Jesus, they’re a bit slow. I’ve been saying that since you sold me that acid before spring break. Three days I was a goner.
[He’s still looking at Steve for the first half. Silent goading, before he turns to Eddie. He examines his face through half-lidded eyes, a faint high finally creeping on him. It’s pleasant, softens the meaner edges of his personality.
His fingers tap idly on his thigh. He supposes Eddie Munson is pretty. A square jaw that could cut glass. Kind eyes that are so expressive, and Billy can’t imagine Eddie’s ever been able to hide his emotions. They take over his whole face. The hair, he guesses, is easy to grab.
He and Steve are like oil and water, two pieces he can’t quite fit together in his own mind.]
God awful music aside, just what do you two talk about? Harrington’s hair care?
[ Steve tears his attention off the two of them and takes himself to the bed on the other side of the open-plan apartment, putting his back against the headboard and crossing his ankles. Playing with his phone. ]
Can you shut up insulting my music and hair? Talk about how the both of you could use haircuts.
[ it's on the top of his tongue to say something else. about knowing just how much steve likes to play with his hair. but mixed company, mixed company with clear interest and uncertainty about how much steve wants anyone to know about them, is nixing that being said. ]
What about you, Hargrove? What are you getting up to in this strange new world?
Fun as getting blasted is, I actually want to go out tonight so, you know what, I'm having a shower.
[ Puffing hair out of his eyes, he tosses his phone aside and heads into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Through the door as an afterthought, Steve shouts, ]
Don't outdo Vecna and kill each other!
[ God. He feels too exposed, his skin is crawling. ]
[ okay, well. now its his job to wrangle this asshole. get him away from steve, and... make sure that the door locks behind them when they go. eddie grabs another slice of pizza and hops up. ]
[Maybe he is a little offended that Steve has the audacity to have Eddie come and what, save him??? From his very normal visit? There's a brief shadow over his face; a trace of annoyance that passes quickly.
Whatever. ] Lead the way. [He leaves the beer behind. A little parting gift and a petty little fuck you Eddie no beer for you. ] Please tell me your room smells better than you, Munson.
[ that's fine and fair, he sure did just play a hell of a cockblock there. but eddie has a spring in his step (that his head will surely regret) as he leads the way to his room.
that is probably really only clean because steve spends so much time there. ]
Living fast and loose with the cleaning service in this joint Munson. [There's really no expectations for Eddie to shatter or live up to. The lingering stink smells like parties of Hawkins, a smell which they're all practically noseblind to. He's just glad it doesn't smell like sex too, because he might have an episode For Real. ]
Tell me you've got hooch buried under this shit, at least. The way this days goin' I need something stronger.
Now tell me, what's the point of an unlimited credit card if I'm not blowing it on the good stuff? And why would I let someone come sift around my room when I've got it?
[ he's got something a lot stronger than beer squirreled away. some illegal things here and there. he's fucked if anyone ever comes to search his room. he reaches into the back of the fridge and yanks out a bottle of Skull Vodka, dropping it on the counter. Then he's up on his tiptoes to figure out where he hid the less Steve Friendly things.
The room does actually smell better than Eddie does. The window is open, there's incense burning. The hotel room has been slathered in posters and memorabilia, like it's a real place to live rather than just a hole he's hiding in. ]
How are you actually holding up? [ he drops some glasses on the counter top, pulling some mix from underneath the cupboard in case they want to pace themselves. ]
Sick - [To the Skull Vodka because actually it is sick, and the future is okay sometimes. He makes himself at home on Eddie's bed, spreading and resting back on his elbows. Is he more comfortable here? Probably. ]
- Fuck, I don't know. It's just me, like a dream come true. [and it is true. It is a relief, even if he starts at every little creak or noise, expecting his dad to have appeared. He's easing out of it. Locks his door at night, sleeps with his face to it. He shrugs. ] It's the space age but I'm still doing the same shit I did when I was alive. Wake up, work, sleep.
