The Third Sunday

[pend]

The Midnight Texting Meme It's the middle of the night and you're trying to catch some z's — or brooding alone in the alleys, as one does — when your phone dings and suddenly a stranger or a friend is texting you. What could they possibly want at this hour? Is it important? Stupid? Are they drunk or maybe just needy? Do they need help hiding a body??? Pick up your phone and find out! Rules: ● Post with your character's name and canon on the subject line, indicate preferences as needed ● Tag others ● Have fun!

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[signingoff]

[ Damn it. Ellen was really hoping that tonight of all nights, Will would be a dead sleeper. ]

Sorry.

More real than the things going on in my head tonight.

[ Which is both true and false, but she never did have any of those face-grabbing creatures plant one of their abominations down her throat, like Kane.

She feels nauseous, sitting on the floor against her bed, knees pulled up to her chest. Now she has to contend with someone unintentionally eavesdropping on her breakdown. Great. ]

[wontgraham]

had a feeling. [ Which is such a brief, brisk response that it might seem cruel, but it’s not at all intended that way. Will feels thoughtful, his mind swirling with nauseating images—half real memory, half borrowed instincts and fears. He’s sitting up in bed, his sleep shirt stuck to his lower back in one damp patch.

He hesitates. ]

are you okay?

from the fall, i mean.

or in general, but i figure we both know the temporary answer to that question.

[signingoff]

[ Ellen is sort of in a weird twilight space where she's feeling awful, yet knowing what she just experienced wasn't real is actually making her feel like she kind of is okay, by comparison. ]

I'm going to have a nice little egg in the morning, I'm sure, but otherwise, I'm definitely still alive.

[ Except something is tickling her face, and she goes to push her sweat-slickened hair from her face -- and her hand comes back with a small smear of blood across her fingers.

After a minute of digging through her small room, she's finding that at the very least hers is lacking a medkit of any kind. 'Fuck' grinds out on a tired groan, Jones staring at her from a chair with sleepy yet cautious eyes. She stares back and contemplates her conflict. Yeah, she knows she could, Jones, but what if she doesn't like the idea of doing it? With adrenaline slamming through her veins and burning in her muscles, it's always easier to just deal with things on her own, everything under her own control.

But, Jesus, nothing is really within her control right now, is it? ]

If you're still awake...

I don't suppose your room has a first aid kit? Perhaps I'm just unlucky.

[wontgraham]

[ Will nods to himself, regardless of being alone in his room. It's strange and lonely to be on a transport vessel, no matter how many times he has to do it for work.

He's willing to leave it there. He isn't an expert on prying, really, and Ripley has always been...accomodatingly distant.

Sleep doesn't want to come back, though, and so when his phone rattles on his narrow countertop, Will's right next to it, opening his mostly-empty cabinet. ]

first aid kit, and coffee.

if you're going to be up for a while too.

[signingoff]

[ Ellen is staring down at her phone with a stunned look, almost as if unfazed -- opposite of the truth. She blinks, sighs, wipes the sweat from her upper lip. ]

Sure.

[ After a short delay: ] Coffee sounds nice right now.

My place or yours? [ Jones leans in against her bare leg, dragging his flank across, and she manages to break out of her haze enough to lean over and scratch him behind the ear. ]

[wontgraham]

[ His place or hers? Will glances back at his still-burbling coffee machine. It's as good as getting an answer. ]

the coffee's still brewing. if you wanted to use that first aid kit while we both wait on it - over here?

[ It's half past three in the morning, which means Will is too tired to feel self-conscious that this is the first time he's invited someone over to his quarters in about a year. ]