As soon as Carl's arms fall away from him, Coil pulls back into his own space enough to quickly drag his sleeve across his eye and shake his head. He doesn't know. But, that's a kneejerk answer. Give him a second for another steadying breath and he'll work on putting actual thought toward it.
First thing--he glances back toward the vacant room he'd just stepped out of. The communication panel he'd sent his message from looks a little more elaborate than the one in the Hospitality Deck, but it's still only barely functional. So, he turns back to Carl. He still looks shaky and deeply rattled, but being forced to put his mind toward selecting what signs to use always helps to level him out.
In this case, he opts for the most minimal way possible to get his thought across. When he brings up his hand to sign, it's immediately clear that his knuckles are bleeding and already beginning to swell, so he slowly spells out 'p-a-n-e-l' and gestures toward Carl. Maybe wherever Carl had messaged from had been better?
Homework as close to done as it's going to get before the weekend gets abandoned for an old paperback. Flopped on his bed with Journey playing softly out of the worn-out stereo, he loses himself in the yellowed pages he could probably recite from memory if he tried when a loud 'tink' jerks his attention toward his window. After a few moments, another follows and it sounds more like a small pebble bouncing off his window frame. Flinging himself out of bed, he opens his window, squinting out into the darkness.
It takes him a minute to focus on Sal's form waving at him from the dark lawn and he huffs, casting an incredulous look toward his friend as he whisper-shouts leaning out of his bedroom window.
"Dude, you could have texted." He gestures pointedly to the police cruiser parked in their driveway. Sure, his dad is home, but he's not unreasonable. Until one of his windows is broken by a weirdo lurking outside his home. Parents are overprotective and weird like that.
"How many of those did you even throw before you got the right window?"
Sal didn't exactly have to sneak out of his room. His dad was in his work chair, slumped over, bottle on the floor next to a sandwich Sal had brought him that he only took one bite out of. He wouldn't even realize he's gone for a while. Even if he was in danger of getting in trouble he wouldn't really care. He just wants to be out of the house.
Maybe he didn't want to be alone, either.
He glances towards the police cruiser - not that he hadn't noticed it. He should probably be careful...given that people already side eye him and his dad because of the cagey way they get whenever someone questions them about their lives before they moved here. Because he's the weird and creepy kid with the mask, but...
"I did. Or I was gonna, but my service is cut off." Either dad forgot to pay it, or he remembered but put it off for a while and then forgot. "I have no contact with the outside world. It's brutal, dude."
"..It's been like six hours. Pretty sure you'd be one of the first to go insane in a societal collapse." He casts a glance toward the clock on his bedside table. Okay, maybe it's been a little longer than that. It definitely doesn't feel as late as the neon numbers say it is. Rubbing the grit from his eye he ducks back into his window, crossing his arms atop the sill.
Late enough in the evening everyone should be asleep. He can't hear anyone moving about in the hall, but he may not have noticed in the first place. It's not as if he wants Sal to worry about his dad, he's a good guy. A good guy who Carl has demanded not be weird about his friend he made at school whose face might be more fucked up than his. They haven't exactly swapped stories or peeks under the wrapping yet.
That's definitely the second base of friendship, right?
"Do you.. uh. Want to come in, or are you working on your slasher vibes?"
"At least the second." The video games and music would keep him busy for a while, okay. Maybe talking to Gizmo - unless that's a sign he's already gone insane. In that case, he doesn't even have to wait for a societal collapse.
"Slasher vibes. My plan was to lure you out of your house and do a really dramatic chase scene." He lifts his hand and pantomimes a stabbing motion. "You get to be the final girl, I guess."
"And that's how your cat eats your eyeball." In that incredibly unlikely scenario where the end of the world happens before they graduate high school.
Carl scoffs, shaking his head with a grin. "Oh, good. Hopefully it's a Sydney Prescott special and not a Friday the 13th where I die at the beginning of the sequel. Very anticlimactic for me."
"I promised my only good eye to Gizmo anyway." Incredibly unlikely scenario!
"Heyyy, I would never. At least not before the fourth sequel." No one else would ever let Sal joke about being a masked killer without slowly backing away. Or calling him a freak and running. Which is why he tends not to make those jokes to just anybody. At any rate, he came here for a reason and he's getting distracted by their usual weird banter. "So can you come down?"
"Well, that's a relief. At least I won't die immediately, I could live with that." A pause. "Pun absolutely intended."
Very early in his friendship with Sal, he learned that their humor is special—or demented, depending on who asked. There's something about gruesome physical deformities that really brings pals together. The question catches him off guard, his eyebrow rising in surprise. Carl ducks his head back into his room, peering down the hallway. The lights are off and he can't see any spilling from the stairwell leading downstairs. If he strains, he can hear his dad snoring at the end of the hall.
