#(plot2)

[tom-114-blog]

long IC chat is long

Zach: But when you're stubborn as fuck, yeah, easy agreement's not the first option.

Tom: Are you saying something?

Zach: Maybe. Maybe not.

Zach: What are you gonna do about it if I am?

Tom: Punch you in the face?

Zach: You gonna drive all the way over to my house just to punch me in the face?

Zach: This late at night, too?

Tom: I'm bored, okay?

Zach: And you can't find anything else to do besides punching me in the face?

Tom: Well...

Tom: No.

Zach: ............... Must be some extreme case of boredom, then.

Zach: But really. Punching me in my face. What is that gonna do?

Tom: *shrugs* It's a solution I haven't tried yet.

Tom: I've decided to be scientific about this.

Zach: I'd use this against you, you know. If you punched me.

Tom: How so?

Zach: I'd spread rumors about you being abusive. It won't be that hard 'cause I'd be bruised or something.

Zach: Unfortunately, they'd think I'm still in a relationship with you, but it should somewhat work.

Tom: Our boss eats people.

Tom: I think I'm safe.

Zach: I'm talking outside of The Sharing.

Zach: Those teens who keep on shipping us.

Tom: Then why do I care?

Zach: :/

Tom: The teens I keep ignoring until you whine at me about it?

Zach: ...How the fuck do you manage to ignore them?

Zach: They're accusing you of being in love with another guy.

Zach: And as far as I know, you're straight too. So why the fuck do you let them do that?

Tom: I'm not anything. And worrying about my cousin's fantasies are a waste of time.

Zach: ...Fantasies. Are you implying I'm in some sort of sick teenage fantasy?

Tom: I don't know. Does it matter?

Zach: ...How the fuck are you so neutral about this?

Zach: Of course it matters!

Zach: It's one thing if it was with a chick, but here they are shipping me with another guy who I only know 'cause of work.

Zach: and /fantasies/

Zach: Who knows what's going through their minds?!

Tom: Well, I don't understand why you're getting caught up in all of these human ideas.

Tom: So let's call it even.

Zach: ... *headdesks*

Tom: What is that?

Zach: It means I just half slammed my forehead on my desk. Thus, headdesk.

Tom: Why?

Zach: And I'm going to do it again because you couldn't figure that term out.

Zach *headdesks*

Tom: ...

Tom: Stop?

Zach: How do you manage being a teen?

Zach: How are you a teen and not know what "headdesk" means?

Tom: My host is pretty.

Tom: It doesn't really matter how I act.

Zach: ... *headdesks again*

Tom: What?

Zach: Being "pretty" isn't going to get you anywhere in life, Tom.

Tom: (-.-) He's /pretty/ to humans. I use it to my advantage, because I'm /clever/.

Tom: That's what gets me ahead in life.

Zach: Ahead in life, fine, fine. Says the one who's still in summer school.

Tom: US History courses are meaningless, and Chapman was meant to fix that for me.

Zach: If you're so clever, then why didn't you figure out how to take care of it yourself?

Tom: What? I don't work for the school. How can I fix the grades?

Zach: I don't know, asking your coworker who has known how to hack computers for years?

Tom: We weren't working that closely when I failed. (-.-)

Zach: Even then, it was pretty obvious that I'd know how to hack stuff. You could still have asked.

Tom: ...

Tom: I'm sorry?

Zach: Whatever. Not like I'm sitting there in class, so I'm fine with not having done that favor.

Zach: Though that probably would have meant that you'd owe me something. Oh well.

Tom: Do you need me to owe you something?

Zach: Not at the moment. Nothing I can think of, anyway.

Tom: ... Are you sure? You've been weird lately.

Zach: You're calling this weird? Says the one who was chewing my arm the other night.

Zach: I've just been thinking about some things. :/

Tom: THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN

Tom: ...

Zach: I have proof otherwise. I'm sorry, I wished that didn't happen either.

