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Christmass' "Walking Dead" Tour - Spain; Judas Vant [L]
Topic Started: Sep 16 2011, 11:36 PM (335 Views)
Megan Haner
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“Portugal, for your information,” Megan began, nose clamped beneath tissue to combat a cold she had been trying to shake since London, “is a country. It’s most well known for its “green wine” and port. They make a great deal of corks, too, I’ve heard. And the seafood. Being a costal country, they’re very well known for that as well- though I wouldn’t say they are superbly well known for very much at all. Being a human nation, I haven’t done too much studying on it. If Kit had come you cou-cou-couACHoo!” She stopped to mop at her nose. “…could have asked her.”

The scenery outside of the window was a vibrant and beautiful green. Rolling and verdant lawns sprawled across the landscape, dotted with the fuzzy little paint smudges of trees in the distance, blending along a gradient of the darkest green to the palest gold. White rock lay naked and exposed like the cracked bosoms of old women between the velvet green folds of cloth like pastures. Well ahead of the voluptuous countryside lay their destination, a tiny little toy city all white and blended with modern invention and historical elegance.

Within the confines of the bus they had rented for the European leg of the tour, Megan felt the music and chaos stole from the beauty they should have been observing. Like a camper toting along a luxury air mattress, she felt there should be some respect for the view and the country itself that the old rock and constant cursing didn’t truly display.

She glared hard at the side of Judas’ head. He probably wasn’t even paying attention to her lecture on Portugal- dead set on complaining about WHY they weren’t going, if he wasn’t allowed, if they didn’t want him, why there wasn’t enough demand, what kind of creeps lived there that didn’t appreciate REAL music.

Why couldn’t she read and ride in the car at the same time?

Kinetosis. Right.

Not that listening to a book would do much better. She’d tried that on the jet and had been interrupted every ten minutes with things no decent human being wants to see – shown to her by none other than her boss, her baby sitter, the creature she was bound by contract to serve as though he were a king while required (also by contract) to keep him from getting killed.

Turning her regards to the weather, Megan dropped the tissue to her lap and sniffed heartily before speaking again.

“It’s sunnier than it was in London. At least you wont have to stay cooped up in hotels.” That was a good thing, she thought, because Hotels and Judas never went hand in hand. While he requested the best suites and the best amenities, the havoc the man could create in such rooms was absolutely beyond catastrophic. The things she saw, the things she heard, the things she found

“And I need to remind you that before you go anywhere else, you need to stick with me so we can touch base with the venue, alright? It’s a big arena and they’ll need a rundown of what we expect, just like in London. Remember what happened in London? Remember how that didn’t go well? Remember how mad you were when they told you you couldn’t use the blood? It’s things like that we have to take care of before you hit the beaches”

here she omitted ‘Nude’

“or the pool or whatever else you want to do here.”

She shot him a look that could have flayed him, had it carried any kinetic energy.

(This is Megan right now: :feelsbadman: )
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Judas Vant
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Judas was listening to Megan, but it was the half-hearted kind of listening that usually meant he would forget what she was saying in ten minutes. He was caught up in how sick she sounded, and how he could get sick from her, and lamenting about how bored and miserable he was on the bus.

He had started carrying a little pack of hand sanitizer with him, just to fuck with her so whenever she touched him he would get that hand sanitizer out and rub it all over his hands and arms like he had to get a disease off of himself. Sitting so closely to her in the bus made him feel like he was in a room full of invisible things that were going to bite him. The boredom and the tight space just made it worse. He wanted to act out.

He didn’t like getting sick, though he got sick on tour a lot. Usually traveling country to country, he picked up some bullshit bug that chased him all the way back home. He never really used the ‘being sick’ excuse to get out of something he had to do – that was what things like the words ‘fuck’ and ‘no’ were for, and he had gotten pretty good at throwing things and just not showing up. If he didn’t want to do something, he wanted it known, and he wasn’t the sort of pussy that had to pretend to be sick.

When Megan sneezed he started, finally looking to her to give her a wild eyed sort of look, as if he couldn’t understand why she would do that before he looked out the window again.

Fucking Portugal.

