houseofcards_rp | [ota] blood or water, it's all the same

It's been going on for months. The quakes are over and don't seem to be starting up again any time soon, and there's no sign of any other disaster. Iggy just wants to move out of Heart Castle and go home. Unfortunately, as the rest of the family is adamant that the kids remain at the castle, he cannot. Or, well, he's not allowed to. Because poor little kids, even teenagers old enough to babysit their own siblings and cousins, need to be supervised. Even if some of them are already adults by the standards of the Deck.

Which is, of course, piffle. So he's put his foot down and packed his things and gone back to the Xiu house.

The Xiu house will not have him. So, alas, he is wandering the streets of the Town, box of belongings on one shoulder and dragging a monstrous suitcase behind him. Or maybe he's sitting down on a bench somewhere. Take pity on him, folk of the Deck.

[ooc: he will ultimately wind up at Alasdair's place, so offers of a home are welcome but will not be accepted for varying reasons.]

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Alasdair snorts a little bit at that. "The faces will be epic," he tells Iggy. "Might be the only thing that gets it through their heads." It's not that the older Xius were bad people, honestly. But Iggy had been sort of a yes man all his life. As a former yes man, Alasdair knew it was hard to get out of the habit of that from either side.

He took another drink of his beer. "I think you might've mixed up some of the files when they had you on delivery, by the way. I got some spreadsheets." Which led him to believe that someone else had gotten Eve's editing notes - but maybe they wouldn't read it.

That has him bumping his head on the fridge ceiling as he moves too fast to look at the other man. "Spreadsheets? Where'd you put them?" And then, standing up properly to rub his head, "Crap, someone else must've gotten your last rejection then."

Beat.

"Uh, sorry."

"They're in my messenger, don't worry," Alasdair says easily. He's not that great a liar, except about this. It's probably all the practice he's had.

That's why he can shrug a little laconically. "It's just there's a missing spot on my collage of rejection, you know?" In actuality, he needs to get those edits done by the end of next week.

This big a sigh of relief warrants that beer, right? Right. "There weren't that many people on my route that day- shouldn't be hard to find it. Your collage can survive a little longer."

And given that no one had yet called him to ask why they had a rejection letter, he figured they hadn't made it that far in his delivery yet. Good news all round, surely.

"I'm in no rush." Which was a bald-faced lie, but what can you do. "Just remind me in the morning to give it to you. It'll probably be a day or two before I manage to clear it out of all the end of the school year stuff."

"Gotcha. Should I find a shovel for you to excavate with?" He rather doubts it would take any less to get through what Alasdair has to remove from his classroom.

"A small one should do the trick." He rolls his eyes. "They're waxing the floors this summer, so we had to all get pretty much everything out. Fun times."

"Ouch. It's too bad you can't fit a bulldozer in the corridors to help that go faster." Granted, there would probably be some damage to the items themselves. But what was public school without a little incidental mysterious damage, anyway?

"I think the elementary school teachers are seriously considering that. You think I have a lot? You've seen nothing until you've seen the contents of the second grade classroom." They had toys. And laminated Disney wrapping paper.

He can't help the gagging. That much, at least, isn't fake. "Oh, geez. I hope they disinfect the room first. How much stuff did they find hidden behind closets and in corners?"

"Shit, they disinfect the lower elementary rooms once a week." He grins and toasts Iggy with his beer. "I did hear they found someone's secret stash of Easter eggs. That was...stinky."

"Oh, god." He wrinkles his nose and takes a healthy swig. "I don't know who to pity more, the teachers for enduring that or the kid for losing that."

"Pity the teachers, trust me." His expression goes a little solemn. "A dozen of them, Iggy. You know how that smells?"

"...I don't wanna take you up on that challenge, dude. You have a better vocabulary of smells in your lifetime than I could ever have." Mad science. Chemicals. Somewhere in that must match the smell of months-old Easter eggs.

"That is so very true," Alasdair says. "It was harrowing, though, I'll say that much."

[ota] blood or water, it's all the same

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