Hey, you're that guy

Poppy · Nov 13, 2015

So, uh.

Totally off the record: Michael Tyler Ashworth was not ok. He knows, he knows, he loved to talk a lot of hot shit about how he was an unstoppable party boy who loved to burn his parents' money, but the truth was that he didn't have as much money as people thought and. He wasn't a party boy. He was a stay at home, do homework and cuddle with his cute sister sort of guy, all tame, low key and domestic, and this whole party scene was like sensations cranked up to eleven. How did people do this night after night without a massive headache?

His head hurt. Everything smelled rancid and there were sharp things poking him at every side. Why the hell was it so dark? Was he in a box somewhere? There was faint squeaking and something crawling up his leg, and it was only then that Mike realized he was in a FUCKING DUMPSTER AND OH GOD HELP HIM OUT OF HERE.

Michael flailed, screamed and flailed some more, and he didn't know how he did it, but he got the dumpster lid open and was immediately met with blinding, scorching sunlight. At least he could see, but hangovers were a fucking bitch. He hated this. He hated everything! Why was life so hard? How did he end up in the dumpster? Was he dumped there? Who dumped him there. Did he climb in because, at some point, he decided a life without Michelle wasn't one worth living?

That was still true. That was still a very valid sentiment, all things considered. He wanted out of this dumpster, back in his room, with clean clothes and a hot meal and the blinds up so he could sleep the whole day and forget last night ever happened. Low key, he hoped Michelle was in that fake scenario, hugging him and telling him it was going to be better, that they were fine and they both made some pretty huge mistakes, but they regret all of it, and they were going to drop the bullshit they were doing and come back to each other and be powerful and inseparable again, just like in the perfect days of their childhood.

Christ, this was just sad. Between the two of them, she was always the stronger one. Bright and brilliant Michelle, Head of the House and working on two PhDs. Unwavering. Flawless. She didn't need him. She can stand on her own. He imagined she was like an angler fish, and Michael was one of those male angler fishes that stuck to her side and fed off her because compared to her, he was a no-good backstabbing coward and parasite. He didn't deserve to be taken back, but it was all he wanted these days! He couldn't help it. He was selfish, right down to his very core.

He was the bad twin.

Maybe past hypothetical Mike was right. Close the damn lid on this dumpster and take him to the dump site because he was complete garbage.

Tom Marvolo Riddle · Nov 13, 2015

Damon Vesper wasn't exactly one of the good guys. Especially not now. He knew he was corrupt, a parasite driven by entertainment, no sense of responsibility or taking things seriously. Even if he hadn't known all this on his own, what his wife said-

Ex wife. What an odd thing to say- perhaps how quickly it had all happened… maybe that was why it felt strange. Anyway. Her phone calls, texts, even goddamn emails reminded him of all his shitty aspects, loud and clear. He stared a bit blearily at his phone before snapping it shut and slipping it back in a pocket, scrubbing at his face with his hands until he could grin again. A frown looked out of place on him, the friends he'd only just made said with certainty, and he agreed.

Damon stretched. He'd pulled an all-nighter, not for work purposes, for pleasure, for feeling, music, and blinding neon lights. Not putting aside time to sleep really helped him out. Everyone thought the odd ways he acted, how tired he sometimes looked, was because of this. It wasn't. More that he thought about his daughter too much and his wife- his ex wife, kept… well, he couldn't blame her for any of that. She wasn't wrong, was she? And he wasn't completely out of her and Melanie's life like she'd wanted. When he wasn't working, or thrill seeking (distraction seeking), he was waiting quietly in his small, lonely apartment for a call that didn't mean lectures.

Being a single parent was hard, she said. I can't help Melanie with her nightmare side like you can, she said.

A small, paranoid part of him wondered how long those excuses would last him- so he spent every moment with his daughter like it would be the last. Time's almost up, the voice in his head told him. You've always been lucky, Damon.

Just not lucky enough.

He just tried to keep moving, lest he lose his grip of imitated humanity completely. When there was no family, you had work, and you had fun. Not the dad, or the husband- the cop, the criminal, and the boogeyman.

Damon left the club he'd been in, and damn, had the party ever gone on. It was still going on, actually, the young nightmare had just felt it was time for him to ditch it for some different scenery, maybe get to his super official job. Though, really, that just meant prowling around a bit, looking for--

One of the people he'd hung around found him, suddenly going on about how some guy was in a dumpster, screaming and shit? And wow, that probably wouldn't be too great for the good party vibes they still had going, would it? Aw, man, of course not.