“Doesn’t sound like much of fucking anything to me to be honest.” He said bluntly, working his thick fingers against a hole in the jeans he was wearing. It had been a small hole back in London – something the size of an eraser’s head – but was currently pushing the size of a lemon, and it was right around the area of his crotch. Sooner or later, something was going to come sliding out like some monster from the deep, and he found the idea of Megan catching some accidental glimpse of what he was carrying hysterical.

“Who the fuck likes seafood and who the fuck likes wine. Wine is for fucking cunts.”

Judas liked wine. He drank it from time to time, depending on what fancy restaurant he was wearing his disgusting, unwashed tour leathers in at the time. Then he would buy the most expensive bottle and wash it down with the cheapest gin he could get at the corner store after he was done with dinner.

He perked up when she mentioned the sun. He had grown tired of all the rain and the overcast grey in London. He had really grown tired of being policed and monitored as well by security. Everyone was so fucking worried he was going to go and do something stupid in a human heavy city – like he was an ignorant assfuck without realizing it.

That wasn’t what they needed to worry about. They needed to think about how fucking bored he was. They treated him like a child, and yet they were keeping him cooped up and expected him to be okay with it when there was an entire fucking foreign country to explore.

“What the fuck is there to do in Spain even?” he muttered. Spain sounded just as stupid as Portugal. And it looked just as fucking boring. They had been on the bus driving for hours. Spain was different, it was kind of pretty.

Pretty. But boring.

All kinds of trees and rocks and shit, and that was different and not like home at all. He liked to look at it, but he couldn’t drink and fuck with trees and rocks. He could just look at them.

Kind of like strippers, but he couldn’t tell them his name or offer them cash and get them to give him a hands on dance.

“I mean really. What the fuck is there to do in Spain? And what the fuck language do they speak?”

That last bit was just to get Megan going. He knew what language Spain spoke; that was a no brainer. But he wanted to see the look on her face when she almost passed out because she was realizing yet again that Judas Vant had dropped out of high school after beating the fuck out of a kid named Fredrick Cross. Just thinking of that kid made him tear a little more meaningfully at the hole in his jeans.

He finally decided to look over to Megan, rolling his head to look at her. Her nose was red at the tip, and her voice sounded thick from her chest, her eyes looked a little off. She was obviously sick, sitting there with her tissue and he had caught her forking vitamins into her face, along with all kinds of medication in her own attempts to fight the sickness.

It was kind of cute, in a weird as fuck way.

Being cooped up in the bus with her had him feeling claustrophobic, and mean. He wanted to do something stupid to get her screaming at him – take her bottle of water and throw it at the bus driver then laugh, strip out of his clothes and stand in front of the big windows at the front of the bus. He wanted to jump up and down and scream, and make her get over being sick that way she could entertain him, and he wouldn’t feel bad about making he scream until she was hoarse. The bug had her coughing, filled with phlegm, so when she yelled she started hacking and he thought she was going to die.

Fuck, they had been driving for so long. He was going to lose his fucking mind. He was bored, he had to do something. He needed to do something. What the fuck was there to do in Spain?

He pulled against that hole harder, and there was an audible ‘rrrrrriiiiiiipppppp’. He froze.

He didn’t want her to know what he was doing. Didn’t want her to see and stop him. He just wanted her to all of a sudden look down and see his dick falling out of his pants and scream at him – that was what he wanted.

Thinking with only a mind for what he wanted, he reacted quickly and explosively to cover up the noise and draw her attention from it and what the cause may have been. He screamed in frustrated rage, and threw out a foot previously folded under him to kick over the breakfast table with a steel-toed boot that laced to his knee, but was completely unlaced at the moment.

“FUCK Spain! I don’t want to fucking play in SPLAIN anymore! I want to go back to fucking home and hire some fucking strippers!”

He surged up then, and aimed a heavy kick at one of the windows – which held up nicely against his foot and all the force, before he took off a boot and threw it down the hall where it hit the door to what was ‘his room’. He then dropped into the seat, shoving his ass against Megan in an obnoxious attempt to either root her out of the seat or get closer.

He looked moodily out the window.

“Do I get my fucking blood or what?”

