((Kayla Harris continued from Just Dance))
With the final wipe and the flush of the toilet, all of Kayla's worries and troubles were gone. She sighed one last time; that was way too close. At least Forrest had a nice ass bathroom. Kayla wasn't a stranger to rich people interior design choices, but this was definitely one of the less totally gaudy ones. Not top 5 material like Kayla's own, but good enough for who it's for. Plus it was a nice vantage point away from the core of things going on. It was decently refreshing; no wonder Ace and Kayden did their 'guys being dudes' business in here.
Oh well, time to get back to it. She stood up, readjusted her pants and rewrapped the blue-with-chartreuse hoodie around her waste, checked her phone sitting on the counter, closed down the seat, washed her hands, dried them off with a hand towel, and checked her phone again before pocketing it. She checked herself in the mirror and picked off some lint that had found its way onto her shirt, and then she clapped her hands together and was ready to go.
She made way for the door and unlocked it.
...
And unlocked it.
...
Unlocked it.
...
...!
She rattled the shiny brass handle. She pulled in and out with all of her might. She messed with the thumb turny thing, barely getting it to turn over and back as she shook the door.
Nothing. The door just vibrated, laughing and taunting her.
Okay. Now was the time to panic.
"HELP!" she cried, pounding on the door with one hand while the other fruitlessly shook the handle.
Trapped in the Bathroom: Chapter 173 [HD 1080p]
An urban hip hopera filmed live on location at #Swiftball; open
So ultimately, Demetri had never gone to Stepney’s party, he’d ended up traveling with Dad into town that day. More honest use of his time, helping an honest man out with an honest business instead of getting money scammed out of his pockets by some yellow-fever border-hopper.
Stepney could keep Ming. That was his race to run: not hard to win the Special Olympics when you were the only kid who bothered to qualify.
The music was ass, but this party he’d caught word of from Faith was otherwise… well, an event of some description. Plenty of people he was presently in the business of avoiding, he swore he’d caught glimpse of Axel behind a closed door where a bunch of folks were up to their fancy-label collars in amateur hour guitar plucking. Emmett- that old ass can of worms- had been somewhere downstairs in the basement last Demetri had bothered to peek. And of course, Demetri only needed to vaguely be in the same county to hear Lorenzo’s dick-waving parting the LGBaconLettuceT-flag colored seas.
All the gathered Axis of Evil stealing away lebensraum consigned him to a quieter second floor landing, where a few faces he didn’t recognize were flitting between open-door rooms, engaged in somewhat more civilized conversation… still couldn’t escape the techno bullshit, that bass-rattle was ripping up the foundations up through the rafters. But at least Demetri could hear himself think. It was a big-ass house, these rich-folk mansions with rooms copy-pasted straight out of home magazines like the ones Mom liked to daydream over in her free time. He wasn’t too on the aesthetic. Lost all its character.
Like, the brass on this door he was passing by as he paced to somewhere he hadn’t planned out. He could see his own reflection in it, no kinds of tarnish. He preferred the kinds of knobs where the fingerprints started to leave little clouds over time, marks of humanity. He didn’t know. Some kinda note for the future home he’d build once a girl actually bothered to see the value he could bring into their lives.
The handle rattled, he idled near it.
Then the door bumped back and forth some. Whatever the better word was for describing the motion. He realized he was mongoloid braining and drooling in place, and he took some steps to clear the way before he was the retard standing in the way of some innocent trying to leave the toilet.
Then the lock clicked around, and Demetri began to muse. It was just a fucking door. Who exactly was the real retard in this equation?
”HELP!”
Fuck.
“Oh fuck! Door’s stuck?”
Demetri was quick to jump into the fray. Literally, he was already well on his way to trying to take down the door. He threw his weight into the broadness of the door once, it thumped. It did not budge, though he swore something in his shoulder almost had. Pain repressed the adrenaline, Demetri fell back. Fuck. Maybe not the best idea to take the door down when this was some rich bitches’ house.
“Hey, hey. I gotcha. I think we just need, like, like.. something to drive into the door crack?” Demetri realized, belatedly, that he didn’t sound so confident for the dude trying to play knight in shining armor for… whoever it was, on the other side. Sounded vaguely like a girl, he guessed? It had been shrill enough, but, in Demetri’s experience on Varsity freaking-out guys could sometimes OD on the hysteria and suffer acute testosterone loss. One of those awkward things to pretend didn’t happen right after they did.
Stepney could keep Ming. That was his race to run: not hard to win the Special Olympics when you were the only kid who bothered to qualify.
The music was ass, but this party he’d caught word of from Faith was otherwise… well, an event of some description. Plenty of people he was presently in the business of avoiding, he swore he’d caught glimpse of Axel behind a closed door where a bunch of folks were up to their fancy-label collars in amateur hour guitar plucking. Emmett- that old ass can of worms- had been somewhere downstairs in the basement last Demetri had bothered to peek. And of course, Demetri only needed to vaguely be in the same county to hear Lorenzo’s dick-waving parting the LGBaconLettuceT-flag colored seas.
All the gathered Axis of Evil stealing away lebensraum consigned him to a quieter second floor landing, where a few faces he didn’t recognize were flitting between open-door rooms, engaged in somewhat more civilized conversation… still couldn’t escape the techno bullshit, that bass-rattle was ripping up the foundations up through the rafters. But at least Demetri could hear himself think. It was a big-ass house, these rich-folk mansions with rooms copy-pasted straight out of home magazines like the ones Mom liked to daydream over in her free time. He wasn’t too on the aesthetic. Lost all its character.
Like, the brass on this door he was passing by as he paced to somewhere he hadn’t planned out. He could see his own reflection in it, no kinds of tarnish. He preferred the kinds of knobs where the fingerprints started to leave little clouds over time, marks of humanity. He didn’t know. Some kinda note for the future home he’d build once a girl actually bothered to see the value he could bring into their lives.
The handle rattled, he idled near it.
Then the door bumped back and forth some. Whatever the better word was for describing the motion. He realized he was mongoloid braining and drooling in place, and he took some steps to clear the way before he was the retard standing in the way of some innocent trying to leave the toilet.