Damon groaned and slipped back into the thick of things, easily getting through the crowd with his looks, aura, and ever building reputation. Being a cop, as well as just someone who could get certain things done, wasn't always flashy glamour. Sometimes it was 'go investigate the garbage, stop guy from screaming'. Hey, wasn't the first time.

Damon got out the back exit and into the alleyway, shooing away random spectators (who had either followed him to see what was up, or were already there and just didn't want to be accountable for trash rescue) so he could…

The nightmare peered into the unwanted filth and found something interesting. He blinked, once, twice, and squinted a lot. No, couldn't be… right? Right? Only one way to be sure.

He pulled the green haired man out of the dumpster and leaned him up against a wall, keeping a hold on him to make sure he didn't fall over. God, he looked fucked, and not in the good way. But the hair, the face, it was...

"Ashworth?" Damon tried. "Michael, yeah? Wow, uh."

He paused, and settled on a smile. "Fancy meeting you here."

Poppy · Nov 13, 2015

Michael had very much given up. And why not? He'd heard stories about rats and maggots eating people alive, and he decided it would be rather poetic if they all feasted on his beautiful, flawless skin until he'd drawn his last breath. It was terribly cheesy. There were plenty more delirious self-deprecating soliloquies forming in his head that could put Hamlet to shame, but the gist of all of them was: O Death! I await your sweet embrace.

Yikes.

It was a good thing he never said any of those out loud, because soon after, he was pulled out of the dumpster and pressed into the alley wall. All of a sudden, he found his dignity again, and proceeded to be mortified about... absolutely everything here — his earlier thoughts, his clothing, the state in which he was found. To add insult to injury, the guy recognized him, and it took Michael a moment for him to process: He went to High School with this guy.

How embarrassing. This guy used to be a menace. And he was the one helping him now? He couldn't take that, really, it reminded him of how far he'd fallen. He remembered how he used to scoff at his antics. He tried to stand straight and proud, trying to shove his hands off him, but the slightest movement sent his head spinning.

It was pathetic. He was pathetic.

He used to be the ideal, but now even the rat from earlier had its shit better than he did. At least it was healthy, up and about and looking for food.

"Vesper..." He paused, taking in the outfit. Well, that was surprising. "Officer. I can handle myself. I'm f —" As soon as he caught sight of the condom on his elbow, he jumped and swatted it away, feeling his face pale. This much movement wasn't good. "Oh god, I should've quit after the second bottle of whiskey." He covered his mouth. Fortunately, he didn't vomit. Thank God for small mercies. "If you're going to make fun of me, go ahead. My butt is damp with something that would probably be green and smell worse than Satan's asshole. I don't think I can be brought any lower."

Tom Marvolo Riddle · Nov 13, 2015

Damon watched as Ashworth's face flashed with different emotion- disgust, shame, recognition. He waited patiently while it happened. Man, this was…

This guy had been pretty much his mortal opposite, back in school, if you excluded grades. Michael Ashworth, some rich kid, who really only particularly stuck out to Damon at the time due to his green hair and sister complex.

Despite how harsh his immediate thoughts on the guy sounded, Damon really didn't have that much against him- it was just how things were, how the people he'd been around had spoken. Make fun of the soft, high society nerds that'll probably end up going way farther than you in life, as they're likely doing the same with you.

They'd never interacted directly. Damon was pretty sure that to his group of friends, he'd called Michael an uptight pretty boy, made some comment about wanting to see if his hair really was natural, and that was the extent of that. All perfectly in character.

This wasn't in character, but they weren't in highschool anymore. That was really hitting him these days.

Ashworth seemed to be trying to play an old role, but it wasn't going to work. They'd gone too far to truly go back. Maybe Damon shouldn't be trying to cling onto similarities with someone who probably hated him, who he'd only met by chance in an damn dirty alleyway, but. Shit. He couldn't help it.

Damon followed where the taller man (god, that's tall, did he get taller?) was looking. Ah, right. Had his MCPD jacket on, and his badge. Sometimes he forgot when he was wearing the thing or not, since most people knew who he was and to be properly comfortable (or uncomfortable) with his presence by now. It wasn't usually 'officer', it was Damon, or nightmare cop. Haha. He liked that. He flashed a grin. Yeah, yeah, local menace Vesper went into law enforcement.

This was just. Damon couldn't bring himself to be at all offended with the look Ashworth had first given with the mutual recognition, not with him in this state. Maybe they could attempt some fighting after the man was cleaned up and given a cup of coffee, or something.

Damon stayed quiet as the other rambled and very nearly threw up, continuing to be steady. He wondered if the other even realized how much the nightmare was holding him up right then.

