Jono Starsmore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
apocalipped) wrote2011-02-12 12:42 pm
apocalipped) wrote2011-02-12 12:42 pm
Room 408, Saturday Morning
The dance? Had been nice. Nice in that sort of, 'I am here, I am not being particularly social, but I have a lovely date and I'm going to enjoy this, damn it,' kind of way that Jono was so good at. But that much social interaction was tiring, to say the least, and so he was absolutely planning on spending his Saturday in bed. And it would be great, and to hell with anything in the world that thought that he was going to be getting up, at least until late afternoon.
It was possible that Jonothon was slightly delusional, yes.
[For wee ones, roomies, whatever!]
It was possible that Jonothon was slightly delusional, yes.
[For wee ones, roomies, whatever!]
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//It's only for a few days,// Jono replied, waving a hand a little. //If yer as worried about her as you were about Joni, I'll even take it upon myself to feed th'gel, George.//
Poor George, for that matter.
//She's kind of endearing, I think. In a way.//
A kind of... messed-up, disturbing sort of way. He found himself wanting to feed her pancakes.
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If you let Mason babysit for you, you were teaching your child a great deal about self-sufficiency from the get-go. And, say, if you had the nurturing, parental skills that only a dead girl and a guy on fire could really bring to the table.
"If you don't like Mason dealing, I'll call the cops on him next time," she said, "but only if I get twenty bucks."
It was a fair trade for possible future missed ice cream cones. And the shit she'd get from Mason, whining about being strip-searched again.
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Her kid. This girl was her kid.
... The attitude should have been a giveaway, right there. And, really, George needed a moment to be pleased that her kid hadn't been some sort of frou-frou Barbie type who'd spent too much time with Daisy.
"Okay," she said. "Mom and Dad are being extra-stupid today. Like usual. I'll give you ten bucks if you give us your full name and don't give us any grief about not knowing it, right now."
Should she explain the timeline thing? Fuck it. She decided, instead, to try, "We got hit on the head. So that's why we're extra-stupid."
Mother of the year.
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Jono was going to forego the dirty look in George's direction in favour of lifting a hand, rubbing the top of his noggin, and letting loose with a small stream of What the hell, George, that was on a private psionic channel between just himself and Mom, here.
//Yer mother was hit repeatedly,// he added, helpfully.
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One Vedder could probably hear.
Shut up.
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"Vedder. Regina. Gayle. Starsmore." And that came with a nod at Jono, naturally, and a matching nod back at George for "Lass."
She shrugged. "I want my ten bucks."
And she wanted to know what the hell was going on, and why her parents were being especially crazy today, and where this school was, but the condition had been "no grief," and that might count as grief. So she'd wait until she'd pocketed her money to pursue it further.
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They were clearly the most awesome terrible parents ever.
//And one of her middle names is my first girlfriend, who tried to have me eaten by a cannibal,// he added. Again, just to George, because he assumed that this was one of those things that you just don't share with a small child.
Again, more openly, he added, //You heard th'lady, George. Pay up.//
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Wait. Could she do the thinky thing? Did it go the other way if you tried really, really hard, or did that only work if you were telepathic or telekinetic or telewhichever the term was?
She closed her eyes and focused and thought really, really hard in Jono's direction.
//HEY. JONO? ARE YOU GETTING THIS? AM I DOING IT RIGHT? OR IS SHE GOING TO GET THIS, TOO?//
It was probably stupid. The one consolation was that if neither of them got it, then neither of them would know she was even trying it, and she'd feel less like a complete moron.
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That would be a yes, George. Yes, Jono could hear your thoughts if you directed them his way. Especially if you went and screamed them at him at about ten thousand psionic decibels.
//Yes! I bloody well heard that! And possibly every other telepath on th'bloody island, at that rate!//
So, really, mileage might vary. Was Vedder a telepath, too?
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Something like an icepick had slammed into her head, and then disappeared again. Shortest migraine ever. Knowing her parents, one of them was responsible.
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Therefore, this totally wasn't her fault.
"Who the fuck is Gordon Bennet, anyway!?"
They were wonderful parents. No wonder Vedder was so well-adjusted.
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Shut up. He's so fake Marvel cockney it hurts. He can say fook if he wants to.
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Sorry, Jono. She couldn't insult the weather. She lived in Seattle. It seemed the first thing she could grab.
She was going to try focusing very carefully again, and enunciating. The thinking equivalent of enunciating.
//Regina. Is. My. Sister's. Name.//
Which he might remember, but it deserved a mention, anyway.
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Especially with her volume turned down, like that. That part was much more appreciated.
He nodded a little, and then shrugged.
//I can't deny that,// he said, finally. //Not that it has any effect on me, really.//
Whether he was talking about the food, or the being extra-British on purpose, the world would never know.