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 Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 5:26 pm
"Yeah, well so'd Abbi 'fore she started ********' sassin' me on everthin'," he growled. "No point in lookin' fer advice 'cause s'my problem. Should be my solution. M' it's werkin' s'far as I'm concerned."
The solution may or may not have involved copious amounts of alcohol and ignoring things.
"You'd just ********' judge me n'way," Jack accused him. "Y'don't even like Chel."
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 6:33 pm
Ian choked on his beer.
The result of this was that he began coughing, a hand over his mouth, and for several seconds he sputtered and wheezed as he tried to regain his breathing, and wound up setting his beer down on the desk for the time being.
When he finally managed to get himself under control, it took every single ounce of Ian's self control not to immediately recoil and say are you ******** kidding me because that was exactly what he'd told Jack he wasn't going to do. Eyes watering, Ian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a deep, steadying breath.
"I don't even really know her," he said carefully, his mind still reeling, because really? Out of everyone on the island that would be interested in Jack Hawthorn he had to go and pick her? "I just didn't particularly enjoy the way that she patronized me and weasled her way into your room while I was watching it when you were gone. Nobody really likes being assumed that they're stupid."
A small pause, and then he added, "Chel was also the one who told me that you were gay. Or at least, tried to convince me that you were."
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 7:01 pm
He could hear the words anyway: they were spoken with every sputter and the final deep breath, the kind he knew said wow really? He knew it would happen. Jack fixed him with a wounded glare and debated kicking Ian out right then and there because he wasn't in the ******** mood--even less so when Ian oh so happily reminded him of the practical joke Chel had almost pulled on him.
"God, get thicker skin, Ian. She wuz prolly kiddin'. I say worse s**t t'you. But I was drunk," he said heatedly and that was all he could manage that attempt. The porcupine's spines were bristling. Bad idea. Should've kept your mouth shut.
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 7:08 pm
"I'm sorry," Ian said hastily, waving his hands and quailing beneath the glare directed at him. "Seriously. I swear I am not gonna judge you okay, I promised, remember? And I know she was kidding," he added, a little injured himself. "I was just sorta annoyed that she was assuming I didn't know something that big about you, whether kidding or not."
Which was childish, but whatever. Ian took a breath. "Okay. Okay." Ian hoped his voice sounded calmer now, readjusting the way he was sitting so that he was facing Jack. "So you were drunk and you...you messed around with her, with Chel?"
That was awkward. Ian tried to word things carefully so that it didn't sound as though he was being judgmental. "Is this what you're having trouble with? Being with Hanna, but sleeping with Chel?"
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 7:16 pm
"Oh ged'over'it," Jack hissed, not entirely convinced of Ian's oath. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation he had started to hold himself, rubbing at an arm on his too small bed and his suddenly too small, too hot room. He needed a house. He needed a house so god damn bad, he needed ******** space so he could breathe, he needed...s**t, he needed either more booze or water, his headache was starting to worsen and his sense of balance was shot (tested in the split second he pushed himself up to stop from slipping from his pillow).
Swallowing tightly, he wiped his brow with a few fingers. "Happened 'fore we started dating, but...yeah."
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 7:24 pm
He was staring at Jack. "Are you okay?" Ian asked, legitimately concerned, because in spite of all the beers the other man had been downing since Ian had gotten there, he'd never seen Jack look so out of place, so strange. His hand was worrying at a spot on his arm, and he looked pale and sweaty.
"Okay," said Ian again. "And how does Chel feel about...Jack, are you sure you're okay, you don't look too great. Do you want some water, or something?"
He turned sideways, trying to figure out if there was somehow a magical water fountain in the room.
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 7:48 pm
He was still for a moment. Then:
"Trash can," he ordered in a more frail tone, swallowing again as he forced himself to roll over and get to his feet without grace.
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 8:03 pm
He didn't hesitate, Ian leaping up from his chair and practically leaping across the room and snagging the trash can, hastily skidding back to where Jack was and shoving it closer to him.
"Here," he said breathlessly. "Here - "
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 8:16 pm
He grabbed the trash can in time to gag, shivering. A curse was at his lips, but he just gagged again and then heaved the contents of his stomach out violently. And here he thought he had built up enough tolerance to handle a s**t ton of beer on a nearly empty stomach. ******** him. And ******** his hipster long hair more.
Jack remained curled over the small trash can, panting audibly and spitting out the remnants of his bitter vomit. "Mm...Missin'...prime time photo op here," he mumbled.
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 8:23 pm
Ian winced, but it was nothing he hadn't seen before, and after a second, he stepped towards Jack, unwinding one of the rubber bands from around his wrist. He reached behind his friend's head, gathered his hair together, and wrapped the band around the dark strands. It wasn't perfect, and a little messy, but at least the majority of his hair was out of his face.
"Shut up, Jack," Ian said amiably, and stepped back, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. "Do you have any towels in here? I can run and get some paper towels, I have some bottled water in my room too."
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 8:32 pm
The feeling of a rubber band in his hair was somehow more disgusting to him than throwing up, but he was quietly grateful nevertheless. "Closet," he managed, closing his eyes and forcing himself to take deep breaths through his mouth and out of his nose. The smell was cloying even then, but he refused to move any more than he had to. The towels were folded in a pile over where Jack hid some of his shoe boxes.
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 8:38 pm
Ian nodded, letting go of Jack to move instead towards the closet. He pulled it open and stuck his head inside, stepping half into it to look around, finally locating the towels on top of several boxes. He picked up one of them and then withdrew, closing the doors and making his way back over to Jack.
"Here," he said, offering it to him by draping part of it over Jack's shoulder and crouching down beside him, one hand on the side of the bed.
"You okay?" Ian asked quietly. "Need anything else? Water, Asprin, new clothes?" A faint smile. "A new head?"
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 8:58 pm
You okay? The weak sound that left him could have been a laugh once. Even before coming out of this a pathetic looking drunk, Ian should have known better than to ask just by what they had been talking about alone.
"Water," he rasped, eyes closed tighter. Jack hated every second of this helplessness. "Please."
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 9:15 pm
This side of Jack was hard to watch; it made Ian's stomach twist, and he gave a small nod, pushing himself to his feet and giving Jack's upper arm a reassuring squeeze. He made his way to the door and disappeared through it.
Approximately two minutes later, it opened again and Ian stepped back inside, two bottles of water in one hand and a small washcloth and a plastic bag in the other. He stepped over to Jack and sat down beside him, unscrewing the cap of one water bottle and holding it out to him while simultaneously reaching for the trashcan.
"Here," he said, "I'll trade you - unless you still need it."
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Posted: Sun Nov 02, 2014 9:28 pm
He gave another shuddering breath like he had been for the few minutes Ian had been gone, but eventually Jack's eyes cracked open enough to allow for the trade. He dumped everything but one of the bottles beside him on the bed, turned the cap, and drank a third of the bottle in slow gulps, the chill making him recoil slightly. Some more was dumped on the washcloth to tend to his face, and Jack took his time to clean up and breathe in something other than his own sick. How very mortal he must look. Chel would've appreciated it, he was sure.
He remained bent over in a position more suited to people who were weeping, elbows on his knees, hands pressing the washcloth to his face until it was a mask that completely covered it.
"How much're heads goin' for these days?" came the muffled question.
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