choicescreen

[choicescreen]

harry grins, easy and light, all teeth. it is easy to see how comfortable his face is with that expression.

"that's why you dunk 'em in milk, pal."

and trevor regrets it already, red in the face. he takes a cookie just to stuff it in his mouth, avoid any follow-ups where he might try to rectify.

they are dry. crumbles all over the front of his sweather.

"fank you."

[choicescreen]

gonna add tateh from ragtime here soon.

[choicescreen]

barbecue. plastic. tolstoy. she doesn't know what any of these words mean.

"this is not my place."

"same place you've always been." she lazily turns the page. again with the impending economic crisis? please. "minus the barbecue. they've refurnished the place -- less plastic skeletons, more tolstoy. what do you think of it?"

[choicescreen]

while disposing of the cigarette is the ashtray xeno had missed by a hair, they neglect their fork. the hilt slowly, agonizingly so, slips into a glob of syrup.

artie notices, and sighs through their nose, inconvienced. "no," they begin, "welsh. quick is the anglicized version of our family last name—cynwric. they changed it for us at portsmouth. new hampshire, not england."

that's right—artie and their suit. "alright, alright. but you can pull it off." professional works for them in a way it's never worked for xeno.

his lone cigarette is tossed carelessly onto the center of the table, the unagreed bet doomed to wait between them. a lightning-fast grin cuts across his face, amused by artie's line of investigation.

"me, italian? nah. i'm not anything." tables turned, he mirrors artie's arched brow, quipping: "are you italian?"

[choicescreen]

"Mac, could I have a pony ride?" NIGHT COURT 5.13 "Hit the Road, Jack"

[choicescreen]

the ministry of time from the 2024 kaliane bradley novel. alter as needed.

it's been quite weird to hear people say that.

we don't know what to expect. that's why you have this job.

that's far too large a number to be real.

open sesame.

maybe you can explain that to me tomorrow.

i want you to stop telling me things for a moment, please.

that's quite enough for today.

i fear i may have got carried away.

you don't have a choice!

careful. your germs are showing.

it appears i was spared a wretched death.

i see. actually, i don't see. what does all that mean?

i don't think it's very respectful.

i'm going to go for a walk.

no one's forcing you to watch.

you're slurring.

i'm afraid that it isn't good news.

this is the compromise we must make.

you will earn your place in the history books.

oh, it's going. we can certainly say it's going.

yeah, you can't do that in this era.

do you think the guy at that table is a spy?

now drink your beer and look suspicious.

you look like you're about to sell me dirty magazines.

my friends aren't smokers, and they don't know i've relasped.

have you ever eaten a coconut? i've never experienced a fruit that fought back so hard against being eaten.

what is a dilf?

there is no need to swear.

i'm a very good shot.

i think it would improve my quality of life if we got a dog.

this is like being inside a gun's barrel.

if you'd like to return home, i can make my own way back.

well, that looks very unhealthy.

i suppose it depends on what you mean by erotic.

why are you printing the wikipedia page for the cretaceous-paleogene extinction event?

am i sure about what?

i will mash you!

do you, er, like cooking?

it sends a sturdy message.

i could use this one to brain a badger.

it's a handsome moon tonight.

it looks like a torture device.

i'm too old for this.

you are a little annoying, aren't you?

now pull on the brakes. pull on the brakes! pull on the—

can you swim? if i push you in the river, will it be murder?

how are you finding our fair city?

put that machine away. we are lunching.

i wish you could have known them.

unusual use of the word 'fun,' but i'll allow it.

oh. you're early. how unlike you.

you're a stupid girl.

oh dear...what a revelatory day i'm having...

we think about it differently these days.

don't pull that face.

you need to tell me what's happening.

this line isn't secure. for god's sake. hang up.

i hope you will forgive me.

have you ever been in love?

i only jumped up and licked the man's face a little.

i don't think you would have much liked me at nineteen.

we have not rehearsed well, or much.

godspeed to you all.

you're not going to ask me to dance, are you?

you almost looked like you were about to start enjoying yourself.

there is no revolution without joy.

we've both got eldest-daughter disease.

will you bury me at sea?

believe me when i say you do not want me to take off my jacket.

uppity bastard.

i am going to have the coldest bath that modern technology can muster.

i am going to smoke half a pack of cigarettes, i think. one after the other.

i'm afraid i'm going to have to get you both very drunk.

ripping to see you.

this is a classy household.

one develops a great deal of patience at sea.

