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@junpei | text

[Now, Junpei is fairly certain they're all here for some kind of fucked up death game, because why wouldn't the third time be the charm!!— but until some mysterious costumed weirdo starts getting on all the screens and making announcements, there's not that much to go on. He can skulk around town glowering suspiciously at things for long so long.

Sooooo.]

if anybody wants my vote, it's t minus however the hell long before we all start killing each other. would love to be wrong, but if i live long enough to say i told you so, yknow. yippee.

so.

why do *you* think we're here? wrong answers only. top 3 by popular vote get a prize.

[Does he have a prize to hand out... No, no he does not. He will find some cheap garbage in one of the shops and write a 1ST/2ND/3RD PLACE on it, no problem. Eventually. Maybe even a sticker.]

and what do you guys think about picking code names? you know, just in case.

[big talk from username junpei]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yeah, I guess it WOULD be an exorcist, wouldn't it.

Okay, maybe just keep the curse of empathy or whatever the proper word is. I don't think that's really a scene I want to cause.

Look at you, professional Chair Sitter. You're about to make me jealous of your ultimate old man skills. I thought I was doing alright, since I ride a bus all day every day, but you're so good at sitting you want two recliners........damn. Damn. Teach me the secrets.

i guess the empathy curse isn't so bad, except for all the times it is. my givingashititus and me know the score.

the first step is to have fun and be yourself, probably. dunno. you can hang out in my creepy stolen apartment in the other chair if you want tips.

[friendship... is sitting in a room at the same time.]

you really ride the bus that much?

Not the givingadamnitus racking up a high score on times it's gotten you in strife! You sure you're not prepared to hear some guy yell at you about demons, just to be free?

If the chair's good enough, you might have to put up with me being a roomie. Just a permanent fixture. Promise I'll be quiet, and I don't eat much at all.

I kind of work and live on the bus, though. So prime seating's important to me! It's the only comfort I get, since accommodation's barebones.

[That's his fault, though. Perhaps get therapy, Gregor, and your room would stop manifesting as a jail cell littered with used weapons!!]

call me a pessimist, but i just don't think it'll work. i get yelled at plenty already.

dude, seriously? is it even a nice bus? hell, you can hole up with me just so you don't have to crawl into a newer, shittier bus somewhere in this place. that's pretty grim.

[He's phrasing this like a bit, but also like, homie?? Get a real chair in a room with additional furniture, it's worth it.]

my signature dish is cup noodles and plain toast, though. i'm not much of a roomie.

Let no one say we didn't fight for the cure to your ills!

It's an alright bus, I guess? It's a bus, and we have to feed it

that's probably more than I should say, so I'm not going to tell you what or why in case I get in trouble. But a normal bus would be a nice change, I'll say that much. Real furniture? Even better. Toast and noodles? The best.

Buuuuuuuuuut I can only cook tinned food, really. Spam, rice, fried eggs. Stuff out of rations. So I get the feeling we're more just on par here, no judgment.

yeah, you helped, thanks.

["we have to feed it"

...."we have to feed it"????]

don't tell me any secrets about your vore bus, i'm good. i believe you. i promise i've never lived in a place that had to be fed, unless that's what really happened to whoever used to live in these apartments? uh, i hope not.

i would kill (figuratively) for some good eggs right now. if we team up we can put eggs on toast.

I don't want to be fed to the bed. I think I'll skip that part of living here.

You need fresh bread? I'm getting pretty good at food runs these days. I could bring over some eggs, bread, spam. Pan fried spam I'm good at. Get it nice and crispy.

[Minorly burnt, he means; can't trust a roach palate with SHIT.]

i promise not to feed you to furniture. scout's honor. i'll pinky swear if i have to.

and uh, yeah, if you're not busy.

[What is anyone busy with, whatever--]

i've got... a pan. bring whatever you need, 'cause the rest of my stock is noodles and convenience store candy. i'm in the same building as the laundromat, upstairs. 5th floor.

Then I'll be on my way, all stocked up. Call me Gregor's Delivery Service or something.

By the way, I'll be the short guy with glasses and a funny arm. You'll understand when you see me. See you in a few.

