SPIRITS ARE HIGH, MORALS ARE LOW

[paintjobs]

WHO: The denizens of #26
WHERE: Presumably #26
WHEN: TODAY? or last week. or next week. whatever goes.
WHAT: Roommate log!
WARNINGS: i predict lots of bitching but otherwise no

jUST KIDDING THERE IS NO LOG. but there's prompts! feel free to add your own, tag off of one of these, or just do a general open thread. (B Tagging order, number of participants, who cares, FREE FOR ALL LIKE A FOOD FIGHT AT SUMMER CAMP, LET'S GO.

Comments

Any time after the 22nd!

[paintjobs]

Knock Out hadn’t actually bothered to ask his roommates if they’d mind a sudden addition. Why would he do that? Breakdown his is partner, obviously he’s going to have permanent rights to the couch. If they don’t like it, they can buy another couch.

So it is that a big bulk of a guy that hasn't been introduced to any roommates can be found generally inhabiting the living room, usually with Knock Out nearby. The TV is often on, loudly (where had that upgraded sound system come from? Better not to ask), and 90% of the time it’s a movie about fast cars intensely racing each other. Knock Out really like those movies. The other 10% of the time, though, Breakdown’s been loaned the remote, and who knows what could happen.

25? i think

[immuno]

[ It’s the third day of Breakdown living on their couch that it really sets in for Lydia that he’s just … not going to leave. She comes downstairs, and immediately her expression curdles. Dissatisfaction made clear by the deep frown and crinkled nose, she walks deliberately between the couch and the TV. ]

What are you still doing here?

[wreckjobs]

[ oh, that's unfortunate positioning on her part. now he can't see anything! breakdown blinks up at her, as if needing an extra moment or two to process her question. it's not that it's confusing (for once), it's just that the answer should be obvious-- ]

Uhh. Sleeping? [ that's the organic term for it right. he nods once, then proceeds to shift around in an attempt to view the tv without having to sit up all the way. ]

[immuno]

Yes, I noticed. On my couch.

[ Yes, she knows sleeping. That's the problem. Her eyes narrow in a snidely disparaging look. ]

I'd like to know why.

[wreckjobs]

[ the plain, blank look he gives her sort of speaks for itself; he doesn't follow. breakdown takes a moment for a desperate look around, hoping for an easy out-- a knock out, maybe-- and finds nothing.

this is terrible. ]

I was... invited? [ yes. that is the word. ] So, uh, here I am.

[immuno]

Riveting.

[ Wow much engagement such interest. Lydia’s voice is too flat for the word to be taken seriously. In fact, she looks further irritated, judging by the purse of her lips. ]

Your invitation has expired, because whoever told you that you could stay here? Failed to discuss it with the rest of the house, and a sleepover is one thing, but I didn’t sign up for an extra roommate.

Day after the Paintball Massacre

[paintjobs]

Anyone who participated in the whole paintball thing should be back by now — or at least back in the real world again. The bodies used weren’t real, so there aren’t any actual lasting pains and aches, but does that really make things any better? That was intense.

Pick somewhere to sprawl, quick, before a roommate steals it. Couches are a limited resource around here lately, after all. Ugh, and who’s making dinner tonight? Are there any groceries left? Is there even any food in the apartment at all??

[paintjobs]

Face down on the couch (he'd purloined it from Breakdown just for this), unmoving, and almost silent, that's Knock Out today. Paintball sucks. All other imPorts suck. Running around with a gun sucks. Being human sucks. There is exactly one silver lining to this thunder cloud, and that's that his suit hadn't really been spattered with paint, as he'd discovered after coming out of that weird purply world.

It's not enough to make him stop occasionally muttering to himself, though. Something about that damn therapist, or just make some noodles, but who can really tell what's happening under all that pissy dejection.

(Apparently Knock Out was not one of the victors of the game.)

Any time??

[paintjobs]

The toilet is gurgling to itself like an angry black lagoon inhabitant. There it sits, burbling maliciously, the water level slowly rising in the bowl. It’s threatening to overflow. It is overflowing. It could be toxic mutating water (you never know). Who’s fault is that, and who’s going to fix it?!

i'm cryin

[mmiab]

Guess who's kneeling in the bathroom doorway, watching the small trickle become a small puddle become a minor lake with the vague fascination of a child watching ants crawl out of their anthill.

It's this guy. It's definitely this guy. Is this the culprit?!

ANY TIME..... any... time.....