Then the lock clicked around, and Demetri began to muse. It was just a fucking door. Who exactly was the real retard in this equation?
”HELP!”
Fuck.
“Oh fuck! Door’s stuck?”
Demetri was quick to jump into the fray. Literally, he was already well on his way to trying to take down the door. He threw his weight into the broadness of the door once, it thumped. It did not budge, though he swore something in his shoulder almost had. Pain repressed the adrenaline, Demetri fell back. Fuck. Maybe not the best idea to take the door down when this was some rich bitches’ house.
“Hey, hey. I gotcha. I think we just need, like, like.. something to drive into the door crack?” Demetri realized, belatedly, that he didn’t sound so confident for the dude trying to play knight in shining armor for… whoever it was, on the other side. Sounded vaguely like a girl, he guessed? It had been shrill enough, but, in Demetri’s experience on Varsity freaking-out guys could sometimes OD on the hysteria and suffer acute testosterone loss. One of those awkward things to pretend didn’t happen right after they did.
((Beryl Mahelona continued from here or maybe this one it’s hard to know for sure (but actually it is this one))
Someone who might have been a boy or a girl or another gender given form onto this Earth, that Somebody screamed, from a distance that was all too close when it was right around the corner.
Beryl still missed Nick, but perhaps not entirely. It had seemed just as pleasant a meandering by of time, when he’d been not there, as when he’d been there, as when Tristan had been there, as when time had stood still when they’d both first kissed her.
As when, she had attended this party she was in, which had been at a very recent but indeterminate point in the past. It was irrelevant, who had told her this party had come to be. Many paths lead to the same conclusion. For example, many paths spatially converged onto the scene before her. As she finished climbing an endlessly finite set of stairs there stood a boy seemingly inflicting violence onto bathroom door. Charmingly irreverent! She’d never considered property damage as a form of personal expression in moments prior, unless she had, and had just forgotten.
“Is this your house? I suppose it’s an interesting decision either way.”
Though the possibilities were endless. Perhaps the door was locked and he was trying to get in. Or someone was trying to get out. A touch macabre, if one could imagine a situation where the vague could be filled in by sealed away zombies or evils of other assorted sorts. Perhaps the genre of this party was about to change. And here she’d been thinking it to be deep house and UK garage.
Much as genre classifications could ever be arbitrarily relevant!
“Or are you with other purpose, Demetri?” He was staring at her, briefly blank. Her own mind, likewise. Best to keep thoughts minimal when opportunities were maximal. She smiled sweet as the early summer dew that clung to the fluff of her sundress. Time passed in some amount of units of measurement.
Someone who might have been a boy or a girl or another gender given form onto this Earth, that Somebody screamed, from a distance that was all too close when it was right around the corner.
Beryl still missed Nick, but perhaps not entirely. It had seemed just as pleasant a meandering by of time, when he’d been not there, as when he’d been there, as when Tristan had been there, as when time had stood still when they’d both first kissed her.
As when, she had attended this party she was in, which had been at a very recent but indeterminate point in the past. It was irrelevant, who had told her this party had come to be. Many paths lead to the same conclusion. For example, many paths spatially converged onto the scene before her. As she finished climbing an endlessly finite set of stairs there stood a boy seemingly inflicting violence onto bathroom door. Charmingly irreverent! She’d never considered property damage as a form of personal expression in moments prior, unless she had, and had just forgotten.
“Is this your house? I suppose it’s an interesting decision either way.”
Though the possibilities were endless. Perhaps the door was locked and he was trying to get in. Or someone was trying to get out. A touch macabre, if one could imagine a situation where the vague could be filled in by sealed away zombies or evils of other assorted sorts. Perhaps the genre of this party was about to change. And here she’d been thinking it to be deep house and UK garage.
Much as genre classifications could ever be arbitrarily relevant!
“Or are you with other purpose, Demetri?” He was staring at her, briefly blank. Her own mind, likewise. Best to keep thoughts minimal when opportunities were maximal. She smiled sweet as the early summer dew that clung to the fluff of her sundress. Time passed in some amount of units of measurement.
(((!!!Erika Stieglitz!!!)))
Holy fuck.
The stairs were a journey. It took at least an hour, maybe three to climb up them. No, probably actually ten minutes? What even was time, anyways? Just clocks, all things considered. They kept melting beneath her feet, too. That made it hard to climb them.
"Wow."
Beryl was... well, Beryl was there. That was always something. She acted like Erika currently felt, but all the time. Also, she seemed to be expanding and contracting with every breath. Not in the normal way. In a way that was really not normal. Shimmering too, like Lorenzo's hair and Emmett's wings.
What a weirdo. Who expands like that?
"Sup Beryllium! What's going on he-"
Demetri was trying to remove the door, because the door was screaming. Obviously the door wasn't having a very good time at the party, otherwise it wouldn't be screaming for help. Or maybe it was screaming for help because Demetri was trying to remove it from its hinges? That wouldn't be very nice. Nobody likes being unhinged. Erika brushed past Beryl to see what was going on, giving a crazed look of delight as she passed by. What fun this could be!
Be serious now, there could be a human in that door. Or the room that the door's in front of. Because doors, they do not speak.
The wood grains on the floor started moving against one another, and Erika felt unsteady once more. There was a brief moment when she realized that Demetri might actually be an animate creature as opposed to a malignant force that hated doors, and she decided to try and speak to him like a real human being. Putting on her best "I'm not high as fuck" voice even though she smelled of weed and flowers, she waltzed up to the door and offered help to Demetri. She hoped that didn't draw too much of his Male Attention. Word was, he was one of those sticky types who liked girls but didn't realize that they were real humans instead of evil sex beasts that hated Nice Guys©.
It's all good, i'm not his typ- oh shut the fuck up Erika and help this door with Demetri.
"Hey door, is your Demetri stuck? I mean... is the door... Do you need some help there, bud? I've got weak noodle arms but it might not be a matter of brute strength if you catch my multi-track drift. Maybe we can think our way outta this one! How'd this happen? Also, hi person on the other side! We're gonna rescue you!"
