Who do I got to vote for around here to nix global warming?" he sighs, setting up in his top bunk.
The vent in the ceiling doesn't give him the mercy of AC, so instead it just serves as a way for him to siphon rising cigarette smoke out out the room. He's exhaling into it when he hears Sam's footsteps - Dan's good at recognizing them, now, the way Sam carries that tall frame as if he's always ready to jump into action. A hunter's walk.
"Hey, Sam. Come on in. I got treats for us. You probably can use them much as I can." He sits up and gestures with his nose at the smoke detector. "Humidity kept setting off that son of a bitch, so I disabled it for now."
He puts out his cigarette anyway, since Sam doesn't smoke.
no subject
Sam looks up when Dan leans over, narrowing his eyes in a classic bitch face before managing the coordination to flip Dan off. But there's something grateful in his expression, even if he doesn't say it. "Keep that up and I won't show you how we make goofer dust or a hex bag."
Whether either would be of any use in Dan's world is an entirely different question, but one that they don't need to worry about, really.
no subject
Dan's drunk enough that he sounds actually bitter about that, or at least, as bitter as Dan ever sounds. "I appreciate that you don't think less of me for that, though. I try not to get insecure about it, but you add up can't read, can't do magic, living in a car - folks in the business get off-color about it. Were they ever like that to you when you went off to Stanford?"
Not that Sam can't read, and not that magic is basic skill in Sam's industry the way it is in Dan's, where magicians make up the lion's share of the supernatural underworld, but there's enough in common between Dan and Sam and, particularly, Dan's lifestyle now and the one Sam was raised in, that he wonders if Sam ever got as uncomfortable surrounded by the suburban upper-middle class white picket fence crowd as Dan gets.
no subject
Sam closes his eyes, considering Dan's other question. "I...it's not easy to answer that one. I've spent my entire life working hard to blend in wherever I go. And clothing wasn't too weird because most college students wear whatever's comfortable, you know? I think I got more shit for my height than anything else, at least the first year."
no subject
Unlike the hellhounds in Sam’s world, they’re a minor nuisance at best in Dan’s, the pets of sorcerers who can’t afford an upgrade.
“That’s what you get for being nine feet tall, you titan.” Dan laughs. He remembers Sam mentioning once a girlfriend from college, and he remembers moments ago hearing about a girlfriend pinned to death to the ceiling by a demon, so he figures he’s in murky waters, conversationally. “It’s nice you at least did some schooling before going. Everything I know about school is from TV. As far as I can tell, it’s all proms and detention.”