(no subject)
Jun. 23rd, 2013 09:04 pmNick had woken up with the thought that maybe he'd be productive for once. Clean up (though he'd been better about cleaning up in general, but clean up in a way that was approaching something Schmidt might approve of slightly), go out to do something that wasn't a lot of sitting around doing nothing. It was becoming increasingly obvious he was stuck here for some long amount of time, and maybe it was time to accept that.
Or at least not fight it as much.
He was almost done putting stuff away when he first spotted it among some papers he had laying around. He was honestly about to trash the whole pile when he noticed the gaudy print of something that seemed out of place. Pushing aside the papers on top of it, he found himself staring at a card with a picture of his father's face on it.
He didn't know how long he stood there just staring at it. It simply said WALT - THE KING from what he could see so far, but he had a feeling already what it was for without even opening it. Despite suddenly wanting to throw it away, he uneasily picked it up and opened it.
That was all he needed for confirmation really. The memorial card was simple, with Psalm 25 on the back and a date beyond the last day he remembered being home as his death date. Apparently life kept marching on back home, and his life included this.
He wasn't really sure what to do with the information. His feelings about his father had always been conflicted at best. He probably should even be happy he was here and not there, where he was sure his family would've looked to him to get a funeral together. If he didn't know the first thing on how to react to the news here, how bad would've it been had he been back in Chicago?
What he could settle on was that he could make another check mark on why he hated this place. What was the point of finding the card here? It wasn't like he could do anything about it now. If the date was right, it was months ago anyway. In the end, being annoyed at that, too, was pointless. Everything about this place was absolutely pointless.
He ended up drinking instead of wallowing. Or drinking enough to ignore the fact he was wallowing. Sure, he was pretty sure he had plans for that night, but he forgot all about them by the third beer he had. As night fell, he was on his way to being properly buzzed, which was a nicer feeling than the oddly crushing sensation he felt on his chest earlier. He'd propped the card up on the table he was sitting at a little while ago, and he just sort of stared at it as he opened another bottle. He was about to drink it, but he paused instead, tilting it toward the photo.
"To you, you old bastard," he said, the slight slur in his voice apparent. He was apparently not nearly drunk enough for the simple action, because that crushing feeling came right back again.
He sighed and took a sip of his drink, sitting back in his chair. The thought of just throwing the damn thing away was getting to be tempting, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. If he could get himself drunk enough, he wouldn't have to think about why that might be.
Or at least not fight it as much.
He was almost done putting stuff away when he first spotted it among some papers he had laying around. He was honestly about to trash the whole pile when he noticed the gaudy print of something that seemed out of place. Pushing aside the papers on top of it, he found himself staring at a card with a picture of his father's face on it.
He didn't know how long he stood there just staring at it. It simply said WALT - THE KING from what he could see so far, but he had a feeling already what it was for without even opening it. Despite suddenly wanting to throw it away, he uneasily picked it up and opened it.
That was all he needed for confirmation really. The memorial card was simple, with Psalm 25 on the back and a date beyond the last day he remembered being home as his death date. Apparently life kept marching on back home, and his life included this.
He wasn't really sure what to do with the information. His feelings about his father had always been conflicted at best. He probably should even be happy he was here and not there, where he was sure his family would've looked to him to get a funeral together. If he didn't know the first thing on how to react to the news here, how bad would've it been had he been back in Chicago?
What he could settle on was that he could make another check mark on why he hated this place. What was the point of finding the card here? It wasn't like he could do anything about it now. If the date was right, it was months ago anyway. In the end, being annoyed at that, too, was pointless. Everything about this place was absolutely pointless.
He ended up drinking instead of wallowing. Or drinking enough to ignore the fact he was wallowing. Sure, he was pretty sure he had plans for that night, but he forgot all about them by the third beer he had. As night fell, he was on his way to being properly buzzed, which was a nicer feeling than the oddly crushing sensation he felt on his chest earlier. He'd propped the card up on the table he was sitting at a little while ago, and he just sort of stared at it as he opened another bottle. He was about to drink it, but he paused instead, tilting it toward the photo.
"To you, you old bastard," he said, the slight slur in his voice apparent. He was apparently not nearly drunk enough for the simple action, because that crushing feeling came right back again.
He sighed and took a sip of his drink, sitting back in his chair. The thought of just throwing the damn thing away was getting to be tempting, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. If he could get himself drunk enough, he wouldn't have to think about why that might be.
(no subject)
Feb. 13th, 2013 05:22 pmNick Miller was never good with being cornered.
Almost everyone outside chanting knew that about him. Jess, by now, knew that about him. And yet there he was, with everyone insisting on him doing something that he really did not want to do, for reasons he had no inclination to think hard about. Thinking too deeply about things, after all, was also firmly in the things he avoided at all costs. Keep it simple. Old Nick liked it that way, and the coat could really only pull him so far away from that.
The coat was amazing, but not that amazing.
"Okay, let's just do this already. Just kiss me," Jess said, now getting a lot more demanding and impatient. It was the kind of tone that made him want to shrink away from this even more.