Damon raised his eyebrows, and then let out a short burst of surprised laughter. He quickly spoke up again, though, not wanting to be misunderstood. "Sorry, uh, not laughing your expense, just. Hearing that kind of language from you is…" And although giggling wasn't very masculine, that's what the boogeyman did. "Oh my god."

He took a breath, composed himself again.

"I'm not interested in makin' fun of you, doll," he said, pet name slipping out all too easily. "You seem like you're having a really bad day. I'm not here to make it worse. Why don't you let me help you out?" He tilted his head. "Your pride might say otherwise, but I don't think you're in the position to turn such an offer down."

In fact, Damon was kinda concerned Ashworth was going to pass out any second now. A stubbornness settled into the nightmare's expression, and he slipped an arm around the tall man, tugging the other to lean into him. "Come on. I'm not your enemy right now."

Poppy · Nov 13, 2015

Your pride might say otherwise, and it did. Covered in garbage as he was, he was still Michael Tyler Ashworth, main branch of the Ashworths and descended from Laughingwoods, and he benefited from all the good looks, talent, smarts, money and power his fine pedigree afforded him. He refused to be pitied by an old troublemaker from High School. Help from Vesper? Seriously? If he had any dignity left, he should stand proud, go home, and lick his wounds in private.

Except, that was kind of hard to do that right now, what with all the funky things the alcohol and drugs were doing to his body. What other options did he have, really? He could call the hospital or the police, but immediately after considering that, he realized that he would have to sign his official name and make a report about how he was found in a dumpster. He didn't need that in his records.

He could call a friend, but there were no real friends in high society. They would sooner use this opportunity to destroy him. Not only would he lose their bid for the family money, he would also run the Ashworth name into the ground. They'd take all their assets — the mansion, the mortuary. He'd be a regular Paris Hilton.

He could... call Michelle, but that was worse than being pitied. He knew she would help him. She would pluck him out of the dumpster, give him a bath, and take care of him, like she always did, and that was...

He'd sooner drown in this alley in a pool of his own vomit, really.

He was sure there were a lot of implications to letting the other man help him. Vesper could use this as blackmail. But, man, what he wouldn't give for clean clothes and a hot bath right now. You know what? Fuck it. That bad stuff was Sober Mike's problem now.

Hearing that kind of language from you is… Oh my god. Yeah, it was. High School Mike compared to Med School Mike? It was very oh my god. Vesper was having so much fun, and Mike hated being seen like this, but he should just let him have this for now. He responded to the nightmare's stubborn expression with a weak nod. A weak nod from a desperate man.

"All right..." he said, a lilting note at the end. "I'll go with you, Vesper. We can, ugh, talk later."

About compensation, threats, possible blackmail. Whatever else that might come up. That was for later.

He wrapped an arm around Vesper's shoulders and leaned on him. His mind was a small chorus of thank you, thank you, thank you before he passed out as soon as he got into his car.

Tom Marvolo Riddle · Nov 14, 2015

Damon relaxed, letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He could've only pushed it so much, if Ashworth hadn't agreed to go along with this. It was catching up to the nightmare that he was the lesser evil at the moment, as this man probably wouldn't want any of this to be more public.

Several additional things hit Damon in that moment. Talking meant certain things, things which he wasn't above in the slightest. In fact, quite the opposite, he was more than familiar and shameless in that area. He was a fucking dirty cop, so, y'know. But that hadn't even crossed his mind until the other implied it. Really just felt obligated to get this poor guy back on his feet- whether that was because of some strange sense of kinship, pity- or that even when he had just been in the literal garbage, Ashworth was weirdly cute.

So he ignored the fact that he'd have to sanitize his car after this, and that he had absolutely no plan for how this all was going to turn out. He simply let his old classmate black out in the passenger seat, making sure the position wasn't too uncomfortable, then climbed in the drivers side. Let himself slump for a moment.

He felt kinda fuzzy inside. Wonder why.

***

Damon's apartment was nothing to brag about, a tiny thing within a shady building, located in the part of the city that just barely wasn't underground territory. He must have lived there for near a year now. He didn't hate it, just. Well. He tried not to spend too much time there. The nightmare had been called a lot of things in his life, but nobody would ever think to refer to him as lonely.

People didn't really know him that well, would never know how accurate that word was. Kinda only further made the point.

Where Damon lived actually worked for this situation. Him dragging in some trash man wasn't something that was given any attention here, not when that guy a few apartments away kept having weird screams come from his room, not when- well, there was no need to really get into it. Especially when he was still putting off being in real cop mode.

He wasn't doing this because he was a cop, he was... eh. He was going to carry it through properly now, wasn't he?

