paradisalogs | it's an infestation of cute

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it's an infestation of cute

Who: Effy and Spike
What: fulfilling all your fantasies... and pandas
When: Feb. 14
Where: Room 227
Rating: PG-13

Effy even found a panda suit laid over her blanket when she woke up, groggy from drinking too much the night before. The room is blinding to her eyes, bright yellow unlike her dark blue walls. She fancies herself a creature of the night. But misery does love company. Any word of complaint rising from her throat dies as soon as she spots the familiar man lying on the next bed, his hair distinctive despite all else. The multitude of bandages for one.

Maybe they could share sob stories over how they got theirs, or bond over pandas. That would work too.

Moving as quietly as she can, Effy moves to strip to her underwear so she can slip into that panda suit and wake him up in not the most pleasant way. He's been rude to her anyway. Totally deserves it. Besides, in a castle so keen on mindfucking its residents, she might get points for contributing to the cause. Once done, she crawls up his bed on all fours, still trying to keep from waking him so she can bump her panda nose against his forehead with a low-pitched "Boo!"

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Usually when these things happen, there's some kind of tie in that he could easily guess. If he can't, he figures it must be something to do with her. -- Usually it would, but sometimes not.

"You guessed it."

Effy rolls to her side, leaning against one elbow with her panda head resting on a palm. Her best look yet. But then she wishes up a lighter, nonchalantly starting to set her fuzzy left paw on fire. It doesn't catch easily, the flames only singing the fur, but she's a persistent one.

"Did you win?"

This is some strange pillow talk. He could have told her to get lost by now, and yet he's just staying still, locking his gaze on the fire without it ever occurring to him to tell her to be careful.

"I lived. Some people call that winning."

Her paw catches fire eventually, little flames perched on the tufts of fur. This seems to amuse her greatly, bringing that burning paw closer so she can watch the dancing yellow and blue. Quite mesmerized. The smell of burning fabric and plastic is probably not the most reassuring.

"I wouldn't."

Talk about a delayed reaction. It takes until the fire catches for Spike to jump out of the bed. Apparently his sense of humor doesn't cover everything; he looks a lot more animated than he was a few seconds ago.

Belatedly, he wishes for a glass of water and throws the entire thing at the fire. If it hits her too, oh well. "What are you, high?"

Effy is always high, even without the drugs. High on her own strange little mind. Her panda suit soaks up most of the water, dousing out the fire to a little smoke trailing up from her paw as she laughs, sounding more like hiccups. But this way she can stick out three fingers from the hole in her paw, forcing them through until her whole hand is free.

"Call me a genius."

Spike makes sure he takes the needed amount of time to stand there and judge as hypocritically as he can manage. It would be longer, but he's not the most steady person on his feet. Maybe he overdid it on the paid meds, or he's been sleeping too long, because soon he's sinking into a nearby panda chair. He just can't be bothered.

"I'm happy for you."

The magic of painkillers.

Effy sort of rolls across the bed once to reach his bedside and grab one of the pill bottles with her freed hand, shaking it against her giant panda head to check that it isn't empty. Maybe she should ask him for permission, but she can probably do once he starts seeming like he minds.

"What've you been taking?"

Sure. The castle changes his entire room around, but it leaves those out. Or she found them while he was sleeping... he doesn't actually know how long she's been wearing that thing.

"You have it in your hand." Which is another way of saying he can't remember. One of those silly reasons they wanted him to stay in the clinic.

"Next time I'll remember to ask about the side effects."

"Who pissed in your coffee?"

It sure sucks that she can't just pop those pills into her mouth with the silly costume. He's not even helping. Chivalry is dead. She wishes up a pair of scissors this time to start cutting around the panda neck. Opting for the most gruesome methods forever.

He was helping before. Twice now, since she's not currently on fire. That's the limit to his generosity.

"A panda." It only comes out half-serious though. Mostly, he's just tired of the bullshit and watching her cut off her own panda head with a morbid fascination. "--Although it could be worse."

Effy cuts only a little more than half the panda's neck, so she can push up the head and let it dangle over her back like a hood, emerging from the costume with the widest smile. Victory!

But she has her priorities, promptly popping that bottle open to scatter some pills on the bed, lining them up five by five. "How many do you take?"

So it isn't a magical panda costume that's impossible to take off. Hidden zipper, most likely. Whatever.

Too bad she isn't going to take the opportunity to run. Not when there's the temptation of medication on the bed now... It'd be just his luck of she decided to overdose in his room while he sat back and watched.

"I didn't mean that you should taste them to find out what they are."

She raises her eyebrows at him, all fucking watch me as she takes one of the pills and places it on her tongue before swallowing it with a daring smile. Try and stop her, it seems to say.

"Sharing is caring."

He should have seen that coming. That should be his cue to jump up and snatch the rest, but she's going to feel it soon. Then she'll understand where his energy went.

"It's a pretty strong painkiller. Only takes one."

She's getting too amused to see him all worked up. That reminds her of Tony, silly Tony and his fretting over her drug use not abuse. She grins widely, revealing a wide row of straight teeth. Wolfish.