[mmiab]

There sure is a lot of noise coming from gangly tweed's room, isn't there? Is it day? Night? Breakfast time, lunch time, dinner time, really would like to be sleeping please time? No matter. Noise doesn't discriminate.

Clang clatter crash clang. Vaguely metallic tinkling. Nasty sonic whirring. You name it, it's probably coming out from under the Doctor's door.

Love you roomies

[paintjobs]

Okay, so Knock Out can put up with some noise. He's a medic that works with inorganic patients, a lot of noise comes with that kind of environment.

But this? Seriously, this? This is overkill. He would know. So it is one afternoon that he'd been trying to nap finds him pounding on the Doctor's door irritably, a scowl already in place.

"Would you stop that? You had better be making something seriously impressive to warrant all that!"

[mmiab]

A pause. A silent pause. It's probably the first bit of quiet that's happened in a solid hour, and then there's some rattling about as he extracts himself from whatever lurks within and eventually, eventually, the door cracks open just a bit to reveal the Doctor's face poking through. He's covered in flecks of oil and his shirt collar's dirty and that's actually probably about all he's willing to let Knock Out see.

"Ah! Hello. There a problem?"

Apparently it's Ignore People Yelling About How Much Of A Problem There Is day. Fancy that.

[paintjobs]

Oh, that quiet is sweet relief. But he's careful not to let up on the glare, which lasts very admirably up until the Doctor pulls open the door, then he can turn it onto him properly.

"A problem? Yes." He leans back, folding his arms over his chest with a huff. "Yes, there is. Now, I can understand the want to build, construct, refine, whatever it is you're doing in there — but do you ever sleep?"

[mmiab]

" ... Oh. Is it late? Sorry." A grin. Whoops! Silly me. That's unfortunate, isn't it. "Time sort of... passes me by."

Still! He's been asked a question he's definitely going to answer it even if it's absolutely a rhetorical device for getting him to shut up and even if he's perfectly well aware of that fact. "I do, as it happens. Not overly regularly, but sometimes."

So much energy. So much energy.

[paintjobs]

It might not have seemed possible for his glare to darken, but here it is. He even folds his arms over his chest for extra impact.

"Oh, come on, that's ridiculous. No time passes by that unnoticed. You're human, aren't you? Humans sleep at least once every 24 hours, why not try to fit in a little better?"

[mmiab]

"Ah, see, no. That's where we've got our wires crossed. I'm not, actually. Easy mistake to make, I suppose, I won't hold it against you."

The Doctor sways in the doorway with his grin and— clatterclang. "Ow." Disappears for a second, leaving just that little crack of door so he can loudly admonish the bit of metal he just tripped on (do you mind) and... ah! There we go, he's back, smile perhaps a bit more strained but just about there.

"Sorry. Right. I'll try and keep it down, shall I? People need their beauty sleep. You definitely do. Got it."

No but is this guy physically capable of quiet?

[paintjobs]

What — aw hell no, he's not letting that conversation just go. He leans into the doorway when the Doctor reappears again, studying him a little more carefully than he had before. He'd assumed human, but then... well, Knock Out looks human right now too.

"If you're not human, what are you?" he asks, a little suspicious — but less disdainful.

[mmiab]

Oh, hello. Alright. Something's clearly... ah! The not human part. Very good, he can work with that, that's a conversation he can have without needing to pay too much mind to the health hazard that is the state of his room.

"Timelord, actually. From the planet Gallifrey." Moment of truth and always a slightly held breath: has he heard of them.

[paintjobs]

His brow furrows. Millions of years old, he really should know about most other sentient species around... but, no, it doesn't ring a bell. There's not a hint of recognition.

"What do you usually look like?" He's drifting more toward openly curious, now. He can almost forget his annoyance in sight of this development.

[mmiab]

No. No, there's nothing there. The Doctor can't say he's overly surprised - he's not got anything from anyone else either, thus far - but he can't deny the hint of disappointment. There's been a thought growing in the back of his mind, the thought of the possibilities of this place, of time-defying technology and of a whole new universe where—

This is the Doctor's cue to finally slip around from behind the door, pulling it smoothly closed at his back as he gestures down at his usual, if lightly oil-spattered, self.

"Just like this, actually. Well, usually a bit cleaner, but that depends on the day and the planet. Also depends on when you catch me: I've had other faces."

[paintjobs]

Knock Out looks him over critically, searching for something, anything, that stands out as non-human... and sighs when he doesn't find it. There's some hope in the 'other faces' part, he figures, but not much.

"Of all the species in all the universe, you look human. Evolution hasn't been kind to your race, has it?"