Did any of that make sense? Can I even?
For a brief moment Erika realized that not only was she taller than Demetri, she was probably not as lacking in physical strength as she suspected. Still, she wouldn't have any part in breaking down the poor door. It probably just wanted to open up, just like everyone else.
Holy fuck.
The stairs were a journey. It took at least an hour, maybe three to climb up them. No, probably actually ten minutes? What even was time, anyways? Just clocks, all things considered. They kept melting beneath her feet, too. That made it hard to climb them.
"Wow."
Beryl was... well, Beryl was there. That was always something. She acted like Erika currently felt, but all the time. Also, she seemed to be expanding and contracting with every breath. Not in the normal way. In a way that was really not normal. Shimmering too, like Lorenzo's hair and Emmett's wings.
What a weirdo. Who expands like that?
"Sup Beryllium! What's going on he-"
Demetri was trying to remove the door, because the door was screaming. Obviously the door wasn't having a very good time at the party, otherwise it wouldn't be screaming for help. Or maybe it was screaming for help because Demetri was trying to remove it from its hinges? That wouldn't be very nice. Nobody likes being unhinged. Erika brushed past Beryl to see what was going on, giving a crazed look of delight as she passed by. What fun this could be!
Be serious now, there could be a human in that door. Or the room that the door's in front of. Because doors, they do not speak.
The wood grains on the floor started moving against one another, and Erika felt unsteady once more. There was a brief moment when she realized that Demetri might actually be an animate creature as opposed to a malignant force that hated doors, and she decided to try and speak to him like a real human being. Putting on her best "I'm not high as fuck" voice even though she smelled of weed and flowers, she waltzed up to the door and offered help to Demetri. She hoped that didn't draw too much of his Male Attention. Word was, he was one of those sticky types who liked girls but didn't realize that they were real humans instead of evil sex beasts that hated Nice Guys©.
It's all good, i'm not his typ- oh shut the fuck up Erika and help this door with Demetri.
"Hey door, is your Demetri stuck? I mean... is the door... Do you need some help there, bud? I've got weak noodle arms but it might not be a matter of brute strength if you catch my multi-track drift. Maybe we can think our way outta this one! How'd this happen? Also, hi person on the other side! We're gonna rescue you!"
Did any of that make sense? Can I even?
For a brief moment Erika realized that not only was she taller than Demetri, she was probably not as lacking in physical strength as she suspected. Still, she wouldn't have any part in breaking down the poor door. It probably just wanted to open up, just like everyone else.
The wait for a potential savior wasn't long as some guy replied right on the other side of the door followed by a bum rush. Kayla leaped back with a soft shriek as the door violently rattled in place with a bang.
He said something about jamming something into the door crack, but Kayla was still too busy recovering from the surprise body slam to immediately respond. "Jesus, dude! Let a girl know before you do shit like that."
She breathed and tried to calm down. It helped somewhat. "...Sorry. But yeah, the door's not unlocking, see?" She shook the handle again, messing with the inoperable lock as it made a clack-clack-clack like it desperately wanted to retract but just couldn't. "It's, like, trapped in the strike plate or something."
Oh, right, the crack. "You think a card or-"
Another voice cut over Kayla's words. Another girl. And Kayla got an ID on her would-be hero.
Demetri. Her skin crawled, but beggars couldn't be choosers when they were cornered between a broke door and a second story window.
And then a third voice joined Demetri and Girl. This person sounded faded as hell. It had to be either Erika or Hel, one of the two. Could be worse, but God here was the fucking A-Team.
They could all do proper introductions later, but the ragtag bunch of misfits needed to save the princess first. Erika-Hel asked for an explanation, but they'd figure it out as they went. Kayla was getting impatient.
"Please do," Kayla flatly replied after Erika-Hel vowed to rescue her. "This is a pull door from my side; I dunno if that makes a difference. I just want out of here."
He said something about jamming something into the door crack, but Kayla was still too busy recovering from the surprise body slam to immediately respond. "Jesus, dude! Let a girl know before you do shit like that."
She breathed and tried to calm down. It helped somewhat. "...Sorry. But yeah, the door's not unlocking, see?" She shook the handle again, messing with the inoperable lock as it made a clack-clack-clack like it desperately wanted to retract but just couldn't. "It's, like, trapped in the strike plate or something."
Oh, right, the crack. "You think a card or-"
Another voice cut over Kayla's words. Another girl. And Kayla got an ID on her would-be hero.
Demetri. Her skin crawled, but beggars couldn't be choosers when they were cornered between a broke door and a second story window.
And then a third voice joined Demetri and Girl. This person sounded faded as hell. It had to be either Erika or Hel, one of the two. Could be worse, but God here was the fucking A-Team.
They could all do proper introductions later, but the ragtag bunch of misfits needed to save the princess first. Erika-Hel asked for an explanation, but they'd figure it out as they went. Kayla was getting impatient.
"Please do," Kayla flatly replied after Erika-Hel vowed to rescue her. "This is a pull door from my side; I dunno if that makes a difference. I just want out of here."
"Yeah, I'll ask the door for consent next time, gotcha."
Demetri had to think about that one for a moment, it had been fused stubbornly to the tip of his tongue. So while he'd stared in blank wonderment at the girl- definitely a girl- currently represented to the world by a closed door, he'd also been promptly flanked by two other girls.
Girl number one he didn't really know by name, but she was photography club too.
"Hey there, Am-Erika-nium," Beryl flatly giggled her favorite nickname for her ascended-ly high friend in a contemplatively serene greetings.
... Okay, that nickname didn't help. What was the name supposed to be, America? Anyways. Kinda cute, he guessed, so she'd likely be the sort who didn't want to give him the time of day once the adrenaline of the moment wore down. And Beryl, well. She was maybe human, right? Odd, but in a harmless way. She seemed to have patience for him rare among the female species of GHHS, and she had some cool deep cut records she'd lent him now and then.