(I don't even. -_- -_- )
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Megan Haner
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Fortunately for Judas, Megan didn’t hear the rip. She’d noticed him picking at a hole in his jeans several weeks ago, she’d knew his destructive habits, but it had never occurred to her that he would destroy something that was that valuable to him in a place where it would be hard to actually buy a new pair of pants.

Not that Judas ever thought about what was easy (at least, not when it came to anything that wasn’t a woman). She should have known better. Truly she should have.

Megan lifted the tissue and scraped at her nose, huddling in her chair a little more and tried, with her bad temper mounting quickly, to look out the window in the relative peace of the bus. That attempt was immediately thwarted by Judas. Naturally.

BAM!

She jumped, every nerve in her body reacting as though she’d been electrocuted, every hair standing up on her arms and neck. Her frazzled nerves split in two at the noise that clashed like a pair of brass pans slamming repeatedly together above her head. She jerked out of her seat, throwing her hand over her heart to stop the pounding, the wild and violent attempt the organ was making to escape through the front of her chest. She threw her hands up in her fright, the tissue sailing vertical.

In addition, she shrieked, and she was sure that had she been in any more of a desperate urge to use the toilet she might have wet the seat.

JUDAS! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW SIT DOWN-NO NOT ON ME!!!” she yelled at the top of her voice.

The fear came crashing away from her and that hole was immediately filled with anger and embarrassment. Judas, with his ass now pressing against her back and triceps, would probably reek of an unwashed odor that smelled worse than his goaty Geis form. She waited for the onslaught of stink. Quickly she jabbed her elbow back, trying to jab him as hard as she could in the crack of his pants, aiming perhaps for the spike of his tailbone. She felt it gently tap against her elbow bone.

Bingo.

Thrusting her fist forward and up, winding her arm up for an elbow leading straight line drive right for that tailbone, Megan unleased the momentum.

She threw all of her anger, all of her rage and frustration, all of her annoyance and cooped up boredom into that drilling battering ram with that sharp little spike of an elbow at the tip, threw it all into the swing of her elbow so that when her elbow collided slammed into Judas’ tailbone there was a shattering jolt of immediate pain.

Voltage, an intense and insensitive jolt of pure electricity (it felt like) surged up the underside of her arm from the skinny tendon in her elbow, pinched with merciless force between one very hard tailbone and her elbow clocking sixty mph. It felt as though that tendon, her FUNNY BONE, had snapped between both bones, lanced in two with some kind of a scalpel made of pure electricity.

The current of buzzing, twanging, reverberating clatter shooting from her elbow all the way to her pinky finger made the girl cry out, a sharp and intense shout of pain. She reached for her elbow, rolling to her feet and away from Judas and his (probably equally painful) ass. She stumbled to a chair near the front of the bus, cradling the shattered olecranon. Not truly shattered, but it felt like it, as though the spiny bone at the tip of the elbow joint were made of glass and had been dropped from ten stories up onto hard, unforgiving concrete. The tendon, her “funny bone” stabbed like a pitiless cramp along the belly region of her forearm.

Fuck!” she swore, a little breathless from the severe pain of such acutely sharp bones meeting tip to tip and trapping that sensitive ligament between them. “your ass! Oh god, my elbow!, she wailed.

(Stupidity. The both of them.)

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Judas Vant
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Judas began to laugh at first, a stupid, braying noise mingled in with her own shout at him. He loved it when she shouted – her voice just sounded so much different when she was shouting, and she did it so well. She had a slight growl she inflected on it sometimes, usually when she was screaming his name like it was the most unsavory, dirty curse word known to everything capable of speaking.

He cackled at her, shoving his ass back against her and he didn’t really note the light touch of her elbow against the small of his back, far too entertained by the idea of shoving her out of her seat with his ass. He started to shout her name, to ask her what was wrong and taunt her but she reeled back and fired off that strike that sent him shooting in the opposite direction.

His reaction immediate, and strong. He launched across the seat they were fighting over and his hands shot for his ass, screaming and howling like he had been set on fire. He hit the seat on his stomach, and his knees and legs slipped off, slamming into the floor. The collision of that pointy, knife-like little bone in her body set the entire small of his back on fire. The pain blossomed there, leaving him in total agony, immobile half in and half out of the seat.

“MY ASS.”