"No, I'm not going to kiss you," he insisted. Stand his ground, that's something Trench-coat Nick would do. He liked that. Now if he could just ignore the twisting in his stomach that came with the idea of their first kiss being forced and awkward, he'd be set here.
"Kiss me!" she shot back, and he was all too familiar with the look he was receiving. It was a look she only got when she wasn't going to stop pushing, and she had to. She absolutely had to.
"Jess, stop," he said, and it came out more pleading than he meant it to. How weird it all felt was enough to mess with him, and he didn't like it. In fact, it was the kind of thing he would've retreated from a long time ago, except he was stuck here and she was not budging even an inch.
"God, Miller, just kiss me already!"
She wasn't going to stop. It was as infuriating as it was serving a reminder of exactly why he was so against this. With all of his usual available options to escape the situation, it was really only a matter of time before he did something incredibly stupid. He didn't actually consciously think about what that might be until it slipped out of his mouth.
"No, not like this."
It took him a beat or two to realize that a, he had been thinking that at all (and he had been, apparently, the phrase repeating over and over in the back of his head, just quiet enough for him to completely ignore it) and b, he had said it out loud. Actually, b wasn't even a thing until he realized the 'I am going to be a pain in your ass' look was gone and replaced by something else.
Something more terrifying. Something that showed she had rewound what he had just said and was digesting it and probably making it into something that it wasn't. Or was. He didn't know, and he sure as hell didn't want to know. He cleared his throat, but the lump that was quickly forming in his throat wouldn't go away.
"Th - that -" he stammered, feeling the panic start setting in. No, he was not having this conversation here or ever and wow, when did it get so suffocatingly warm around them?
"What? What does that mean?" she prompted. Of course she wasn't going to let it go. He had no idea why he'd briefly hoped she'd just drop it.
"No, I didn't -" he continued, trying desperately to come up with something on the fly to explain himself. It wasn't helping she was still giving him the look and he wished she'd stop. It also wasn't helping the alcohol he'd drank was more than enough to make him fuzzy-headed to begin with. "- That - nothing! I just, I didn't mean it like - I just, we can't like that because, that's not - do you know like - It's very like, you don't, that's not what I..."
Digging himself into a deeper hole. Every word he was saying was making it worst. Every word he was saying made him realize everything he was saying was complete bullshit, and that only served to freak him out more. Outside, he could hear the faint chanting continue, and it was in that moment he saw only one option in front of him.
Literally in front of him. The door was shut tight, sure, but the window? No one could stop him from going out the window. It was insane, he knew it was insane, but there was only two options and one of them was something he refused to think about. There was only so far you could push him before he snapped, and there was definite snapping going on.
"If you'll excuse me," he said, brushing past her with the stride of a man on a crazy, crazy mission. He could heard Jess protesting behind him, and he could even hear himself replying, though all he could focus on at that point was freedom. If freedom meant a window ledge, so be it. Putting aside the melon head version of himself, he got to work without a second thought.
"Okay, this makes sense," he said more to himself than anyone else, and he swore he almost laughed as he unlatched the window and started to step outside. It would totally be fine, absolutely fine, even as he had to unsteadily lean over to fit out through it and step out onto the ledge.
He was completely fine.
It was exactly what he needed, air. Beautiful, wonderful air, which he really hadn't been getting a few seconds ago.
The good feeling lasted all of maybe five seconds, with everything that had been causing him stress far away. Then he looked down, and remembered just how high a couple stories up actually was. Pretty high, terrifyingly high, as it turned out. His legs felt like jelly for a whole new reason as he turned around and pressed his body against the glass instead. shuffling along the edge toward the other window.
"Help! Help me!" he yelled as loud as humanly possible as he kept shuffling over. The chanting came to a quick halt. He couldn't really see inside, so he kept yelling, "I made a very bad mistake! Somebody open this window!"
The yelling that replaced the chanting was enough of an indication he got their attention. He had no idea who swung the window open, but he didn't care. What he cared about was getting inside, and he unsteadily shuffled (which, for the record? A whole lot harder when he was only in his socks) close enough to grasp the edge, pulling himself inside. He only opened his eyes when his feet were firmly on the not-ledge ground.
Except when he opened his eyes, everyone was gone.
And the apartment was gone, because the room he was in was definitely not anything in their apartment.
And it was suddenly really, really dark.
And there was something rubbing against his legs.
That last one was the first thing that snapped him out of his shock. His reaction was immediately to jump away, which only served to make him stumble into something and fall backwards, landing hard on his ass. He heard something scamper away from him as he looked around, trying to spot anything familiar. Even in the dark, he could tell he wasn't going to be successful in that.
Did he somehow enter a neighbor's place? No, that was stupid. Did he finally get thrown off the deep end and was hallucinating? It was worrying how possible that might be, given the circumstances.
"Hello?" he finally called out, trying not to sound freaked out. He absolutely sounded freaked out.
Almost everyone outside chanting knew that about him. Jess, by now, knew that about him. And yet there he was, with everyone insisting on him doing something that he really did not want to do, for reasons he had no inclination to think hard about. Thinking too deeply about things, after all, was also firmly in the things he avoided at all costs. Keep it simple. Old Nick liked it that way, and the coat could really only pull him so far away from that.
