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[3rd long] Stan and Josh

Summary: In which two fellas are both exhausted tools and bicker over paranoia, the guard, and Josh's current use of the bathtub as his personal bachelor pad.

Takes place: Saturday, July 20th

“Normal people” tend to entrust a bomb shelter or a body guard with their personal safety, though seeing as how none were to be found in a close proximity, Josh sought out an alternative for protection. That was how he had ended up spending the last several hours in the dorm’s communal bathroom, too paranoid to leave. He generally preferred lavatories to any other room in a house – for obvious reasons. Everything that he needed was right there, except for food; he spent a great deal of time wondering why no one kept edibles in a restroom. With the rest of the world locked out, Myers felt secure enough to leave the safety of the empty bathtub to fetch a razor and some shaving cream. There was absolutely no way he would allow his facial hair to become as scruffy as the cat by his feet.

Stan yawned widely. It had been a total of almost two weeks since he and Kyle had been in that fight. And something on four days since the two had really communicated. If it was right to even call it that much. Ever since the first the two had gotten into an actual row, he'd ended up simply crashing in his old dorm, part waiting, maybe just planning, for Christophe to move out of his room so he might have the chance to take up residence. An all end sort of plan. Like a backup to anything else that might be spinning through his brain about Kyle and Kenny's words and just the stupid shit that happened every day. Still...the past two weeks hadn't been nearly as miserable as he might've originally braced himself on. Generally it involved a lot of drinking, a lot of routine from the dorms to the bar and back again and a lot of tossing and turning and general lack in any sleep. An argument, witty or sarcastic banter and a new kid moving into the room.

Tonight had been such of one of these restless nights, where all he could really do was pretend he could get to sleep before eventually giving up; especially after spending the last in a disgruntled state of trying to generally go out on a limb and search for Josh. He'd felt a certain amount of unease at his lack in presence as of recent, something of a prickle that had escalated into a permanent sort of aggravation upon their new dormmate replacement; an event in itself that had happened all too quickly and all too fast for Stan's comfort. Half of him was sure that Josh had already been gotten rid of, just like Craig and Kenny's and Kyle's dads before him.

Another half actually almost hoped it was just a case of Josh doing something reckless and getting caught on it. A few days of detention. As horrible as a thought on that was, he felt tense and uneased and generally uncomfortable with the whole state of affairs. Especially so quickly after their last conversation involving Yates' guard duties.

Eventually Stan pushed himself out of his bed and made his way in the dark, tired and bleary, attempting in avoiding running into Evan's and Dylan's bed as he worked over towards the bathroom. He was pretty accustomed to feeling his way out through the room after being here so long, eventually drunkenly taking grasp of the doorknob and all too quickly finding it locked. With a sigh he rested his head against the door, rapping on it lightly. "Ev'n....dude. Get out. I need to take a piss, man."

A muffled voice and a scratching sound of hair against wood came from someplace that Josh currently didn’t want to think about, the other side of the door. He made no sudden movements, save for a few gentle strokes of the razor against his skin, just barely shifting his eyes shakily towards the direction of Stan’s voice. At least… he thought it was Stan’s voice, deciding that it was in his best interest to confirm that it was, in fact, the real dormmate. “Marsh?” Josh asked rather firmly, “S’that you?” The idea that it was a SPERC guard had him at edge, the hair on his arms raised, and the jittering of his hand was so close to nicking his chin that he had to drop the blade into the sink. The shuffling in the fluorescently lit restroom must have been strange to the eavesdropper on the other side. Getting his act together, Myers turned to face the door and asked, “Password. What is it?”

Stan remained there for a moment, forehead resting against the door, frowning to himself, brows furrowed. It took a good grasp on a second to digest who's voice it had been coming from the other side, and it was easy to say said voice pushed him in a drop to a suddenly more sobered, alert state. He stood up a little straighter, staring at the door for a good beat on a second. "....Josh? Dud--Dude, where the hell have you been--?" The boy hissed against the dark, giving the knob another frustrated jiggle as if this was somehow productive in any fashion. "And---w--what? Dude. I don't know. But yea, it's me, just open the door, man."