He screamed it, shouting it at the top of his lungs and it was a wonder that the bus driver was still piloting the automobile. Or not. The fat, balding man with red hair and a comb over was so passed the point of caring about Judas that he probably would have let him burn to death in the back of the bus. Judas had thrown balloons at him, doused him in soda on several occasions, vomited on his lap once in the middle of a sincere, drunken apology that he had completely trashed the next morning by throwing a pig in a skirt into his hotel room.

That bus driver could have cared less if Judas died.

“KITTEN WHAT THE FUCK, DID YOU STAB ME?!” he shouted at her, still face down in the seat and holding his ass like he had been the victim of a jail house sodomy.

He swore with intense feeling, it gushed out of him with such ferocity that he did nothing but bleed a stream of swear words for a minute and a half or more. He finally reared up, moaning in agony and rubbing the small of his back fervently in an attempt to ease the throbbing, panging burning. He looked over towards Megan, in a chair near the front of the bus and the stupid fat bus driver, who was inquiring as to her well being but totally ignoring Judas in the back in all of his agony.

A rippling anger stole through him, brought on not only by the pain Megan had inflicted on him, but by the fact that Megan had actually had the fucking guts to hurt him.

“Shut up fatass!” Judas screamed, picking up Megan’s abandoned water bottle to fling it towards the front of the bus. It slammed into the windshield and exploded, showering the dashboard and the front of the bus in a coat of the water Megan had been drinking. The bus driver didn’t flinch, not at all, quite used to things flying up from the back by now. Judas lunged up, getting his feet underneath of him and arching and stretching his back. He shouted out in pain, both hands at the small of his back.

“Fuck you kitten, what the fuck?!” he demanded, pacing in an attempt to walk it off, to ease the pain she had caused but it resounded through his entire lower half like echoes through the catacombs. It pulsed and rippled, reverberating back and forth, back and forth, back and forth like little forks of hell itself stabbing into that sensitive, thin skinned area at the small of his back.

He threw his head back, and shouted again as the anger and the pain all mingled together and burst out of him like some messy, emotional equivalent to pus volcanically erupting from a lanced cyst.

MY. ASS.”

((How do they ever accomplish anything.))
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Megan Haner
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Megan reassured the driver that she was fine. She rubbed her elbow, the jolting, stabbing, buzzing pain in her arm quieting a little now as she sat.

She flicked her eyes up, just in time to see Judas throw the bottle of water. OH FUCK! The bottle exploded on contact, displaying a strength that Judas didn’t look like he possessed. His entire frame was long and thick, but there was something about the way he looked, she supposed, that made him look as though he shouldn’t be strong enough to do much more than pluck at a guitar every night. The spray from the bottle’s collision splattered against Megan’s side, spitting like drizzle across the right side of her face and hair. Her lips parted, brow knitting up in surprise and upset.

“JUDAS STOP IT!”

Megan rounded on the screaming man. She sailed across the bus towards him as he screamed about his ass, about his pain and…he truly made more noise than he probably should have. She reached out swiftly, slapping him across one hard, muscular shoulder with the palm of her uninjured hand. It wasn’t a forceful slap.

As she stood there in front of him, her face half wet and hair wild, sticking up on the right side and in the back from where she’d been cuddled against the chair previously, Megan Haner could think of nothing she wanted more than to hold Judas down with a pillow over his face to get him to shut up for one god damned second. Her eyes were veined in red from being ill, nostrils slightly pink from sniffling and constant scraping with a tissue, and pale flakes of mucus was dried to the delicate outer rim of those pink nostrils as well. Her head was pounding with a dangerous pressure, like an enormous sack of water was wedged tightly between her brain and her forehead. There was too much mass in her head; had she been a cartoon character a gauge somewhere would be turning red, pulsing, and issuing sweat and there would probably be a high pitched wailing and jets of steam jetting from her ears.

“Do you even care that I feel like utter shit?! Or is it beyond your capability to give a damn about anyone but your god damned self? You know what I’m going to do, Judas? At the next stop before we get to the city I’m going to get off of this fucking bus and I’m going to march my ass over to the main Christmass bus and, smell aside, I’m going to go the rest of the way to Madrid with the rest of your band who, you might not have noticed due to yourself being such a spoiled fucking brat, have to share one bus and have a rather good time of touring as a band despite the tiffs and despite the stress. And even though there are 4 year old used panties by the pound in that bus I’m going to weather it!”

