IC Inbox for Apocalypse Now

[energyfieldgood]

"This is McKay. Leave a message if it's important. And I stress. Important.
Don't make me call you back and reiterate what important means."

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[ferriswheelsandfootball]

[The door rattles, as he slams himself against it. More scratches, more gouging.

Luckily the armchair is holding.

Just barely.]

I'm fine!

There's nothing going on with me!

[He can still feel Rodney's fear spiking, but it's not the same without the petting. In fact, he almost doesn't want to feed off of it without the petting. Some of his yells sound an awful lot like yowls.]

Let me out!

[energyfieldgood]

[Just barely.

Rodney grabs a small shelf next, pushing it up next to the armchair and then sits on the armchair, trying to push it up against the door.]

Oh, come on! You were dragging claws all over my body! Along with your face!

[He winces at the next impact.]

You were purring against my neck!

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

[He tries again and again, the door slamming and rattling, but it's not budging.

Dammit.]

So what!?

[...there's a long pause, and the slams stop coming.

A very.

Long pause.

You know, when you put it like that--]

...that wasn't purring, that was just my stomach.

[energyfieldgood]

Oh yes, the famous human stomach right to the palatal, don't we all know it!

[Look, you're not getting out of this one, mister!]

I'm not letting you out until you calm down!

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

Yeah! Exactly! You're right!

[Please let him have this one.]

I am calm!

[And because that did not sound, at all, calm, he takes a deep breath and pauses.]

I mean...I'm calm, now.

[energyfieldgood]

Oh yeah?

[He's not moving away from the barricade. Staying right there on that chair, propped up against the door, crossing his arms.]

Prove it.

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

Prove it?!

[He sounds utterly insulted.

But, after a few moments, at least there’s no more door slams or anything that sounds like scratches.]

See? I’m calm! Happy now?

[energyfieldgood]

No.

[Crossing his arms tighter. He knows John can't see it but somehow it's there in his words. Along with his scowl.]

Are you still snacking off my fear?

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

[Somehow he can hear his literal body language. Huh.]

...no!

[Yes, a little. He probably should stop.]

...okay, I stopped.

[energyfieldgood]

Did you really?

[He looks down at himself as if there was a way for him to detect it. Maybe patting himself down somewhat.]

Because if I open this door and I catch you gobbling up my trauma...

[ferriswheelsandfootball]

Yes, I promise.

[He...sounds sincere, at least.]

...how would you even know?