fifth_garde | (no subject)

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[He'd drove all night, habitually remembering to drink from the cold flask of cheap coffee he'd picked up from a diner and even more habitually to chew on aspirin. He had to keep the pain in his arm at bay, occasionally it would spasm causing him to jerk the wheel to one side. His eyes were aching, and either that was because of the exhaustion or the emotions which were rattling around in his head, both of which weren't things he was able to take care of right then.

He'd eventually caved in and put on the radio, listening to some random popular music station so he wasn't left with just his own thoughts. He didn't exactly enjoy the music but it was better than utter silence, every now and again he'd press a wad of napkins against his temple, which had crusted over but wasn't entirely finished bleeding yet.

Finally reaching the town he'd left Owen in earlier that day, or actually the day before considering it was now five in the morning, he could've simply ran but he'd either end up running into a wall or phasing half way through one and winding up dead.

He parked the car in the same car park he'd left the BMW and transfers the chest from one trunk to the other, after all he'd rather ditch Al's car for the stolen motor, regardless of the convenience of having a car with actual insurance papers.

Finally he drags himself into the corridors of the hotel, it seeming deadly quiet for the fact it was so early, he vaguely remembers Owen's room number having only seen it once before and slumps against the doorframe, tapping lightly on it and hoping Owen would hear.]

Owen? 's me... I mean, Five, y'there?

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[He nods.]

Yeah, I mean you could probably get hired in some kind of job for that. Is that what you're learnin' in Oxford?

[Smirks.]

[He looks down at the suitcase. ...Well.]

What, borderline OCD? Not quite. More like how to treat other people's?

Y'should probably try t'apply some of that to yourself. I've never seen anyone fold their briefs with such efficiency.

But if you don't fold things properly, everything won't fit! And then you have to check a bag in, which means waiting for it at the other end, which I hate.

Besides, those awful security people periodically insist on poking their way through everything and if things aren't folded, you look like a slob.

[No, Jason, your human isn't crazy, why do you ask.]

[He chuckles to himself.]

There's something wrong with you. Really if I hadn just bought these clothes I wouldn' bother checkin' anything in. I'll have t'hide the chest but it won't be picked up by any human security.

[Not that he liked putting it through security but it was too exhausting to run it anywhere.]

[Pout.]

There is nothing wrong with me. I'm just... particular.

You're just used to traveling more lightly.

I travel fine, y'just travel like you're waitin' for anythin' t'happen, with some weird OCD style of arrangin' your case.

[Yes, Jason is both amused and bewildered.]

They wouldn't all fit in otherwise...!

Really.

'n if they don't fit without bein' folded thirty times it jus' shows that y'shouldn't have tried to pack them.

Rubbish. If I can get it into the case, that's all that counts.

That's ridiculous, one day you're goin' t'take the case somewhere humid and everythin'll expand and explode outwards.

[He laughs at that --at the mental image of the case literally exploding outwards when going through security-- and, when he finally recovers:]

I don't think it quite works that way.

Unless I had a suitcase full of hair.

Maybe there'll be other reasons for it to explode.

[He would be tempted to maybe just explode one of the hinges and just watch Owen's face while the whole thing descended into chaos, but that would likely cause a massive argument.]

There had better not be.

[Jason gets A Look. Owen's much too crafty to cause a scene in front of TSA, but he would definitely find a way to pay him back afterwards.]

[Truthfully Jason would never be stupid enough to create a scene in an airport, it would draw too much unwanted attention, but its the thought that counts.]

Of course not!

[Owen suspects as much, but he doesn't think he'd like to find out he's wrong the hard way.]

Don't give me that look.

Look? What look. I'd never give you any look!

[Oh yeah, Jason, engage in your masculine wiles and reduce your Human to putty in your hands, write a book about it even!]

[Owen would object to the publication of such a book. (Although he would probably read it with great amusement and affection.)]

You're so full of it.

'm hurt, really.

[He makes of a mock gesture of clutching his pearls and flopping back on the bed.]

That is not an expression of hurt. That is an expression of 'I am very amused by how amazingly funny you are, but I'm going to attempt to distract you from this by reclining on the bed and looking sexy.'

Oh you think I look sexy like this? I should recline on things more often.

[Oh yes, Owen, Jason knows how to pander to people's interests.]

I think you look sexy most of the time.

With the exception of when you're fishing for compliments. That's very unattractive, even on you.

Just when I got t'thinkin' I always look attractive without fail.

[Sigh.] 'm gonna have t'work on that one.

I can help, if you want.

I happen to be very good at looking attractive while fishing for compliments. ...Well, at looking sincere when sucking up, anyway, which is largely the same thing.

Oh really? So I jus' can't trust that pretty little face 'cause it hides the art of true deception.

'm glad we got that sorted out so early on.