He was looking from one girl to the other. Wondering if they had any obvious solutions to the door, more importantly wondering why the hell every girl in this damn school had to make him look like a particularly punky shrimp. Knowing his luck the girl behind Door Number One was a six'five behemoth who was being scouted for the WNBA- AKA, the twenty-four seven blooper footage reel of the basketball world. Nothing against them, they were certainly more skilled than he was, just... the skill differential with pro men was laughably bad. Some things in this world women just weren't built for, for example, getting together with him.
"We can think our way out of this if we have battering rams for heads," Demetri mused. Beryl seemed to think highly of that idea, though it was hard to tell because the smile she made with her piano tinkle laugh looked the same as all the rest of her expressions. Signals more mixed than salad, that girl right there.
"I've never done this before," Beryl admitted as she remained distant from the flesh that clustered around the door in the form of surround sound. "But the lock mechanism could be manipulated from either side with something thin and hard."
Demetri and Beryl, at once, glanced right down at the crotch of Demetri's pants, albeit for wildly different and equally difficult to sensibly elaborate reasons.
"Yeah," Demetri hummed. He folded his arms over his chest, trying to look meaningfully present and relevant. "Dad's done it before, I remember seeing him. We need a credit card or something, like, if anyone's got that?"
Demetri had to think about that one for a moment, it had been fused stubbornly to the tip of his tongue. So while he'd stared in blank wonderment at the girl- definitely a girl- currently represented to the world by a closed door, he'd also been promptly flanked by two other girls.
Girl number one he didn't really know by name, but she was photography club too.
"Hey there, Am-Erika-nium," Beryl flatly giggled her favorite nickname for her ascended-ly high friend in a contemplatively serene greetings.
... Okay, that nickname didn't help. What was the name supposed to be, America? Anyways. Kinda cute, he guessed, so she'd likely be the sort who didn't want to give him the time of day once the adrenaline of the moment wore down. And Beryl, well. She was maybe human, right? Odd, but in a harmless way. She seemed to have patience for him rare among the female species of GHHS, and she had some cool deep cut records she'd lent him now and then.
He was looking from one girl to the other. Wondering if they had any obvious solutions to the door, more importantly wondering why the hell every girl in this damn school had to make him look like a particularly punky shrimp. Knowing his luck the girl behind Door Number One was a six'five behemoth who was being scouted for the WNBA- AKA, the twenty-four seven blooper footage reel of the basketball world. Nothing against them, they were certainly more skilled than he was, just... the skill differential with pro men was laughably bad. Some things in this world women just weren't built for, for example, getting together with him.
"We can think our way out of this if we have battering rams for heads," Demetri mused. Beryl seemed to think highly of that idea, though it was hard to tell because the smile she made with her piano tinkle laugh looked the same as all the rest of her expressions. Signals more mixed than salad, that girl right there.
"I've never done this before," Beryl admitted as she remained distant from the flesh that clustered around the door in the form of surround sound. "But the lock mechanism could be manipulated from either side with something thin and hard."
Demetri and Beryl, at once, glanced right down at the crotch of Demetri's pants, albeit for wildly different and equally difficult to sensibly elaborate reasons.
"Yeah," Demetri hummed. He folded his arms over his chest, trying to look meaningfully present and relevant. "Dad's done it before, I remember seeing him. We need a credit card or something, like, if anyone's got that?"
Erika wavered, gently swaying to the faint music coming from downstairs. She couldn't help but chuckle at Beryl's reply to her. Americium. Strange irony in her picking that element.
"I'm more of a smoke emitter than a smoke detector, but I dig it."
She wasn't sure if it was actual haze, or just the drugs affecting her vision, but Erika found herself preoccupied with the seemingly omnipresent, colourful miasma. Looking up towards the white ceiling, she noticed what appeared to be Victorian floral patterns appearing in the stucco. They flowed much as the wood grain did, and she couldn't help but express her amazement.
"Woah. The ceiling is like... crawling. But in a good way, not like a centipede crawls. Like a lil' woodland creature just rollin' around and bein' all fuzzy n' shit."
That was so cool. Looking back down, she searched for any other strange and fantastical developments. Demetri was still struggling with the door, and she suspected was struggling with himself, somewhere deep down. Beryl was blue. It was probably all the Cherenkov radiation. No, that was Erika. She was the one who was radioactive.
"Mostly alpha particles though, I guess..." Erika muttered, not really to anyone in particular.
Gosh, science is cool. I bet Beryl's just full of science.
Demetri was looking for a credit card. Why would he be doing that?
"Me... De-me-tree. Heheh. I think uhh..."
That doesn't make any sense.
"I don't think you can bribe the door."
Wouldn't he know that?
"Try the little, uhh... the little shmozle right on the handle. Like, rotationally. Do the rotation. With the shmozle, that's on the lock. I think it's there to keep the bathroom safe."
Her saucer-like pupils drifted towards a nearby lamp, which was emanating an incredible aura. The whole rainbow, and what seemed to be more of the EM Spectrum than she was used to seeing. She pointed at the light in amazement.
"...Lamp!"
"I'm more of a smoke emitter than a smoke detector, but I dig it."
She wasn't sure if it was actual haze, or just the drugs affecting her vision, but Erika found herself preoccupied with the seemingly omnipresent, colourful miasma. Looking up towards the white ceiling, she noticed what appeared to be Victorian floral patterns appearing in the stucco. They flowed much as the wood grain did, and she couldn't help but express her amazement.
"Woah. The ceiling is like... crawling. But in a good way, not like a centipede crawls. Like a lil' woodland creature just rollin' around and bein' all fuzzy n' shit."
That was so cool. Looking back down, she searched for any other strange and fantastical developments. Demetri was still struggling with the door, and she suspected was struggling with himself, somewhere deep down. Beryl was blue. It was probably all the Cherenkov radiation. No, that was Erika. She was the one who was radioactive.
"Mostly alpha particles though, I guess..." Erika muttered, not really to anyone in particular.
Gosh, science is cool. I bet Beryl's just full of science.
Demetri was looking for a credit card. Why would he be doing that?
"Me... De-me-tree. Heheh. I think uhh..."
That doesn't make any sense.