Tom: Thinking about what things?

Zach: .........things.

Zach: Since when are you so interested in what I think about?

Tom: Because maybe it will lead to less arguments and impulses to break faces.

Zach: ..................

Tom: The kids think it's cute when we get into these tiffs, but what if we have it out in front of a sub-visser? (Or higher up.)

Zach: True.

Zach: But still strange of you to care, regardless of your reasoning.

Tom: Fine. I'll go.

Zach: :/ Seriously. If you apparently have the right not to tell me things that stress you out or anything, then I don't have to tell you what stresses me out.

Tom: You're entirely right.

Tom: Sorry I stuck my nose in it.

Zach: It's fine. But if you expect me to ask you anything, then you're going to have to fess up when I ask.

Tom: Things are probably fine how they are.

Zach: With us staying out of each others' personal business? I agree.

Tom: Fine.

Zach: ......... I'm just going to try to figure out how we got on that topic from the topic of extreme boredom.

Tom: I'm guessing boredom was the cause.

Zach: Probably. I doubt we'd have brought up that if it wasn't.

Tom: Right.

Zach: ......... Conversation has died. New topic. Did you go back to The Sharing sometime today? Heard that Trent was having a hangover.

Tom: I am avoiding the pool until feeding.

Zach: ... Probably the best idea. I was unfortunate and ended up having to talk to a drunk Trent, so I wouldn't want to be back there if I didn't have to.

Tom: I don't want to know what Visser Three was doing to end up like that.

Zach: Good, 'cause I don't know myself. Just that he was nicer --though still creepy-- drunk.

Tom: I can yell at Chapman if you want. Someone of your rank shouldn't have to deal with that.

Zach: Gee, thanks for reminding me that a teenager has a higher rank than I do.

Zach: Though someone really should be assigned to keep tabs on Trent when he's drunk.

Tom: What does my host's age have to do with my rank?

Zach: Nothing, really. Just the fact that it would hurt, if only you understood things like humans tend to do.

Tom: Zach's not much older.

Zach: But still. Your host has a higher rank than he does. So he's not very pleased with that idea.

Tom: Why does it matter if your host is bothered?

Tom: Hosts are always bothered.

Zach: 'Cause then he'll pester me about it instead of being quiet like he usually is.

Tom: Whatever. It's not like I can do anything about it. I like this one. I'll be keeping it for a while.

Zach: Good luck on that, then. Rather have to deal with you than someone else, honestly.

Tom: That was almost nice. :D

Zach: Almost. ...Still not used to how nice you're attempting to be just yet, though.

Tom: Why are you...?

Tom: I can't win with you.

Zach: Nope, no you can't.

Zach: You're going to have to deal with it.

Tom: *sigh*

Tom: Fuck this.

Zach: Pfffft.

// Tom has logged off //

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(( OOC Note: It was discussed in chat, and I'll mention it again here that, no it's not good at all for Temrash to control with violence. However, he'd actually said it as a mocking throw-away comment and only kept up the guise for personal entertainment because he really was very bored. Also, Temrash is under the impression he is talking to Uryphe and only Uryphe. ))

[tom-114-blog]

A deal to make...

Temrash 252 rubbed Tom's eyes. Looked at the screen again.

no seriously when and where

<You didn't actually plan this far ahead did you?>

"I knew what I wanted, and I went for it."

<Oh the high and mighty Temrash. You are absolutely no better than your peers.>

"Notice that I've been dealing entirely with your cousin. Jake may have his guard down. So shut up or I stab him in his sleep." Temrash 252 rubbed his eyes again. The bridge of his nose. His temples. Absolutely nothing would get rid of his migraine.

<Have you tried dislodging the foreign object shoved in there?>

"Clever. Adorable even." Temrash 252 sighed. "Oh fuck this. Impulsiveness works for somebody why not for me?" He picked up his iphone and looked up Rachel's number on Facebook. He didn't actually have it because who in their right mind would have Rachel's number in their phone?

