singillatim | boogie wonderland; ota

Who: Holland March + open, Holland + Huaisang
What: March spends some time contemplating, talks distilling with Huaisang
When: Nov 2nd
Where: Community hall

Content Warnings: usual cw for alcoholism

i. Weapons cleaning + contemplation;

His supplies are running low. There's only so much you can scavenge in a place like this, but when you chain smoke like a chimney and drink like a fish eventually what you can scrounge up is going to disappear. He's got a little left, sure, courtesy of a gas station raid and the basement Huaisang's got, but supplies aren't infinite.

It gets him thinking. Makes him antsy. March enters the community hall like he usually does, a frequent visitor like most of the small little community they've all managed to put together, but he's never really done much. Drank some coffee, chatted. It's hard to tell if he even realizes he's the village idiot.

Today, though, he's set up in a little corner and is making sure his gun is cleaned along with sipping his morning caffeinated sludge. He's less animated than usual, less talkative, simply staring into space as his hands go through the motions. If not interrupted, he'll eventually speak.

"We're really fucked here, huh? Completely." Holland knows he should curve the negativity, but it's starting to get to him more than he'd like admit. He's been adamant they're all probably going to die within the month since day one but there's less of a joking tone towards it this time.

He wants to help sure. Pitch in, even. Mostly he's just worried about how tiny his booze stash is getting.

After coffee there's a far less depressing revelation, said just as solemnly.

"...Should I hunt?"

ii. Huaisang;

"We gotta do something."

March doesn't bother to announce himself when he opens the door to Huaisang's place, spending far more time there than he probably should. His scarf is taken off, the hat is dumped unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Hey. Huaisang? Huaisang, we gotta do something. You know what I did today? Math. You know what that math was for?"

He's already flopping onto the nearest available surface, aviators still on.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If this were anyone else, Bigby would be baffled that they'd go for that question after this reveal, especially with how shaken up March had seemed over it only a moment ago.

.. but it is March. This is exactly the sort of crap he seems to ask in any situation. Apparently even the ones where an acquaintance reveals himself to actually be a literal wolf. So Bigby doesn't look surprised to hear the question. Maybe a little exasperated, though - by Bigby standards - it's a truly mild exasperation.

"Why, do you want me to keep just a mustache like you?"

Said dryly.. of course.. March, do you think he's going to dignify that sort of question with a proper answer that isn't just deadpan, my dude?

Thank God Bigby answers like that. March can't handle much of anything of Milton. The snow, the cold, the inherent strangeness of it all, like it's an acid trip some street punk is having on curb on Hollywood Boulevard. Bigby's deal is the same.

Denial can only get you so far--and this appears to be the stopping point, the big red light that says 'you're going to have to deal with this eventually and that eventually has turned into now.' So March cracks a low-stake joke, because that's what he does instead of having to face shit he can't drink away.

It's easier than eyeing Bigby wondering if he'll fucking kill him or some shit. Even if he is kind of sort of thinking that.

"You'd look good," he reasons. "You'd look great."

But he has to ask. "Does it.. How does that... work? Your whole... grrrrr."

...

There's just a true exasperated beat on Bigby's end.

"My.. 'grrr'?"

Sure, he gets what March is going for. Or rather, Bigby thinks that he knows what March is going for. But he's got to at least be allowed to make fun of the other guy's wording in return, right. Isn't that what he deserves for being treated this way?

"Well, if you want to know, I kind of simplified it when I said werewolf." He just knows the concept is easier for most mundies to handle. So many movies about that crap. "I'm actually the Big Bad Wolf. You know, from the stories."

There's a slight pause, and then he adds, like his last statement was so normal that it clearly naturally flows into this: "Do you have any smokes left?"

March blinks. He looks at Bigby, and then crooks both of his brows.

"If I do can I ask you stupid questions?"

He sighs. Deeply.

"Sure."

Apparently that was a sigh of resignation - but he holds his hand out, ready for that cigarette.

"Just give me one, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

A single Island Red is slipped from a pack in March's front breast pocket, handed over like a holy relic, March's expression incredibly serious as he waits for the exact moment those fingers touch rolled paper and tobacco.

To be fair, with how scarce these things are in this place, it might as well be a holic relic. It feels like it's been entirely too long since Bigby last smoked a cigarette, so he doesn't even hesitate before taking it from the other and putting it into the corner of his mouth.

"A lighter," he adds to his list of demands, but he sighs and then adds: ".. and a dumb question, I guess."

Fine, March. Go ahead! Ask him! Give him a headache! Do your worst.

March's golden zippo snaps open quicker than Bigby can finish his sentence, March even going ahead and lighting it for him. Dumb question.

Dumb questions, but he doesn't want to inundate him. First one:

"So if you're walking and you just see an alley cat, are you... How's that.. what happens, exactly?"

He exhales a small cloud of smoke.

"I go one way, and the alley cat probably goes the other."

It's said in a way that's rather simple and straightforward, though there's something just a little bit more to it. Said little bit more comes out a moment later when Bigby, after taking another drag of the cigarette, asks: "What, did you think I'd say I would eat it?"

March's face says that he very much thinks he'd say that. After a miniature tableau, he launches right into it again.

"Urge to chase cars? Colourblind? Peanut butter your favourite thing? On a scale from 1 to catching a frisbee immediately how dog like are you?"

"March, I'm a wolf, not a dog. There's a difference!"

A difference that, apparently, means enough to Bigby to point it out. At least he doesn't sound too offended, even if most of the reason behind that could probably be chalked up to the fact that it's March he's talking about. He knows the other isn't saying any of this to offend Bigby. It's just.. the weird ways the other's brain works, apparently.

"And if you really wanna know, I don't think there's that much different anymore between me and any human. This place took most of what made me me away from me." There is something a little bit more to that. His voice dips with emotion - and nothing angry, more like sad - but he brushes it over by immediately speaking on. "I guess the main difference now is that I'm eating all the animals here raw. Y'know, without cutting them up or anything. And I get like.."

He gestures with one hand at his still transformed face.

".. like this whenever I get too pissed off. I can't always control it."

boogie wonderland; ota

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