green peppers; ota

[questioningmermaids]

Who: Holland March + anyone
What: March is not handling things very well and being a nuisance
When: Early arrival, throughout the day and also 2am
Where: Milton (town house, outside, the general 'all of it.')

Content Warnings: standard alcoholism warning for march

i. exploring;

[ This place sucks. It's a shit hole even without the added shittiness of it being a frozen wasteland in Canada, and that's a very strong opinion and the hill he wants to die on. March never shies away from telling people exactly what he thinks, oftentimes to the point of annoyance, and anyone who's talked to him for more than 20 seconds knows that he, like most people in this godforsaken tundra, would rather literally be anywhere else.

March's problem is that as much as he kicks up a stink and complains he's got that insatiable curiosity pumping through his veins. It's the whole PI thing, the whole detective business: you can't not be a little insane and want to check things out. Sure, there's a survival aspect but what wins March over in terms of going to explore is absolutely pure nosiness.

He's bundled himself up at least and can easily be found rifling around abandoned houses trying his best to ignore the important things like 'corpses' and 'the crushing and highly depressing feeling of being put in an insanely specific survival scenarios with absolutely no self preservation instincts whatsoever.' It's fairly easy to guess where he is: as he's rooting (looting) buildings, he's singing very loudly to the song in his head, only he can't remember the actual words. It's keeping him sane, even if it might be driving others up the wall. ]

ii. hot mess express;

[ There's no way this bottle of scotch isn't his. It's literally the same one he bought to congratulate himself, complete with the bag proudly displaying that it was purchased at Dale's Food Mart, EST 1955 and a price sticker. It's also right next to a framed school photo of his daughter; one of the few things that the fire spared.

So yeah, it's his bottle, so yeah, he's going to drink it, 'cause that photo is a little bit of a fuck you to him on cosmic level. It's been a tough day. Tough night, tough everything, and between the whole 'we're going to freeze to death' and general bone deep concern for everything and everyone he's met so far it doesn't take him long to finish off half the bottle. Probably he should save it. Probably. But he's treating the booze like the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his pocket: like it's normal, like he can continue to chain smoke and toss back his limited supplies. If anyone exploring comes across the little cabin he's found it in, be prepared for a very drunk and raucous welcome from where he's sitting on the floor, arms wide in delight like an old friend has just walked in for the first time in years, absolutely delighted and grinning a mile wide. ]

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!

iii. hot mess express (2am version);

[ The problem is that sometime between one am and two am that bottle is nearly empty and Holland March has consumed almost all of it. That's when he gets it: the best idea in the universe.

If he goes outside, he'll find more. It's probably not even that cold out anymore anyway, 'cause he's feeling warm. It's that nice little tickle in his chest that comes with a lot of booze and forgetting just how fucked they all are. March is smart, not stupid, obviously, so of course he brings a jacket. It's his suit jacket from home, all light linen, and his dress shirt is completely open exposing his tank top because yeah it's snowing or whatever but he's still, like, warm and shit.

He doesn't get very far in his mission to find more, but that's okay. One hand holding his flask from home, the other the almost empty bottle of scotch sans paper bag, March gasps loudly at the night sky. ]

I gotta show Healy this. The moon.

[ With absolutely no regard to any sensible people trying to sleep, March begins to shout as loudly as he possibly can, voice cracking and sounding rather girlish. ]

HEY HEALY! Healy! Healy!

[ He'll simmer down after no response or if no one stops him. Unfortunately, he still has that song in his head. Fellow interlopers: there is a very drunk, extremely loud man in the middle of the town square singing--slurring, more accurately--the words to an old 70s funk tune. ]

iv. hangover;

[ How he's managed to somehow wake after the previous nights events is beyond even his comprehension, but he's here. Alert isn't accurate, but March is technically awake and alive, staring miserably at the wall in the Town Hall, a cigarette dangling between his lips that hasn't been lit despite the gold lighter literally in his hand.

Possibly, he may be dying. Or just incredibly hungover. could go either way. ]

v. wildcard;

Feel free to DM me if you'd like a personalized starter, etc!

Comments

[questioningmermaids]

[ Blood curdling scream, meet equally blood curdling scream, only several octaves higher: March’s frightened yell is high pitched and extremely loud, swinging the bottle wildly a few times like he’s expecting an oncoming attack. He looses his balance almost immediately courtesy of his inebriated state and finds himself flat on his back. ]

Shit--

[satanicpanics]

[ This time, Eddie has to literally bite the sleeve of his jacket to keep from absolutely losing it. Tears form in his eyes as he shakes with silent laughter, tucked there in the shadows of the houses.

He can’t keep torturing this guy, even though it is the best form of entertainment he’s found since he arrived. So he takes a few moments to compose himself, dry his eyes, pretend like he hasn’t been losing his complete shit in the corner. He creeps behind the houses and stumbles out from between them a few houses down, false concern on his face. ]

Oh, shit, dude. Was that screaming? I thought it was an injured woman or something.

[questioningmermaids]

I had a brief altercation. [ It’s said very matter-of-fact, the woman comment lacing his words with a slight edge of irritation. From his spot in the cold March hoists himself up to sit and after a brief moment to fend off the dizziness that comes with being drunk as hell, starts to stand again.

Well. Sort of–he kind of lilts heavily to one side at first–but after a few seconds he’s back on two feet. ]

You know that voice? The one that told us all we didn’t belong? Think it just spoke to me. Maybe.

[satanicpanics]

Pretty sure that’s all your conscious, dude.

