revivalproject | Paradise City

Entry tags:

Paradise City - Guns n Roses

WHO: Billy Hargrove & Open
WHERE: The Warrens
WHAT: Various things Billy is doing
WHEN: During the event
WARNINGS: Nudity because shower

["Captain America's been torn apart"]

Our House - Madness

God he is so tired. Tired of walking, even tired of talking. Everything that had transpired between himself and the other Hawkins people was a weight and Billy just wants to sit and sleep. But he can't, because he's gotta find a spot to make his own. Which he does, finding a spot away from others (IE: Away from Eddie and Steve) before heading back out to see if there was anything to eat.

But instead of doing that, he just sits with knees bent and legs falling out a little as he tenderly checks his nose. It's massively bruised from Eddie's well aimed punch, and very tender. Hell, Billy's sort of tender all over, and not in the fun way. He hisses when he presses, tryign to see if it was still broken or not. All he gets is a little trail of blood again and he sighs, pressing his hand to the nostril.

"Fuck."

Somebody's Watching Me - Rockwell

Billy stares at the water of the shower. This was the only option because the sauna wasn't an option. Just feeling the humid heat of it was enough to make him turn right back around and go to the little room he had claimed. But he was disguisting and his hair needed some sort of a wash. So off come his clothes to shake out before going in.

It takes a few minutes. Billy scrubs the dirt from his hair and the last of the lingering blood off of his bruised up nose before it hits.

The way the sun had burned his skin while sitting in that lifeguard chair. Managing to get back to the shower room to douse himself in cold water. Then Billy screams, clamping his hands to his ears. The Mind Flayer was gone, with the help of that girl in the mall, but his body remembers. His mind remembers. He remembers the pain of being connected, being smothered in his own head and watching from a distance.

Billy's breathing is ragged as he pulls himself out from underneath the spray, convulsing and shuddering like he was going to be sick.

Funkytown - Lipps Inc.

Well Billy's bored.

Usually that means it would be everyone's problem, but Billy's not doing that this time.

During the times he can't sleep, or when there's nothing else to do, he's been... wandering. With a dining knife. Not to hurt anyone, but to carve into the walls as he explores. It's hard work to carve into the metal walls, but he manages with ~~stubbornness~~ determination. People will find that the halls leading to their rooms have names now, carved into the walls. Marking the way for people to find others without getting lost or wandering. Some are just names, others are slightly mean-spirited (it's only Steve's, with 'hairyton').

The knife scratches against the stone as he pauses at a crossroads further away from the Warrens.

There are various other names, ones he knows from San Diego. El Cajon, Landis, Meade, Morley Field, just to name a few.

It's keeping him busy, keeping him focused.

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Even as sluggish and as messed up as he is, Tommy reacts to certain things in very specific ways. One moment he’s walking slowly toward the space he’d reserved for himself (an out of the way corner he can just curl up in where he hopes no one will find him), and the next there is a noise.

It doesn’t matter that he’s undernourished and that means his body is tired to boot, he just moves. Screams are trouble. Trouble needs him. He runs and…

Yeah, he’s there and for a moment while he’s still in his full speed he takes in the scene and he doesn’t understand it. Moves past Billy in the seconds that are hours and passes his hand through the drops of water from the shower that are stationary in the air. Cold but not corrosive or damaging. An allergy maybe?

Whatever, not important. He circles around to the still form of Billy, hauls his own hoodie off of his shoulders (less food means his body is running poorly and he feels so very very cold) and drapes it over Billy’s shoulders.

Only then does he drop back into a ‘normal’ speed to let himself interact with the other guy.

“Hey there, Curls. You’re gonna be okay. I’m here. How can I help?”

This time she arrives not with the sharp click of heals, but on the soft tread of tennis shoes. Arrives with a small pack over her shoulder and a serious look on her face.

And she finds him, just where she had been told she would.