[Death had been painful, at first. Then there had been cycles, rotating through the better years with his mom. Sometimes there would be Henry, a stranger in memories that Billy knew he didn't belong. You don't question it when you're dead. You don't know how to. ] Everything feels a little too good to be true, y'know?
There are... similarities between them. Ones he'd noticed even back in Hawkins, though the signs weren't immediately apparent. A younger Eddie Munson had run rampant through the streets of Hawkins, desperate to never be home. Saving up every scrap of cash he had because he had a dream of running the fuck away from this little no where town, starting somewhere new where he could be himself. Luckily his uncle had stepped in, bending over backwards to provide Eddie with what little they had. ]
Yeah. Same.
[ he rests an elbow against the counter, watching the other man before turning his attention to his drink. tipping it this way and that. ]
It's fucked up. All my life I felt like I was born in the wrong decade, and it was true... but I still keep thinking about how '86 was gonna be my year. Harrington's all about getting us home, but... I think you and me are in the same boat on that one.
[He processes that for a moment. Watches Eddie for any sign of deception, any sign of perceived mockery, and finds none. He nods, swallows a lump down and wets his lips. ]
What got you? [Not who. He knows better, now. There were so many monsters being made; nasty oddities that bent to that Thing's will. He'd controlled some of them. He wishes there was some kind of relief in not being alone in this being dead thing. Instead it just feels like a hollow kinship; a miserable understanding that everything is temporary and nothing matters, really. ]
The one skill Eddie has, has always been connecting with people. However brief those connections last. Usually others avoid him because he's too much, too loud, too different and they don't want to be touched with the same brush. But here it doesn't matter. ]
These... bat things. [ He straightens up and steps around the counter, pulling up his shirt for proof. Though healed, it's clear something was gnawing on him. ] I stayed behind to distract them so Harrington, Wheeler, and Buckley could kill that thing once and for all.
[ he drops his shirt back down, taking another drink. ]
[He does look, like he has some morbid curiosity as to what it's like to be eaten rather than fucking impaled. He wonders which hurt worse, in the end. Idly, he reaches for the buttons of his own shirt, starts undoing them from the midway up all the way down, hauling the ends out of his jeans. ] He tell you how I went out?
[They're still a little purple, some others faded white. The further he spreads his shirt though, the clearer the damage: one just below his sternum, the others peppered across his hips and waist, clean through to the back. ] Tentacles. I got kebab'd.
[It sure is, and he sure is not bothering to button it back up. He taps the one under his left peck with his knuckle, screwing up his nose. ] Yeah, I thought about it here, but man I don't know. They do scar removal now? Sounds insane.
[Painful. He might do it. Can't fuck up his body anymore than he already has. ]
Shut the fuck up, Munson. You're telling me it doesn't freak you out that they just laser shit off your body?
[Listen!! That's weird!! He will drink to that! He is at least a little animated now, gesturing a little with the glass hand:] And don't get me started on the music. Have you heard that shit? The fucking sad boy music?
[The guitar is fire; he's into it, despite the initial caution. He nods to it, takes a sip, and then the fucking voice, and Billy Hargrove honest to god loses it on Eddie Munson's bed, howling with laughter, knocked onto his back.
It's a bark, the noise so rare that he has trouble controlling it. He flings an arm over his eyes, and wheezes: ] Are you fucking kidding me, Munson -
[ there we go. eddie watches the display and can't help but laugh himself, satisfied to have shared something he found personally delightful and found it landing.