[ Eddie works so, so hard to mask his amusement with the entire situation. The fact that it’s dark works in his favor and makes his smile and the glint in his eyes a bit harder to see. It definitely also helps that this guy is ridiculously drunk. ]

But, uh, what did it say?

[questioningmermaids]

Can you get possessed here? Do I have to worry about being possessed?

[ It’s not exactly a direct answer, but March has never been great about direction on his best (and sober) days let alone now. He's staring at Eddie like he’s an expert, looking at him expectantly. ]

I like my body being my body.

[satanicpanics]

Well…maybe not if an exorcist shows up. Which, honestly? Seems pretty damn likely by this point.

[ Eddie, stop, you’ll scare him more!!! ]

Seriously though, dude. What did you hear?

[questioningmermaids]

[ There’s a flash of panic in March’s glazed over blues as he actually takes the exorcist comment seriously–there’s got to be one in the town already with how crazy everyone is, right?--and he tilts his head to the side. ]

I disrespected their slumber.

[ Not quite the exact phrasing, but you can’t blame him. ]

[satanicpanics]

Oh shit, dude.

[ He can't help it. He has to keep messing with this guy--but it's fine, right? He won't remember it when he sobers up, surely. Eddie's eyes widen in false concern and alarm. ]

This is bad, man. You never disrespect the slumber. Oh, man, this isn't gonna bode well for you...

[questioningmermaids]

Oh, shit.

[ Oh God. He’s going to die. Or curse this village. Or die and curse this village. Or die and come back cursed and haunt the village. Or– ]

Oh, god. Boding well. Okay. How fucked am I? You can give it to me. You can give it to me straight. I can dig it, just—just tell me.

[satanicpanics]

Oh, you’re extremely fucked, dude.

[ His eyes are still wide, his expression gravely serious. He’s going to ride this wave for as long as he can—or at least until this guy sobers up and comes to his senses. ]

Like…find some herbs to burn and draw a line of salt around your bed levels of fucked. I’d definitely track down some silver to wear too. You know, to be totally sure.

[questioningmermaids]

Silver?

[ This is a man with the gaudiest gold pinky ring and gold watch to match. He's looking at Eddie like he's just been told he can't go outside until he finishes his homework, words slurring. This is completely unfair. ]

Where the fuck am I gonna get silver, start mining?

[ His hands are moving on their own, pulling out a little notebook and a pen from his blazer's hidden pocket. He's gotta right this shit down... ]

[satanicpanics]

You’re walking around here without something silver on you? Dude, you’re really living on the edge.

[ The rings on Eddie’s fingers are all cheap nickel, but as far as a drunk March knows, they could easily all be solid silver. ]

I mean…

[ He gestures vaguely to the houses around them. Most of them still sit empty, and considering how the term “valuables” has taken something of a turn here, most of them likely still house all their trinkets and jewelry. There’s no real reason to take those unless you’re a magpie like Eddie. ]

Ntot to be a bad influecne, but we’ve been looting since we got here. You’re gonna hesitate now?

[questioningmermaids]

[ March's frown deepens. That sounds like work. He doesn't like work. ]

Why don't you just give me one of yours? You've got, like, 14 rings on right now.

[satanicpanics]

Let me just—let me think about that…

[ He makes a show of looking thoughtful, then quickly confirms: ]

Absolutely not.

[questioningmermaids]

[ Louder, immediately and far more insistent in the way that only incredibly inebriated people can: ]

You have like FOURTEEN.

[satanicpanics]

[ Never mind that he doesn’t have fourteen fingers, but close enough. He raises his eyebrows, giving March a look like he's just asked Eddie to bring him a living alien specimen or something. ]

Dude. These are incredibly powerful. I can’t just give you one.

[questioningmermaids]

Okay, then why do you need so many? [ March's hands are on his hips in what he hopes is an extremely authoritative position. It's not. ] Who'd you piss off? Baba yaga?

[satanicpanics]

[ There's that wide-eyed, innocent look again. ]

Beelzebub, actually. I’m telling you, dude. I need maximum protection.

[ God, his dad would be proud of this level of scheme, and that’s not a good thing. This is funny now, but March is going to keep buying it and Eddie is going to feel bad about it eventually. ]

[questioningmermaids]

Basilbulb. [ That sounds serious. Super serious. March notes it down. ]

What did you do?

[satanicpanics]

Man, what didn't I do?

[ Anyone sober would be able to tell he's avoiding details. But March also called Beezelbub "Basilbulb", so we're not really working with a whole lot of braincells here right now. ]

Seriously, I'd give you like, half of my rings if I could, but I just can't.

[questioningmermaids]

Good thing I'm not asking for half of 'em then.

[ He's dead set on getting one of Eddie's. apparently. ]

[satanicpanics]

Good thing.

[ Yeah, sorry, Eddie isn't taking the bait. ]

But I can't part with even one, so...

[questioningmermaids]

[ March frowns. Considers something for a very, very long moment. ]

You think if I just shoot it it'll fuck off?

[ this is a very serious question. He even has his pen on his notepad. ]

[satanicpanics]

Uh, no.

[ Eddie tilts his head and gives him a look like he’s insane. ]

Seriously, dude? Just shoot a demon? What sort of movies were you raised on?

[questioningmermaids]

My gun's silver, so it's the process of elimination.

[ His gun is silver coloured, same thing, right? ]

The Thing. Revenge of the Bodysnatchers. [ A beat. ]

Them. I fucking hate ants because of that one.