"I don't think you can bribe the door."
Wouldn't he know that?
"Try the little, uhh... the little shmozle right on the handle. Like, rotationally. Do the rotation. With the shmozle, that's on the lock. I think it's there to keep the bathroom safe."
Her saucer-like pupils drifted towards a nearby lamp, which was emanating an incredible aura. The whole rainbow, and what seemed to be more of the EM Spectrum than she was used to seeing. She pointed at the light in amazement.
"...Lamp!"
Damn, whatever Erika-Hel was on Kayla would have to ask for the hook up later. But right now she was on a quest; it was time to pull a jailbreak. "One sec, I'll look on my side."
Kayla's pockets were empty save the phone, but maybe there was something in this room. Now she knew how MacGyver felt, though maybe it was closer to MacGruber.
She scanned the bathroom, her last two brain cells firing off neurons at the speed of light. She pulled open the cabinets and drawers under the sink, same with the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. But besides a more intimate look into Forrest's family's medical history, there wasn't really anything that fit the bill. She put everything back and closed up.
Kayla wandered around and made her way over to the window and took a look outside. It looked like it fed out near the backyard. Didn't look like that bad of a drop, either; there was some roofing that angled downward she could walk/crawl out on, and the shrubbery could maybe break the fall. Worst case maybe Claude could help her down if he both wasn't too far away to hear her and wasn't too busy perusing anime tiddies.
Kayla stepped back and returned to the door with a grumble. "Mmm I ain't got nothing over here. Did find some big ass ibuprofen, though."
Kayla's pockets were empty save the phone, but maybe there was something in this room. Now she knew how MacGyver felt, though maybe it was closer to MacGruber.
She scanned the bathroom, her last two brain cells firing off neurons at the speed of light. She pulled open the cabinets and drawers under the sink, same with the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. But besides a more intimate look into Forrest's family's medical history, there wasn't really anything that fit the bill. She put everything back and closed up.
Kayla wandered around and made her way over to the window and took a look outside. It looked like it fed out near the backyard. Didn't look like that bad of a drop, either; there was some roofing that angled downward she could walk/crawl out on, and the shrubbery could maybe break the fall. Worst case maybe Claude could help her down if he both wasn't too far away to hear her and wasn't too busy perusing anime tiddies.
Kayla stepped back and returned to the door with a grumble. "Mmm I ain't got nothing over here. Did find some big ass ibuprofen, though."
The thump of music lost to distance was ambient as Beryl's own heartbeat, ambient as the significantly confused Demetri over there in one corner, ambient as the girl still trapped rather quaintly behind bathroom door. It was a picturesquely unique scene Beryl had meandered into!
"The ceiling crawls like alpha particles? There is a certain molecular motion to it all," Beryl mused. She drifted beside her equally tall friend, her movements silently chaotic like the loose-joint march of skeletons. She wasn't sure where she needed to be. There were many questions without answers left to be unasked.
"Uh, you two do that." Demetri was speaking. "Maybe you can, like, confuse the door out of existence." Beryl noted he'd at least tried to follow Erika's instructions. Senselessly sensible, or perhaps sensibly senseless, as they'd been. He was suddenly rushing away. She supposed he needed to procure more assets with which to continue his plan of bribing the door. Beryl wasn't quite sure that was where the train of logic had derailed to crash into station, but she rather cared for Erika's rambling musings, so she elected to drift along in their wake.
((Demetri Futscher continued in my next post))
"Hm, well. The lamp's filament would likely be far too hot to use? This might work instead."
Beryl had to pick at her hair for a supremely silent moment before she could be sure she even had a bobby pin in it at all. There it was, burrowed so deep against her scalp as to be dubious in any sort of hair-related purpose. Destiny had, perhaps, been the reason for it being here.
"I don't know how to pick a lock, anyways," she remarked at the door. Or at the person behind it, sure, why not? Who was to say that sound waves could really be meant for this purpose or that? "But ibuprofen, at least, sounds like an un-relatedly good time... Erika, are you still here?" Schrodinger's drugged-out friend, with Beryl's back turned. The tumblers of the door lock clicked over and over, as Beryl contemplated it's innards with her bobby pin, not particularly sure what she sought to achieve.
"The ceiling crawls like alpha particles? There is a certain molecular motion to it all," Beryl mused. She drifted beside her equally tall friend, her movements silently chaotic like the loose-joint march of skeletons. She wasn't sure where she needed to be. There were many questions without answers left to be unasked.
"Uh, you two do that." Demetri was speaking. "Maybe you can, like, confuse the door out of existence." Beryl noted he'd at least tried to follow Erika's instructions. Senselessly sensible, or perhaps sensibly senseless, as they'd been. He was suddenly rushing away. She supposed he needed to procure more assets with which to continue his plan of bribing the door. Beryl wasn't quite sure that was where the train of logic had derailed to crash into station, but she rather cared for Erika's rambling musings, so she elected to drift along in their wake.
((Demetri Futscher continued in my next post))
"Hm, well. The lamp's filament would likely be far too hot to use? This might work instead."
Beryl had to pick at her hair for a supremely silent moment before she could be sure she even had a bobby pin in it at all. There it was, burrowed so deep against her scalp as to be dubious in any sort of hair-related purpose. Destiny had, perhaps, been the reason for it being here.
"I don't know how to pick a lock, anyways," she remarked at the door. Or at the person behind it, sure, why not? Who was to say that sound waves could really be meant for this purpose or that? "But ibuprofen, at least, sounds like an un-relatedly good time... Erika, are you still here?" Schrodinger's drugged-out friend, with Beryl's back turned. The tumblers of the door lock clicked over and over, as Beryl contemplated it's innards with her bobby pin, not particularly sure what she sought to achieve.
For a moment, everything was silent. Erika's eyes drifted past the glow of the lamp to the floor, and then to the ceiling. Still. As if time had stopped. She couldn't help but be awestruck by the way that her senses seemed to tune in and out of her surroundings. Colours faded and then brightened. Sounds fell flat and then echoed. The din of the party felt distant and simultaneously all around her. It would've been overwhelming if she hadn't known what to expect. This wasn't her first trip though it was probably one of the more intense.