you can't be superior around other people's pain.

you just sort of... throw yourself around. and wiggle.

i want to learn the electrical slide.

i understood at least half of those words.

you are a terrible teacher.

it's too warm in here. let's sit outside.

no one will ever take me as a wife.

if i don't smoke a cigarette soon, i am going to bite through a wall.

sounds a bit mk-ultra.

i know that was a bizarre thing to bring up.

you haven't upset me, you're just boring me.

i bet you had a tumblr.

stop it. take things seriously for a moment.

your feet are swelling.

stop cackling, you horrid woman.

oh my god. [name], do not get instagram.

you've got your elbow in my crotch, by the way. i don't mind, but you really ought to buy me a drink first.

you are looking very guilty.

nice drip.

cheers for the fucking warning.

don't come near me.

not that i'm having any sex.

don't sass me.

i'm going to check your temperature.

i can wash my own hair, thank you.

you have been working with a traitor.

you need to break that habit. it's a dangerous tell.

i bet you say that to all the girls.

behave yourself. or i will put you in the stock.

you'll catch a cold in those wet clothes.

hello, dear girl.

i brought you a liquid apology.

give me your bag. you look tired as hell.

we are having a splendid, if somewhat pagan, time.

did i wake you?

what sort of people are they? your family?

you must have been a strange little girl.

i can hear in your voice that you are smiling.

my ears aren't quite as good as yours.

you know, when you are out of my sight, i fear i've imagined you.

tell me what it was like, growing up there.

you know i can't handle spice.

everyone is so cruel to me, even though i'm very handsome and brave and i have never done anything wrong.

where are the rest of your clothes?

don't try to speak out the corner of your mouth like that. too obvious.

my hero.

am i supposed to feel like i've thrown up, but on the inside of my skin?

you should dress now. it's three o'clock.

you will come down for meals. that was not a request.

i think it would be better if you did not embarrass us both by forcing me to drag you.

i am trying very hard to be happy.

to failure!

god can see us.

we're going to try and get up to some really original sin.

i'll be sure to keep a candle burning in the window for when you come home.

do you want to meet some of my friends?

i am sorry to approach you in this way. but you need to come with us.

where have you been?

i have been trying to court you.

you're occupied to an almost violent degree by your career.

you're worried you won't make me cum.

you make terrible noises. like an alley cat.

put your arms around me.

i'm not trying to keep secrets from you.

you know we don't use that word.

i want to touch you.

you are a very bad loser.

there's something special i want to show you.

do you know where the safe house is?

someone tried to kill me.

i love you very well.

i should have you flogged.

do you think we went too far?

moss is a sign that god has a sense of humor.

i am a stranger in a strange land.

come here, you.

you're in danger, do you understand?

stop crying. you won't be able to do it properly if you're crying.

i used to puke every time. you get used to it.

when you are my age, you were realize how green you were.

easy, little cat. you have some explaining to do.

i'm not shooting you unless you make a break for it.

you little freak.

we end here, you and me.

you all right, kiddo?

i think i might take a trip.

forgiveness and hope are miracles. they let you change your life.

[choicescreen]

[choicescreen]

jemima stares, wide-eyed. she resembles a spooked horse, whites stark where they are sunk into her dirty, pallid face.

this isn't button house. then again, she hasn't come upstairs for, oh, must be thirty-six years now. many things could have changed. only one who has seen more than her is that caveman. wren? sparrow? no, robin.

"where am i?" her voice barely reaches above a whisper.

@choicescreen

she speaks behind a copy of yesterday's issue of the times, because she knows her face will betray her efforts to sound anything but elated. there is no greater joy than being the first to know about something, and what could be juicier than a new kid on the block?

"someone took their time, i see."

[choicescreen]

Sayid Jarrah + fights

[choicescreen]

marcus grins, fuller now. a warm chuckle flutters low in his throat. he finds himself suitably charmed by nicky's husband. it doesn't bother him over-much. he has a feeling that he isn't the first.

