foolishwren | 007. Video

007. Video

_{[It's dark. But judging by the orange, flickering light lighting up Heather's face as she does the customary squint-at-the-screen-to-make-sure-it's-recording motions, she's got a campfire lit. Satisfied, she puts it down on her pack and adjusts it a little before taking a seat in front of it. She's already laid out the sleeping bag and everything.]}

[Cujo the Growlithe and Arty the Sentret are both out of their Pokeballs, for once-- both are curled in a furry heap somewhere just barely in-view of the camera. Both are asleep .... unlike whatever owned the big red glowing eyes that were glimmering faintly in the dark somewhere behind Heather's back. She doesn't seem too concerned, though, as she's not paying much attention to them, for... for some reason. ... You'd think she'd be concerned.]
Yo.

Sorry to disappoint and all, but unfortunately, my little science experiment did not result in my death, so here I am to annoy you all a little more. Merry Christmas.

I'd also like to extend my thanks to Zack for helping me out with it. He fought valiantly in the great bee battle._{[She flips the horns at the camera and gives a serious nod.]}
You rule, bro.

Anyway. Was hopin' to catch one of those things, but by the time I got back to the scene of the crime-- _{[Why yes, the 'great bee battle' HAD mainly consisted of them running like sissies back to Cherrygrove. Is anyone surprised by this?]} -- they'd all decided they had somewhere better to be. Figures. Ignorance always flees in the wake of science, am I right?

Anyway..._{[The customary pause in which she remembers what she'd originally decided to annoy people via pointless video transmissions for anyway. ... After a moment or so, she snaps her fingers before tugging her knees to her chest and propping her chin on them. Now she remembers. Camping in the woods at night was something she'd never done as a kid (she and her father hadn't really been the country type), but every kid knows there's a few traditional activities one must take part in. She doesn't have anything to make s'mores with, so that left...]}
Oh yeah. So. Nighttime on the way to Violet City. Did I mention before that these woods are creepy as hell at night? Camping sucks. But... I'm bored, and even though I'm prooobably gonna regret this...

_{[She sort of wished she had a flashlight to hold under her face spookily, as was tradition, but aw heck.]}

...Anybody got some good ghost stories?

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_{[Sorry buddy, that wasn't vague. But Heather understood. Sometimes you just had to talk about that stuff. She's not going to begrudge him a chance to get some stuff off his chest.]}

It's a believable one, though. Realistic.

_{[UH OH, SHE'S ONTO YOU.]}

... After all, I think a lot of people screw up like that. ... Everybody, in fact.

_{[In his final notes, Ha-- ... Dad had talked about those times when he almost put his hands around that baby's neck... almost did something horrible, out of fear and grief.]}

... I'm pretty sure the only people who manage not to are the ones who are really, really special. Y'know. More-than-normal special.

_{[Cue a biiiig bland shrug, because Heather's not gonna be doing that whole 'significant stare, I see what you did there' thing. Nobody needed that. She'd be pissed if someone did it to HER. Nah, she'd play along.]}

There aren't many people out there like that. Too bad there aren't more, huh?

Yeah...too bad. The world might be better off with more people that tried to fix their mistakes rather than run away from them.

Heh. Even that doesn't always work.

_{[They'd been doing so well just before that night. Things had still been rough, sure, Heather hadn't exactly been World's #1 Daughter, what with the stupid delinquent behavior she'd been pulling previously to act out, but... she'd been trying, and they'd only been getting better...]}

Shit happens, I guess.

Guess so.

[He had never, would never forgive himself for any of it. His own failures came back to haunt him any time someone said his name. That was the name his father had given him, the name that godforsaken parrot kept repeating over and over.]

[...Ironically enough, he never liked his name to begin with.]

To some of us a little more than others.

Heh, don't I know the feeling.

_{[Well this has been a mighty uplifting eveni-- ... early.... morning... NIGHT. It was still dark out, so it was night. There.]