Without really thinking of what she was saying, she turned and walked over to Beryl. The other girl was attempting to pick the lock with a bobby pin, but didn't seem to understand how to do it. Erika knew what had to be done to pick a lock like that, in theory. Not so much in practice.
We can't convince the door with alpha rays, absolutely not.
In a sudden moment of lividity, Erika spoke up from where she'd been closely and silently watching the whole time.
"You can't do that with just a bobby pin. You'd need a tension wrench as well. It's not as easy as in RPGs. Oooh, now that'd be a good way to get a door down. A rocket launcher!"
Erika made a "fwoosh" noise and mimed shooting a rocket at the door.
"Nah that'd be messy. Explosions would totally ruin a party. Wait..."
She took a step back, tapping Beryl on the shoulder.
"What if... we just... like..."
Without really knowing what she was trying to communicate, Erika mimed an explosion and the glittery mist that she imagined would fall from the sky following said explosion. She gave Beryl a brilliant look before leaning against a wall and contemplating where she might find either a pizza or a rocket launcher.
Without really thinking of what she was saying, she turned and walked over to Beryl. The other girl was attempting to pick the lock with a bobby pin, but didn't seem to understand how to do it. Erika knew what had to be done to pick a lock like that, in theory. Not so much in practice.
We can't convince the door with alpha rays, absolutely not.
In a sudden moment of lividity, Erika spoke up from where she'd been closely and silently watching the whole time.
"You can't do that with just a bobby pin. You'd need a tension wrench as well. It's not as easy as in RPGs. Oooh, now that'd be a good way to get a door down. A rocket launcher!"
Erika made a "fwoosh" noise and mimed shooting a rocket at the door.
"Nah that'd be messy. Explosions would totally ruin a party. Wait..."
She took a step back, tapping Beryl on the shoulder.
"What if... we just... like..."
Without really knowing what she was trying to communicate, Erika mimed an explosion and the glittery mist that she imagined would fall from the sky following said explosion. She gave Beryl a brilliant look before leaning against a wall and contemplating where she might find either a pizza or a rocket launcher.
[Jackson Sullivan Continued from Pro Tools for Dummies]
The world around was starting to look a bit fuzzy, and it was getting increasingly more difficult for him to keep himself from swaying as he stood. Walking was another issue entirely. Less of a walk and more of a stumble, really. Jackson was beyond his limit by far, and he was making no attempt to slow his intake of booze. Beer clenched in his left hand (a bottle of Fat Tire IPA), Jackson did his best to locate the staircase that would lead him to the bathroom, as it was about time to empty the old bladder. Jackson had been at the party for a while at this point, and had started off the night as he usually did, drinking keg beer and playing some beer pong. After about 4 rounds of pong and about 7 solo cups of piss-water flavored keg garbage, Jackson took his leave from his group to search around the house for something a bit better to drink. His search led him to an array of bottles, and he went shot for shot with a few fellow party-goers for a few minutes before finding the treasure trove of beer that was located in the fridge in the kitchen. Jackson took about three Fat Tires out of the fridge, sucking the first one down pretty quickly, and the second one quickly followed behind. Now down to his last borrowed beer, he felt it was the best time to try and relieve himself before getting on to round two.
Jackson had finally located the stairs, and in his drunken haze it took him probably far too long to make his way up them. He looked around once he got to the top, and tried to focus his eyes on what he was looking for, the bathroom. Surprisingly, it seemed there were other people already waiting. Jackson used his right hand to scratch behind his ear as he closed in on the duo outside the bathroom, racking his alcohol-drenched brain to remember the two girl’s names. A soft belch escaped his lips as he approached, a consequence of all the beer he’d been drinking, no doubt alerting the two girls to his presence. He smiled awkwardly, giving the two a small little wave as he did his best to steady himself and not look like a total drunken fool. He was already dressed pretty rough, just a pair of worn out light wash blue jeans, a tight white crew-neck tee that said “Hold my Headgear”, and a pair of dirty Timberland work boots. Clearing his throat a bit, he made contact.
“Hey… hey girls, what’s goin on?” He grinned, attempting to look as sober as he could, but there was no hiding how intoxicated he was at this point.
“This the line for the john?”
The world around was starting to look a bit fuzzy, and it was getting increasingly more difficult for him to keep himself from swaying as he stood. Walking was another issue entirely. Less of a walk and more of a stumble, really. Jackson was beyond his limit by far, and he was making no attempt to slow his intake of booze. Beer clenched in his left hand (a bottle of Fat Tire IPA), Jackson did his best to locate the staircase that would lead him to the bathroom, as it was about time to empty the old bladder. Jackson had been at the party for a while at this point, and had started off the night as he usually did, drinking keg beer and playing some beer pong. After about 4 rounds of pong and about 7 solo cups of piss-water flavored keg garbage, Jackson took his leave from his group to search around the house for something a bit better to drink. His search led him to an array of bottles, and he went shot for shot with a few fellow party-goers for a few minutes before finding the treasure trove of beer that was located in the fridge in the kitchen. Jackson took about three Fat Tires out of the fridge, sucking the first one down pretty quickly, and the second one quickly followed behind. Now down to his last borrowed beer, he felt it was the best time to try and relieve himself before getting on to round two.
Jackson had finally located the stairs, and in his drunken haze it took him probably far too long to make his way up them. He looked around once he got to the top, and tried to focus his eyes on what he was looking for, the bathroom. Surprisingly, it seemed there were other people already waiting. Jackson used his right hand to scratch behind his ear as he closed in on the duo outside the bathroom, racking his alcohol-drenched brain to remember the two girl’s names. A soft belch escaped his lips as he approached, a consequence of all the beer he’d been drinking, no doubt alerting the two girls to his presence. He smiled awkwardly, giving the two a small little wave as he did his best to steady himself and not look like a total drunken fool. He was already dressed pretty rough, just a pair of worn out light wash blue jeans, a tight white crew-neck tee that said “Hold my Headgear”, and a pair of dirty Timberland work boots. Clearing his throat a bit, he made contact.