[An hour, more like. Both because he's taking absolute care to look for the finest in bread, eggs, AND spam, and because he forgot where the laundromat was...Mostly because he's wearing the same clothes he arrived in, bless this mess. The length of this particular trip probably shows in the way Gregor's cigarette, currently hanging between his lips unlit, looks bent and near-torn in two. He's Been Through it scrounging, okay!!]

Yoohoo, room service.

i'll get out the fine china. see you soon.

[Or rather he will get out some paper plates, put them on the counter in the tiny kitchen, and stare at them for a while, Normally. He's chosen this fifth floor apartment for himself mostly at random, but he still doesn't really like to... touch anything in it; it feels weird to open the cabinets, so while Gregor is off scrounging, Junpei is having his latest in a series of paper plate mind sprials.

It's cool, it's fine. Eggs and toast are something to look forward to; he takes up loitering just outside in the hallway, since he'd only said fifth floor, so that's where he is when room service arrives looking like he's had better days.

Lucky: Junpei is also short. Unlucky: he definitely stares at The Arm for a beat too long, but you know what, he knows a kid whose head comes right off, so sure, why not.]

Hey. I'm ready for some culinary delights. C'mon in.

[Oh same, the drawers and closets are pristine in Gregor's own stolen apartment, though he maaaay have gone through the bathroom cupboards looking for clean towels. And soap. And a razor-- anyway. The look at his arm is-- normal, expected, still subdued, so he just grins a little more forcefully and slips on in with his stash.]

Thanks for having me, bud. I really can't actually promise the best eggs ever or anything, since apparently I'm a worse cook than I thought, but I'll still do my best. Haven't ever completely burnt one to be inedible, at least?

...You are going to have to help me, though. If that's alright. Don't think you'd want to eat stuff I cut with the arm! Heh, ah, hah...

[please laugh god please laugh

He's going to just carefully place all of his haul delicately on Junpei's kitchen counter in the meanwhile, fresh bread last and most tenderly handled of all. Can't squish bread and expect it to be any good.]

[Besides the fact that the couch in the main room of this apartment is sufficiently rumpled enough to have obviously been slept on a few times, Junpei's stolen apartment is how he found it. It lacks the serviceable chairs, of course, but there's a coffee table? The tiny kitchen is good enough. It's an apartment, for sure.

Junpei will fetch The Pan in the meantime, which luckily lives on top of the stove and not in any cabinets, or they'd be out of luck. He leans his elbows on the counter and watches all the stuff get placed down, and oh, arm jokes--

Cool, he was not really sure if he was supposed to acknowledge it, but if there are jokes...]

Sure, I think I can manage eggs. You're going out on a limb for me here, so...

[Okay, it's out of his system!! Now he does laugh, a sort of sorry-you-had-to-hear-a-pun noise. Ahem.]

Sorry— I'm done, I swear. Uh, what do you need me to do?

No no, if you got more, let 'em out now. That way I can sulk in private later, hah.

[Only 1/4 a joke. Okay, maybe half, because at least it's not open hostility, so that's! A Bonus! And it's certainly enough for Gregor to keep his smile in place for a few seconds longer than he might otherwise, even as he finagles the tip of the claw under the pull tab of the spam can.

Hm...What can he delegate, so that he doesn't have to bear the burden of nosing through cabinets in someone else's someone else flat...]

...You got knives? Salt and pepper? Plates? I'll get to work on the eggs once I get this open, but we still gotta cut this spam. Even if you don't like it, I'm going to eat it. Comfort food and all. And an egg flipper. That'd be great, if you got one! Or else we're kind of screwed, big time.

C'mon, don't sulk... [He's going to feel bad about his stupid puns forever, please do not sulk, he'll beg.....] I'm, uh, totally done. So done.

[See, watch him make a lip-zip gesture and then go to collect some knives, which tragically involves having to open a drawer and root around for a bit in what is apparently a loose pile of silverware. Paper plates are at the far end of the counter, and as for salt and pepper...

Well, don't judge him for this, but he presents a handful of those paper packaged, individual-serving salt and peppers that one might grab at the condiments stand at a fast food place. Ahem.]

