Participants:
| Scene Title | Text Message Tango |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Emily reaches out to Devon in the hopes of repairing a missed connection. |
| Date | September 4, 2018 |
Emily's stared at an empty screen for days now. All night. All the next day. Sometimes, against her better judgment, even starting to pen a text. Now, it's dark again, and she's laying flat on her back, dimmed screen held above her on another empty text message. She's apparently talked herself into this, but now it's just a matter of how to couch her language. Which is harder than she thought it'd be. With a sigh, she flings her arm out to the side and stares up at the ceiling instead.
Things are changing. There was more change guaranteed coming, too. Emily's had something on her mind she feels she needs to take seriously and do something about. The number of people she could talk to about this, to her knowledge, are limited. Even if she's taking an approach she loathes having to resort to, she's not too prideful to make this decision.
Besides. He owed her a favor.
She pulls her phone back to herself, reigniting the screen and bathing in the glow of it. "If I change my mind, I can always change the topic." she says to the phone. "Or just stop texting." she adds, seeming much more satisfied with that. She nods to herself.
Slowly, she brings her other hand to better brace the phone, squinting at the messaging application. She keys out a few attempts at her message, each making it about a line of text in before she wipes the board clean again, and finally ends up with her final, well-thought out, informative, highly-planned communique:
«9:52 pm»
Hi.
Elsewhere, and not expecting anyone to text him, Devon has been whiling away his time in a book. There isn’t a whole lot else he can do, nothing that holds his interest for very long. And he has no reason to expect a text from anyone, let alone an unfamiliar number.
So when his phone buzzes once, it’s given a quick look. He almost ignores it, passing it off for a wrong number. But then, as it buzzes with alert again for the unread message, Dev opens it. It wasn’t that long ago that he left his number with Emily in a gesture of good faith and reconciliation. While there is always the slim chance he’s being punked, he types out an equally brief response.
«9:54 pm»
Hi.
"Shit." is said out loud in response to the message. She'd barely had enough time to psyche herself out into putting aside her phone and going on with the rest of her night, and there he is already. Well, she figures, pushing herself up into a sitting position. First thing's first. Even if she feels a bit silly for it.
«9:55 pm»
Is this Devon?
Brows draw together in real curiosity. It’s still likely that one of his teammates could be pranking him, except that would be a really bizarre coincidence. Devon stares at his phone for a long time. If it is one of the other Hounds, well… he’s got some pranks of his own in mind.
If it’s Emily…
Then he’s just made her wait a whole ten minutes for his answer. “I’m such an ass,” Dev mutters to himself. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, not hard, and starts tapping out his reply.
«10:05 pm»
Yeah.
Who’s this?
Because that’s a safer question than just assuming.
The phone buzzes unexpectedly loud as it vibrates on the sink countertop. She pauses, toothbrush in mouth, and swipes to see the notification. She absently types back with one hand then nudges the phone away, staring balefully at herself in the mirror. "You're an excellent conversationalist." Emily sarcastically commends her reflection as she twists the faucet on.
«10:07 pm»
It's Em.
Devon stares at the screen, at the reply on the screen. It is Emily. She actually kept his number! That’s both promising and terrifying. He half twists in his seat to look over his shoulder, like he expects someone to come out of the shadows. He’s alone, as far as he knows. But just in case…
Slouching down in his seat, he looks at that text again, fingers tapping the sides of his phone as he debates how to respond. Eventually he starts typing again.
«10:13 pm»
Hey Em.
What’s up?
"Night, Julie." Emily calls across the apartment, sitting on the couch cross-legged with her laptop balanced on her thighs. She's actually holding her phone as it buzzes again, grateful she'd already finished speaking instead of doing what she definitely would have done — trailed off in the middle of what she was saying.
Eyes close as she takes a steadying breath, then sighs it out evenly. She glances down at her laptop for just a moment before swiping her thumb across the keyboard almost like paintstrokes.
«10:15 pm»
When's the next time you'll be in town?
«10:17 pm»
I was thinking and there's something t
"Are you kidding me?" she whispers down at her phone, wondering why it's decided to betray her like that. She meant to hit backspace. Instead, send. "You're fucking kidding me right now."
Fingers continue to tap the side of his screen as Devon waits for Emily’s reply. He even thumbs the lock screen once, just in case he’d missed a quick reply. He didn’t, and as it dims and locks again, he glances toward the door. It would be not great if someone were to knock just now. Definitely he’d hear some form of teasing at least.
Those thoughts are all interrupted again when his phone does buzz with an alert. It nearly startles him and Dev mutters, “Stop being stupid,” as he opens the message. “There’s something… what?” He waits, maybe thirty seconds, to see if the rest of the message comes through before starting his own message.
«10:19 pm»
Probably a day or two. No plans yet.
What’s up?
She's still staring at the ceiling in disbelief when the phone buzzes on the couch next to her. She slowly drags it back to herself, lifting it up so the phone's above her head long enough for her to skim the message before tossing the phone back down. Well, I'm locked in now. Cut to the chase? she wonders, tracing out the possibilities on the ceiling. She doesn't like any of the ways her hypothetical exchanges run. You're acting like you're trying to have an actual conversation, Em. Which you're not.
Stopping just short of a groan because she doesn't want to deal with the questions if Julie comes out to ask her what's wrong, she shakes her head to herself. How to get across she really doesn't want to see anyone else from his crew?
«10:27 pm»
Don't draw the short straw again.
Not interested in a repeat of last time … or the time before.
Dev drags a hand over his face and lets out a slow breath when his phone alerts to the next message. In spite of himself, he has to grin at the first text to show up on his screen. The second leaves him staring. “She’s going to hear me out?” It seems like it’s a lot to hope for, given their last two encounters. But it’s something. Part of the problem may very well be his own social awkwardness, but Lucille definitely didn’t help things. Especially not this most recent time.
His fingers hover over the screen, hesitating as he abandons reply after reply. But finally one is typed out and sent.
«10:32 pm»
I’ll text you when I get to town.
"Great." Emily whispers, genuinely relieved the stream of texts are going as well as they are. She pauses life with the Sims, knowing they won't be able to help her get through this next part. She tips her head from side to side, mouthing out what she wants to say. She lets out a disappointed 'tsk', tongue in cheek. Yeah, there's no not making this awkward.
«10:34 pm»
Great. Can you bring a gun, a spare, and some ammunition?