[ open rp post! also for continuations from elsewhere / overflow / whatever. drop a prompt here or make me drop a prompt or whatever. please rp with me okay. ]
{ It's Saturday night, around 10. The Wheelers (except Mike) are away in Indianapolis for the weekend. Nancy had said it was for shopping or something. Will's home from running his campaign with his friends - at Dustin's house tonight, since Mike is staying over there. Mom's home and watching a movie with Will before he goes to bed. Jonathan's feeling a little restless. He's pretty sure there was some stupid party going on tonight, but with Nancy gone, he has even less of a reason to go. Not that he would have been invited anyway, so...
He tells Joyce he's taking off for a walk or a drive or something, and she tells him to be careful, but doesn't argue, only shoving a flashlight at him, "just in case." After all, he has his camera bag. It's a clear night - not a bad day to take some shots of the sky. He kinda likes the way the trees cut across the darkness, darker than the sky itself. Out in the areas near his house there's no streetlights to ruin it.
And, of course, he gets super into it, stopping every so often to change up his film. He doesn't let himself dwell on what happened around here, on what happened to the people he cares about, because it's over and done, and if he can't trust Castle Byers in the woods to be safe, what can he trust. Photography will always be his distraction.
Also, being distracted, he doesn't realize how far he's gone, exactly. He's crunching through the underbrush, cracking sticks with his feet. ... And then he trips, too, but you know, shit like that happens. Ankle is now officially bothering him but he should still be able to walk...
But maybe the weird animal sounds behind Steve's house and the dark movement of something in the brush might be concerning to anyone inside. Who knows. ]
[ There's absolutely some stupid party going on, but it's not at Steve's. He showed up briefly earlier in the evening to put in an appearance and make nice with people. He even manages to stay for about an hour before he gets utterly bored with everything, slipping out before anyone can even notice.
Now that he's home, it's . . . nice. Nice and quiet, which is a sharp contrast to what he used to be all about. It helps that the Harringtons are Yet Again out of town — his father off on a business trip in New York while his mother is attending seminars in Chicago. Steve grabs a beer out of the fridge and flops down on his couch, cracking it open and knocking it back.
The motion from outside catches his attention first. He jerks his head towards the window, immediately tensing up. A crack from the underbrush sends him to his feet, walking with purpose towards the garage. Within seconds, he's fetched the nailbat from his trunk and crept around to the back of his house, weapon up and ready. Whatever it is? It better not be another damn demothing. ]
[ There's a flash and a snap in the darkness - Jonathan, after making sure his camera's okay, decides to take a picture from his spot on the ground because the perspective is kind of nice - but when he gets up, his arm swings through more foliage and it still doesn't look good. He also makes a noise when he puts his foot down on the ground, his ankle making him wince.
It also means he's stumbling in Steve's vague direction in the darkness, not really realizing anyone is there. But maybe he could borrow the phone to call his mom? He keeps grabbing trees as he walks to steady himself, making the leaves shake, getting ever nearer to the house... ]
Suddenly that dark, moving form arrives, pushing out from the foliage, oh no! Still a few feet away. Jonathan doesn't see Steve right away, his hair half-covering his eyes. ]
[ Totally a scream but whatever - it gets Jonathan's attention, eyes snapping up to see Steve and that bat - his hands go up, his jaw goes tense, his camera falling loosely around his neck - ]
[ Out here, and in general. Jonathan's slowly lowering his hands though they don't drop. He's still not completely sure how far he'd gone and really was not expecting the bat. But it's hard not to be wary when it's there, and when Steve doesn't sound quite so sure it's him. ]
[ Was that a question or not, oh well. Jonathan shifts awkwardly on his foot, wincing beneath his bangs and then looks at Steve again, remembering an earlier thought that had vacated the premises when he was facing that bat. ]
[ He winces as he takes another step - but ultimately doesn't complain and continues to shuffle along behind Steve. He's already asked to use his phone. And Steve is clearly pissed and who could blame him. ]
[ Pissed? Well— yeah, he is, but the slightest bit of concern crosses over his face as well. Jonathan's never been an athlete or anything, but Steve has, and he can recognize a few telltale signs. As they make their way back to the house, he glances over his shoulder. ]
[ Clearly he's hurt himself but again - Jonathan's not gonna bother with it. He's used to walking through any injuries he has and dealing with them by himself. This especially applies to something so stupid and mundane and that's entirely his fault. ]
[ He eyes him flatly for a moment before turning, heading back to the house through the garage, only taking a brief moment to slip the nailbat back into his trunk. It seems like he might even let it go.
