Tim W█████ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
postictal) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2017-12-16 04:29 pm
postictal) wrote in entrancelogs2017-12-16 04:29 pm
Entry tags:
- 2064 read only memories: turing,
- from dusk till dawn: seth gecko,
- marble hornets: jay,
- marble hornets: tim,
- newsflesh: georgia mason,
- night in the woods: mae borowski,
- the adventure zone: lucretia,
- the vampire diaries: elena gilbert,
- undertale: asriel dreemurr,
- undertale: frisk,
- undertale: mettaton,
- undertale: sans
merry christmas; i could care less [ open ]
Who: Real Tim, Mirror Tim + YOU / Real Frisk, Mirror Frisk + YOU
Where: All the heck over my guys
When: 12/13 - 12/20
Rating: PG to start with, will edit for anything higher
Summary:
The Story:
[Just kidding starters are in the comments.]
[Let me know if you want something closed cooked up special, etc., or hit me over at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
arrpee. I will match prose or brackets!]
Where: All the heck over my guys
When: 12/13 - 12/20
Rating: PG to start with, will edit for anything higher
Summary:
The Story:
[Just kidding starters are in the comments.]
[Let me know if you want something closed cooked up special, etc., or hit me over at
no subject
Hey! (toot) Teachers! (toot) Leave those kids alone!
Another quiet, hissing laugh, like air through a leaky pipe. He doubts this would be so funny without the spiked cookies, but...honestly, maybe it would be. Alex Kralie, enraptured. The next John Williams. The voice of a generation.
It comes so easily, joking about the people they knew. Jay wonders if it'd be so easy if he hadn't watched hours and hours of footage, filling in the gaps left by his own experience. Jay knows them all so well now, his friends from 2006, frozen in amber.
"And Brian's just delivering his lines, dead-serious, like they don't sound like they're...y'know, Alex's, and meanwhile that's going on in the background." He's got a hand over his eyes now, almost a half-hearted facepalm. "God, we're a whole production studio of bad."
no subject
Alex Kralie was here, once. He wasn't here for as long as Tim has been, but he was here. He was here, and he made friends who still carry him in their hearts the same way he carried Amy's photograph - only they didn't march him to the edge of the pier and say they didn't have a choice as they shoved him off.
Alex Kralie is dead.
Alex Kralie is dead, and there's no proper way to grieve him because there's no proper way to know when it is that the man they knew slipped on out and when something else stepped effortlessly into his place with a locked jaw and a flinted glower and a penchant for shooting people he once called friends. Alex Kralie is dead, and all they have to mourn him is a shitty script for an unmade student film, and the gentle ribbing that aches all the more, for knowing that even at the very end, Alex had written his own fate into the story.
He never intended to walk away from any of it and be able to look himself in the eye after. He never intended to walk away at all.
"You talk about hosting those bad movie nights," says Tim, with only a fraction of difficulty. "I think we could give any one of those directors a run for their money."
no subject
His voice cracks on that second part. Like they could just call everyone up. Like they all just fell out of contact, like regular college friends half a decade later. Like they'd all be happy to see each other, like Alex would get that gleam in his eye, that spark of validation, that proof that he's not the only one who thinks this stuff is worth it, that drive that drew Jay in as easily as everyone else.
Alex Kralie is dead.
Jay Merrick is dead.
"I bet people'd love us."
no subject
There's a wrench in his gut at that, a twisting of the blade he himself sunk in to the hilt. He did this. He knows that he did this and he has no one to blame but himself for that, for pursuing a thought that might be painful, but it still burns like a trail of gasoline down his throat.
"They'd love to hate us," he corrects, like the words aren't closing, like there isn't a lump the size of a golf ball he has to speak around to force the words into the air. "But that's kinda the point, yeah?"
no subject
His voice catches. No. No, he's not doing this right now.
"--They have to think they're making something worth something, y'know?"
no subject
Except even then, he was already devolving, decohering, coming apart because Brian was generous enough, persuasive enough, stupid enough to invite his buddy Tim to the audition.
"Like that asshole in every college dorm who always plays 'Wonderwall' on the acoustic." An awkward subject shift, but a necessary nonetheless. Neither of them are here to dwell. "If you didn't have one, you probably were the asshole."
no subject
No, no, wait. It makes sense.
"Yeah. Yeah, like...he's only an asshole if he thinks it makes him look cool. Like, like he learned it to...get girls or impress people or something."
Jay manages to pluck out a lucky and may-be before continuing. "If he's just doing it 'cause he likes the song, then it's...whatever. And if he's doing it because of the joke, like he's trying to be self aware, then it's not funny. He's just a jackass."
Jay pauses.
"I'll accept that one."
no subject
He lets the mindless, aimless strumming shift in tempo and pick up into something a little bouncier, though he doesn't dare add vocals to the mess, considering how sloppily he's churning it out. Can't even say where he heard the song in the first place, not that it matters.
"I mean, I'm pretty sure I was that jackass."
no subject
"I wasn't--dammit." He tries to slide onto a note that doesn't sound like complete garbage. "I wasn't that specific jackass, but I was, like...I tried to be Flea. I'm not. I'm not Flea."
no subject
That almost crooks something like a smile out of him - a lift of eyebrows, a twitch to the side of his mouth, a vaguely amused slant to the fall of his shoulders and the tilt of his chin.
The reference is lost on him.
no subject
Jay ducks his head, the brim of his hat shading his face.
"He's good."
no subject
Now it's Tim's turn to feel like an idiot for not knowing that. Granted, it's not like he ever had a whole lot of time to look up band trivia; he just liked hearing the music and, if he was feeling like he was in a particularly good mood, maybe picking up an instrument or two to try and echo back a couple bars on ear.
"I, uh. I guess there's a lot about music out there."
no subject
Jay shouldn't have assumed, and now it's awkward, and he doesn't know how to carry a conversation for the life of him, and now Tim looks like he's ashamed for some reason, like he screwed up somehow by not knowing one specific bassist's name and what does he say what does he say?
"Like, I don't know...I don't know much of anything. I just picked stuff up here and there. I mean, you're the music guy, so you probably know more than I do, just, like, total."
no subject
(Distant memories of jam session that he can't actually remember, that he had to relive on tape, hearing his own voice mumble in the background as Alex sat with a keyboard on his lap, backlit by the glare of a flashlight.)
(I'm not the movie guy, says Tim, a million years ago.)
(You're the music guy, says Jay.)
"It's been years, anyway."
no subject
(If Tim's the music guy, is Jay the trivia guy? The puzzle guy? The camera guy?)
(He's not really good enough at any of them.)
His memory's patchy, even without any interference, but he knows he used to know Animal Bar. It was a simplified version, and he was never exactly great at it, but maybe the muscle memory's still there. Slowly, he starts to fumble his way through it. It doesn't come easily, but it's still there. He still remembers.
no subject
Bit by bit, he starts to work his way into the melody. He hasn't got perfect pitch. He's out of practice. He's not capable of immediately exhibiting some raw and awe-inspiring talent.
But he can play along for a few bars, and then for a few more.
It doesn't sound too bad.