That was Stan and Josh knew it. His gut knew it. Every fiber in his being knew that the identity of the other boy was his dormmate. It was clear by the way Stan had responded, with an almost panicked sense of relief, mixed with drunkenness, and frustration. Damn, Myers didn’t think he would be able to recognize any of the other Ron Jeremy occupants as well as he could. “For future reference, Stanley,” he said, reaching over to unlock the doorknob, “I do suggest developing a password system, in the case that we come into contact with an imposter.” Upon seeing Stan, Josh’s eyes squinted and scanned him with a serious, though only half shaven, face. He smirked, “It would be… useful. For a party sharing a residency. Hmm, I see that someone has taken my bed, and that you are, too put it frankly, ‘bent out of shape, bucko.’ Can’t sleep? That’s unfortunate.”

Josh was right--the relief hit him a bit more than he might've anticipated at the picture of Josh's half unshaven face; his dormmate looking far from the picture perfect decor and smooth hair he usually presented. He flashed on a somewhat irritated look, glancing behind him into the dark room, "Dude....what? Why the hell would someone impersonate us." He gave an unhelpful, still holding to anticipation, gesture with one arm back into the room where no doubt hidden cameras recorded everything down to their body size. "They basically have us on candid camera 24/7. Anyways, where the hell have you been--? Man I've been out looking for you basically since you've left." The words were bit out on a biting note, almost like that of a mother reprimanding their kid for being out too late. In perfect honesty the entire thing had had him thrown off, half expecting Josh to be gone for good.

“I have a theory,” Myers began, pausing mid-sentence to turn back to the sink, “that the SPRC is able to trick us all with exact copies of ourselves. Like Ricky Ricardo and his replacement, and, sadly for them, that ploy isn’t fooling anyone.” Applying some shaving cream to the other cheek, Josh realized he must have sounded like a hysteric, especially to Stan, who was often the audience of his madness. “I’m not sure how we’ve been getting through this situation, to be blatantly honest. I can even criticize myself for being too trusting of the others. How are we sure that blond boy in the other room isn’t working for them? And what about Tucker, this new version of Tucker, how can we be sure that he isn’t one of SPRC’s replacements?” he scraped his chin roughly, too caught up in his conspiracy theories to think straight or answer Stan’s big question. Splashing water on his face, Josh shook his head free of stray foam and his paranoid thoughts. “Marsh, you show too much concern, it’s almost… derisory.”

Stan was too tired for this--avoiding questions, conspiracies, paranoia. It wasn't as if these things weren't uncalled for in this world, this place, but then again that Ricky Ricardo or whoever hadn't exactly been an exact replica. And it really wasn't as if it was all cloak and daggers--not as much maybe as it could be. There wasn't a lot beyond them being stuck in a circus to dance for whoever was watching. He looked a bit uneased still despite himself, albeit nothing to perhaps Josh's extent, or an extent of pushing passed his tired demeanor. Stan did however, for his part, throw a look back towards Thomas as Josh mentioned him. "Uh, well...I...mean it's possible. But we've....been here for months dude." He sounded a little nervous despite himself, as if worried about Josh more than his theories, "I mean. Hell, we've been here so long I've got Rumor has It pretty much permanently ingrained into my head at this point." His voice was somewhat heavy on sarcastic and oddly dull, despite his frown. "Why would they even want to...replace us. Or put in informants...? They've already got Georgie, you considered joining. They have cameras everywhere. Who even knows who else wants to become a guard, man."

At the mention of the antagonizing Adele song, Josh began to hum the tune as he carried out the rest of his facial cleansing ritual, organizing bottles and the like in the medicine cabinet for the only purpose of avoiding Stan’s gaze. The slightest sign of emotion crept onto his features, a minor quirk of the lips, or a frown – an indication that /something/ was troubling him. “It is rather simple, you know. SPERC is on a quest for ratings, as well as a quest to reshape us into their ideal image of us. If you begin to consider these possibilities, replacing us with “proper” versions of ourselves would make perfect sense!” Myers droned on, suddenly facing the other boy, “It’s the only explanation that I can think of.” With a fierce swipe of the hand, he pointed a sharp-toothed comb at Stan, beaming, “This is a very… bizarre government, Marsh. If they want total control over the civilians, they WILL infiltrate our living quarters. And that is why I have chosen to infiltrate THEIR systems. By working for them.”