“Hey… hey girls, what’s goin on?” He grinned, attempting to look as sober as he could, but there was no hiding how intoxicated he was at this point.
“This the line for the john?”
((Demetri Futscher continued from my previous post))
Damn garage was a million miles worth of Demetri's skinny flab-drapes of leg to scale multiple flights of stairs for. Dodging party goers had been the easy part because they probably all dodged him instead, he guessed. Good to know the usual was still the usual.
Some kind of clusterfuck had exploded out onto the bathroom landing- at least, Demetri couldn't remember that Klingon face from wrestling stumbling around drunk in work boots. Might have been one of those 'too obvious to miss things' Demetri had managed, like all those type of signs girls supposedly sent in binary ASL Morse code to signal that they were ready to lead you on. He had been pretty busy with the whole 'responsibility' thing and all. Not so much for the Drowzee duo floating by the door vaguely gesticulating at each other in dandelion. Beryl, bless her weird heart with some kind of industrial strength Ambien holy water or whatever the fuck it was narcoleptic folk chugged in their free time was trying to wave America-whatserface away.
"I think you got it right the first time, yes.. Explosions would ruin the party, hmm... unless..."
No time to let her finish that thought. Demetri was here... for no reason, honestly, not like anyone had actually asked him to help. But he was here to help anyways, and that was how he intended to get things done. He didn't fix shit for the appreciation of it.
"Line for the bathroom starts two floors down unless you're looking to pee on a door." Demetri barged through- Jackson, dude's name was Jackson- and Americauranium (One) and Beryl and look at that, there was a thin flathead screwdriver in his hand. A slight of hand called being clenched in his jack-off fist. He intended to work quickly, a bit prideful, mostly embarrassed at all the rabble rousing that had turned a locked bathroom into a scene. Normally there needed to be more cocaine and or suicide notes for that kind of thing to be an issue.
"I'm coming- in! Fuck- getting-.. ngh, somewhere.." Demetri danced retard-mode with the door knob moving every which way while he experimented with his angles. No credit card that Demetri had been able to even consider pathetically begging off some passerby, but he figured this tool jammed against the door frame could knock the locking mechanism, just like Dad had-
Tink.
The broken off half of a once-whole flathead screwdriver tumbled in a lazy arc until it hit the ground.
"... Wait. Fucking-!"
Demetri stepped back, free hand to his mouth and yanking his lips all kinds of south. Screwdriver forgotten in his other hand as he cursed to himself and ran off. Again.
((Demetri Futscher continued in some future post))
"... More gunpowder?" Beryl sleepily mused while she palmed the door, listening. It seemed hollow enough to barge through, anyways.
Damn garage was a million miles worth of Demetri's skinny flab-drapes of leg to scale multiple flights of stairs for. Dodging party goers had been the easy part because they probably all dodged him instead, he guessed. Good to know the usual was still the usual.
Some kind of clusterfuck had exploded out onto the bathroom landing- at least, Demetri couldn't remember that Klingon face from wrestling stumbling around drunk in work boots. Might have been one of those 'too obvious to miss things' Demetri had managed, like all those type of signs girls supposedly sent in binary ASL Morse code to signal that they were ready to lead you on. He had been pretty busy with the whole 'responsibility' thing and all. Not so much for the Drowzee duo floating by the door vaguely gesticulating at each other in dandelion. Beryl, bless her weird heart with some kind of industrial strength Ambien holy water or whatever the fuck it was narcoleptic folk chugged in their free time was trying to wave America-whatserface away.
"I think you got it right the first time, yes.. Explosions would ruin the party, hmm... unless..."
No time to let her finish that thought. Demetri was here... for no reason, honestly, not like anyone had actually asked him to help. But he was here to help anyways, and that was how he intended to get things done. He didn't fix shit for the appreciation of it.
"Line for the bathroom starts two floors down unless you're looking to pee on a door." Demetri barged through- Jackson, dude's name was Jackson- and Americauranium (One) and Beryl and look at that, there was a thin flathead screwdriver in his hand. A slight of hand called being clenched in his jack-off fist. He intended to work quickly, a bit prideful, mostly embarrassed at all the rabble rousing that had turned a locked bathroom into a scene. Normally there needed to be more cocaine and or suicide notes for that kind of thing to be an issue.
"I'm coming- in! Fuck- getting-.. ngh, somewhere.." Demetri danced retard-mode with the door knob moving every which way while he experimented with his angles. No credit card that Demetri had been able to even consider pathetically begging off some passerby, but he figured this tool jammed against the door frame could knock the locking mechanism, just like Dad had-
Tink.
The broken off half of a once-whole flathead screwdriver tumbled in a lazy arc until it hit the ground.
"... Wait. Fucking-!"
Demetri stepped back, free hand to his mouth and yanking his lips all kinds of south. Screwdriver forgotten in his other hand as he cursed to himself and ran off. Again.
((Demetri Futscher continued in some future post))
"... More gunpowder?" Beryl sleepily mused while she palmed the door, listening. It seemed hollow enough to barge through, anyways.
Erika was confused. Did he just manage to break a screwdriver? Wasn't tool steel supposed to be crazy strong?
Maybe he's just that frustrated.
She noted Jackson sloshing his way up the stairs, his every movement punctuated by a strange fluidity. Erika got the distinct impression he was just barely holding onto solid form, and at any moment he might just disintegrate into a puddle of liquor. In her current state, this seemed to be almost easier to believe than Demetri's utter failure to figure out a way to open the door. Maybe he didn't really want to open the door. Maybe none of them did.
No, this isn't a Kafka party.
Pushing gently off the wall she was leaning on, Erika floated over to Beryl. She attempted to communicate what she was thinking, but did so auf Deutsche.
„Beryl, I think that we should probably refrain from destroying the door. We are wise enough to figure this out.“
As she leaned towards the door, she suddenly became keenly aware of Beryl's nose. It was adorable!
