shadows creep and walls have eyes

[burntvideocassette]

Who: Jay and Tim
Where: Tim's Room
When: March 7th
Rating: PG-13; The usual CW for mental health discussion
Summary: Tim's got an unlimited supply of pills. Jay's learned something that keeps slipping out of his memory. They both nearly got eaten by a dinosaur. There's a lot to talk about.
The Story:

This is bad. He knows it's bad, Sans confirmed it's bad, and now he's got to tell Tim and hope he doesn't just wind up pissing him off. He wound back the tape--no, he just looked at his notes. Just looked at the study guide. Sans was a scientist. There was an experiment. It went wrong, and now Sans is the only one left, and the others have been written out of history, and even though Sans can remember it, Jay--

Jay what?

Right. He forgets.

There was a doctor. Sans said his name, right? (He didn't. He doesn't think he did. It feels familiar, asking, and checking, and asking, and checking again, until he writes it down. He thinks Sans didn't say it.) There was a doctor, but he's not the important part here. The important part is letting Tim know there's something he shouldn't know.

Great. Now he just has to keep it all straight when he can't--

No, he's got the footage. If there's something missing, he's got the--no, wait. It's written on his arm below the wrist brace, in a cramped, faded scrawl.

File 0209y2_6.mp4 1:05:15-1:20:32 transcribed in notebook 12/0209y2_6.txt. Check FIRST.

Right. He wrote it down to save time. Maybe he should have brought the notebook himself, but maybe that would make things harder. If Tim does get curious, he shouldn't have the information right there.

He scans down his arm, reading his other notes.

Content of memory not dangerous. (Probably.)

Knowing = dangerous.

From world w/ monsters and souls.

Alright. He's got this. He can do this.

With one hand in a brace and the other holding the camera, he doesn't knock on Tim's door. Instead, he lightly kicks it. Should sound about the same.

Comments

[postictal]

Something clunks up against the door, like someone's just kicked it. The earbuds pop out with a sharp jerk of Tim's wrist and he slouches to his feet, torn between grateful for a distraction and annoyed at having to exert the requisite effort to get at it.

There are only so many people it's likely to be, at the door. So he's not shocked when it turns out to be the one person he's been needing to talk to the most in recent days - and has, subsequently, not talked to at all. How much is he supposed to say? How much dares he say?

He'll start with the obvious.

"Good thing you were carrying something important," says Tim. "Otherwise I'd have to ask why you kicked the door instead of knocking like a normal person."