An egg flipper is a spatula, right? That's a real question, I don't know anything about cooking. There's a spatula in here somewhere... [sigh. more drawers. while he's looking:] Look, I'm really not going to say anything shitty about your arm. This is an arm... friendly zone?

[the empathy curse, it's bothering him!!!]

Stop worrying, I'm just yanking your chain! As long as you don't go in too hard, I can tough it out. Heard way worse than 'you're going out on a limb', that's for damn sure.

[As soon as Junpei's back in range, Gregor makes a pointed effort to shuffle in closer and gently nudge him with one pointy elbow. Very, very gently. No commentary on the sachets, just camaraderie and an encouraging smile.] We all have our stuff. You got the curse making you worry way too much, I got the arm. And we are going to eat some eggs on toast together, because that's how men deal with their problems or something.

...I see you got the same problem as me. Determined to not touch as much as I can in my place too, but I've at least been using the bed like a disgusting, uh. Bug. I can't even avoid the jokes now, I brought that one on myself.

Alright, alright— just, you know... just saying. Let's eat some toast.

[Somehow, the elbow nudge sells it. The nudge of weird little guys having a weird time and making toast to cope, perhaps. Junpei finds a spatula, giving it a look for its flowery pastel handle - not because he's anti-florals, but again: this feels like somebody else's house - and sets it on the counter. After another moment he starts to sort the salts and peppers into separate piles, for something to fidget with in the interim.]

I've been sleeping on the couch. It sucks, but it could suck worse.

[And oh yes, the spam,] You know, I've eaten suspicious canned meat before. I can hack it.

Good plan, cap'n. Toast incoming, rest a bonus!

[A disgustingly sharp salute, before he gets to work poking around with the stovetop. More modern than he's quite accustomed to, but not altogether impossible to figure out; after a moment, the hob's burning bright orange under the pan, and he nods smugly.]

...You wanna pan fry the bread, make fancy toast? Maybe add some butter in the pan to get real fancy? Or should I use the fat from the spam...Dealer's choice for now, I guess; cooking in your-not-really-your place, after all.

Speaking of which-- [The pan's still gotta heat up, after all.] You really think they'll get less upset about us shacking up in their spaces if you don't use the bed? I'd assume that you used the bed anyway, if I came home to find you here. Just do it, bud. As long as you clean up after yourself, you've already crossed the line of actually bunking in here, and they'll be just as mad either way.

Ooh, fancy toast. Now there's an idea.

[He doesn't know if he can pull off fancy toast, but at least if it's a little crispier than it should be he can just blame it on a first try and not because he lacks all talent. He quits fiddling with the salt and pepper and turns to the fridge.]

Let me grab my fanciest butter. The toaster in this place isn't even the pop-up kind, can you believe it? Who wants to figure out all those knobs?

[It's just a normal toaster oven, but he prefers the pop-up novelty. Pan-fried novelty will do in a pinch. For a guy living mostly on noodles he's definitely rooting around in the fridge for too long just then, but it's because he doesn't know how to answer the whole... not sleeping in the bed thing. It just feels weird! Ugh!!

He puts a stick of butter on top of the open fridge door, to balance while he continues to pretend to have something to look at in there.]

I dunno... It feels too much like getting comfortable, you know? I sleep in the bed, somebody comes and grabs me in my sleep. [The logic is unsound and he knows it, conveyed with a shrug as he finally gets his head out of the fridge.] I really don't think the people who lived here before are coming back, so...

--yeah, I guess that fear's especially logical right now. [Logical most times, though. Still, Junpei's taking long enough with the butter that Gregor turns to face him, half-leaning on the counter with his claw precariously close to the heated pan. Anyone with any cooking skill might turn it off, but no. Not this guy.]

You got the luxury to turn down comfort?

[wait. Hold up, that's. That sounds a little more biting than he meant, fuck.] --that came out wrong, heh. More like...I'm starting to realise that maybe I'm the weird one out of everyone here. I'd like to get home, sure, but...Comfortable's something I'm willing to risk it for. If I go missing, it's absolutely because I'm sleeping in the bed.

You alright over there, by the way?

[Junpei makes a face, weighing the relative comfort levels of the not-his-couch against the other places he's been sleeping recently, and decides he doesn't want to get into all of that, because then he has to think about it. He shrugs; who can say!]