“I heard a joke one time,” Dr. Tae Takemi says as she comes right up to Billy and sits on her knees in front of him. Takes her bag off of her shoulder and opens it up to take out some alcohol rubs.

“A man goes in to see his doctor about this bad pain in his leg. He says ‘doc, it really hurts when I do this’ and he pokes his leg. The doctor hums thoughtfully and pokes at the patient’s leg. No reaction. Then he takes a reflex hammer and hit his knee. Still no pain. Works for twenty minutes and can’t figure out what is wrong. So he asks the patient to try again. And the patient pokes his leg and whimpers in pain. The doctor sighs, reaches out, and grasps the finger. The patient just about shouts in pain.”

She reaches out with the alcohol rub toward his nose, but doesn’t make contact yet, clearly waiting for permission.

“And the doctor says ‘maybe you shouldn’t do that.’”

Clearly the moral here is ‘don’t poke what hurts’.

Billy doesn't know that Tommy's there for a minute. Maybe two. The flashback is harsh, harsher then he ever remembers feeling one. Maybe it was because of the cold water?

His right hand scratches at his left elbow. The scratching turns into clawing because he can see what's not really there. The creeping in of the black, like veins filled with poison becoming visible on his skin. He screams again as his nails finally break the skin but his blood is red. It's not black.

It's not here. He's not Flayed, Billy's still in control.

Finally he looks up and sees Tommy. Sees his mouth moving but the words sound muffled. Like Tommy's trying to talk through a thick blanket. He blinks, stares and finally looks around like he doesn't know where he is.

Then he hears the shower. Feels the hoodie. Hears Tommy talking to him. "...Not here. Still safe." Because being in Temba or at least down here, meant he was safe for a little while longer. Billy's still shuddering, still having light convulsions from the episode he didn't expect to have from the shower.

"...Wanted to get clean."

Tommy looks back over his shoulder at the shower. Wanted to get clean. And something about this was a problem. He frowns. How does he fix it?

“Alright then. We’ll make sure you get clean. Water too cold? Basically had me shivering for hours when I used it.”

He hated it. Ultimately he’d opted for the sauna, even though he didn’t like Reeve. But the fact that Billy’s as here and not there said something. Probably something to do with that door Tommy hadn’t approached. In the mind scape.

“First, let’s stop the scratching. I can go find something to wrap that up with. Then tell me what needs changed for you to feel comfortable getting clean.”

With how this place is, how it makes him feel, having some way to feel useful was going to do wonders for his mental state. Even if it’s a short term task.

Edited 2023-08-20 16:48 (UTC)

There's a lot of people milling around, so Billy doesn't pay them any mind. It's when Tae sits on her knees before him does he actually look at her, frowning. Great. This bitch. He starts to lean away, then relaxes as she starts her joke-story.

For whatever it was worth, it gets him to tiredly smirk. "Difference is, is I know what's wrong. My hand isn't broken." But his nose and his pride was. The offered alcohol rubs get a skeptical look over before he nods and sits up to give her better access. "Was trying to see if I could tell how bad it was."

"...I looked badass though, with blood all over the bottom of my face." And his shirt, but that was with the rest of his stuff right now. He's still in Eddie's Van Halen shirt.

With the permission silently given she leans in to start cleaning. Poor kid. What even led to this? Her informant hadn’t explained that much.

“Given your nose it, I might need to double check that,” she answers, because she does know what tends to lead to that. Young men and their fighting. “If you behave, I’ll let you have a lollipop.”

Had she used some of her replication this month to make lollipops for good behavior? Yes. Don’t judge her. They’re also good for oral fixations ands he wants to get some of these kids off of smoking if she can.

“You look like someone who decided to get into a fight during an emergency,” she says, because it’s better than saying ‘you look like you tripped and fell. Either way it doesn’t matter. “But at least you’ve got a good shirt on. Van Halen is pretty classic.”