Finally, he dialed and waited. "Hi, Sara. Can you put Rachel on?"

[tom-114-blog]

He wants to take care of himself? Fine.

I just want it on record that it's not my fault if my cousin convinces him.

[tom-114-blog]

That night...

Temrash 252 waited until Tom was asleep to play the memories. The same memories he played every night, obsessively. Over and over and over, analyzing every scrap of information. He couldn't do it while his host was awake or the idiot would realize the very same things Temrash 252 had realized the first time around, and then that information would sit in his brain, able to be taken by anyone.

But Temrash 252 couldn't do anything with the information. Not yet. All he could do was goad and pace and plot and wait.

So he analyzed. All night, he analyzed.

Spying Jake and Marco goofing off in the construction site only days before the landing. Tom had begged and pleaded for Temrash 252 to pull over and yell at them before they got themselves killed, but the Yeerk couldn't possibly have been less concerned with the children. Not back then.

The gorilla's human gesture when it let Tom out of the cage. Saving humans. Reassuring humans. This from the same species that had tried to win a war against one species by eradicating another? Then, like an afterthought, the Hork-Bajir. Like the goal had been humans, and then the goal was adapted.

The tiger in the pool. The tiger that reached for Tom. Eyes wide with terror, its roar was pained and unimpressive. Tom had been too busy making peace with death to really noticed, but Temrash 252 had watched with rapt attention, hoping Tom's head would survive the impact, because he couldn't bail. Not yet. Not while the Andalite was being so... sentimental.

The disappearance of the Tobias kid corresponding with the first Andalite raid. He might not have even noticed that one if he hadn't recognized the missing kid as the one that had been in Jake's room, behaving strangely. The "friend of Jake's" he never saw again.

Jake's sudden hostility toward him on the occasions he wasn't avoiding him entirely. The kid had been like an extra limb, wondering why his doting big brother suddenly didn't give a shit anymore. Then, somehow, he'd gotten an answer. An answer he didn't like. The truth? How much of it?

The human tracks that lead into the water but not out of it, and an abandoned pair of girl's jeans in a style Rachel liked. They had lacked identification, but that girl was so fucking proud of her pants.

The host death statistics. Holding off on humans as much as possible, and killing Hork-Bajir and Taxxons willy-nilly. No matter what the situation. A childish sensibility.

The one Andalite who fought as such, despite being obviously too young to be a warrior and of true use in a tail fight. He wasn't as obsessed with Andalites as his boss, but even he could see that. Combine that with the "Canadese" friend who would eat thing off the sidewalk and was constantly "testing" his mouth. And the signals Visser Three had been hearing that had brought them all to the beach in the first place.

The idiotic Tumblr bullshit he walked in on. "Role playing" his ass. No one coincidentally role plays exactly like reality. Though he had to give them points for adding some original things in there.

Tom's mouth flinched into a hint of a smile from Temrash 252's pleasure signals. And then Rachel. Rachel describing a yeerk pool instead of hell. PTSD much, cousin dearest? Rachel freaking out and dragging Jake down with her.

It was obvious. It was so completely obvious. It just wasn't enough. It was circumstantial. It was not enough to tell the angry cannibal that he was wrong.

A cold shiver ran down Tom's spine, accidentally caused by Temrash 252's fear. Blearily, the boy roused from sleep. "Wha-?

Temrash 252 sent the signal for more serotonin to be pumped into Tom's system. <Go to sleep. You're more useful rested.>

"Gah fubd I noh beh yussfl."

<Wow. No. That was a brilliant comeback. Please go on.>

But Tom was asleep again.

You don't have friends. You have goals.

Temrash 252 flustered unhappily at that memory. Goals were all he needed. What did some stupid Gedd shit know?

[tom-114-blog]

Subtle like a bag of hammers