Except once they enter the house, Steve tosses a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the couch. ]
[ He's thankful for the lack of chatter on it, and when he gets inside he's got his weight on his good foot and is already looking around for the phone, hoping it's not too far, but then... ]
Come on, Steve.
[ This is already awkward enough, a slightly disappointed look on his face. Just... let him use the phone. ]
let me know if this is cool!
He tells Joyce he's taking off for a walk or a drive or something, and she tells him to be careful, but doesn't argue, only shoving a flashlight at him, "just in case." After all, he has his camera bag. It's a clear night - not a bad day to take some shots of the sky. He kinda likes the way the trees cut across the darkness, darker than the sky itself. Out in the areas near his house there's no streetlights to ruin it.
And, of course, he gets super into it, stopping every so often to change up his film. He doesn't let himself dwell on what happened around here, on what happened to the people he cares about, because it's over and done, and if he can't trust Castle Byers in the woods to be safe, what can he trust. Photography will always be his distraction.
Also, being distracted, he doesn't realize how far he's gone, exactly. He's crunching through the underbrush, cracking sticks with his feet. ... And then he trips, too, but you know, shit like that happens. Ankle is now officially bothering him but he should still be able to walk...
But maybe the weird animal sounds behind Steve's house and the dark movement of something in the brush might be concerning to anyone inside. Who knows. ]
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Now that he's home, it's . . . nice. Nice and quiet, which is a sharp contrast to what he used to be all about. It helps that the Harringtons are Yet Again out of town — his father off on a business trip in New York while his mother is attending seminars in Chicago. Steve grabs a beer out of the fridge and flops down on his couch, cracking it open and knocking it back.
The motion from outside catches his attention first. He jerks his head towards the window, immediately tensing up. A crack from the underbrush sends him to his feet, walking with purpose towards the garage. Within seconds, he's fetched the nailbat from his trunk and crept around to the back of his house, weapon up and ready. Whatever it is? It better not be another damn demothing. ]
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It also means he's stumbling in Steve's vague direction in the darkness, not really realizing anyone is there. But maybe he could borrow the phone to call his mom? He keeps grabbing trees as he walks to steady himself, making the leaves shake, getting ever nearer to the house... ]
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Where are you, you son of a bitch . . .
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Suddenly that dark, moving form arrives, pushing out from the foliage, oh no! Still a few feet away. Jonathan doesn't see Steve right away, his hair half-covering his eyes. ]
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Don't--!
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Byers?
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[ Out here, and in general. Jonathan's slowly lowering his hands though they don't drop. He's still not completely sure how far he'd gone and really was not expecting the bat. But it's hard not to be wary when it's there, and when Steve doesn't sound quite so sure it's him. ]
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What am I doing? What the hell are you doing?! Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack in my own damn home.
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[ He doesn't finish the sentence, just motioning instead to the camera as his hands finally drop. ]
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[ He groans, rubbing at his forehead. ]
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[ Jonathan relaxes a bit now that there's no bat in his face. He does have the decency to look a little embarrassed at the whole issue. ]
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[ He's not mad, necessarily. If anything, he sounds like someone's mom. ]
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[ He feels that should be self-explanatory. And he almost feels like he needs to do that explanation at the tone of Steve's voice, weird. ]
I didn't really need the flashlight until just a few minutes ago.
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Seriously . . .
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[ Was that a question or not, oh well. Jonathan shifts awkwardly on his foot, wincing beneath his bangs and then looks at Steve again, remembering an earlier thought that had vacated the premises when he was facing that bat. ]
Can I use your phone?
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[ He turns back towards a house, waving a hand. follow me, loser. ]
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[ He takes a tentative step with his ankle, kinda thankful that Steve isn't watching. Especially because it hurts worse than he wants to admit. ]
Shit...
[ is hissed out under his breath, but he's trying. ]
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Hey, dickhead, what's the hold up?
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[ He winces as he takes another step - but ultimately doesn't complain and continues to shuffle along behind Steve. He's already asked to use his phone. And Steve is clearly pissed and who could blame him. ]
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You hurt yourself or something?
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[ Clearly he's hurt himself but again - Jonathan's not gonna bother with it. He's used to walking through any injuries he has and dealing with them by himself. This especially applies to something so stupid and mundane and that's entirely his fault. ]
It's nothing, okay?
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Except once they enter the house, Steve tosses a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the couch. ]
Sit.
[ He's not asking. ]
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Come on, Steve.
[ This is already awkward enough, a slightly disappointed look on his face. Just... let him use the phone. ]
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