"Too cold. Cold. So cold," and he finally rolls over onto his hands and knees to dry heave. Thankfully nothing comes up. He's safe, he's fine, he's not controlled, he's not dead. His hand scratches at his arm again, whimpering at the memory of whatever that thing had been crawling under his skin. Searing into his nervous system to control him and make him do all those horrid things.

Heather——

"Water's too cold. Can't go to the sauna, too hot. Too hot, too trapped, can't go in there." He'd get a respite and then lose himself again. He'd go after that girl, and Max——

"I just wanted to get clean, Tommy. I can't——" Finally Billy sits up and pulls the hoodie around him, blocking out his nudity where it counts for the moment. He's pale and shaking, clearly working himself through it as best he can.

The first press gets a flinch away and a hiss. Another frown and he presses back into it, silently giving that permission again. "Yeah. Good to have someone else check it."

He wonders why she of all people is helping him. Billy knows he was an absolute prick to her on his arrival and hadn't seen her since. But emergencies caused the strangest things to happen and this was no exception to that.

There's a laugh at the lollipop remark. Seriously? She had those here?

"I did," Billy tells her honestly. I got one guy, and the other I wasn't expecting to hit me for it. But he did, got me good." Frowning in disbelief, he pushes her hand away. "You know Van Halen?" An uppity looking looking bitch like her?

It hurts, she knows it. So she doesn’t begrudge the flinch or the moving away. Rubbing alcohol was the bitter taste to medication. Sometimes it hurt to heal.

She continues cleaning and smiles as she works. At least he’s not growling this time.

“High stress situations can lead to confrontations like that. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Though I wouldn’t come looking if the puppy’s brother hadn’t asked.”

What were the chances that the growly young man knew that she referred to the other Billy as a puppy? Probably not high. It should be fine.

“Of course I know Van Halen. You children, always being so shocked. That’s classic rock right there. David Lee Roth looked pretty good back in the day too. I may be more punk rock, but I can still appreciate the classics.”

Cold, huh. That is, surprisingly enough, something he can work with. Something he can address. He does, though, reach out to touch Billy’s hand, the one that’s scratching. No more of that, dude. He’s your sponsor, and self-harm isn’t going to fly.

But middle ground, huh? Tommy nods. That he gets.

“Can you stay here for me?” he asks, voice soft. “I’ve got an idea. It’s… It’s not a shower, but it will be warm and help you get clean without being the sauna. I just need a few minutes to get stuff. Will you be okay?”

The hand goes still under Tommy's gentle one, and he grips his arm instead of scratching. The black marks he thinks he sees start to fade at last, leaving angry welts bordering on bleeding in his nails' wake.

Sitting here like this, all of his scars from the mall are on display for Tommy. Pink, raised, and fresh, a terrible reminder of what he had managed to survive thanks to Kaplan and Tae's work.

A jerky, quick nod. "Y-yeah. I won't move." And the way he pushes his hands between his chest and arms to hold them there, it's clear he's going to try to keep from scratching as well. Cold water drips down his skin and there's no convulsing now. Just cold shaking.

Less growling this time only because he's so very tired right now. At least they were all finally some place safe. Even if it was a hellscape like Calibrations with more room.

"Excuse you. It's just rock, not classic rock." It wouldn't be to Billy, or the others that were from the era Van Halen was big. Was she trying to say his music was old? Like hell.

He sniffs, and winces at the pain of it and the smell of fresh blood. "What is punk rock? Sounds stupid." Or made up.

“Given it’s 2016 back home, it’s definitely classic rock,” she counters with a smile. “But I like the classics as much as modern stuff. American, British, German, and of course Japanese.”

Though she wants to laugh at someone who knows Van Halen and might consider it modern just saying that punk rock sounds stupid.

“I’m guessing you don’t know Nirvana. How about The Clash? The Sex Pistols? Those were American examples around Van Halen’s time.”

She finishes with the cleaning and puts the used wipe aside before getting out some gauze and medical tape.