„You have such a cute nose! Bööp!“
She gently poked Beryl in her adorable nose, and then drew a line in the air with her finger towards the door handle. The metal of the handle had curious anodized quality to it, looking like drops of gasoline that fell into a puddle of water.
„Huh. That's so cool. Have you seen this door handle? It's amazing!“
Using her fingernail, she turned a small latch on the outside of the handle that the others seemed to have missed. These kinds of things existed to prevent people from getting trapped in bathrooms forever.
Gently pushing the handle down with the same finger she used to boop Beryl on her nose, the door finally opened. Curiously, she felt a small gust of wind blow past her face as she did so.
"There! Alles klar!"
The door continued to slowly open as a light breeze continued to blow through the hallway where everyone was standing. Erika's eyes widened, and she suddenly felt dizzy. Wirr. It was an uncomfortable feeling. The window was wide open in the bathroom. She could feel the faint glow of the moon from the outside. The tidal forces threatened to pull her from the surface of the earth and cast her into the sky.
Even more disturbingly, there was no one inside the bathroom anymore.
Maybe he's just that frustrated.
She noted Jackson sloshing his way up the stairs, his every movement punctuated by a strange fluidity. Erika got the distinct impression he was just barely holding onto solid form, and at any moment he might just disintegrate into a puddle of liquor. In her current state, this seemed to be almost easier to believe than Demetri's utter failure to figure out a way to open the door. Maybe he didn't really want to open the door. Maybe none of them did.
No, this isn't a Kafka party.
Pushing gently off the wall she was leaning on, Erika floated over to Beryl. She attempted to communicate what she was thinking, but did so auf Deutsche.
„Beryl, I think that we should probably refrain from destroying the door. We are wise enough to figure this out.“
As she leaned towards the door, she suddenly became keenly aware of Beryl's nose. It was adorable!
„You have such a cute nose! Bööp!“
She gently poked Beryl in her adorable nose, and then drew a line in the air with her finger towards the door handle. The metal of the handle had curious anodized quality to it, looking like drops of gasoline that fell into a puddle of water.
„Huh. That's so cool. Have you seen this door handle? It's amazing!“
Using her fingernail, she turned a small latch on the outside of the handle that the others seemed to have missed. These kinds of things existed to prevent people from getting trapped in bathrooms forever.
Gently pushing the handle down with the same finger she used to boop Beryl on her nose, the door finally opened. Curiously, she felt a small gust of wind blow past her face as she did so.
"There! Alles klar!"
The door continued to slowly open as a light breeze continued to blow through the hallway where everyone was standing. Erika's eyes widened, and she suddenly felt dizzy. Wirr. It was an uncomfortable feeling. The window was wide open in the bathroom. She could feel the faint glow of the moon from the outside. The tidal forces threatened to pull her from the surface of the earth and cast her into the sky.
Even more disturbingly, there was no one inside the bathroom anymore.
((Kayla Harris continued in The Mascara Snake))
Just after the words left Jackson’s mouth, another boy blew past him and told him to go downstairs if he was looking for a bathroom. That didn’t sound right. Jackson was a little inebriated, but he was still pretty sure this is where one of the bathrooms was. He watched as the boy, whose name was escaping him at the moment, used a screwdriver to fiddle with the door handle. Jackson swayed back and forth as he watched the scene in front of him, the boy desperately trying to do something with the screwdriver was kind of comedic, and it was hard for Jackson to keep his snickers to himself. All of a sudden the screwdriver snapped in half, and Jackson’s eyes went wide. Holy shit. Dude must have really been working that tool.
“That’s rough, buddy.” Jackson attempted to say to the boy as he retreated from whence he came. Who knew screwdrivers could just snap like that?
All of a sudden Erika was now fiddling with the handle, and it really made Jackson a bit curious. What was going on with this door? Also, should they really be trying to break into a door in someone else’s house like this? He didn’t have the answer to that, so instead he just crept closer to the action, peering over Erika’s shoulder from a safe distance as she worked on the handle. Erika started speaking another language at Beryl, and now Jackson was even more invested in what was going on. All of a sudden Erika booped Beryl on the nose, and it was probably the single most adorable thing he’d seen happen firsthand in a long time. He felt like a he was watching this all play out on TV. You couldn’t make shit like this up though.
Erika was awestruck by the door handle now it seemed, not that he understood a word of what she was saying, and Jackson hazily tried to crane his neck to get a peek, not wanting to get too close and ruin this animal-planet-like scenario. Sadly, he couldn’t see what she was talking about from his position, and his legs felt like jelly, so he was in no position to move anyway. Erika fiddled with the handle some more, and slowly, like it was a secret passage or some shit, the door swung open, showing the empty bathroom behind it, the breeze from the open window blowing over the three of them.
“See? I knew it was a bathroom.” Jackson said without thinking, glad that the boy from before had been wrong and he was in the right place.
“That’s rough, buddy.” Jackson attempted to say to the boy as he retreated from whence he came. Who knew screwdrivers could just snap like that?
All of a sudden Erika was now fiddling with the handle, and it really made Jackson a bit curious. What was going on with this door? Also, should they really be trying to break into a door in someone else’s house like this? He didn’t have the answer to that, so instead he just crept closer to the action, peering over Erika’s shoulder from a safe distance as she worked on the handle. Erika started speaking another language at Beryl, and now Jackson was even more invested in what was going on. All of a sudden Erika booped Beryl on the nose, and it was probably the single most adorable thing he’d seen happen firsthand in a long time. He felt like a he was watching this all play out on TV. You couldn’t make shit like this up though.
Erika was awestruck by the door handle now it seemed, not that he understood a word of what she was saying, and Jackson hazily tried to crane his neck to get a peek, not wanting to get too close and ruin this animal-planet-like scenario. Sadly, he couldn’t see what she was talking about from his position, and his legs felt like jelly, so he was in no position to move anyway. Erika fiddled with the handle some more, and slowly, like it was a secret passage or some shit, the door swung open, showing the empty bathroom behind it, the breeze from the open window blowing over the three of them.
“See? I knew it was a bathroom.” Jackson said without thinking, glad that the boy from before had been wrong and he was in the right place.