MidwayLives
"What's your favorite scary movie...?"
Realistic or Modern - Return to Sender IC [OPEN] <-Ties into this ongoing RP/is set in the same overarching universe! Any lurkers, feel free to go and take a gander!
~~~
Election season was brewing.
Tom wasn't overly thrilled about either competitor.
Bush was a total waste of space with a dribbling idiot as a VP and Dukakis didn't impress him for a minute.
Neither of them would ever be able to fill the shoes that a man like Reagan wore.
Had he been in his usual spirits, Tom would have gladly campaigned for Bush. Was like swallowing a pill. You grit your teeth and you'd never ever say you'd 'like' it exactly, but you'd still do it because it was for the greater good. If Reagan was willing to give Bush his endorsement despite Tom's own misgivings, then he'd get his vote. But despite Tom's own pride in identifying as a staunch supporter of the Republican Party, the enthusiasm just wasn't there. For, Thomas Gorman, former soldier in the US Army (having seen tours in Vietnam) and leader of UFUP Unit (United Force Unit Patrol) #81, had experienced a loss that he'd been struggling to cope with. For years at this point and no matter how much time seemed to fade, the wound it'd left never seemed any closer to healing, more of an open sore that time just kept picking at.
Nestled into the warmth of his lazy susan, Tom looked like a complete and utter mess. Sure, he could still get up and look 'professional' when he had to/when his bosses either came snooping by or sent one of their toadies to do it for him. But when left to his own devices, it didn't even seemed as though he'd care to put on anything other than his worn-out jeans, the brightness of the denim having faded with how frequently Tom wore them and the cuffs of the pants looking all worn and ragged. A red flannel shirt with sleeves with stains of various colorations splattered across it. Enough empty bottles of Bud Light lay across his miniature table that'd originally been meant to hold the stack of equally empty TV dinner trays. Tom's hands gripped tightly on either side of the chair, his skin translucent and resembling a flowing river, owing to Tom's nature as a Water elemental. A messy splotch of 'hair' sat atop his head with Tom's own personal preference for resembling Jack Nicholson (an admiration for the actor, really.) with the hairline pulled back enough that it'd seem almost like an exact 1:1 for Jack as he'd appeared during the filming of The Shining. Well, as much as a mouthless, glowing yellow-eyed, water humanoid could anyhow.
The TV, not anything fancy, he'd given his 'grandson' his newer TV. Thing had been top of the line or at least the salesman at Radio Shack had sworn up and down that was the case. A Sony Trinitron KV-27TS30 27....Or something like that. It'd mostly been a spur of the moment thing after Tom had blown a not-so significant chunk of his income on alcohol and when the holidays swung around, he had to get the kid something. Which left him stuck with an old piece of shit with dials that he had to constantly adjust and antennas he had to twist around. <"Oh, come on..."> Tom groaned, mentally, on the outside it sounded like water bubbling around his mouth area. The TV was on the fritz yet again and here he was, too lazy, to even bother getting up. He couldn't even be arsed to make a water tendril to try and swinging the antenna over.
*krrrkch. krrch....klink klink*
<"Who's there...?">
"It'ssss me, Tom."
Tom gave a listless shrug of the shoulders.
<"What's up, G?">
Giving the door a hearty shove, sending dozens of bottles rolling across the stained hardwood floor, G stepped into the room of his Unit's leader and best friend. G while being incredibly secretive when it came to his personal time was among the nicest individuals you could meet in this line of work. Which was at odds at how he looked. Standing at least close to eight feet tall which meant he had to duck down to enter most rooms or use an elevator and having insectoid like features such as a cockroach like exoskeleton and glowing red eyes, not to mention the wings on his back. G was what was known as a 'Mutation-type.' A Gifted that didn't outright possess 'merely' physical or mental abilities and instead their Gift focused on altering their appearance altogether. Which meant that for G despite looking like a grotesque mixture of cockroach and man, he still had more human traits than any cockroach you'd see skittering across the streets of L.A. Wrapping three of his four extremities (if you included his thumb) around the neck of an empty beer bottle, G lifted it up to eye level and sighed.
"Tom, how many?"
<"How many what, G?">
"How many drinks have you had today?"
<"...Oh for...I don't know who cares? Like, I dunno, 2?">
"There appears to be a good dozen more than just two."
<"Then why the HELL did you ask?? Is that all you came for, G?? To nag me about my drinking again? I've told you and the Rookie up and down that I'm FINE. Now, piss off if that's all you've got. I'm busy."> Tom growled, adding with a silent wave of his hand. A clear hint for G to take a hike. Instead his friend did the opposite and came further into the room, settling down on the ottoman across from Tom's seat. Folding his arms over his lap, G shook his head. "Thomas. I've been able to cover the paperwork. The calls. Organizing the missions. But you haven't left your room in days. You've become more of a recluse than I wasss!" As for the busy comment, G reached out and touched the left armest of Tom's chair and pulled back a soaking wet hand. "You're so unfocused that you're forgetting to control your bodily functions. You're dripping all over the floor, Tom. The fact that the hardwood is starting to peel up tells me that you've been doing this for months!" Tom paused and noticed the quickly growing puddle at his feet and placed a hand over his forehead.