She shoved past him, storming down the hallway to his boot where she then stooped to pick it up. Almost immediately after doing so she spun on the spot and chucked it at Judas.

This was a predictable move.

Judas was, no doubt, used to having shit chucked at him. Christmass encouraged their fans to throw crap at them and often got a kick out of the debris they found before the cleaning crew took care of the mess. There had been one show where a fan had thrown raw liver onto the stage. It had smacked into Judas’ thigh and, being the morbidly disgusting and foul smelling cretin that he was, Judas had used it as an ornament for the head of his base, letting it dangle there like some kind of floppy, jiggly, dripping prize. She was ALMOST positive she’d seen him lick it, too. But an amp had been in the way at that precise moment.

Because of his practice in dodging things thrown his way, she didn’t expect the boot to hit its mark. She turned on the spot again, shoved open his “bedroom” door and charged inside.

She just wanted to get away from him for a while.

“Why do you have to be such a god damned pig,” she seethed between gritted teeth, making her way to a smallish futon that she felt was probably far safer and cleaner than his disheveled bed. She kicked a pillow out of her way with little regard for where it landed (in the little bus bathroom), nudged a package of chips aside (the movement of the bag causing the contents to shift and spill out of the bag’s gaping, open mouth). With a grunt of disgust, Megan lifted her nostril in distaste and stepped over the crumbs in her thick, woolen socks.

She then dropped face down into the futon.

God. If there was a God. Please let him leave her alone.
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Judas Vant
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Judas instantly felt like a douche-bag.

Kitten – Megan – said all of those things and it brought back home to him even over the panging of his ass that she was sick. He sagged a little bit, like a wet sack of potatoes. He didn’t want her to go hang out on the other bus with all of those fuckdicks, because they would hit on her, and treat her better and she would quit working for him and start working for Harlan instead, because Harlan was charming and ‘romantic’.

The boot hit him in the thigh, and it wasn’t hard. It didn’t hurt, and the only reason it really hit him was because he was too busy standing there feeling like a fuckface. Really?

Really?

He watched the door she had just slammed on him, frustrated not only with himself for being an asshole to her, but for feeling guilty for being an asshole. Usually, he could be a douche-bag and he never felt bad about it, he could mistreat, berate, and aggravate her to the point she threatened to call the police on him but now she was sick.

Kitten never got sick.

He picked up his boot, heaving a heavy, pouty sigh as he did so and he stepped back to the seat they had been fighting over instead of pursuing her, and flopped down. He didn’t bother to turn the table back upright, and totally ignored the bus driver as he red haired man went crimson, and muttered to himself in the front seat. Over the sound of the road under the tires, and the bus Judas couldn’t hear it anyway.

With his boot back in place, Judas slammed his foot down into the floor and then sat there.

And sat there.

He stared at the wall opposite of him and just watched the fixtures on it rattle slightly with the motion of the bus. After all of the abuse it had all been through, everything that had once rode without moving at all was starting to rattle now depending on the type of pavement laid out on the road, and this particular road in Spain was not of the greatest quality.

He remained there for well over forty five minutes, in an uncharacteristic silence that he spent with his brow furrowed down, mouth pursed and his mind going back through all of the different things he had ever heard Megan say to him when he was sick.

Finally, he got off of his massive ass and put himself to work.

The pantry on the bus was limited to simple things that could be eaten in the moving vehicle. While he had grown accustomed to moving around the bus, and dealing with it’s movement, one couldn’t have a four star rated meal while the table was gently vibrating.

He shoved several plastic roaches onto the floor as he reached towards the back of the cabinet, wrapping a hand around something thick and cylindrical that Megan had put in the pantry probably a year ago when Judas had really been sick. He slammed the can down against the counter, closed the pantry door securely and then moved next to shove an arm into another cabinet filled with simple dishes.

Judas Vant was making soup.

Of everything he had ever heard Megan tell him about recuperation during sickness, the only thing he remembered was that soup was what sick people ate. Probably because of all of the soup company commercial’s that communicated the same concept – not because he had actually retained the information.