dudes like billy hargrove don't laugh enough. it makes them mean as shit. and chilling out can't cure everything, but it can cure a lot. ]
[ He can't believe they upped and left. Talk about goddamn rude! Once he's dressed — leather jacket with a fur collar, red top, fresh pants and boots, all in the modern style that he feels suits him best — and feeling more like he's in control, he heads down to Eddie's room. The door gets a brief rapping before he lets himself in. ]
Hey, dickheads! When I said I wanted to go out I didn't mean alone —
[ The sight of them lounging on the bed isn't a surprise but the extra nudity Billy sports is. Why is his shirt open? Steve's animated irritation blanches and he halts on the spot. He switches his attention from Billy to Eddie, uncertain. ]
[He is still laughing into his arm, and somehow Steve walking in is even funnier, because:]
Do you hear this shit? The fucking pirate metal - [There are honest to god tears in his eyes. His whole face is lit up with laughter - real laughter, the kind his mom used to inspire, the kind he reserved for -]
Nothing major. [ he'll go ahead and turn the volume down to a reasonable level, flashing steve his charming little smile. ] Exchanging war stories and admiring all that this era has to offer.
[ but ]
Where exactly are you planning on taking us? [ aka can i douse myself in axe or do i need to go take an actual shower
the answer is always the second one but he hopes ]
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[He’s still looking at Steve for the first half. Silent goading, before he turns to Eddie. He examines his face through half-lidded eyes, a faint high finally creeping on him. It’s pleasant, softens the meaner edges of his personality.
His fingers tap idly on his thigh. He supposes Eddie Munson is pretty. A square jaw that could cut glass. Kind eyes that are so expressive, and Billy can’t imagine Eddie’s ever been able to hide his emotions. They take over his whole face. The hair, he guesses, is easy to grab.
He and Steve are like oil and water, two pieces he can’t quite fit together in his own mind.]
God awful music aside, just what do you two talk about? Harrington’s hair care?
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[ Steve tears his attention off the two of them and takes himself to the bed on the other side of the open-plan apartment, putting his back against the headboard and crossing his ankles. Playing with his phone. ]
Can you shut up insulting my music and hair? Talk about how the both of you could use haircuts.
[ He said it, even to you Eddie. Dead ends!! ]
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[ it's on the top of his tongue to say something else. about knowing just how much steve likes to play with his hair. but mixed company, mixed company with clear interest and uncertainty about how much steve wants anyone to know about them, is nixing that being said. ]
What about you, Hargrove? What are you getting up to in this strange new world?
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I got a job. You two should try it. [This is also especially thrown at Steve who has, fuck his life, decided to lie on the bed. Stupid rich boy. ]
You know. To afford that hair routine.
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[ Puffing hair out of his eyes, he tosses his phone aside and heads into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Through the door as an afterthought, Steve shouts, ]
Don't outdo Vecna and kill each other!
[ God. He feels too exposed, his skin is crawling. ]
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Come on, let me show you to my lair.
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Whatever. ] Lead the way. [He leaves the beer behind. A little parting gift and a petty little fuck you Eddie no beer for you. ] Please tell me your room smells better than you, Munson.
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[ that's fine and fair, he sure did just play a hell of a cockblock there. but eddie has a spring in his step (that his head will surely regret) as he leads the way to his room.
that is probably really only clean because steve spends so much time there. ]
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Tell me you've got hooch buried under this shit, at least. The way this days goin' I need something stronger.
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[ he's got something a lot stronger than beer squirreled away. some illegal things here and there. he's fucked if anyone ever comes to search his room. he reaches into the back of the fridge and yanks out a bottle of Skull Vodka, dropping it on the counter. Then he's up on his tiptoes to figure out where he hid the less Steve Friendly things.
The room does actually smell better than Eddie does. The window is open, there's incense burning. The hotel room has been slathered in posters and memorabilia, like it's a real place to live rather than just a hole he's hiding in. ]
How are you actually holding up? [ he drops some glasses on the counter top, pulling some mix from underneath the cupboard in case they want to pace themselves. ]
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- Fuck, I don't know. It's just me, like a dream come true. [and it is true. It is a relief, even if he starts at every little creak or noise, expecting his dad to have appeared. He's easing out of it. Locks his door at night, sleeps with his face to it. He shrugs. ] It's the space age but I'm still doing the same shit I did when I was alive. Wake up, work, sleep.