<"...Ugh. I...I'm sorry, G. I...What day is it?">
"Tuesday. It's fine, Tom. I'm just worried. You haven't been taking care of yourself." Extending a hand out, Tom meekly took it and rose to his feet although unsteady at first. Most alcohol passed through Tom without an issue. His biology naturally diluted it. Which meant that he had to drink outrageous amounts to even get buzzed. This amount of drinking however was pushing it. "I'll get rid of the bottles. Put them in the closet for now until Jeremy can make time to head down to the recycle bin. Do you have any towels in your bathroom?" Tom shrugged and nearly fell over at the exertion. When in the privacy of his own abode, he didn't bother with his glamour and thus didn't bother having to pretend to need to use the restroom like a normal. Elementals had their own means of expelling waste. <"Urgh, my head feels like a cement block. Why?? What's going on today? Something I need to know about?">
"Yes, actually. An agent from the government is here to speak with you. I tried to tell them you were under the weather but he insisted. I did not think it'd go over well if I continued to refuse him. He's just down the hall. I told him I needed at least a moment to help you get your bearings."
<"oh for christ's sake, G. 'Get my bearings?' Why not just tell him 'hey my boss is a flat out stone cold drunk. He's probably laying in a pool of himself as we speak.' Skip the whole horse and pony show."> Tom bemoaned as G tucked as many bottles as he could under his arms and kicked the rest into a messy pile in the closet. "I respect you, Tom. I always have. I'd never denigrate you infront of anyone, let alone a stranger." Tom knew that was true. G was a true ride or die friend. Emphasis on the die part. A sub-function of his Gift: [BAD MOJO] let him survive fatal wounds with the exception of his body being completely destroyed. Can't exactly come back from that one. It made him a mild nuisance for the Grim Reaper.
<"...Yeah, I know. I know. I've just got a lot on my mind, G. I have for the last couple of months...years....It all blends together after a while."> G's own family had passed on centuries ago. There may have been distant relatives that simply didn't know he existed but G preferred to keep it that way. His own parents were ostracized for G's mutation after it started developing in his youth. Tom and company were the only family he had and in just the span of a couple of years, Tom had lost both his adoptive sister (having banished her both as a punishment and to keep her safe from governmental reprisals) and his adoptive daughter (died in battle). The remainder of the unit was all they had though the Rookie still kept in touch with his own family here and there, making sure to keep major details out of course, lest they be targeted. Gently patting Tom on the back, G settled in on the couch next to Tom's chair.
"I won't say anything but I'll be here. Just in case."
<"Just in case I end up attacking the guy?">
"Well, hopefully just for moral and emotional support but, yes, that too."
The two looked at each other and shared a laugh.
<"Thanks Gregory.">
"Of course, Thomas."
Then there was a knock at the door.
"Hello? Agent Gorman? Agent G? May I come in now?"
~~~
Meanwhile, down the hall, a teenager with a VERY oily complexion lay on his bed, having decked out his half of the room with posters as far as the eye could see. Megadeth/Metallica/Iron Maiden/Guns 'n Roses, you name it! Dressed up in acid washed jeans with the knees cut out and a blue flannel jacket overlaid a white t-shirt with 'NAZI PUNKS FUCK OFF!' written across the front in red. His hair was an unkempt mullet and on the nightstand next to his bed was a can or two of Doctor Pepper. One of the cans had been crushed beyond recognition and the other had a bendy straw poking out of it. The boy's elf-like ears twitched and his feline like feet tapped against the wall.
Sitting next to the bed on the floor with his legs splayed across the floor was Jeremy. Or the 'Rookie' as Tom still liked to refer to him. At first the two had gotten off on the wrong foot with Tom being disgusted at a normal being allowed on the team at all and Jeremy being outraged by the lack of any respect. He was older than the boy on the bed by quite a bit and his plain black tee helped to show off his forearms and the amount of work he'd put into them. Didn't mean much when you were fighting people who're literally made of fire and water and zombies but eh, it helped boost his confidence at least. The shirt also helped hide the massive burn scar across the center of his chest. A reminder of his and Johnny's failed attempt to stop Tom's sister from abandoning the unit. "Ink, you're gonna have to decide what school you wanna go to, soon. Sitting in your room all day staring out the window isn't gonna help y'know?"
"i'll pick one when I'm good and ready, Rookie."
Jeremy chuckled. "Y'know I used to hate when Tom would call me that but the fact that everyone does it kinda makes it more endearing. Like a title or something. Course..." Jeremy reached over and rustled Ink's hair. Much to the teenager's annoyance. "When it comes from a little squirt like you, it just don't sound right!"
"UGH! DAD!!!! TELL JEREMY TO GET OUT OF OUR ROOM!!"
"Oooh, telling your daddy on me, real tough, real punk." Jeremy teased. All in good fun of course. He'd known Ink since he'd been a literal toddler. He'd also been terrified to death of him at first and finding out that the acid man making a zombie army in L.A was his dad and that he had a hot shark-like mom made things even weirder. Now they generally got along just fine.
"OW!" Jeremy yelped as he tried in vain to pull his hand out of Ink's mouth as Ink closed his jaws down on it. "GRRRRR!!!" Ink snarled as Jeremy propped a foot against one of the legs of Ink's bed and pulled. "Owww!! Uncle, uncle!!! Mu, get him to let go!!!"
DoctorDunno
rakshasa
(if you're interested in reading this! Feel free! : ) )