Stan stared for a good moment at the other, as if trying to work out whether or not he'd heard him right. Before hand, he'd merely watched Josh on something of a cautious note during his "presentation" of all his thoughts on the inner workings of what was going on in SPERC and their plans. The "reshaping" them into "ideal images" of what they wanted struck Stan somewhere cold, causing the cautious teen to be even more so, paling slightly but still holding something on a good gaze with Josh. "You....joined them." He deadpanned, repeating the obvious into the room, not bothering on masking his voice to something a bit quieter. "....Are you a moron? Do you. Do you know what they're going to do to you? Hell, you do realize they know that you're doing this for those very reasons in the first place. Dude--it's probably on live time air, next week on Socially deranged Teens in South Park, Myers has a foiled plot to overthrow the government--stay tuned for HQ's thoughts on the matter."

Snickering and shaking his head seemed like the best way to react, and that is precisely what Josh did. “Oh Stanley…” he smiled and made a long string of “tsk tsks” at Stan’s naivety. Although Marsh was most likely correct, and Myers was, in actuality, a moron for going ahead and joining the guard, he was far too confident in his own abilities. The smile he displayed was brimming with arrogance. As amused as he was at Stan’s mockery of a reality TV show host, he wasn’t about to share his plots with anyone, not when there were cameras about and everyone in the world was an imbecile in his opinion. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, using the comb to weave his hair back into its orderly position, “Now then. Did you need to ‘take a piss’ or has your short term memory gotten the better of you?”

Stan stood there again for a good moment, shaking his head slightly, still face reflecting something on stern disbelief. "....Myers. Dude. No offense. But you...are an idiot." He had no trouble picking up on Myer's arrogance or his conviction in what it was he was doing, something clearly Josh-esque, but at the same time not. Not at least at this level with seconds before having been prattling off in almost complete paranoia of the place. Stan wasn't sure if he should even be taking everything he said in a totally solid context here. He gave the other another uncertain look through sharp eyes, "So, what, you're going to try and create drama now? Or you got some sort of evil hierarchy to crumble SPERC's hold on the world." He spoke, working his way in the bathroom and throwing the other another look, a raise of the brow.

A sharp dagger-like gaze hit Stan as Myers finished combing his hair. Josh’s neck nearly cracked, trying to gesture towards a camera on the ceiling, ever so slightly, for he feared that whatever security guard watching them through the lens would notice. Brows furrowing, he subtly made a “shhh” sound, and only then did he speak. “I’m going to do my best to please the supervisors and reform myself. I’ve been out of line for too long,” he uttered, hastily forcing the words out of his mouth as though they were poison. Josh leaned in, staring straight into Stan’s eyes, wanting to make some kind of sync or connection between their thoughts in order to understand one another. And ever so suddenly, he smiled again and shoved a roll of toilet paper into Marsh’s hands. “You can have the restroom now,” Josh continued, politely leaving soon after to rummage through the main room in the dark. The roll of toilet paper left behind read with intimidating handwriting, “DO NOT RUIN THIS FOR ME STAN MARSH.”

Stan followed Josh's gaze as he twitched up slightly toward one of the more...not. Hidden cameras. Albeit Stan was also quite sure there was enough cameras circling the room for a decent TV show to take off, he rolled his eyes slightly to the side, looking tired, but generally complying regardless. Giving Josh a bit of a "look," while the other seemed to try and communicate silently with him on perhaps the importance of him not openly asking these things. "Right. Of course..." And only just biting back a sarcastic comment that would ruin the last statement quite nicely. He instead bit on a pressed smile, in return for Josh's, glancing down at the toilet paper as the other shoved it into his hands. And all at once, catching the writing while the other left him apparently to do his business, in reality leaving the boy to pinch his nose again with a slight wince. This was not going to end well. For anyone. He guessed he should feel lucky Josh was keeping him in on it at all. Even bringing it up to him to begin with, whether or not perfectly recorded by everything around them, should probably be considered some kind of small miracle or blessing or something on trust or...something. Either way he sighed as he tossed the toilet paper behind him, unzipping his pants after reaching the toilet. Just to catch sight of the scene to the right of him. Off to the side, where the shower usually was along a typical drain on the ground, lay a full fledged mattress of toilet paper, a fort maybe, and a decorative design of toilet paper against the wall that neatly wrote the word "crap" in a cursive flare. Along side that was a bit of artwork along the wall and, fly open, Stan could only just stare in disbelief. "J....Josh?" He called, distantly, eyes still set on the work in front of him. "Uh...Josh." A quick zip up of his pants and he was moving to re-open the shut door, "Josh--please....tell me I'm not right in thinking that you're thinking....Josh---you are not moving into the bathroom."