[In any case, Heather... didn't exactly want the conversation to end on a downer note. Her aim wasn't to make anybody brood all night long.]}

SO. 'Fraid I don't have any stories like that _{[LIAR LIAR PANTS EVERYTHING ON FIRE (HAVING BEEN ALESSA KIND OF SUCKED)]} Otherwise I'd share. _{[Shut up Heather you are dumb and your excuses for not talking about your problems are dumb.]} But I have a pretty killer story I heard once in first grade, though.

Oh yeah? I'd love to hear it. Sorry mine wasn't exactly all that interesting.

Oh, no sweat, dude. You gotta talk about what you gotta talk about. _{[And that's the closest she'll come, at least for the moment, to implying that she totally knew he was the main character of that little downer story. Just a little nudge.]}

Anyway. This story was like, the rage on the playground when I was like... seven. I was the best at tellin' it, too.

So.

_{[She leans forward a little, letting the fire cast dark rings of shadow under her eyes. It was traditional.]}

The story starts with an old hotel.

[Otacon adjusted his glasses, listening with interest while Asimov's back leg twitched as he slept. Kotai shifted slightly, still wrapped around Otacon's waist as she stretched enough to rest her head on top of his.]

Yeah...? Sounds good so far.

And the hotel has thirt-- .... nn... YEAH. Thirteen floors. _{[It's been awhile since she's told this story.]}

So one day, a priest comes to the hotel and says 'I need a room, please'.

And the guy behind the counter is like "I'm sorry, sir, but the only room available is on the thirteenth floor, and it's very haunted."

But the priest is all "I don't care, I need a room!" and he goes up to the room to unpack.

Uh-huh...[This seemed vaguely familiar, but hotels and the number thirteen were kind of big with this kind of thing.]

_{[There's probably a million variations of the story-- schoolyard ghost tales all tend to run along the same lines.]}

That night, as he's about to go to sleep, he hears a ghostly voice from the closet...

_{[Making a stereotypical spooky face she wiggled her fingers at the screen.]}

"I AM THE GHOST WITH THE BLOODY FINGERRRRR....!"

. . .

[Blink blink.]

[If you're not scaring Otacon, you rolled a critical failure somewhere.]

Then what?

_{[IT WAS SCARY WHEN YOU WERE SEVEN OKAY.]}

Well, he did what most guys in his position would do, I guess. He jumped out the window.

........

So the next day, a theoretical physicist comes to the hotel!

_{[Otacon if you have any hope of hearing an intelligent story, you'd better abandon it now.]}

. . .

And what'd he do?

[Otacon's kind of stupid like this.]

Well, pretty much the same thing as the other guy after getting up to the room, except instead of yelling "Oh my god" when he jumped out the window, he yelled "Oh, random fluctuations in the space-time continuum!"

Anyway.

The next day, a teenager with a guitar comes to the hotel.

And he's all "Like, I need a room."

So he's sent up to the thirteenth floor. As usual.

[Otacon laughed quietly at that, amused.]

Then what'd he do?

Well, he sits down on the bed and takes out his guitar and just chills out, playing some tunes.

And sure enough, as the sun sets, the voice from the closet goes, "I AM THE GHOST OF THE BLOODY FINGERRRRR...!"

The teenager stops playing the guitar... looks up at the closet door.... And goes "Well, get a band-aid, dude!"

.......................

...... Okay, in hindsight, that story is incredibly lame, but it was hilarious when I was seven, okay?

. . .

[pffffffffffthahahahahaha]

It wasn't half bad, actually.

_{[Now THERE was the reaction she was looking for! Humor always helped HER cope, whether it was stupid or not.]

[She laughs, too.]}

Well, I did say that I was the best at telling this story! None of the other kids even came close.

[Smiling helped him deal with his problems. The question was whether or not his smiles were genuine.]

Of course. Nobody's better than you, Heather.

You got that right. I'm the champion.

Sure you are.

... You don't sound too convinced, are you experiencing doubts about my awesome?

_{[ooc: I APOLOGIZE ON BEHALF OF HEATHER'S COOPERATION. There must be future angst sessions.]}

[video]

philanthrotaku.livejournal.com - 2010-06-30 05:06 (UTC) - Expand

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