He dumped it in a big, deep mug, nearly spilling it everywhere and then put it into the microwave to heat it up. When the timer chimed 3 minutes later he pulled it out and smelled it, then lifted the mug to take a drink of it and was satisfied that it was hot enough when it scalded his mouth. After nearly spilling it all down his front, he took greater care with the mug and retrieved a spoon, and even a tissue from the tissue holder instead of a napkin from the pantry.

The trip down the aisles to the back of the bus was precarious. Now and then the bus would sway as winds pushed against it, and Judas had to move with it, the hand he held the tissue in pressed against the wall as he carefully placed his feet, and watched the soup as if daring it to try and jump out. A bit of it slopped over the side and he muttered a heartfelt swear as it went all over his hand.

When he reached the door he stood there for a moment, considering his options and then, after a mere heartbeat of consideration Judas did what he did best.

“Kitten! Open the door!”
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Megan Haner
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Three minutes felt like twenty.

As Megan lay there with her face in one of the red and black lace and mesh adorned pillows she had gotten for Judas she felt a definite sense of catching her breath. Her ragged breath sounded like a diver attempting to breath passed a bit of water that had filled up their snorkel. Her nose gurgled and popped, eventually getting so clogged up that she couldn’t breathe at all through her nostrils. Parting her lips in that lacey pillow, the girl of 5’1 just sucked down air as the taut and aching muscles of her shoulders knotted tighter together. She prepared herself.

BAM came the sound of Judas slamming things together in the kitchen. Beep. Beep-beep went the microwave as he heated himself up something to eat. Her stomach growled faintly. Maybe he was being such a dick because he was hungry.

But he hadn’t been a dick at all. She’d just been hyper-sensitive to his behavior. She blamed her cold. Normally she could take what he dished out without needing to seek reclusion. Normally she could yell and scream and slap at him without going way out of character to hide in his room. The room that smelled like cigarettes, leather, and hairspray with the faint acidic tang of vomit and urine. Why did that all smell so good to her? Why did it, instead of making her feel even more ill and tense, relax her?

The scent of the cigarettes. God she hated that addiction- it was so ignorant, so oblivious, an addiction brought upon by some kind of twisted and messed up lust for an image. Maybe, with Judas, it had been what he’d done to pass the time as a homeless youth. She didn’t know. The origins of Judas’ drug habits were something she tried to ignore ever since she learned he’d been doping up on elephant tranquilizers since the age of 10.

Don’t think about that. She hated thinking about it. He had looked so sweet and innocent as a younger man, and she’d been such a fool about him at that time.

The quiet following Judas slamming something down in the kitchen area was like having a blanket thrown over a wet, trembling body. It settled on her like a quilt, comforting and soft and even in Judas’ smelly room she appreciated the comfort and solitude of the room.

For once, Judas wasn’t pushing the issue.

She sighed deep and long, the tautness in her shoulders unwinding as the old and old scent of used and smoked tobacco filled the one nostril she could now breathe through. She lapped at that odor with short, small breaths –evenly spaced and calm.

The bus rocked slightly and she felt the muscle mass of her entire frame jiggle like jello as the wheels turned beneath her somewhere.

Then.

She cracked an eye against the black lace pillow. The three minute meditative relaxation had awarded her enough sanity not to tremble and jump like a mouse at every sound he made. The shouting, though, and the words, made her muscles tense up again by degree.

Why.

Why couldn’t he open the door himself?

His hands were full of something he was going to dump on her.
He was hiding and was going to scare her.
He wanted her occupied so he could throw the boot back at her where she couldn’t defend herself.
He was going to spit on her.
He was naked and was going to ambush her and rub his ding-dong on her.
He had a pair of used panties in his mouth and wanted her to see.
He wasn’t at the door at all and she had imagined it.
He wasn’t at the door but wanted her to get up unnecessarily.

There was no end for the possibilities. They were limitless and without a conclusive definitive stopping point.

“Open it yourself,” she said.

This was the best option Megan Haner could think up that would ensure her safety. Of course, he could storm in with a water bazooka and douse her just as easily as if she’d opened the door for him. The fact that he wanted her to do something, and after only a few minutes between a rather tame screaming match?