"yeah, they like. okay, so back in the nineties, the national soccer team—uh, football—played on wednesdays. and it became tradition to eat these huge cinnamon rolls on gameday. they call 'em wednesday snails. on-onsdags..sneglen." half-sheepish at his butchery of danish, he more confidently repeats, "onsdagssneglen." his accent is still off the mark, but it is the thought that counts. "it just stuck. and you don't have to wait for wednesdays anymore. most places make them daily. pretty cool, i think."

after sprinkling cinnamon and sugar generously over the dough, he starts to roll it into a tight log. after that, he cuts out twelve even rolls. "mm." he inhales through his nose. watching-not-watching yusuf's expression out of his periphery, "no, i'm super passionate about it. i just worry that i'm not what he wants, sometimes. my friend back home, i mean."

he wouldn't mind a cinnamon roll himself, personally. or a danish. his sleepy mind wanders, prone to sweet cravings despite the very filling dinner he was provided with not so long ago. more to himself than marcus, he wonders: ❝ do they? just wednesdays? that sounds like an awfully dreary rest of the week. ❞

                   he'd expend more of his attention on marcus' skilled handiwork if there was much attention left to give. the day's left him pleasantly spent, and he finds himself feeling comfortably lazy. or as comfortable as you'll ever be leaning over a countertop. similarly, the laugh he might've barked at marcus' timid observation leaves him only as a snort tonight. ❝ scares you and me both. you wouldn't wanna face his wrath when you've come back home bearing olive oil instead of the goose fat he requested. i can hardly tell the difference. ❞ in short, yusuf's expertise lies not in preparing a meal, but in enjoying it.

                   with another yawn oncoming, he stretches until a joint in his shoulder pops. ❝ so you're not scary passionate about baking, is what you're saying? ❞

[choicescreen]

John Caradine, 1944

Johan Hagemeyer

[choicescreen]

"maybe a touch too much."

as the project's resident psychiatrist, the team—sam, especially—often faces her well-meaning scrutiny. looking at control, she feels like whoever handles that at his job—if there even is one—has their hands full.

"trying to prove time travel within your own lifetime often makes you forget the now time, if you understand my point."

it's mr.

he got his bachelor's and then mother dearest did the rest.

control has read the files, presented to his desk in what he believes to be a random, regressive order. not quite backwards, but close. some part of him is still thinking on it, trying to connect some red string.

she must have read something, too.

"always the dedicated staff." his mouth feels stiff, saying the words. how many on record? the files kept going back and forth on it. "trust me when i say i get it."

[choicescreen]

claudia's eyes glaze over, but not with any shade of boredom or unintelligence. she likes to imagine herself adept at this, but madeleine isn't a pervert or a little boy, to echo herself. she had taken those into consideration. but this.

this...

she holds out the dress in such a way that her wrist is exposed. like she's under some sort of spell. better to take it both ways.

❛oui.❜

but not prettier than the one holding it. she’s allowed thoughts. who can disapprove? the three dead fucks the that-night color of whom claudia wants to dress in again?

and madeleine wants it on her hands for a transfer of the power. she beckons.

❛viens.❜

[choicescreen]

freida frowns, then shakes her head in a flurry quick enough to set off her jewelry.

"well, i'd put it in my parlor room. if i had one."

there's still layers of cracked clay on her hands, under her fingernails, as she goes digging for her lipstick in the world's tiniest purse.

"it won't be this one," talking mostly to herself, still, "but maybe the next one. maybe."

[choicescreen]

"that girl?" redmon counters. "that—" deputy james inhales, like snagged in a briar patch, "—word you used? that's no way to talk about a grown woman."

unheard, at least by pony: i sure hope you don't talk to your mother with that mouth (deputy). annoying giggles (gino).

he shoots them a quieter request for silence. where did dwight go off to? it's his bar. redmon just lives above it.

luckily ( … ? ) pony’s on the verge of a crashout; shitty coors nursed in a white-knuckled grip. the difference between seasonal sniffles and coke drip is razor thin, and when he looks over, it's clear he’s been crying. “ — ‘ey! shut the fuck up over there!” drunkenly. “i did everything for that girl— that bitch!”

[choicescreen]

"ah! first name basis, i'm flattered." he is off the bench. part of his charm—he isn't like those g.i. or silent generation judges. he's youthful!

he nudges a plate of cafeteria cookies closer to trevor. "for your troubles."

trevor takes a seat like he's expecting to spontaneously combust.

"good to see you again." a loaded pause, gnashing teeth. "harry."

[choicescreen]

she gives him a look. not exactly a photogenic expression, but she did stop moving.

"alright. i see how it is."

what about his picture, the one right now?

❛ wouldja stop movin’— ❜

except this fumble’s not on claudia. nosferatu wasn’t a you n’ me deal of just the two of them, that’s why this snap’ll come out wrong in the darkroom before it’s even done marinating, that’s who.