The first thing Damon did when he'd properly maneuvered Ashworth into his apartment was get them to the bathroom. Again, small, but it was clean and would do Mikey here a world of good.

Actually. Mike. That wasn't bad. Better than just Ashworth, wasn't it? And Michael was too stiff for his tastes, matched up more with the old image of who this man was than it did with the new. Damon also felt bad about only calling someone by their last name in this situation. He was about to strip the guy, for fucks sake.

Yeah, clothes had to go. With magic resources they could be saved but like, was it worth the effort? He scrunched up his nose as he got the nasty things off and went to go put them in a plastic bag, just in case. He then came back and looked Mike over again, more thoroughly this time. Damon was glad he hadn't been missing his underwear or some shit, as people who woke up in dumpsters sometimes tended to, as it saved them from awkwardness. The other didn't appear to have any big outside injuries, thank god. Also… the green hair seemed natural after all. Just adolescent curiosities, totally innocent, nothing to make a fuss about.

Damon groaned. Stupid hot trash man. This was so damn weird.

The nightmare got Mike into the bathtub, grabbed and lined up some soap and shampoo at the edge of it, then finally turned the shower on- gentle pressure and warm temperature. He sank back down to the floor and edge of the tub.

He tapped Mike lazily, other hand in the water, enjoying it. "Hey. Still with me, sleeping beauty? 'Cause this is when things get slightly less terrible."

Poppy · Nov 22, 2015

Michael woke up to tapping and the gentle spray of warm water, and that would've been heavenly if it weren't for the fact that everything felt so painfully heavy. The sudden consciousness jolted his organs back to life, the sharp smell of garbage attacking his nose again, and his insides remembered that it really, really needed to vomit. Good thing Damon recognized the various pointing gestures at the trash because bathing in more filth was the exact opposite of what he wanted right now.

He emptied his stomach in the trash can, and all at once, he felt boneless and lightheaded, still heaving from the lingering effects of drugs pressing in his lungs and the sad story state of his gut. It felt like all of his organs were screaming for this torment to end, and the sad part was that all of it was self-inflicted.

This was what parties were supposed to be like? This was supposed to be the most desirable state to come home in? It felt like torture to him. Wasn't alcohol, essentially, poison to him? He sniffled a little, fully intending to cry until he realized he wasn't alone.

This was Vesper's house.

Right.

He slipped back into the tub, staring at his old classmate with big eyes and cheeks burning with embarrassment. He yanked the shower curtains around the tub to obscure himself. Unfortunately for him, he could only reach so much and it only covered, like half. He probably already saw the green body hair business. Ugh.

"Thank you! You've finally found the answer to the question everyone's curious about, so I think I can take a shower by myself!" he cried, voice cracking at the end. Now that that was taken care of, Michael poured some shampoo in his hair and it was, as expected, an intricate labyrinth of various disgusting textures. Like the true drama queen that he was, he made occasional whining noises when his fingers grazed against a particularly wet and squishy part. He very much did not want to know.

This was the worst.

Tom Marvolo Riddle · Dec 1, 2015

Slightly less terrible. Still not quite in the realm of better, though, Damon thought to himself as he held up a trash can for Mike to throw up in.

Uh. Rich prissy kid really went all out partying, didn't he. This was really sad to watch, but Damon also didn't want to look away in case he needed to vomit a second time or anything, or like… accidentally drown himself in the shower. Because the nightmare wouldn't put that past him right then.

Somehow, Mike was giving off the vibe that he was a little unexperienced in this stuff. Seriously, what the hell happened to him? This wasn't just sudden peer pressure, right? Something must have happened.

Or maybe Damon was putting far too much meaning into everything here. Those soap operas he'd just started watching as another distraction must really be getting to him.

Was. Was Mike going to cry? Damon squirmed and fidgeted, half ready to reach out to offer some kind of comfort, half sure he should really leave the guy alone at this point. To sob in the bathroom of his apartment. Um. Yeah.

Okay, he'd totally forgotten about that, hadn't he? And was now looking at Damon with those round eyes and that red face, which just. Oh god. This was both ridiculous and painfully embarrassing for everyone involved, but the nightmare was still just glad Mike hadn't been dead in that dumpster. Because he could've been, so very easily. This was way less bad in comparison.

Not that Damon usually blinked at dead bodies in the garbage. Wouldn't have felt a thing, really. But right now, he was glad it hadn't been that. Really glad. Would it be weird, telling the other that? Hey, super happy you're not dead, random classmate I haven't seen in years and never really talked to in the first place! No, probably shouldn't spit that mess out.

