okay, who's the head honcho here?

[confidenceman]

"Stupid— piece of crap—"

Not a morning person on the best of days, when Sawyer woke up to some unknown weight blocking his door, he again began to consider the potential merits of packing it all up and moving into the Compound. However depressing the building was, it at least offered reliable air conditioning, and the bolts of the doors weren't the type to expand in the rain or creak from too much rust. His door jammed, and frequently, the hut initially chosen because Sawyer was too damn impatient to wait for the Building Crew to give him a new place all his own, and later on, too damn lazy to pack up his stuff to move from one spot to another. But there was something different about the resistance the door put up today. Shoving his shoulder against the wood almost made it... bounce.

Strange.

Briefly considering rounding the hut to climb out the window, Sawyer gave his door one last, lengthy shove, until he felt something skidding against dirt, slipping through the cracked opening, only to stumble, his hands grabbing onto something that felt distinctly familiar. Almost like heavy-duty shrink wrap. The sound of ruffling papers fluttered in the distance, and pages upon pages spilled out over the dirt in any number of brilliant colors, with cars, trucks, and SUVs on each cover.

But, aside from a moment's confusion as to why it looked like every issue of Car and Driver magazine had appeared on his doorstop, what drew Sawyer's attention the most was a heavy pallet of toilet paper blocking entrance to his home. Toilet paper.

Charmin's, looked like.

"The hell?"


[ Yes, that's right. All of Car and Driver magazine has turned up on Sawyer's doorstep. As well as a year's supply of Charmin's best toilet paper. This post is dated January 25th, but will be linked to the main comm in February. ST/LT welcome, no limit on tags, open to all. ]

Comments

[little_moons]

Walking up to his hut, I've just kinda been standing here. Staring. Since before he even started trying to shove his way outside. I guess I should've helped.

Oops.

"What the fuck?"

[confidenceman]

"I ain't got the slightest clue," I reply first, not even needing to look his way as I continue to survey the huge stack of toilet paper rolls in front of me. Car and Driver, I guess I could appreciate more, but hell, I know I could probably get all of that from the bookshelf if I really wanted. Made me wonder if perhaps it was someone's idea of a belated Christmas present.

Then, blinking, I realize belatedly that Neil's just standing there.

"So where the hell were you when I was tryin' to shove my way outta my damn hut?" I ask, frowning.

[little_moons]

"Standin' here," I admit with a crooked grin, a shrug and a half-assed, "Sorry."

Leaning down to pick up one of the packages of toilet paper, I arch a brow and say, "At least it's the good stuff."

Not the shit Mom used to buy. Barely one-ply and sold in bulk. She'd even snatch rolls from the bathroom at her work, sometimes, when things were really tight.

[confidenceman]

"Well I ain't got any clue about what the 'good stuff' means when it comes to this crap," I growl, glaring at Neil for all of a few seconds, 'cause seriously? Not at least telling me what the hell I was tryin' to fight my way against in opening that door? Sure, I know a lot of the Oceanic survivors would've done that, but Neil, hell. Could've shown a little more love.

I hold myself silent for a bit, but I just can't help asking. "What in the hell makes this island think that I'd want any of this, anyhow? What's it tryin' to say?"

[little_moons]

"That your ass is in need of some tender, loving care?" I guess, flashing him a bullshit grin and tossing the package in my hands at him, making sure that cheerful little cartoon bear on the front is facing him.

"This is fuckin' weird, man. And I got a cow, once."

[confidenceman]

Y'know, my mind wouldn't even go there were it not for that damn grin of his. Shoot. Been spending too much time with Neil, clearly, and that sends my thoughts places I don't ever want them to go. "If that's the case, they might as well have sent some Michael Jackson my way. Would've dealt better with a sequined jacket."

I scratch the back of my neck. Now that Neil's mentioned it, it really does seem like this place is trying to make number two a more enjoyable time. And I don't know why, but it pisses me off.

"You made damn good use of that cow," I point out a second later, not sure where I'm going with this. "There ain't nothin' I can do with this."

[little_moons]

"I don't even know what the fuck that's supposed to mean," I admit, bending down to riffle through the stack of magazine's left for him, too.

He's right. This is seriously fucking weird.

"Don't look at me, man. I don't get this place, half the fuckin' time. Maybe Santa got your wishlist mixed up with somebody else's."

[confidenceman]

"I don't have a friggin' wishlist," I mutter, wondering if maybe that's the reason for the island choosing to dump something as useless as all this on my doorstop. It ain't like I've never had wishlists before, even on the island itself. Got myself some guns last year that have come in damn handy, even if mostly for hunting, instead of the defending I completely expected to do. Then again, what else is there that I'd expect? Even hope to find here? Other than making sure I can protect myself when need be, I ain't got wishes or hopes high in the air like that. "But I got guns last year. Hell, all the island has to do is give me more guns every year and I'd be happy as a clam."

