New Roommate!? ...Dear God No... (Pyro)

[Tobias Smith]

In all honesty, Tobias is annoyed. Actually, annoyed isn't even the right word. Pissed is a more accurate word to describe how Tobias feels at the moment. Since he arrived at the institute up until now, he had had his dorm all to himself. No annoying prep boy always trying to lighten up the mood, two beds, plenty of room in the closet, and extra space for Tobias' painting canvas and supplies. All of that, is gone now.

The dorm had now changed from a fully-black-covered-gothic-paradise into a half black-covered-gothic-paradise with the other half completely plain, blank, and dull. Tobias is just finishing moving his canvases and easel to the foot of his bed, swearing quietly to himself. He glances over to the window-facing desks with the two computers. Tobias glances at the one he never uses, which has gathered dust over the months. He figures if his roommate wants the room to be clean, he can do it himself. Tobias sighs, and collapses onto his bed, allowing metal to blare into his ears. He had only glanced at the room assignments, and he knew he was paired with a John...something -yce. Whoever it was, he doubted he would care.



Besides, how bad could it be? Its not like he was stuck with Pyro...

[Pyro]

Pissed off? No, John is not pissed off. Far from it… because pissed off does not come close. Not even close in the way Pluto’s close to the sun. They haven’t yet invented a word for this sort of intensity of pissed-off-ness, but when they do, it probably won’t be quite as effective as the litany of variants on the word fuck John’s been spouting since the news was broken.

It’s stupid, he knows, to be getting this worked up; it’s just a room, for fuck’s sake, and he’s not the sort to get attached to a place so moving out shouldn’t be an issue. Hell, objectively, getting the hell out of his-and-Bobby’s-room is probably by far the best idea. But the prospect of being shoe-horned into someone else’s turf, and having to be the one playing ‘nice’ and trying to ‘settle in’, the one displaced and on shaky ground?

… yeah, right. He’d got over that one at eleven, thanks.

So he’d ranted, and railed, and pointed out that everything else was going to hell and he needed this one stable thing (even if that was clearly bullshit because he’s clearly totally fine with all of that, mhmm)… and been told in no uncertain terms that a new start would be better for everyone.

So fine, he can do that. Doesn’t plan on taking much – laptop, lighter, Jacks, couple of posters – because things are just things, and anyway within a week they’ll be begging for him to move back out and return things to something other than batshit crazy so it would be a waste of time to take everything. It’s just a different sort of challenge, that’s all. Nothing he can’t handle…

… even if their crappy taste in music does threaten to make his brain melt.

No point starting any way other than how he means to go on, no sense giving the new roomie, whoever the hell they are (he hadn’t paid attention to anything other than that he was supposedly moving), a false sense of what they’re signed up for by playing nice… so in he storms (well, this is his room now. Fuck asking for permission or anything), dumping the stuff on the empty bed and…

… and doing a double take.

”Fuck. You?” Oh, great. This is going to be a fucking riot.

[Tobias Smith]

Tobias chooses to attempt to hide from this new, grim reality by keeping his eyes closed and not knowing the identity of his new roommate. Naturally, he has denial, and for the first few seconds after he hears the footsteps and dumping of stuff on bed, it works. But, life being the bitch it is, it doesn't last long.

>"Fuck. You?"

Tobias recognizes the ever-bitter voice of the closet thing Tobias could ever have to a rival in the bitter war that was smart-assery. His eyes shoot open, and he half glares, half scowls at Jo---Pyro. Images of the time between now and whenever the next room assignments go up are fabricated in his mind, and one word, only one word can be used to describe life with John:


Hell. Not just gates I-VII of Hell, but the pure, Ninth Gate of Hell. Tobias stood, and said, "Oh fuck no....please dear God tell me this is some sort of sick, sadistic joke. If not, please just fry me now, Sparky."

Tobias always uses his own, seperate names for people at the institute. For instance: Frosty the X-Man now replaced by CyberBob, Sparky, Fag 1 and Fag 2, etc. Rarely, unless they really deserve it, does Tobias address them by his personal names for them. But he flat out calls Sparky, and as such declares war.

[Pyro]

< Oh fuck no
… well, at least he’s not the only one less than thrilled with the arrangement. That’s something.

Tobias isn’t psychic, right? So there’s no way he can pick up on the slight spark of twisted gratitude that at least he’s not absolutely thrilled and about to try and become his new bestest-best-buddy. No, all Tobias gets is a leisurely look-over, John’s gaze running from head to foot as he stands and back, and a disparaging sigh and headshake at what he finds before he goes back to organising his stuff, slipping the spare lighters into various pockets and tacking up his Fight Club poster, staking his claim over the blank half of the room because it can’t hurt, even if he’s not planning on staying long.

