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Lighthouse duty, Leslie assessed, was boring as s**t. At least he hadn't had to climb the stairs, since there was a quick portal to the top, but still. Nothing had attacked the island from the air in a billion ******** years (okay-- not at all that long. But long enough for Leslie not to give even a single s**t.), and the room was boring as ********, too.

So he settled for kicking his feet up onto the table-- because someone with the same idea as him had brought in a chair or two, at some time or another-- and smoked a cigarette. Pilfered, of course.

With his back to the portal, Leslie couldn't see the new arrival, and he was too lazy to move. Instead, he just raised an arm in greeting. "Looks like we're in for a boring ******** time."

Leslie slowly turned to look at the stranger, audibly groaning when he realised it was that little ******** from twitter who didn't seem to understand the real world.

"Jesus ******** christ," he said, "you're annoying as ******** took another drag, and deliberately blew the smoke in his face. "We've got fancy ******** shields and bodies now. I don't think we can get cancer anymore, so stop being such a prissy b***h."

Leslie really, really wanted to punch Mikael in the face. The idea was a little intoxicating, growing more appealing with every syllable the kid uttered.

"Haha, well, you sure ******** will at some point. I haven't been on a ton of missions, but jesus christ do they throw us at one when something dangerous comes up. Like ******** suicide bombers." A pause, and then he added, just to be a s**t: "It doesn't make me happy."

Very little did.

"Leslie," he offered, uneasily squinting at Mikael's stare. "You are one weird kid. How old are you, anyway?"

It wasn't like Leslie wasn't young, because he was and he knew it, but there was no way this kid was older than twelve. There was no way. He refused to believe it. It was like he'd spent his life living under a shoe.

"Wowww," Leslie said, incredulous, taking another drag, "you are a stupid ******** c**t."

It wasn't like he'd faced a ton of hardship yet. But he'd seen enough, and Wonderland had thrown him for a ******** loop, too. Plus, he saw everyone that came in through the infirmary in a shitty state and helped put those assholes back together. Even if 'helping' was just doing their paperwork.

(His handwriting was almost legible, now.)

"We are from completely different universes." It was just a fact. This kid lived on mars.

Leslie would have told him to shut up, but he had a feeling Mikael wouldn't honor the request. So instead, he asked, "You ever check out the haunted house? It's pretty cool."

"are you high?" Leslie asked, right around the time he started talking about Planet Leslie. "Can I get some? Of whatever you're on?" He was deadly serious. It wouldn't be too bad to float in the sky being stoned and happy. This was a step beyond stoned. This was a step beyond whatever the step beyond was.

"Ehh, the ghosts like, want to make friends, though. I wish they didn't. It's too weird that they're people with names and faces and can talk and s**t."

Was this real life.

"High on your own happiness," Leslie repeated, bemused, and promptly went digging in his bag for a flask. Damnit. Left it in the room. Mik made him feel really, really ******** old-- which was unusual, because he normally felt exactly his age. It was throwing him for a loop.

He reached out to smack Mikael upside the head. A good, hearty smile his a**. "Cut that s**t out." Hearty was a word reserved for stews and s**t like that. Not...a smile.

"I mean, we can. There's like, a billion of these assholes though. I dunno. I'm going to check their world out pretty soon and I'll have to play nice, which is gonna suck d**k." Leslie gave Mik a stern stare, and pantomimed, "'Is that what you do to a friend?' Jesus god almighty have you never had any? What do you mean 'Is that what you do to a friend?'"

"True my a**," Leslie replied, clipped, but what else could you say in the face of blind, stupid, retarded optimism? Nothing was going to change his mind.

Mikael looked like he was going into a trance or something equally as ridiculous, vaguely creeped out. Maybe just every person, besides himself and maybe Thompson, was a ******** lunatic, not just the women. He reached over to smack the kid in the face: not hard, just enough to startle him out of whatever daydream he'd lost himself in. It was just in time for him to turn into a blond little tomato, and Leslie was doubly glad he'd decided to smack him.

"Yeah, well. Maybe you deserve to be hurt, you little ******** weirdo. And it was a figure of ******** speech, good god."

God, maybe Leslie shouldn't have smacked him. He was back to talking at full speed.

"Nnnnopee." Leslie abruptly stood, ashing his cigarette out on the table, flicking it at Mikael. "I can't deal with this s**t. I refuse to do this. I am not. I can't even call you a f*****t in good conscience because I don't even think you know what it'd mean."

"I am outta here."