He disappears from the window so he can pad over and shut his door as quietly as possible and turn off the radio. He's relieved he doesn't keep all his shoes downstairs and tugs a pair of boots from the closet, tugging them on quickly. Shoving a hoodie on, he swings his leg out the window and steps carefully onto the roof. Looking at his options, he steps over to the edge of the roof and slides onto his stomach so he can lower his legs down and step on the banister surrounding the porch. Once he has purchase, it's easy enough to ease himself down and jump into the grass behind him with an 'oof' as he stumbles.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, he walks quickly across the street with a lopsided grin. "Piece of cake."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2023-10-23 03:58 am (UTC)First thing--he glances back toward the vacant room he'd just stepped out of. The communication panel he'd sent his message from looks a little more elaborate than the one in the Hospitality Deck, but it's still only barely functional. So, he turns back to Carl. He still looks shaky and deeply rattled, but being forced to put his mind toward selecting what signs to use always helps to level him out.
In this case, he opts for the most minimal way possible to get his thought across. When he brings up his hand to sign, it's immediately clear that his knuckles are bleeding and already beginning to swell, so he slowly spells out 'p-a-n-e-l' and gestures toward Carl. Maybe wherever Carl had messaged from had been better?
@sallyfaced || sneakin' out
Date: 2024-10-30 12:49 am (UTC)Homework as close to done as it's going to get before the weekend gets abandoned for an old paperback. Flopped on his bed with Journey playing softly out of the worn-out stereo, he loses himself in the yellowed pages he could probably recite from memory if he tried when a loud 'tink' jerks his attention toward his window. After a few moments, another follows and it sounds more like a small pebble bouncing off his window frame. Flinging himself out of bed, he opens his window, squinting out into the darkness.
It takes him a minute to focus on Sal's form waving at him from the dark lawn and he huffs, casting an incredulous look toward his friend as he whisper-shouts leaning out of his bedroom window.
"Dude, you could have texted." He gestures pointedly to the police cruiser parked in their driveway. Sure, his dad is home, but he's not unreasonable. Until one of his windows is broken by a weirdo lurking outside his home. Parents are overprotective and weird like that.
"How many of those did you even throw before you got the right window?"
no subject
Date: 2024-10-30 01:08 am (UTC)Maybe he didn't want to be alone, either.
He glances towards the police cruiser - not that he hadn't noticed it. He should probably be careful...given that people already side eye him and his dad because of the cagey way they get whenever someone questions them about their lives before they moved here. Because he's the weird and creepy kid with the mask, but...
"I did. Or I was gonna, but my service is cut off." Either dad forgot to pay it, or he remembered but put it off for a while and then forgot. "I have no contact with the outside world. It's brutal, dude."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-30 01:31 am (UTC)Late enough in the evening everyone should be asleep. He can't hear anyone moving about in the hall, but he may not have noticed in the first place. It's not as if he wants Sal to worry about his dad, he's a good guy. A good guy who Carl has demanded not be weird about his friend he made at school whose face might be more fucked up than his. They haven't exactly swapped stories or peeks under the wrapping yet.
That's definitely the second base of friendship, right?
"Do you.. uh. Want to come in, or are you working on your slasher vibes?"
no subject
Date: 2024-10-30 01:45 am (UTC)"Slasher vibes. My plan was to lure you out of your house and do a really dramatic chase scene." He lifts his hand and pantomimes a stabbing motion. "You get to be the final girl, I guess."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-31 01:05 pm (UTC)Carl scoffs, shaking his head with a grin. "Oh, good. Hopefully it's a Sydney Prescott special and not a Friday the 13th where I die at the beginning of the sequel. Very anticlimactic for me."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-31 06:04 pm (UTC)"Heyyy, I would never. At least not before the fourth sequel." No one else would ever let Sal joke about being a masked killer without slowly backing away. Or calling him a freak and running. Which is why he tends not to make those jokes to just anybody. At any rate, he came here for a reason and he's getting distracted by their usual weird banter. "So can you come down?"
no subject
Date: 2024-11-05 07:51 pm (UTC)Very early in his friendship with Sal, he learned that their humor is special—or demented, depending on who asked. There's something about gruesome physical deformities that really brings pals together. The question catches him off guard, his eyebrow rising in surprise. Carl ducks his head back into his room, peering down the hallway. The lights are off and he can't see any spilling from the stairwell leading downstairs. If he strains, he can hear his dad snoring at the end of the hall.
He disappears from the window so he can pad over and shut his door as quietly as possible and turn off the radio. He's relieved he doesn't keep all his shoes downstairs and tugs a pair of boots from the closet, tugging them on quickly. Shoving a hoodie on, he swings his leg out the window and steps carefully onto the roof. Looking at his options, he steps over to the edge of the roof and slides onto his stomach so he can lower his legs down and step on the banister surrounding the porch. Once he has purchase, it's easy enough to ease himself down and jump into the grass behind him with an 'oof' as he stumbles.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, he walks quickly across the street with a lopsided grin. "Piece of cake."