A scrambling could be heard in the darkness of the room. Whether Stan preferred to keep a certain level of privacy or not, Josh poked his head in, just barely. “I don’t see what harm it would be. There is certainly no way I would share a bed with another person, not when this blond man is new and untrustworthy, and uttering foul language in his sleep. The Colonel is one thing,” he said, scratching behind the calico cat’s ears, “but staying in such an intimate proximity to someone else…”

"Right--well. I was thinking," Stan leveled to the other boy, looking a little taken a back at the door being opened just as he'd began to turn the knob himself, "That we'd just. Tell him to move out. Move into another empty dorm or Kyle's, there's like, two rooms there. And...and....dude. Dude. The bathroom--?" Stan's face kind of fell on those words, looking at the other as if suppressing a very real groan.

It occurred to Josh that there were plenty of other ways to go about this. He could move into the secret underground base, or find another empty dorm for himself. With his newfound occupation, the SPRC could even move him away from the residential area. It then occurred, again, that he seldom slept except on the very special and rare occasions when his mind needed to rest, so why was it that he needed a bed in the first place? His eye twitched in thought. He was territorial, that was it, and it was very simple. Josh’s most important revelation of that moment, however, was that his head was still in the restroom. He slipped out, closed the door behind him, and whispered. “Marsh, by the sound of it, it seems like you want me to stay and for this other fellow to disperse. That is rather rude of you! Why can’t I stay in the bathroom? It already smells better; the art gives it a nice homey feel to it,” his words rang like he had been watching too many episodes of Martha Stewart, which was most likely true.

Stan's expression changed to something on vaguely annoyed as Josh pulled back from inside the restroom, Stan placing a hand firmly against his head and simply shaking it as he opened the door, "Because. Josh. It's where we piss. It's where we shower. And take dumps, dude. And it is by far, the only place in which we get privacy outside of," and he gave a dramatic wave to the camera above them, hand still pressing firmly against his head, which also happened to be bowed against it as he spoke, the boy rubbing his forehead.

"Have you ever pondered why there are cameras in the lavatories of all places?" Myers merely offered in response. "I find it so... odd that you care so much about this, Stan. Although, you do care about many things. So stubborn, so very stubborn."

Stan peered up, looking at Josh, "What, you find it odd that I'd care where or if at all I'm going to take my shower? Or if anyone's around watching? Particularly you or...or Evan?" Something came on a more annoyed note at Evan, but regardless he gave another gesture of his arm. "Really?"

It all made sense. It all made perfect sense. Myers was almost shocked at how he hadn't realized it sooner. "So, Marsh, when did you officially move in, hm? Did you pack all of your bags and ship them here? Did Kyle force you out or did you come here of your own free will?" he pestered, enjoying every moment of questioning the other boy, and made a dramatic show of crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. "So you do enjoy our company. I see. As for our dispute over the bathroom, I'm afraid that it is far too late, and you are far too drunk and fatigued, and I, too, am exhausted. After a week like this, anyone would be in this condition, and perhaps anyone would find a bathtub to be comfortable when they are at such an extreme echelon of fatigue. Now then, am I allowed to keep the restroom for a short while for recuperation?"

Stan seemed to mouth wordlessly for a second while Josh went on, studying the other a moment of disbelief. "N--okay, no. No, that is actually, dude, none of your business. And..." He gave Josh a hard, almost disapproving look by the end of the other boy's words, just really taking a breath. "Fine. But I'm asking Thomas to leave. And you. Are then moving out of the bathroom. And...back into your actual bed. Alright?"

