a pale imitation with the edges sawn off [closed]

[postictal]

[ooc: lots of violence and emotional distress to follow in the thread within. Ye have been warned.]

Tim shakes a white capsule from the bottle with the deft jerk of a wrist and dry-swallows it cleanly, flipping the back of the DVD case over to peer at the blocky white text as best as he can in the semidarkness.

"Troll 2," he picks out slowly. "You wanna explain that? Is it like a sequel or something? Kinda outta my depth, here."

It's actually been - he almost doesn't dare think it, but - nice? Complicated, yeah, and not without the bumps and twists in the road, but they're acting more and more like how he'd imagine friends would act. Smoothing things over. Living with the everything they don't talk about.

Almost normal.

A subtle thrill shoots up his spine, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He almost sighs.

He just had to think it, didn't he?

His grip tightens around the bottle as he half-turns and thinks better of it.

"Keep walking," he says, his voice pitched low, "but I think - there's something behind us."

Comments

[deadeyedchild]

"It's amazing," Jay babbles, grinning as he walks, trying not to outpace Tim too much. This has started becoming a little tradition, them going out to get a cheap movie every time the mood strikes, and he couldn't be happier about it. Tim has a lot to learn about iconic shitty movies.

"It's not really a sequel, it was kind of its own weird thing that got marketed as a sequel to a semi-successful horror movie from the 80s," he says, burying his hands in his hoodie's front pockets. "Written and directed by this Italian filmmaker who was like, one-hundred percent serious about it. Like he thinks it's it captures his vision. It's so terrible. And so fucking weird, it's - it-"

He falls abruptly silent, before Tim's even spoken. The quiet instruction barely registers for a moment, Jay's too busy trying to swallow the sudden intense certainty that there is something there. That Tim voices it, that he feels it too, makes it so immediately worse.

He pulls his arms around himself as if to fend off the cold and keeps moving, a little quicker. "Something like what?" he hisses, resisting, oh god, resisting the urge to look.