So much for being saved from awkwardness. Nah. All the awkwardness. All of it.

"I didn't, that wasn't why-" Damon tried, edge of guilt in the back of his mind because, well, he kinda did, but it really wasn't the driving reason behind things.

He made an exasperated sound, finally getting some of his nerve back. "I had no idea if you'd be able to do this on your own or not, okay? I'm not going to make the effort of dragging your ass all the way back here just to leave you to fend for yourself, especially when you were still passed out. Definitely not because it could be a little weird. It's already fucking weird, so who cares? Safety's more important."

"So I can go now, sure. But," He shuffled around, digging out the biggest fluffiest towel he had from his cupboard, then his strongest soap. "Stop treating me like I'm your enemy, okay? I'm not out to get you or embarrass you or anything. I just want to help. Here, take this." He held the soap out, nudging the curtains.

Poppy · Dec 2, 2015

Michael was... very wary.

He wasn't used to people other than Michelle treating him gently, and even then Michelle was the type that would tell him to get up by himself when he was injured. When Michelle stopped paying attention to him and started gunning for the family money, it was like he was being thrown to the wolves without warning. Suddenly the world felt so much bigger, and colder at the same time.

Everything was cruel. Everything was out to get him. Michael was ill-prepared to handle it all. There were nightmares in his sleep, paranoia-induced hallucinations in his waking hours, and so much stress his organs gave up in between. It almost seemed like death was a better alternative than existing like this. Call him a weenie for reacting this badly to his sibling ignoring him, but he didn't know anything else, didn't really understand the world before all this.

But he was trying. God, he was trying.

Damon and him were never close in school. They owed each other fucking nothing. There had to be an angle here. Maybe he was trying to earn his gratitude? Or playing nice before he threatened him? Michael didn't know how to trust anymore. It might sound sad until you looked at his rap sheet. Business partners and lovers alike said kind words and were available for warmth in the night, but there were always ulterior motives. He saved his ass a lot of times because he didn't trust any of those embezzling and identity stealing pieces of shit.

In the deepest corners of his mind, the places he'd never admit out loud, Michael very desperately wanted affection. From Michelle. From the man that was offering him a good bar of soap. He said he wasn't his enemy, and he wanted to believe that. He couldn't. He was far too broken and bad to believe him, because he knew he would've screwed him over too. But then.

Michael took the soap into his hands and very gingerly started rubbing off the slime from his skin. Quiet this time, but not as hostile or alarmed as he was earlier. He stared at everything in the shower one by one, but his attention was focused on the man that imposed it upon himself to help him. They were going to talk, inevitably, after this, but in his heart he wanted to believe that this was a spontaneous act of kindness. He needed it right now more than anything.

When he was done scrubbing and rinsing, he turned off the shower and cleared his throat. "Vesper..." he started. Hoarse, but serious. "I'm not ungrateful."

Tom Marvolo Riddle · Dec 19, 2015

Damon was trying too. If he was going to be nice, he was also going to have to be damn stubborn about it, seemed like. Pushy kindness. He leaned on the sink when quiet settled in, listening to the water and closing his eyes.

It stopped, and he opened them again, slowly.

"Let's just move past it, okay? Anyone would be grouchy after uh, what happened with you, and then getting left with me is… haha. Sorry I'm not like, a pretty girl, or someone more respectable or somethin'- oh, I'm rambling, whoops."

Damon nudged the curtain again, offering up the fluffy towel. He should. Try to talk less. Yep.

"Sorry," he said again, automatically, then cringed at himself.

"Anyway. I'm going to turn the heater up- but then otherwise, I don't think I have clothes that'd fit you, or my kitchen well stocked enough to make actual food. So… could I leave you alone for like, thirty minutes? To go make a store run, I mean."

He hummed. "I have plenty of movies and books n' stuff if you think waiting around will be boring. And snacks. Not actual food still, but definitely snacks."

Damon gently reminded himself that this wasn't a sleepover. "And if anything happens while I'm out, you can call my cell with the home phone."

A pause.

"Probably should ignore the voicemails on there if you do, though. They're kind of. And there's a lot of them, but it's fine. Everything's peachy."

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Hey, you're that guy

Poppy

Well-Known Member

Tom Marvolo Riddle

the dark lord

Poppy

Well-Known Member

Tom Marvolo Riddle

the dark lord

Poppy

Well-Known Member

Tom Marvolo Riddle

the dark lord

Poppy

Well-Known Member

Tom Marvolo Riddle

the dark lord

Poppy

Well-Known Member

Tom Marvolo Riddle

the dark lord