“I’d like to use these to anchor your nose in position, make it more likely that it heals straight.”

Like scars were ever going to cause Tommy problems. He knows, up close, it’s not hard to see his own. Hell, with his sweat shirt off there’s even a not too old one on his arm, something that was clearly an electrical burn. Something from his own brother, here on Temba.

“Good,” he says with a soft look. After a moment he sighs and takes off his t-shirt too, holding it out toward Billy. Maybe he can’t give the guy much, and he’ll be cold too, but he can do this.

Tommy Shepherd, the guy that will literally give Billy Hargrove the shirts off his back. Then, in a flash, he’s gone. He isn’t back instantly either. Takes a solid five minutes before he returns, and he’s walking in rather than running. He looks… tired. Worn around the edges. But he still holds the bucket up under the shower head to catch the water until it’s nearly full.

“I can warm this for you. Warm, not hot. Uh, then stand outside. Got some small hand towels too, to clean with. It’s the best I can come up with.”

Billy has his own scars, from being a kid and surfing. From the terrible home life that Tommy got a glimpse of. But he stays where Tommy left him, taking the shirt to just... hold. It's soft and green, not made of cotton like most of what Billy's shirts are made of.

It's something to focus on, the hoodie too, while Tommy is gone. Then he's back in five with a bucket in hand. Looking up, his eyes slide groggily from the bucket up to Tommy's face. The guy looks as worn as Billy feels, he thinks.

"Don't care if you stand outside. If you want to go heat it up, that's fine." Don't be hot water, don't be hot water, don't be hot. "Used to showering in the locker rooms back in Hawkins."

“Oh shit,” Tommy says, sounding shocked and scandalized by that. “They actually used those things in the 80s?”

He waits until the bucket is heavy then lowers it and moves to put it down by Billy. Then Tommy sits by it, considering. Normally he did this with kettle sized amounts of water, and with his hand not touching the bucket. But he wanted it to not be too hot, so…

So Tommy plunges his hand into it and closes his eyes, letting his hand vibrate and his power seep into the water, bringing it slowly up to temperature. He could monitor it better this way. But it wasn’t going to be fast.

“My school had them, but it was an old place, built back in the 60s or something. They never really gave you time in gym to make use of them either. I think the sports teams used them after games? But they always seemed so skeevy. And I think people started getting more leery of the idea of kids using them as you got more and more queer kids living openly. And bullying shit. So you had the parents and admin that didn’t want kids using them because kids might get bullied, and you had the parents and admin that didn’t want kids using them because what if their precious shit nugget maybe possibly got ogled by another teenager? As if teens aren’t going to look wherever they’re going to look to get material for the spank bank.”

Actually he knew it better than most. He tried to use them in middle and high school for a bit because, well, it wasn’t like home life was the best situation most of the time. And yeah, before his powers came in, he’d been a bullied kid. Shower harassment had been a thing.

“I almost got a concussion in one once.”

He clear his throat but still sounds a little ragged when he answers. "After basketball practice." Billy distinctly remembers being an ass to Harrington in the showers, but was respectful and kept his eyes on his face. Didn't mean he didn't let his imagination run later. Still holding the shirt, he watches Tommy. Is he...testing the water?

It was still cold, man.

Before he can make a snide remark about it, Tommy's already launched into a little backstory about his school. He swallows thickly, remembering some of the other times he had used the school shower. There was bullying, but all of those that bullied Billy Hargrove got his fists in their face. It had kind of been downhill from there he supposes.

To give himself something to do, Billy folds the shirt neatly, like his mom taught him to do. "Yeah? Did you slip? Or...were you bullied in one?"

Oh, the water’s already heating up, and there’s ripples on the surface, even though Tommy’s hand is very still inside of it. It’s taking more of his energy than he’d like to admit to get to it, and yeah, his stomach grumbles loudly in protest. Which he ignores. But it’s easier, he knows, to bring it up slowly than it is to race it to high temperatures. Give him another minute and everything will be fine.

