IC CONTACT POST

[uberboned]

[A woman's voice comes over the line.]

You've reached the Trickster's voicemail. Unfortunately, Mr. Trickster isn't available to take your call, nor will he likely ever be. Should you still wish to leave a message, please respond after the tone, and maybe we'll remember to get it to him, mmkay?

[Beep]

[[OOC: This is an IC voicemail post for all verses games. Please put the name of the verse/game you want in the subject heading.]]

Comments

[hexyoutotuesday.livejournal.com]

[Well, that softens her expression. A lot. Most charming man in the world right here. Staying by the toilet would be the smart thing to do, but she's drunk and, well, catnip. So, despite all logic, she puts her arms over Gabriel's shoulders, practically puts herself in his lap, clings to him, and buries her face against his neck.]

An' licorice an' salt an' some kinda leaves.

[She swallows hard, throat burning. Her thighs are still quivering and she's nuzzling the archangel's neck now.]

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[Gabriel pulls her into his lap and cuddles her, tapping her back thoughtfully. Leaves. Chuck didn't mention any leaves.

After a second of consoling Jinx, he turns his head over his shoulders and calls out, ever so sweetly.]

Ohhh Chuck. Can I have a word with you?

j-just using this icon for the rest of the thread

[paterelohim]

MINT. [Just putting that out there. Chuck is literally the best liar in Creation and not afraid to use those skills.] Really shitty cheap mint, actually, that didn't taste like anything. [And now there's mint in the kitchen, stuffed into a drawer in the fridge.] Just as a garnish sort of thing.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[NARROWED EYES. These are the eyes of an archangel who... Cannot smell your lies. Damn you.] Here's an idea, pal. Next time you mix drinks? Don't buy wholesale.

[paterelohim]

[VIGOROUS NOD. You can practically hear the terrified "siryessir".]

[hexyoutotuesday.livejournal.com]

[Maybe Jinx is about to say that she didn't taste any mint, or mention something about the fact that she feels drugged. Really, she was going to say something. Too bad what she meant to say is lost when her throat seizes and she, well, pukes on her boyfriend. Right on his bad shirt. Not a whole lot of vomit, considering the only thing left in her stomach right now is blood and bile, but it's the thought that counts.]

I don' feel good....

[No shit.]

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[That earns Chuck another, "IF I FIND OUT OTHERWISE, I WILL END YOU SO EFFICIENTLY" glare before he sighs and moves back to console Jinx. Right. Mercy would probably have a field day ranting about this, but this time he's not soothing her bruised ego- she's legitimately sick. And lightweight or not, he's seen her drunk. This isn't normal for her.

He pets her head and shushes her gently.]

Think you can make it to the bed without puking up a kidney, princess?

[hexyoutotuesday.livejournal.com]

No.

[At least she's an honest drunk.]

I don' wanna ever drink again. [Okay, so not completely honest.]

[paterelohim]

[If it helps, Chuck feels absolutely fucking horrible and somewhere in his fogged-over, molasses-slow drunk mind has vowed to sit her down and fess up the instant she's well and sober and away from Gabriel enough. And he'll offer up his firstborn (the human kind, thank you) (of this particular Chuck-shaped lifetime, thank you and hands off of Jesus Aslan) and his carotid and his soul in his groveling and confess that he honestly didn't think it would work, that he was just trying to be cheeky and poke some fun at the cat theme.

But that's later. Right now he's honestly worried, because he's seen people drunk and seen cats on catnip and seen people mix all kinds of drugs, and this doesn't seem normal. He emerges clumsily from the kitchen, mutely holding out a glass of cold (but not cold enough to shock her stomach) water with an almost pitifully meek look on his face.]

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[Gabriel scoops her into his arms with another sigh, mindful to some extent of Chuck's worry and moves her to the couch as gently as he can, yanking a bowl off something to put down near her for her to puke in if the need arises. Why waste good illusions when you can just defile Chuck's dishes? That done, he takes the water from Chuck and offers it to her before pulling back to actually regard the prophet.]

Why do I have forty voicemail messages from you? [Because now is the PERFECT time to bring this up.]

[paterelohim]

[Oh man, so not the best time for this.]

Oh- that. I- I was trying to keep something from happening. I should know better.

[hexyoutotuesday.livejournal.com]

[The moment she's set down on the couch, she rolls onto her side. She's never been this sick before, but she knows what to do when she drinks herself stupid. Drowning in her own vomit was not the way she was going to go. She takes the water from her boyfriend and doesn't drink it. Instead, with one arm hanging off the couch, she holds it loosely between her middle finger and thumb. A bit of it splashes on the floor. She rubs her cheek against the couch, readjusts her thighs, moves them again, rubs them together a little. This is very uncomfortable. She feels dizzy.]

You suck at whatever you we're trying to do.

[Obviously not too dizzy to not add such glowing compliments to the conversation.]

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[Gabriel lowers a hand to pet Jinx's hair as if she were a cat and just looks at Chuck with the most disturbed eyebrow quirk.]

So you sang "This is the Song That Never Ends" into my voicemail all night?

Yeah, you're completely sane. How could I ever doubt you. Jinx, d'you think the Joker would like a hobo for a cellmate?

[paterelohim]

Trust me, okay. Just- seriously. [TOTALLY SOBER YES and leaning against the couch to point uncertainly at Gabriel.] If I coulda prevented it- it would've been worth it. Okay? Fuck.

[hexyoutotuesday.livejournal.com]

[Jinx's curiosity is piqued, which is a very bad sign. The girl used to be an interrogator for AGI. When she wants information, she gets it, and she's very willing to play good cop/bad cop by herself with Chuck.

However, something else comes to the forefront of her mind before she can yell at him from the couch. It probably has to do with the petting.]

Hey, baby? If I brushed my teeth, would you have sex with me?

[This was a legitimate question from the drunk and definitely drugged female.]

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

Yep. But no blow jobs. That is honestly the last thing I wanna watch you throw up. [That said, he's still directly looking at Chuck.]

You should come up with a code or a safe word or something, Chuck. Y'know, something to let me know the apocalypse is coming- and if it is, I'm gonna smack you so hard that John the Baptist'll feel it.

ilu gabriel

[paterelohim]

[Of course they're contemplating having sex while he's in the room. Chuck wonders vaguely if they'd even leave, or if Gabe would just zap him somewhere else in the city. Suffer in the darkness, bitch.]

Okay, how about the Apocalypse is coming? Is that a good code? I think it sounds fine.

But it's not coming- here. Cause I- cause they won't let it. It won't happen. And I can see, you know, I know what's gonna happen. [He points indistinctly at Gabriel and then, for some reason, at Jinx before flopping down on the couch and digging the Doritos from underneath it.]

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[The staring continues.]

Gibbering Drunk ain't a language I've ever heard of. English, moron, do you speak it? You're about to go into mime and that's not okay.

[paterelohim]

You should be fluent in everything. [Nom nom.] The Apocalypse isn't exactly gonna happen here. They won't let it.

...Prophets being not.. understandable is traditional. You're lucky I'm not trying to rhyme.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

You're missing this huge chunk of the point.

[paterelohim]

Oh.

Well, what was it?

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

What does it have to do with me and Jinx?

[paterelohim]

Well fuck, you'll find out soon.

[painhumbles.livejournal.com]

[GLARING] How bad would it hurt if I hit you across the head with that lamp?

[paterelohim]

Less than- [how much you're PMSing right now. Chuck stifles that thought before it can leave his Bad Idea Lips by knocking bad an inadvisably large amount of water and helpfully choking on it.