"Alright, Ebenezer." Most days, she wants to feel things rather than be numbed, but these days she'll take anything. "Are you going to tell me what it does?"

Kids these days. It says something about a person who will swallow anything on the off chance that it'll get them high. He ran into enough of them when he was in the Red Eye business. (And not from personal experience, of course.)

Still, he needs those. Doctor prescribed, and he doesn't know if he can pronounce it well enough to wish for more. "It'll put you to sleep if you take any more."

Definitely not from personal experience.

For Effy, it's a matter of wanting to feel something rather than be numbed, because shutting out the world has become so easy for her that she's gone too far the other way. Caring is hard.

"Oh, the boring kind," not that she seems to regret it, now scooting toward the head of the bed so she can claim the pillows. "So, where's the truck that ran you over?"

She's not leaving, but at least that got her less interested in his pills. Sad little victories.

"It wasn't a truck." What it was is none of her business. That's what he should say. Anything else, and the boredom of staring at the ceiling must really be getting to him. "I had a disagreement."

Effy clears her throat to draw his attention and pats the space on the bed beside her. Don't be shy.

"Totally. With a bus?"

He tilts his head back to her and what she's doing. This is his fault for saying they should get a room; the castle is always listening.

"Yeah, a bus. It was on fire, and I had to rescue the kids." Seriously though, he's not getting in bed with her again. "Maybe that's who this room was supposed to be for."

Rude. She's being the nicest bed-mate too. Look, she would even straighten out the sheets on the side she's still trying to beckon him to. You know you want to lie back on a nice soft bed again, Spike.

"Alright. A disagreement. What about?" She grins widely. "How much hair someone can keep on their head?"

"That's the more believable one, huh?" What he wants is a smoke. It occurs to him that she can work a lighter, so maybe if he keeps talking he can slip that into the conversation. As long as she doesn't light her other hand on fire.

"If I got a better story out of it, I would have put it in the journal for you."

All he really needs to do is ask. She won't even make it difficult for him when it's such a small favor, unless he gives her reason to, which would also not be difficult.

"What? Are we best friends now?"

If he can manage it not to sound like a favor and still not highlight how clumsy he is with his hands right now, that's the trick. Always has to make a game out of everything.

"The castle seems to think so."

"Aww." Too contrived.

"What if I tell you how much I need a hug?"

There's a chance that the pill she just took is stronger than he thought, so he only gives her a dull stare.

"Dressed like that, you shouldn't have a problem outside of here."

That has her grinning, perfect rows of teeth displayed like a wolf sneering at her prey. He walked right into it, after all.

"How should I dress to get a hug in here? --Or not dress?"

She's teasing him because of his arm, he knows, and so he should at least smile. That approach always worked for him in the past; laugh off everything and you're left alone, and yet... His smile muscles must be sore.

"I thought I wasn't your type."

And she's trying so hard, feigning utter shock and surprise at his reply.

"Who said that? Well, I never--"

This girl. He still hasn't figured out why she's still here, on his bed, other than being that desperate for company. He knows how hard it is to find anyone remotely normal in a castle like this.

"In that case, I'm flattered but not interested."

As if to demonstrate the obvious, he lifts his more severely bandaged arm, but regrets it a second later as he tries not to let a wince show on his face. There's a reason he's been confining himself to this -- well, formerly dank room. It doesn't look suitably depressing at the moment, which is annoying in itself.

That would imply that Spike is normal, which even Effy can hazard is not true. There has to be something off with someone who would choose to walk away and placate after so many times she has tried provoking it. Maybe it's wisdom. Maybe it's something else.

"You could ask me for help, you know."

That's his problem. He's so laid back, that everyone constantly feels the need to test him. Like decorating his room in pandas, for example.

The fact that she's offering to help only makes him more suspicious. But he could just get over it and remember that he can handle one teenage girl, no matter what shape he's in. -- And some sentences are better to run through his head before he says them it out loud, wow.

Sinking back into the panda chair, he stares long enough to demonstrate how hard it is for him to say that he doesn't need help. Which he doesn't. "You could hand me that bottle."

Edited 2014-03-13 01:24 (UTC)

But then Effy does live to annoy others. This is probably a match made in somewhere very special indeed. The longer he stares, the sharper her smirk grows. A passerby might think she's getting ready to eat him alive, and he's not putting a fight.

She spares a beat before tossing the bottle in the air once, then catching it, before throwing it his way as fast as she can. "Catch!"

Someone should tell her not to be so mean to someone with his arm in a sling.

While he does see it coming, and maybe expected to get a similar kind of reaction, his reaction time is restricted by the bandages on his arms and his previous round of pain killers.

So of course, he lifts the badly sprained hand as opposed to the one with a hole in the middle, and of course it hits him right in the most tender area of his palm, causing him to drop it before his fingers even close.

He'll get to yelling at her once he's done swearing and trying to shake out the shock of pain in his hand. That's the exact opposite of what he wanted, thanks.

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