What did he take her for? Some kind of popstar PA?
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Judas Vant
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Judas bared his teeth at the door as though it had been the one to tell him to do something himself. That was a phrase Judas did not like hearing, he’d heard it many times in his life, particularly all through his youth when he would admit to needing help. As such, Judas didn’t ask for help often because of the way he had been treated when he did need it, and he was very sensitive to that particular phrase Megan had decided to use against him.

He understood though the difference between this moment, and all those other moments. While he still wanted to throw the soup on the floor and just give up on his mission of good will, that rare, sweet part of his conscience reminded him he had been a fucking gooch and probably deserved this kind of treatment from her. That same part of him went so far as to alert him that he probably deserved worse, and that she was an angel for taking care of him so well as she did when she probably could have just poisoned him and made it look like an accident, or an overdose on his part because he was such an idiot and she was such a fucking genius. Why the hell was she working here, for him again instead of doing something with that massive brain of hers?

Oh, he remembered, the trees. All of that mess.

If she hadn’t been fucked over like that, would she still be playing with science? She really liked science; she was really good at it. She couldn’t have liked being with him as much as she likes trees and crazy shit like… Well. Stuff that science did. He wondered briefly if he could sue the company that she had worked for and if that would help matters for her at all. She was probably scared she would get fucked over again, she was timid like that when he wasn’t pushing her to the point of insanity…

He shook his head. He really hated that nice little part of himself at times, because it made really good sense of shit, and made him feel like a dick. He preferred the negative asshole in him that talked over this goody-goody assbandit bullshit.

With a considerable amount of noise, as if to prove to Megan just how hard it was for him to open the door with his hands full (maybe to guilt her) he shoved it open and stood for a moment in the doorway, before entering the smelly little private room. She was face down in the couch, as though someone had just picked her up and just carelessly dropped her there and Judas, as lazy as he was elected to sit down on the couch beside her hip, taking up as much room as he possibly could manage with one side of his ass without sitting on her.

“Kitten.” He said, and he nudged her hip gently with his elbow. His motions were slow and measured, to assure he wouldn’t spill the soup all over her and give her third degree burns (it was still pretty fucking hot), as well as totally ruining his entire gesture of apology to her.

“I made this and forgot I fucking hate it.” He said, dropping the spoon into it and he waited for her to turn over and look at him. He couldn’t just admit that he had made her the soup for her to feel better, because that would sound too good. It would make it seem like he was a nice person, and his entire reputation was built up on being an inconsiderate dick. Why he had to keep that appearance up around her was somewhat of a mystery, all he knew was that he preferred being that inconsiderate dick as to being the nice guy. If he was a nice guy, someone could turn around and stab him in the back and really hurt him. If he was a dick and they did that to him, he would turn around and stab them in the throat and gouge out both of their eyes, all while fucking their corpse. That entire thing kind of deterred people, and it kept him from being hurt.

Of course, he didn’t understand any of that. He just liked being a mean spirited dickhead because it made him feel better. And to dissect and fully understand it, it made him feel safe. No one would fuck with him, and no one could touch him if he didn’t allow them that access to him.

“Do you want this shit? Its nasty ass chicken soup.” he asked, watching her shoulders and the back of her head, with a moody expression that fit his story as for why he was bringing her soup.
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Megan Haner
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Dik Dik
Megan rolled when Judas sat, preparing to defend herself and shield her face for whatever he was going to do. Squinting at him for a fraction of a second, she took in his cup of noodle soup, his dripping fingers, and his words.

She furrowed her brow. Prepared to speak. She opened her mouth to say ‘but you like Chicken soup’ before the realization dawned on her.

Judas wouldn’t make something he didn’t want to eat. He might have been an idiot, but he wasn’t dumb. Well. He was dumb but he wasn’t THAT dumb. He ate anything, everything. Judas was like a vacuum and he would suck down just about anything that wasn’t nailed down or in any way male. Though…now that she thought about it, Megan realized she’d never seen him eat any soup, least of all chicken noodle soup, except when she had just about force fed him during those nights of intense sickness in the middle of a draining tour, or on the last leg of a tour.

Was he…being nice? Had that banging and microwaving really been for her? Disbelief drained the color of her face moments before the pink hue of a blush of shock spread across her forehead in blotchy, sick, patches.