"You should know by now that that is not how I play. You will tell me what isn't my business, and only then will I move out of the tub, capiche? That is a fair trade, yes?” Myers remained glued to the door frame, now with one heel crossed in a way that a 50’s era greaser would consider ‘intimidating and cool.’ Josh, however, wasn’t fooling anyone. He would try any method to get what he wanted from Stan, though, and later he would think impersonating a greaser was ‘a good idea at the time.’

Stan rolled his eyes, looking tired. "Dude." He was about to just ignore the subject, but seemingly gave in, again to even more annoyance from Stan. "We had a fight. Alright. It's nothing big." He answered, sounding tired and irritable on that point as well as generally deflective, but at least if nothing else Josh could walk away thinking his greaser's impression had paid off. He gave the other a raised brow as if to, rather rudely maybe, ask if there was anything else.

With a nod of pure satisfaction, having gotten what he wanted to hear, Josh proceeded to harass Stan for more information. In some delusional way, he thought it would be helpful for the boy to talk about his problems, but Stan would never agree to having slumber party talk in the bathroom. “A fight, hm? What about this time?” Myers continued pressing on, “Does it hurt each time the two of you don’t see eye to eye, or when your personal feelings are disregarded? Yeah, I bet it hurts.” He placed his hand to his chest, as if trying to imagine what it must feel like. He wouldn’t understand the feeling of heartbreak even if his own heart was literally torn apart. “It hurts you right here, Marsh.”

Again, Stan was too tired for this shit. It wasn't as if he hadn't expected Josh to ask at some point, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't hoped for the others to drop it however. He threw the other another annoyed look on a raised eyebrow, rather as if asking, 'really, dude.' "Yea, you got me down to a T, Myers. Really, great job, man." His voice was pretty flat, dull, and certainly sharing on his typical sarcasm. "Look. I still need to take a piss, dude. So let's just leave it at that."

"Right, right, right," Myers said, snapping out of his usual pushy nature, "We will have to discuss the matter later when you are feeling less sarcastic. Good night, Stanley." Before he could allow "pee, pee, pee, pee, pee" to escape his lips, he closed the door, dividing their two separate worlds once again. Now that Josh was surrounded by darkness and sleeping bodies, he couldn't help but to feel sleepy himself. Partly staring into the corner with a dreary gaze, and partly being convinced by his conscience that taking Stan's bed for the night was not a good idea, Josh simply let his eyelids do as they wished while he stood, drifting into a state of upright sleep in the middle of the room.

The boy gave an unattractive snort at the sarcasm comment, raising a brow but, in all admittance, taking the opportunity to drop the subject. "Right...sounds good, Myers." Still, there was an amount of tiredness and sarcasm to his voice and he stood there a good few seconds after Josh shut the door behind him. Eventually, Stanley turned, shaking his head, feeling tired all over again, but also, even if he wouldn't admit it, relief in Josh not being dead or vanishing or whatever else SPERC tended towards. He pushed Kyle out of his mind. And even as he stood there and relieved himself he had to wonder, just what the hell had taken so many days with Josh off doing whatever the hell he was doing to get that guard duty job. And what exactly had been with the boy's sudden paranoia? He guessed, on some level, he should be grateful Myers wasn't on him for being a spy or something. Still, when he was finished he zipped up, flushing and opening the door with a scratch to the back of his neck and staring at the figure of Josh, eyes shut, standing there at the center of the room. It was a moment for him to realize his dormmate was actually asleep, and another before he worked his way behind Josh's shadowed figure in an amount of confused disbelief. And another of scraping his hands against his own face, sighing against the open room before, appearing even more tired, the boy gently placed his hand on Josh's shoulder, simply easing him forcibly to his bed. "Dude...you just. Are the creepiest thing sometimes." His voice was tired and quiet and before he could relish another spout of swearing from Thomas Stan turned, back to the bathroom, sighing and pretty much just hoping Josh had actually managed on enough toilet paper to keep him from being sore in the morning.

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