Though he’ll also be glad to have at least his t-shirt back when Billy’s dressed. He’s cold.

“Frank wasn’t exactly big on the idea of me using up warm water when he might want to take a shower. Tried to sneak some after gym at school. And I wasn’t always the shining pinnacle of all things cool and amazing.”

Yes, he had been shoved in a locker once. Let’s not get into that.

“One guy started some shit once, pushed me. Nearly banged my head off the wall. Told the teacher we were ‘rough housing’ and I slipped. I didn’t correct him.”

Because of course that would have made shit worse. Though he does smile because he’d gotten revenge.

“I may have egged his shiny new car after I got out of Super Juvie. It was deserved.”

He hears that stomach growl, Tommy. They should both eat - showering had just been a higher priority. Already he misses the hotel where he could just set it to lukewarm water and be done in five minutes. They need water heaters down here, and he's not just talking about Tommy.

He moves over to where Tommy is, holding now the hoodie and the shirt as he does. Billy does plan on giving them back - he can still wear his clothes at least. "Fuck Frank," he breathes out and he looks up at Tommy. He remembers the mantra from his headspace. He hadn't said it in awhile, but maybe he should.

There's nothing he can really say about Tommy getting bullied. It sounds like something he'd do back in San Diego or Hawkins. But Tommy's adding how he got revenge and he smirks.

"...The sulfur in eggs reacts to the car paint. The acid in it starts to etch into the car paint and it makes cracks. Causes it to start deteriorating. It's called crazing in the car world. So good revenge there, Speedy."

“Fuck Frank,” Tommy agrees, good natured as he dips his other hand into the water, just to test for a moment. That’s just a hair over lukewarm. So he smiles and nudges the bucket toward Billy before taking wash cloths out of his pockets, putting them by the bucket.

Though, honestly, being down here was more of a ‘Fuck Mary’ mood. Nothing like an empty stomach protesting that emptiness to remind himself of the failings of his mother too.

“Crazing, huh? Didn’t know about that. Knew the eggs did something to the paint, especially if you don’t clean it off fast enough. So I made sure to do it in the middle of the night.”

Oh man, he loves that there is a whole damn TERM for it. More than that, he doesn’t even mind the name. Outright smiles at it. Speedy is who he is. Ain’t an ounce of shame there. At last, finished with his task, he moves to push to his feet. And almost immediately falls. Oh.

“Uh, I’m just, I’m just gonna sit over here with my eyes closed. Don’t mind me. No peeking, I promise.”

Let him just get back down onto the floor and crawl over to the wall. Yeah. He’d fine.

"Fuck Frank, fuck Neil." This time it was said lower, but Tommy would probably hear it anyways with the metal walls.

Hands go to the bucket, holding the rim while Tommy moves around the space. Face falls as the guy settles away from him. After the stint with the shower, the ordeal getting from the hotel to here... "You don't have to," he tells Tommy. "Move away from me, I mean. I'm not going to hit you."

The water sloshes in the bucket when the rag gets plunged in quick. Yes. Much better. Not too hot, not cold. Just right. He finally starts moving the rag over his arms and neck, staring down into the bucket. This... well, despite how degrading it felt, having to wash from a bucket, it was better than nothing.

The rag gets set aside so he can toss the hoodie and shirt back towards Tommy, and then he moves over to where the shower water drains so he can keep cleaning.

"I probably...shouldn't be by myself right now. Not after the attempted shower."

Oh don’t get him wrong, he’s chuckling at the idea that he needs to move away to protect himself.

“Of course you’re not going to hit me,” Tommy chuckles. “I may be on the harshest diet ever, but I’ve got enough left in the tank, even after that party trick, to avoid whatever you would throw at me. It’s called illusion of privacy man. Remember, the whole ‘ogling in the shower’ talk? Can’t tell me you won’t be more comfortable with the queer dude not looking at you.”