Snorting down a nostrilful of phlegm, she sat up. The world spun and Megan jerked her hand up to her forehead to stabilize that spinning world. Eyes squinted, brow knit up, she grunted (the sound similar to one heard from the men’s toilets), then grinned a little awkwardly at the sound. “I sound stupid.”

Before Judas could go on a tirade about that comment (because knowing him, he would try) she immediately took the soup and flicked her eyes up to his black lined ones. Just a brief connection of her copper eyes lingered on his green before she dropped her gaze to the soup warming her palms. Chills raced up her cold forearms from the porcelain sides of the smooth mug and her finger stuck slightly to the sticky line where the soup had spilled and dried to the cup.

“Thanks Judas,” she said, then immediately changed tactics to avoid any backlash from him. “I mean- I’ll eat it for you.”

She shifted on the couch, giving him more room to sit beside her if he wanted to stay. At least he wasn’t screaming, and at least he wasn’t making some stupid scene.

“We’ll make sure you get your blood,” she said, lifting the mug to her lips to blow on the chicken scented vapor rising from the golden broth. “Italy’s always been really good about letting you bring your props.”

She fell quiet.

She didn’t really have much of anything to say. She felt awkward being taken care of by Judas, felt even more awkward thinking that this might have been on purpose. For one tiny second she eyed the broth, wondering if maybe he’d put ipecac or a laxative in it. That certainly wouldn’t be above his normal behavior…

Well…if he had, she wasn’t going to be able to chase after him in Madrid- and he wouldn’t like who she sent to babysit him.

“So,” she began again, awkwardly, “is there anything you might want to do in Madrid..?”
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Judas Vant
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With that same sense of anger at the world because Megan was sick, Judas quietly watched her. He just sniffed when she thanked him for the soup, and then quickly told him she would eat it for him and he rolled his shoulder, looking moodily towards the carpet in an expression of what should have been verbally clarified as meaning ‘Good’.

He listened to the quiet rattle of the bus, and the spoon against the side of the bowl as he surveyed the black carpet. Beige carpet showed stains too well and living the way Judas decided to live the floor was better off colored black. He liked the entire image it threw as well – black was so often communicated with negativity and evil, any of those religious fuckers who bought into the ideas of evil spirits and spirit assaulting demons who saw his room would be that much closer to pinning him as a devil himself.

Jerking his head, he swiped his nose against his shoulder and then looked back to Megan and he quietly considered her with that same moody, pouty look before he leaned back against the sofa now as she had provided him room to do so. He draped an arm out, crossed one leg loosely over the other and sprawled himself out like some glam metal version of an ancient Grecian in repose. He should have been naked to pull it off.

“You should probably go and see the doctor.”

He knew her argument would consist of things like time, schedules, and more science than he would be able to bear. She would start off in English, talking about responsible things and then she would quickly switch gears and run to talking in science. He didn’t want to hear those things, because he just wanted her to hear the fact that he felt she should be taking better care of herself than she was.

One could argue that she took very good care of herself. She stuffed her body full of so many vitamins it was like watching someone in a psychward get their pills with their lunch, she guzzled water, she had so many hokey remedies that he lost track of them all but that was all to prevent being sick. When she got sick, instead of lying down and allowing her body to recuperate, she continued to work herself to the point of sickness and exhaustion. Gracefully ignoring the fact that this was mostly his fault, he watched her critically as if daring her to say otherwise.

Quite suddenly, as it often happened, a thought struck him.

“Hey kitten,” he began, as though an eon long silence had spanned between them. “You’re into science and shit, and you know a lot of stuff right?” he asked, and he didn’t need her to answer those questions so he didn’t linger long there to allow her time to answer. “I know you’ll say it’s not possible, but pretend it is for like two seconds and humor me here – eat your soup.” He tossed a commanding look at her, and then eased.

“What the fuck would happen to your body internally that would make you turn into a zombie? I mean like, what the fuck would that be like? Would it hurt? Would it be fun?” he asked, glancing towards her.

“What if you had the zombie disease right now. Could you cure yourself? Or what if I had it? Would you save me?”

(( :toonuts: ))
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