[voice]

[unmakeme_tlv]

Sokolov has... taken ill. [Yep, that's what she's going to call it. Taken ill. Not "randomly passed the fuck out in the hallway outside her door" or anything. Taken ill sounds less ridiculous.]

If you had any plans with him for the immediate future, they will need to be rescheduled.

This includes the self defense class I have scheduled this week.

[She gets the feeling this message should be longer. But there's really nothing else to say, is there? So she doesn't.]

Comments

[mistconduct]

Uh, totally not your fucking job to warden me, is what I'm saying. Worry about your own inmate, and if you have fucking issues with me, you can hang up. You're not better than me.


And for fuck's sake who the fuck told you that nickname?!

[unmakeme]

[Who told her that nickname? The only thing that could possibly count is puppy. Which means that people call him puppy. She plans to use this, too.]

I'm not trying to warden you. I don't want to. I prefer bears to chihuahuas. What I want is to stop having conversations with a kid whose balls haven't dropped yet where fuck is the most common word three to one. It's unsettling.

This right here? This is my post, about my inmate, and there are people in it who are actually concerned about him and not just using it as a way to try and piss me off. Which is why I'm not hanging up. Because those conversations matter.

[mistconduct]

I'm not trying to piss you off! You're trying to piss me off!

Well, I'm not hanging up either. I like Russian Bear Inmate too.

[unmakeme]

I'm not trying to do anything. You start your day pissed off. I just think that coddling you is a waste of time.

Which is saying something, considering that my day just turned into non-stop babysitting.

[mistconduct]

Jesus fucking christ, do you just live on another fucking reality? Who the fuck said anything about coddling?

Get bent.

[unmakeme]

We all live in another reality. I thought that was a given on a cruise ship in the cosmos.

Sitting here attempting to talk to you while you throw a fit? That's coddling where I come from. Can't you just take the knowledge that Sokolov isn't dying, be happy with it, and go bother someone else for a while?

[Her tone of voice does not suggest that she thinks it's all that likely. Of course, she doesn't actually want him to hang up. She can't fuck with him if he hangs up, and she does happen to find observing an unchanging mark incredibly boring. She doesn't have Clint's legendary patience in that department.]

[mistconduct]

[Not hanging up the phone when he feels he's being given shit is something intrinsic to Chris' DNA. He keeps on the line, frustrated and increasingly irate]

I am happy! I'm fucking ecstatic! I'm not hanging up because you're full of shit and you don't know me!

[unmakeme]

[Now you've done it. When the dust settles, Natasha will probably not feel all that bad. You did open the door for her.]

Of course I know you. I don't have to know you personally to have your number. You're spoiled by an uncaring father who replaced affection with money, an absent mother, either physically or emotionally. Your father isn't a kind man, he values power over compassion, and you want so desperately to live up to his expectations, to be worthy of his attentions, and so you follow along. You attempt to emulate his heartlessness. The only problem is that men like him are hardened by their formative years, by desperate and violent circumstances, and your formative years were marshmallow soft.

So now you build your whole life by what this man thinks of you, and it never occurs to you that anyone whose love is conditional is someone not worth loving. The worst part is that you probably already know what he knows - that you're never going to turn out like him, you're just not cut out for it. you can pretend, for a while. You can do your best to live up to his legacy. Or down to it, I suppose, but it won't work. It's never going to work. So you stomp your feet and you cry and you scream, you throw tantrums, because you'd rather be a brat who gets noticed than a reasonable adult who might possibly be forgotten.

[mistconduct]

...That's not...


That isn't.



Don't you fucking dare talk shit about my dad.