I guess if you spend all your time on a bus... That doesn't sound too weird to me.

[But he still doesn't want to sleep in the obvious kidnapping location, just in case.

He picks up the stick of butter to put it on the counter, with a half-assed flourish, because he is so alright.]

There you go, the fanciest. [it's still in its wax paper wrapping] I was just checking for more, uh... fancy ingredients. Never mind.

[Fridge shut! Never mind!! He's not awkward!! He's back and ready to make fancy toast, plucking at the wax paper to open it up. After that it's picking up a knife and hovering it back and forth, deciding how massive of a butter chunk to hack off. Like, a shit ton, right?? That's correct? He's going for it.]

More butter is better, yeah? Sounds fancier to me.

'preciate you not calling me weird, even when I am. Relatively.

[Big ups. Big ups for a whole stick of butter, too; Gregor snatches it up greedily, flicking the ends of the wax paper open and

then fumbling to balance it on his claw instead, so he can cut it with a knife. Harder when he can't just impale the thing, but Junpei doesn't deserve to eat Roach Leg germs in his butter, thanks. Do not perceive the sheepish face Gregor's pulling he's doing his best to not stab through chitin with a butter knife shhhhh]

More butter's good, even if it kills us faster. [Butter: melting in the pan. Gregor: grabbing bread.] I'm playing the long game here, but I don't think people like me have long life expectancies anyway.

[Oh, uh, does he want Junpei to do that, Junpei can do that... or he'll just wait like a good little helper, leaning his elbows on the counter again. Just say the word and he too will bumble through the toasting process.]

I've had way worse crap than super-buttery toast. At least this'll clog up my arteries with something that tastes good.

[Anyway, hmm, that's a downer... Someone's being a negative nancy during Toast Time...]

Hey, if we really do get the spooky mastermind order to start killing each other, you'll be on my "people who deserve to get out of here" list. [which contains everybody so far, he's not picky,] But uh, what, is that... a job security thing, or something?

[Does the bus get Too Hungry......]

[Turn That Frown Upside Down For Toast Time! Which he does, thankfully. Along with an automatic correction of:] Pan-fried super-buttery toast. Not even real toast. Just kind of crispy outside, if I don't screw this up. Probably different to fry soft bread and fry whatever meats and fats are all mushed in that can.

[Ough. That's a hell of a question, though. He's not going to answer in complete earnest, because saying something like 'people like me tend to scavenge in the ruins of dangerous science, because polite society refuses them and it's a bitch of a planet even for Non-Bug People'.

Just. Give him a second to think it over.]

Once I finish this job, I'll have to adjust to being without the perks. Like not dying! That's a hell of a thing to be accustomed to. Or-- not dying permanently, I guess. I've died plenty. It'll be getting sense back into me, you know?

[is

is that less depressing

and is he pulling a cigarette out whilst cooking UGH]

Oh yeah, my bad. Super-buttery, high-class pseudo-toast. For gentlemen.

[TM TM TM—

And that is really not less depressing, great talk! Junpei slumps a little lower on his elbows, like, dude... Dude......]

I dunno, I think just having the one shot at life is... okay? [Having the option to hit reset in any capacity sure does raise a long list of ethical considerations he's really sick of already, and it hasn't done anything particularly great for his mental health...!] Kinda wish I was done thinking about my own mortality, myself, but it's not like— Uh, are you gonna smoke that in here?

[homie!!!!!]

[He stops.

Looks at his hand.

Frowns for a moment, as if he's having to really think about why this would be weird. Blame the alternate timeline where he's a sous-chef smoking up a storm in the kitchen...Bad habits sometimes carry over! At least this Gregor sheepishly chuckles and puts the cigarette back in his vest pocket, though.]

...Sorry! Wasn't thinking. Wasn't really thinking when I started talking about dying over and over, too. Desensitisation. Let's skip the death talk altogether. You mind cutting up that spam for me, for one? Please, sorry. Manners.

[Finally, he takes a breath, flips the toast. A little burnt, but still more than edible! Good job, Gregor. It's fine. He's normal.] So. What's your favourite comfort food.

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