< If not, please just fry me now, Sparky
That gets him a second, though in no way more favourable, glance, and a disparaging snort before John’s attention’s back on Rose McGowan’s high-powered prosthetic leg as he finishes sticking up the Grindhouse promo. ”If that’s the best you’ve got, kid, I might have to… fuck me, ‘Sparky’? It stings, really.”

A second snort, nearer a snicker, and an eye-roll, are tossed in Tobias’ direction and, satisfied with the relatively meagre decorations that declare this space is his, if not exactly his ‘home’, John swings up onto and slumps back on the bed, on his back staring up at the ceiling with an ‘okay, bored now’ sigh.

[Tobias Smith]

((Like I said, RL's a bitch.))

>”If that’s the best you’ve got, kid, I might have to… fuck me, ‘Sparky’? It stings, really.”

Tobias rolls his eyes as well, and collapses onto his own bed. The time until the next dorm assignment will not pass quickly enough for him. He closes his eyes for a second. He attempts to think of any "Rules" for the room...but he can't think of any that Pyro isn't probably thinking at the same time. Somehow, he's fairly certain of the mutually assured:

1. Dont bug me, I won't bug you.
2. Piss me off, things will get ugly.
3. Never, Ever, EVER touch my stuff.
4. If ever there, (doubt it), respect the tie on the doorknob.
5. ...Whatever...

Tobias opens his eyes, and glances over to where Pyro is tacking up his posters and the massive collections of lighters at his disposal. He cocks an eyebrow and mutters, just loudly enough, "...Enough lighters there?"

[Pyro]

… can’t just shut the fuck up and leave him alone, though, can he?

John sighs, just loud enough to make the point that he doesn’t appreciate the disturbance, and rolls over onto his side to fix Tobias with something just below a glare which turns into a sarcastically bright, totally un-amused and obviously forced smile, his tone the same stretched fake-happy which indicates that he’s anything but. ”Depends on whether you’re going to wise up and stop fucking bothering me… If not, I’m going to need a few spares” The smile mutates into a smirk and he turns back over onto his back, playing idly with one of said lighter hoard. Click-fwoosh… click… click-fwoosh…

He doesn’t break rhythm as he turns back, as if struck by another thought. ”Look, Blinky” – Ha, two can play at the lame nicknames game…; fingers crossed Tobias’ll be slightly more pissed with his and not notice that it isn’t much more inspired – ”I’m not going to start spouting some bullshit about your not touching my stuff or what happens if you piss me off. I’m not even going to play the long-term resident card. But just so we’re clear; until whoever thought it’d be fun to condemn us both to this snaps to their senses and gets me the fuck outta here? Just… don’t bug me, and I won’t set fire to your Temple of Darkness or whatever the fuck your side of the room’s meant to be”

[Tobias Smith]

Tobias continues glancing at Pyro as he gives the rundown, blinking once or twice but overall simply looking apathetic. When he finishes, he slowly raises one of his gloved hands in a thumbs-up...which he then quickly converts to the most commonly recognized gesture on earth, before he closes his eyes and rests his head on his pillow for all of ten seconds before standing up and hastily walking to his corner to where all of this art supplies are.

He grabs a pencil and his sketchbook, and quickly draws a quick, almost cartoonish one-panel sketch. It is a fairly realistic-looking picture of Tobias standing on one side of the paper, facing the edge with Pyro at the other end facing the opposite edge. On Tobias' side, there are a number of clocks, and a number of flames on Pyro's side. In the middle, a representation of the Demilitarized Zone inbetween the Koreas. The caption was simply: Royally Fucked

Semi-relieved of his current thoughts, Tobias tosses the book back into the corner without a damn, and collapses onto his bed with a 'Thump.'


Royally Fucked.....it worked.

[Pyro]

John rolls his eyes at Tobias’ ‘gesture’ – oh, baby knows how to communicate with adults? How cute – *rewarding* him with a slow, patronising clap before flashing the same right back at him with a see? Not that impressive smirk, swinging up to something nearer seated and watching, ostensibly bored out of his skull, as Tobias crosses to his supplies and back.

The fact that he apparently has this artistic bent earns a eyebrow raised in something too disinterested to be a question, but clearly some lesser variant of curious, and John watches for a few moments before letting out a bored sigh and retrieving his laptop from the eclectic and meagre collection of belongings and powering it up. Another sigh follows as he waits, drumming his fingers on the blank space next to the mouse touchpad, for the thing to run through set-up, accompanied by a low ”Someone up there really fucking hates us”, almost under his breath.