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You see things; and you say, 'Why?'

But I dream things that never were; and I say 'Why not?'

Bridge Carson bridge_carson
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Room 227 [Sunday Evening]
Bridge stomps into his room after leaving the Common Room, and sits down on his bed, leaning against the wall, a slight scowl on his face.

It seems, however, that he's left the door open.


Given the Head Start of Bzuh-Time, Xander didn't actually see which way Bridge went, but judging from the open door, his first guess is right.

He knocks on the doorframe, a little lot awkwardly. "...hey?"

Damnit. Stupid non-closed door.


"Did I-- okay, no, clearly I did, so that sentence needs to start with a what. Which is kind of convenient because you sort of handed me one there, so, um. Can I come in?"

He'd say it made sense in his head? But he'd be lying.

Bridge sighs.

"Yeah, sure."

Xander comes in and shuts the door behind him, because shrubs, yo. Among other reasons.

And then he's setting a frog-tank down on the nearest flat surface, and leaning against the door with his arms crossed, and... waiting for words that weren't having any trouble bibbling out of him just moments ago.

"Okay, so... let's pretend -- and I know this is a huge stretch and requires a hell of a lot of imagination, but I think you're up to it somehow -- that I'm really, really dense, and need this explained to me in very small words. I clearly said or did something wrong, so... what was that, again?"

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"See, and that's why I didn't want to say anything. 'Cause... now I've just gone and made it *more* complicated for you, maybe, and you already had lots to deal with..." Bridge says.

Xander laughs, with maybe just the slightest touch of ... something, in it, that's like a little bit of hysteria and a little bit of wondering if there's some kind of saturation point for life getting weirder, and if he's ever gonna hit it.

'Cause the thing is, Bridge, no matter how scary-smart he might be, is... really, really, really sixteen. And Xander, no matter how socially retarded he's feeling at the moment? Really, really, really isn't.

But he's got a damn good memory of it, and everything and everyone that went along with it. And he'd really like to not be the guy he was when he actually was that young, this time.

"Yeah, you kinda did?" He forces himself to look up. "But... it wasn't really the saying anything that made things more complicated?"

Okay. Hysterical laughter is... probably not good.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. He's silent again for a few moments, and then... "Wait, what do you mean, it wasn't the saying anything?"

"Well... and I admit that there are some non-pretend denseness issues here that took a while to plough through? But I haven't exactly been staring at you because you have mustard on your shirt."





Hearing that, well... he's suddenly just a little less woeful than he was two minutes ago.

(no subject) - soldtoarmenians, 2006-04-03 09:32 pm (UTC)(Expand)
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Bridge looks over at Jeremiah's tank, somewhat startled by the interruption.

"Dude, is he always that loud?" he asks Xander.

Xander blinks, and checks on the tank. Everything seems in order, wee purple froggie looking up at him with innocent bulging eyes.

"I guess he's had kind of a traumatizing day? What with the gi-- er... person... trying to frognap him and all."

"I suppose that could do it," Bridge nods solemnly. "Poor frog."

"Ribbit," the wee purple froggie says to Xander, in a croak that almost sounds disgusted.

//Such. A. Dumbass.//

"Hmm. Maybe I should take him home?" Xander suggests. Not just because it's a semi-graceful exit. Traumatized frog is a totally legitimate concern, yo.

"Maybe, yeah," Bridge says with a nod, because he's finally at a point where things are not-so-awkward, and he has the distinct feeling that if this conversation were to continue much longer he'd be *back* at awkward, and he'd rather avoid that, omg. "See you later, then?" he says with a hopeful smile.

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