Knowing that I'll probably have to get on with it sooner or later, I start trying to figure out where exactly I'm supposed to start taking all of this down. Fingers prying through plastic and all.

[little_moons]

"Right, 'cause you really need help with that whole angry redneck holed up in his hut with his guns thing you got goin'," I say, rolling my eyes.

He's right. This sucks. It feels weird, being this angry at the island for something like this. Something that seems like a prank, but I don't understand why the rest of us get something we like, and he's just left being pissed off.

If I'm being honest, what I want is to see him happy. Just for... fuck, for five minutes. Five minutes'd be nice.

Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I say, "You need help? Movin' it or whatever."

[confidenceman]

"Hey, don't you mock the guns," I warn, shaking my head. "I once conned an entire island into givin' me all their guns, and hell, that included a dang member of the Republican Guard and a man who made Steve Irwin look like a complete novice." It ain't my brightest idea, but hell, the fact that I pulled it off is still impressive all on its own.

And it'd be helpful. It'd be even more helpful now that I've got all the more experience under my belt, but with the way that island worked, there wasn't a chance that having guns wasn't gonna make life easier for me or anyone else.

Pulling a small folding knife from my pocket, I drag its point down some of the plastic wrapped around, tugging until the seam splits to the bottom. "Here," I grunt, holding out a couple of packages and stuffing another three under my arm. "Just... toss 'em in, I guess. I'll figure out where to put it later."

[little_moons]

"That doesn't make you sound like any less of a creepy hermit, you know," I point out, taking the packages he hands over to me. If I didn't know it's probably just make him angrier, I'd be laughing, right about now.

This is just fuckin' weird, even for this place.

Doing what he says and tossing them into the hut, I say, "So, how'd you do it? Con 'em outta their guns, I mean."

[confidenceman]

"Yeah, but what I didn't get to," I drawl lazily, grabbing another few packages and chucking them inside, glad for once that I ain't got anything that'll make a mess if it breaks, "is that havin' all of the guns made me practically the leader of that whole group. Or at least showed them that I was capable of gettin' down to business. I ain't just some crazy dude who holes up with guns without a reason, and they sure came in handy. I ever tell you that I once shot a bear?"

I snort, feeling a grin spread over my face at the memory. Yeah. A bear. I should probably feel bad for the bear, 'cause it wasn't there of its own will.

But I still shot a bear.

"Anyway," I push on, kicking a wedge under the door and trying to chuck the rolls neatly inside. "I conned them by pittin' 'em against each other. How else? I ain't exactly Mister Congeniality."

[little_moons]

"No, you didn't tell me," I laugh, and I can't help but grin back at him, 'cause he looks so goddamn proud of himself. He doesn't talk a whole lot about that other island, and I've never pressed him about it. Still, it's good to know there's at least a few things about it that'll make him smile.

"Aw, come on, man. I think you're a fuckin' pleasure to be around."

[confidenceman]

"That's 'cause you love assholes, but even if I've turned cuddly on this island, you really think anyone would wanna trust me with their weapons? Hell, with a spot on that hippie-based Council that they didn't have the sense to elect you to?" I ask, brow raising in challenge. The answer, of course, is no. I'm an occasional drunk, and an almost constant belligerent. Way I act, you'd probably think I'm hasty. There's no one who would pick me as their first choice to run anything, be trusted with anything— aside from dirty work, perhaps. If there's one thing I can say for myself, it's that I don't often flinch.

Though I think Sayid had me beat there.

"Being a pleasure ain't the same as gettin' people to trust you," I conclude, crossing my arms loosely over my chest. "Also, that bear? Wasn't just any bear. It was a goddamn polar bear. Huge as all hell. And you think this island's weird."

...actually, this island really might be the weirder of the two. But at least it doesn't seem to have it in for all of us, s'far as I can tell. Less violent deaths.

[little_moons]

"Dude, I'm pretty fuckin' sure they had sense enough not to elect me," I point out, giving him a look. And yeah, he's right, I've got a thing for assholes, but I'm not sure I'd call him cuddly.

"So, what, did you stuff it? Put it up on your wall?" Okay, maybe I'm fucking with him, now, but he's seriously proud of that and I can't help but find it a little bit funny.

[confidenceman]

"No, it was just a damn case of common sense failin' to weigh out the starry-eyed," I conclude, exhaling deep through my lips. 'Cause, I mean, I get it. That Steve Rogers guy's got real stage presence, he's charming, and that Steve McGarrett fellow's got great tatts and comes from an island, and Hermione Granger's the most badass witch of her age, and that other chick's a doctor, and Shari's— well, I don't know, Shari wins our stomachs. I get it. But if you try and figure out which one of them all loves the island the most, that's Neil, and that means the guy deserves a goddamned spot on that panel.

"And no," I push on, not sure if there's really any way I can put that into words without him laughing his ass off at me. "Didn't trust that the bear wasn't sick, and didn't have the materials to stuff him proper. It probably became some lucky animal's dinner."