jonathanparagon | (no subject)

And again with the door banging, because it's starting to be a thing, but not a drunken one this time, and would Jonathan be interested to know that Warren doesn't show up at Andrew's room at odd hours like this? No? Oh, well.

Yelling too.

"Sparky, are you in? Dig your genitalia out of it's watery grave, I got you a date!"

Heeeeeere's Warren.

Jonathan opens the door and staaares at Warren. He asks vaguely suspiciously, "Who with?"

"Guess," Warren commands, triumphantly.

"Okay... do I get any hints?"

"No, you just guess and are spectacularly wrong to the point of offending me and then I tell you it's Kitty Pryde."

Warren beams at him. He'd have drawn it out longer, but Jonathan already let him get away with suggesting that Jonathan's penis has yet to be unearthed along with the rest of him, and he doesn't feel he should push things. Small victories, small victories. He finds himself wondering, idly, if Jonathan's grave was, in fact, watery. He doesn't know. He wasn't there.

Jonathan's grave, such as it was, was in fact in a gravel quarry that now doesn't exist. So.

Jonathan splutters.

"Kitty Pryde? Seriously?"

"Yeah-huh."

Warren has that high-on-Warren look in his eyes, and plastered across his face as he informs Jonathan:

"You may begin to bow down to me at any moment."

Jonathan is a little bit shellshocked.

"You... she... how?"

"Because I'm your pimp, Dude. I'm your pimp," Warren claims, solemnly.

Bitch better have his money.

Kidding.

"Stop with the questions, make with the smiling."

And Jonathan obeys, though less of a smile than a broad grin.

"Thanks, man."

Warren claps him on the shoulder.

"All for you, Big Man. Andrew and I are agreed on the opinion that you should invite her to the game."

And if they were normal boys, they'd be talking about the football game, or baseball game, but as they are who they are, Warren doesn't even need to specify D&D.

Jonathan nods slowly.

"Going by the comics, she'd probably have fun. Did she say when she'd next be in?"

"Uh, no."

Because Warren's not as old hand at all this as he likes to make himself seem. He forgets the important details like when.

"But she, uh, says she's in, like, all the time, and psyched to meet you."

Jonathan grins.

"Cool."

"And I say unto you now, as I have before: Who's the man?"

Jonathan rolls his eyes - not meaning it - and says dutifully, "You the man."

"Who's house?" Warren prompts.

"Run's house."

Warren laughs, then sighs a deeply satisfied sigh.

"So. What are you going to wear?"

Jonathan looks mildly panicked at that.

"Um?"

That's what Warren thought.

"I suggest clothes."

"Well, duh. I don't have many, though."

Warren shrugs. Can't help Jonathan there.

"I could send in my lady to help you."

Because Isabel is his lady. Because Warren can't seem to shake that last teeny bit of sleeze.

Jonathan nods, remembering something. "Yeah, she can change clothes with her powers, right?"

"Yeah-huh."

He got himself a good one.

Although she doesn't generally use her powers on Warren's clothes. ...And maybe she should...

"That'd be good, then. And she'll know what I should wear."

Warren rubs his hands together, a rhymes:

"It's a plan, Short Man."

"So do we know when we're having the game, then?"

Warren rolls his eyes.

"No. Andrew slacks again."

Jonathan shrugs.

"Stuff keeps getting in the way here. We should help him."

"Or threaten him," Warren suggests.

Jonathan chuckles, knowing Warren doesn't mean it.

"Whatever works."

Doesn't he?

"Because sometimes I miss the threatening."

Jonathan's smile fades slightly, and he eyes him.

"Nothing serious, though. We could ransom his action figures. Does he have action figures here?"

Warren eyes him back.

"Not like that, Dude. I just thought we could be like, you know, 'or we'll get you'. Or something."

"We wouldn't break them", Jonathan protests, because, sacrilege. "Just hold them hostage until the game gets organised."

Warren raises an eyebrow.

"You're evil."

"Evil would be never giving them back", Jonathan says defensively.

"I wasn't complaining," Warren says, of the moral ambiguity.