[Death had been painful, at first. Then there had been cycles, rotating through the better years with his mom. Sometimes there would be Henry, a stranger in memories that Billy knew he didn't belong. You don't question it when you're dead. You don't know how to. ] Everything feels a little too good to be true, y'know?
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There are... similarities between them. Ones he'd noticed even back in Hawkins, though the signs weren't immediately apparent. A younger Eddie Munson had run rampant through the streets of Hawkins, desperate to never be home. Saving up every scrap of cash he had because he had a dream of running the fuck away from this little no where town, starting somewhere new where he could be himself. Luckily his uncle had stepped in, bending over backwards to provide Eddie with what little they had. ]
Yeah. Same.
[ he rests an elbow against the counter, watching the other man before turning his attention to his drink. tipping it this way and that. ]
It's fucked up. All my life I felt like I was born in the wrong decade, and it was true... but I still keep thinking about how '86 was gonna be my year. Harrington's all about getting us home, but... I think you and me are in the same boat on that one.
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What got you? [Not who. He knows better, now. There were so many monsters being made; nasty oddities that bent to that Thing's will. He'd controlled some of them. He wishes there was some kind of relief in not being alone in this being dead thing. Instead it just feels like a hollow kinship; a miserable understanding that everything is temporary and nothing matters, really. ]
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The one skill Eddie has, has always been connecting with people. However brief those connections last. Usually others avoid him because he's too much, too loud, too different and they don't want to be touched with the same brush. But here it doesn't matter. ]
These... bat things. [ He straightens up and steps around the counter, pulling up his shirt for proof. Though healed, it's clear something was gnawing on him. ] I stayed behind to distract them so Harrington, Wheeler, and Buckley could kill that thing once and for all.
[ he drops his shirt back down, taking another drink. ]
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[He does look, like he has some morbid curiosity as to what it's like to be eaten rather than fucking impaled. He wonders which hurt worse, in the end. Idly, he reaches for the buttons of his own shirt, starts undoing them from the midway up all the way down, hauling the ends out of his jeans. ] He tell you how I went out?
[They're still a little purple, some others faded white. The further he spreads his shirt though, the clearer the damage: one just below his sternum, the others peppered across his hips and waist, clean through to the back. ] Tentacles. I got kebab'd.
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You could get a sick cover-up for those. Once they've healed up enough.
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[Painful. He might do it. Can't fuck up his body anymore than he already has. ]
Pass me a drink.
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[ he grabs the other glass and walks over, offering it out as he sits on the edge of the bed. ]
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[Listen!! That's weird!! He will drink to that! He is at least a little animated now, gesturing a little with the glass hand:] And don't get me started on the music. Have you heard that shit? The fucking sad boy music?
[disgust]
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[ but, also: ]
Pop music is universally trash. You just developed stockholm syndrome with the garbage that radiated on the airwaves back home. Here.
[ okay what can he put on that isn't going to completely wreck the move. oh. yes. this. ]
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It's a bark, the noise so rare that he has trouble controlling it. He flings an arm over his eyes, and wheezes: ] Are you fucking kidding me, Munson -
[And loses it all over again. ]
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dudes like billy hargrove don't laugh enough. it makes them mean as shit. and chilling out can't cure everything, but it can cure a lot. ]
Alestorm. Pretty great, right?
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Hey, dickheads! When I said I wanted to go out I didn't mean alone —
[ The sight of them lounging on the bed isn't a surprise but the extra nudity Billy sports is. Why is his shirt open? Steve's animated irritation blanches and he halts on the spot. He switches his attention from Billy to Eddie, uncertain. ]
Am I interrupting something?
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Do you hear this shit? The fucking pirate metal - [There are honest to god tears in his eyes. His whole face is lit up with laughter - real laughter, the kind his mom used to inspire, the kind he reserved for -]
M-Munson, please, you’re killin’ me here.
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[ but ]
Where exactly are you planning on taking us? [ aka can i douse myself in axe or do i need to go take an actual shower
the answer is always the second one but he hopes ]
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