Because clearly that was a whole other thing for Billy. They had barely touched on it that day Tommy had gotten his ass kicked, but he knew to respect the nervousness of straights. Here he can lower his head, close his eyes, still talk, and clearly not be peeking. Though look at that. His clothes are back. He pulls the t-shirt on and drapes the other over his face. See, privacy.

“What, you wanna hang out? Not going to turn it down if that’s what you’re asking. His Royal Billiamness might get mad at me if I go solo after using that much energy this far from a meal.”

And there they ran into another one of the serious drawbacks of being a speedster. The amount of food they were getting could keep the baseline people from starving, even if they weren’t really full. But people like him? They were wearing thin. Hell, he’d even talked with Sonic about it. Can’t trust himself with cooking because he might eat it. Even with his brother’s occasionally magicked up additions.

“He’ll get so pissed off if I pass out somewhere.”

So the speeding thing has limits? Good to know, Billy supposes. He gets his face next, taking the utmost care around his nose. He peels the bandages off that Tae put in place to very gently wipe down the skin before pressing them back on where they're supposed to go. Feels right and he might have to go find her again for fresh bandages later.

"Yeah well there's a bucket in the way so you can't see my dick." Which was true, Billy had placed it between them to keep that dignity he had covered. Setting the washcloth over the rim, hands get dunked and then run through his hair to clean out the curls. It feels good and a little refreshing, so he gets back to cleaning his skin. "When I'm done here and dressed, I can go get us something to eat."

Billy's hungry and he knows Tommy is, too. They both need to eat, but the latter more than himself. "I can see if there's more ingredients or something. See if maybe we can spruce up what's available."

“Yeah, but maybe I’d spend time appreciating your ass. Or your hips. Thighs could get me worked up for all you know,” Tommy says. Because he’s an idiot who is worn out and tired and definitely flirting with dangerous territory like an absolute idiot.

But hey, if he gets knocked out, he can sleep. That’s nice. But it’s also bad for Billy’s progress so yeah, he should avoid that.

“I trust that our on duty chefs are doing their best to make things stretch. Don’t take their raw ingredients away if you can avoid it,” he says with a sigh. Lord knew he always gave his portion of the Fruit Creature supplies over for cooking. “But I can’t stop you from doing what you want.”

Actually at the moment he probably literally can’t stop him. Soon he’ll need to ask his brother for another nutrition bar. Because that will string him on for a while longer.

“Sorry I’m so shit at just being here and supporting you, man.”

"Well according to someone, it's the best ass, so you'd be one of the lucky few that gets to see it in its natural state before I kick your ass about it." It's a mixed signal, whether Billy would actually like it not. Or realized what it sounded like and was trying to cover his words just case.

He does take care to not let anything get seen from behind the bucket as he washes his legs. Almost done. Then he can figure out drying off and get back into his clothes.

"I brought some ingredients I found in the diner with me. Stuff I thought was useful, and utensils. I didn't know what others brought." Aside from Eddie. Freak brought everything and almost the diner sink with him.

The remark about being shit at support gets the irritation licking at his nerves and he shoots a nasty look over at Tommy. "Shut the fuck up. If you were shit at it like you said, you would have this bucket of water dumped on you and then I'd push you into this shower."

Which would be a dick move and he knows it. Tommy just finished telling him about being bullied in the showers at school. The towel gets whipped around the back of him and he snags the end, using the tension to get his back, the last part left to wash.

"I had a traumatic memory resurface and who the hell talked me through and out of it? Got me a bucket of water just so I could clean myself up without having it happen again? Stop fucking pouting, you're doing enough right now."

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Page 1 of 9

Paradise City - Guns n Roses

Somebody Indeed

Our House

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CW: referenced self-harm that’s clearly going on there

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Cw: referenced high school bullying/harassment

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cw: referenced child abuse and neglect

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