The coat was amazing, but not that amazing.
"Okay, let's just do this already. Just kiss me," Jess said, now getting a lot more demanding and impatient. It was the kind of tone that made him want to shrink away from this even more.
"No, I'm not going to kiss you," he insisted. Stand his ground, that's something Trench-coat Nick would do. He liked that. Now if he could just ignore the twisting in his stomach that came with the idea of their first kiss being forced and awkward, he'd be set here.
"Kiss me!" she shot back, and he was all too familiar with the look he was receiving. It was a look she only got when she wasn't going to stop pushing, and she had to. She absolutely had to.
"Jess, stop," he said, and it came out more pleading than he meant it to. How weird it all felt was enough to mess with him, and he didn't like it. In fact, it was the kind of thing he would've retreated from a long time ago, except he was stuck here and she was not budging even an inch.
"God, Miller, just kiss me already!"
She wasn't going to stop. It was as infuriating as it was serving a reminder of exactly why he was so against this. With all of his usual available options to escape the situation, it was really only a matter of time before he did something incredibly stupid. He didn't actually consciously think about what that might be until it slipped out of his mouth.
"No, not like this."
It took him a beat or two to realize that a, he had been thinking that at all (and he had been, apparently, the phrase repeating over and over in the back of his head, just quiet enough for him to completely ignore it) and b, he had said it out loud. Actually, b wasn't even a thing until he realized the 'I am going to be a pain in your ass' look was gone and replaced by something else.
Something more terrifying. Something that showed she had rewound what he had just said and was digesting it and probably making it into something that it wasn't. Or was. He didn't know, and he sure as hell didn't want to know. He cleared his throat, but the lump that was quickly forming in his throat wouldn't go away.
"Th - that -" he stammered, feeling the panic start setting in. No, he was not having this conversation here or ever and wow, when did it get so suffocatingly warm around them?
"What? What does that mean?" she prompted. Of course she wasn't going to let it go. He had no idea why he'd briefly hoped she'd just drop it.
"No, I didn't -" he continued, trying desperately to come up with something on the fly to explain himself. It wasn't helping she was still giving him the look and he wished she'd stop. It also wasn't helping the alcohol he'd drank was more than enough to make him fuzzy-headed to begin with. "- That - nothing! I just, I didn't mean it like - I just, we can't like that because, that's not - do you know like - It's very like, you don't, that's not what I..."
Digging himself into a deeper hole. Every word he was saying was making it worst. Every word he was saying made him realize everything he was saying was complete bullshit, and that only served to freak him out more. Outside, he could hear the faint chanting continue, and it was in that moment he saw only one option in front of him.
Literally in front of him. The door was shut tight, sure, but the window? No one could stop him from going out the window. It was insane, he knew it was insane, but there was only two options and one of them was something he refused to think about. There was only so far you could push him before he snapped, and there was definite snapping going on.
"If you'll excuse me," he said, brushing past her with the stride of a man on a crazy, crazy mission. He could heard Jess protesting behind him, and he could even hear himself replying, though all he could focus on at that point was freedom. If freedom meant a window ledge, so be it. Putting aside the melon head version of himself, he got to work without a second thought.
"Okay, this makes sense," he said more to himself than anyone else, and he swore he almost laughed as he unlatched the window and started to step outside. It would totally be fine, absolutely fine, even as he had to unsteadily lean over to fit out through it and step out onto the ledge.
He was completely fine.
It was exactly what he needed, air. Beautiful, wonderful air, which he really hadn't been getting a few seconds ago.
The good feeling lasted all of maybe five seconds, with everything that had been causing him stress far away. Then he looked down, and remembered just how high a couple stories up actually was. Pretty high, terrifyingly high, as it turned out. His legs felt like jelly for a whole new reason as he turned around and pressed his body against the glass instead. shuffling along the edge toward the other window.
"Help! Help me!" he yelled as loud as humanly possible as he kept shuffling over. The chanting came to a quick halt. He couldn't really see inside, so he kept yelling, "I made a very bad mistake! Somebody open this window!"
The yelling that replaced the chanting was enough of an indication he got their attention. He had no idea who swung the window open, but he didn't care. What he cared about was getting inside, and he unsteadily shuffled (which, for the record? A whole lot harder when he was only in his socks) close enough to grasp the edge, pulling himself inside. He only opened his eyes when his feet were firmly on the not-ledge ground.
Except when he opened his eyes, everyone was gone.
And the apartment was gone, because the room he was in was definitely not anything in their apartment.
And it was suddenly really, really dark.
And there was something rubbing against his legs.
That last one was the first thing that snapped him out of his shock. His reaction was immediately to jump away, which only served to make him stumble into something and fall backwards, landing hard on his ass. He heard something scamper away from him as he looked around, trying to spot anything familiar. Even in the dark, he could tell he wasn't going to be successful in that.
Did he somehow enter a neighbor's place? No, that was stupid. Did he finally get thrown off the deep end and was hallucinating? It was worrying how possible that might be, given the circumstances.
"Hello?" he finally called out, trying not to sound freaked out. He absolutely sounded freaked out.
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