texts on a sunday

[keylogged]

texting meme You’ve got your TFLN, you’ve got your sexting, now here’s the meme for all those gen texts, phone calls, voicemails, pictures of your cats, and whatever else your little heart can come up with, because who doesn't like a little old-fashioned friendly texting. (Or enemy texting, if that's more your bag.) instructions: What it says on the tin! Leave a comment with your character, include preferences, a start, absolutely nothing or whatever you want. Run around and reply to others. Lather, rinse, repeat.

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[greenbriar]

[ Cardan stalks through the door, leaving Matt to close it. His eyes are on the hallway, scanning it in the manner of a man checking for threats. Or maybe victims. Having, apparently, spotted nothing of immediate interest, he will turn his gaze on Matt. It is rather more irritated than the situation probably demands, given that Matt didn't have to come here or bring anything.

Which means Cardan owes him. Annoying! More annoying, even, than the fact he has decided to develop personal boundaries in the time they hadn't seen each other.

Cardan's mouth twists into a sharp little smile. ]

Very mercenary of you.

Walk and ask, then. This building smells of dying things; I wish to leave it.

[ ...on that note, he is going to start walking. Very purposefully, and fast, and in what is very likely the completely wrong direction. ]

[semicharmed]

[ Cardan's sharp smiles, Matt notes with some annoyance, remain gorgeous.

Though currently going the wrong direction. ]

Oh-oh, no, this way--

[ He lunges forward to grab at Cardan's non-injured arm, aiming to steer him 180 degrees towards the stairwell. However that resolves specifically, the narration can only assume that they get it together enough to proceed downward.

The stairwell is narrow, echoing, and currently empty. Once Matt ascertains they're alone, he breathes a sigh that manages to meld relief and aggrievement. ]

Okay.

What happened?

[greenbriar]

[ He supposes the stairs are better than being confined in a claustrophobic, moving metal box. Marginally, given that he can still feel the iron in the walls. Considering the variety of unpleasant sensations he's currently experiencing, Matt's questions are actually a bit of relief -- something to focus on that isn't just terrible.

Well, that, and this is already going better than list last escape attempt. Calling Matt was (to his eventual chagrin, he's sure) the right choice.

Though the look he gives his would-be rescuer is exasperated. ]

You'll have to be more specific.

[ Sure, it's a question that gives him a lot of leeway to obfuscate, but he is currently uninclined to try and brainpower his way through figuring out what information Matt wants specifically. ]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt can admit he had that one coming. ]

What are you doing here? [ That might not be specific enough either, come to think. The wheels in his brain whir, whir, as they wend down the stairs. ] As in ... what brought you here or occasioned you coming here.

And how'd you get hurt?

[ How did you make friends with Vera is another question he'd like answered, but Matt feels like that comes way lower on the hierarchy of inquiry. ]

[greenbriar]

[ Cardan only barely suppresses a wince — maybe because he’s in pain, and maybe because it’s Matt’s fault. He’d always wondered how mortals got themselves caught up in the kinds of stupid, horrible deals that ended up with them glamoured to the gills and slaving away at his brother’s manor. Then he met some of the regular, unglamoured kind, and now he’s wondering how his brother isn’t awash in more victims. Probably because there’s only so many bodies Hollow Hall can hold.

Humans are bad at contract language, is the upshot. Which is fine, but Matt is a mage, and for some reason that means Cardan expects him to do better.

…well, he gets there eventually. Cardan is going to ignore the first question (vague) and the second (also pretty vague, furthermore he doesn’t have an answer), so he settles on the third. ]

Someone tried to murder me with one of your cars.

[ He says “your cars” with the kind of contempt one reserves for cockroaches and people who fail to offer refreshments at parties. Congratulations, Matt, you are now personally responsible for the concept of vehicular crime. ]

I think my arm is broken.

[ His look at Matt’s bag is pointed. ]

Hence the alcohol, Matthew.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's expression dips from knowing gamesmanship to alarm. He lets the blame for all car attacks roll off his back for the moment. ]

Oh, Jesus. Then we can't leave, somebody's gotta look at you. Did you set the break? Or are you thinking drink alcohol, then set? [ Without waiting for an answer, he adds in a mutter, ] I definitely didn't buy enough.

[greenbriar]

[ No, no, no, no. He called Matt here to help him leave; not… whatever this is. Don’t you take his brilliant escape plan away from him, Matt.

Cardan is thankful for the fact that he was already tense prior to this point, and therefore it probably isn’t apparent how much anxiety Matt’s response provokes. His mouth does press into a scowl, however. ]

You can do whatever you wish. I am leaving this wretched place, and cursing whoever tries to stop me.

[ Probably a mild curse, like always losing at Uno. But still. ]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt scowls back. He was somewhat expecting staying at the hospital to be a nonstarter, but Cardan could've just answered the follow-up questions. Maybe he's in too much pain to think straight.

With a sigh, Matt fishes his phone from his pocket and searches how to set a broken bone. ]

Do you know how to set breaks? [ He's not making any move to grab Cardan and haul him bodily back towards a doctor, at least. In fact, Matt's still proceeding down the stairs, frowning at his phone screen while he walks. ] I have more booze back at my place. And also, like, my spellcasting materials.