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[11thstreet]

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@starr | audio

[unfazeable]

[oh for fuck's sake. she's standing in front of her bathroom mirror, running a brush through her hair as she dials.]

A vampire—yeah, vampire—went around terrorizing the house yesterday. Two residents taken hostage. Someone had to bloody kill him, apparently. I know you were a bit pissed by then, got an early start to your day, whatever. Did you really not notice the tension?

[11thstreet]

[hot british chick from nextdoor surfaces?? to lecture him?? rude.]

Okay, well fuck me for just getting here and not knowing there were fuckin' vampires in the place. They should've made their coffins more obvious, and that's on them!

[unfazeable]

Don't think they sleep in coffins. Well, some shitty monster twins put everybody in coffins recently, down in the crypt, and there weren't any vampires had to climb out of them first.

[she yanks on a snarl in the back of her head for good measure.]

How old are you? Do you know how to work your phone?

[11thstreet]

See? There were coffins. And you're trying to tell me I'm stupid because I didn't fucking see them just because I don't go down to a fucking crypt.

Yeah, I know how to work a fucking phone. I'm not stupid.

[ignoring the age comment!]

[unfazeable]

Well, maybe you should take a look at it more than once every eight hours. I assume you had to go piss, with how much you had to drink. [she's assuming. he looked like a mountain, standing in the doorway, last she saw him.] Do you not take your phone in there with you? What's the point of having one?

You could get killed. This house is nuts.

[11thstreet]

The fuck am I gonna do with a phone while I piss? Drop it in the toilet? Is that what you think a fucking phone is for?

[his voice is starting to rise, to the point that maybe she can hear it through the wall, but you know what? if that makes his point, that makes his fucking point!]

Sounds like a phone in your hands is way more nuts than this house is.

[unfazeable]

[if the phone were not perched on the sink, on speaker, she'd have leaned away from it. as it is, the voice wafting through the plaster elicits a sidelong look, furrowed brow.]

Fine. Dropping it in the toilet is more a risk for you lot. [penises, etc.] But I've killed enough blokes who were using urinals to know you've got your head in your phones as often as women. Candy Crush. Texting your jump-offs. Stock prices and BitCoin. No?

[11thstreet]

Uh — not stock prices and fuckin' BitCoin. That shit's for lameass losers.

[he's not really beating the candy crush allegations, though, is he?]

Where were you killing them? In Lameass Loserville?

[unfazeable]

No. Various countries around the world, actually. Covert assignments from the government.

[does he not believe her? he sounds like he doesn't believe her.]

I know what I'm talking about. If you've got any other highly-trained operatives to talk to, they'll agree with me.

[11thstreet]

Yeah, I've got another highly-trained operative to talk to. Me.

[if he were, like, twelve, and not a man in his 40s, this would come in the tone of so suck it. maybe it still does.

belatedly, he wonders if he should've said that. they're all done with ARGUS now, but harcourt still might have his head? well, too late for that now.]

And what I'm telling you is that not every dude is so lame to be looking at fuckin' stock prices and BitCoin all the time.

[a beat]

Maybe I'll give you Candy Crush.

[unfazeable]

Well, maybe, you can just periodically monitor sitrep on your phone, so you don't wind up texting something tactless to a woman whose partner was just murdered by a psychopathic livestreamer yesterday.

[it actually sounds more like, well, MAYbe you can just PERiOdically monitor SITREP on your PHONE so you don't wind up TEXTING something TACTLESS to a WOman whose partner was MURDERED by a PSYCHOPATHic LIVEstreamer YESterday. she lays down her hairbrush.]

I think you can get notifications while playing Candy Crush. That'd work.

[11thstreet]

[that actually makes him take pause. oh, he thinks. oh, he says, out loud — not directly into the phone, but maybe the receiver picks it up.

lifting his free hand, he rubs at the back of his head, thinking.]

Okay, you're right, that was fucked up, and I'm gonna apologize to her. And I'll keep a closer eye on my phone in the future.

[another pause.]

Happy now?

[unfazeable]

Ecstatic.

[and then, not as sharply,]

You're all right, Chris.

[11thstreet]

Yeah?

[there's an audible shift in his voice, too. something softer; maybe a hint of the smile he's wearing now.]

You know, you're not so bad yourself. Thanks for the kick in the ass.

[after he'd just said to dean, like, fucking yesterday afternoon that he's not sure anything ever made her happy, but details!]

[unfazeable]

Yeah.

[to be fair, when he's not sneaking around performing wet ops ambushes, chris walking around the room sounds like a percussion band. and he laughs like a bullhorn. well before you add in the absolutely deafening music.

(she's started to like the music. a little.)]

You're welcome.