imstuck | Less smutty, more depression (Wednesday night PC w/ ripley)

Sure, but you'll have one hell of a hangover.

[Let's drag his sorry corpse towards the edge of her bed, shall we? She pulls off a few of the many sheets onto the ground for Phil to sit or lie down on. No way in hell is she getting a man to so much touch her bed.]

Here. Sit. I guarantee you'll have a better time trying to stay up.

[Thanks Ripley, Phil is just gently going to... bury his face in the sheets.]

God Rita these bedsheets are so nice. Where did you get them?

The Staff gave them to me. And it's Ripley, not Rita.

[Though both start with R. Confusing for someone who's drunk, no? She sits down at the edge of her bed, carefully monitoring him for any sign that his condition may go south.]

Who's Rita, by the way?

[Both their names start with "Ri-" and they're both lesbians who hate Phil, it's an easy mistake.]

We worked on the flood project once.

Ah, yes. The flood project. Of course.

[Said with a heavy amount of sarcasm.]

Mind letting me in on what that is, exactly?

[He waves her off.]

I don't remember, you brought it up first.

[This conversation is going nowhere fast.]

...What the hell do you even do for a living? Did you just love groundhogs so much you moved to Groundhogville and got trapped there?

[He looks up and somehow manages to give Ripley a deadeye stare.]

I'm a weatherman, remember? They force me to cover that Groundhog Town every damned year.

...That's not...terrible? Sounds a lot better than just standing in front of a green screen all day and pretending to point at places on a map.

[If he was a weatherman, that would explain the flood project...and also his inability to cope with the situation at hand.]

If I'm being completely honest, it sounds like you're just complaining about having to do something.

Being a weatherman is a lot more than just standing and pointing at a green screen

[He manages a dry, fake laugh.]

And of course you would say something like that.

Rita, you have no idea what's happened to me in that town. I was in Hell.

[I don't know if this means anything to Ripley, but he has a dead serious look on his face right now.]

Ripley.

[That serious look doesn't mean anything particularly to her, but at least she's mildly intrigued now. He's finally talking about what's up with the weirdness in Punxsutawney.]

After what I've seen, here, I'll be willing to believe anything. Tell me all about how terrible groundhogs are.

I am pretty sure that damn groundhog is torturing me. I see his smug little face and I just know he knows what he's doing to me. What I'm going through. He's just laughing as he sees me suffer every day of this hellish existence.

[He's just... glaring at the door now, as if expecting that groundhog to come walking through it any moment now.]

He's the devil, that's who he is

[...Okay, Ripley has to admit, hearing a grown man calling a groundhog "the devil" is pretty fucking funny. Despite herself, a grin cracks open on her face.]

You think the groundhog might be the mastermind behind everything?

[Gestures vaguely towards the ceiling. She's referring to the whole situation, as well, though Phil might not pick up on that in his inebriated state.]

[Yeah he definitely doesn't pick up on that, especially as he buries his face in the blankets again.]

Of course! That damned monster just loves seeing how fucking stuck I am in Punxsutawney.

[Gentle, stiff pats on the head. She honestly doesn't know how he pronounced Punxsutawney correctly.]

Well, while we're struggling against our almighty groundhog overlord, I think what we can chose to do is sleep. Tomorrow, you'll wake up feeling better.

[That's a lie. He's totally going to feel like shit when he wakes up. She's going to keep an eye on him for as long as she can.]

[Drunken spite.

Phil shakes his head slightly, face still buried in blanket.]

But tomorrow you'll forget all about this.

[Raises her hands in a mock defensive pose.]

Hey, I'm not the guy literally lying on the floor in a drunken state. I'll stay up and make sure you don't die in your sleep or something.

You will, you always forget, Rita. I'm the only one who remembers any of this.

Ripley. [It'll stick, eventually. Not tonight. But she'll try.]

Now, go to sleep. You can deal with whatever consequences tomorrow morning.

Fine fine.

[...]

Thanks, I guess.

Don't mention it.

[Seriously. Don't. She waits until Phil has dropped off before she herself goes to sleep.]

[Timeskip to the next morning and Phil sounds like he's actively dying.]

Ugh, what the hell happened to me last night?

[Who let a dying animal into her room--oh. Yeah. Phil is here. Ripley's already up and at it, sipping a cup of Wilkins coffee at her desk.]

You showed up to my door drunk and started babbling about someone named Rita. Then you just passed out on the floor.

[She continues to work on whatever she's doing at her desk. The smell of burning metal lingers.]

Feel free to order yourself a cup of coffee or whatever you use to cure hangovers these days.

"Rita"?

[He rubs his temple, both because of his hangover and out of mild embarrassment of confusing anyone for Rita.]

Ugh right, I guess the hair and the, completely unjustified, mind you, hatred towards me.

Coffee's fine. [And then, to himself.] I do not miss the feeling of hangovers..

[Ripley rolls her eyes.] Right. Unjustified.

[She points towards the phone on the bedside table.] Just pick up the phone and tell 'em to send more coffee. Maybe a piece of toast. I've got my hands full, right now.

[A pause as she resumes soldering some wires together.] Who's Rita, anyways?

[He makes a quick call for breakfast and definitely orders more than what Ripley said he should get.]

A producer from the station. She was assigned to work on the Groundhog Day report, she's not that import-

[He then gets distracted by Ripley soldering wires together.]

... What are you doing?

[uh huh. okay, phil.]

Really? If I remember correctly, you said, and I quote--"I really liked you, for a long time."

[All of this is said while she keeps working.]

I'm putting together an emitter thing. Hopefully, if all goes to plan, I'll be able to send out PM signals in the form of Morse code. [A pause.] If it works.

It's an easy mistake, sue me.

[He winces at the pain in his side as he moves to examine Ripley's work closer.]

Do people still understand Morse code these days.

Uh-huh.

[Said in an incredibly dubious tone of voice. She's not going to press further if Phil doesn't say anything, though--she's not going to get anywhere.]

I'd hope most people at least know what SOS sounds like. Hold this in place for a sec, will ya?

[Gestures to a delicate wire attached to the circuit board.]

Sure?

[He says, in a tone that he's not sure why she trusts him with anything, much like something as delicate as a circuit board.

But, he does awkwardly hold the wire in place as gently as he can. He's not THAT much of a dick that he would try destroying something like this.

... At least, not when there are permanent consequences.]

Would anyone even have an idea of where we are even if they do get the signal? I have no idea how this junk works.

[Listen Ripley only has two hands and like zero materials! (Mostly because she doesn't trust the Staff to not give her something they've probably tampered with.)

Anyways, she takes the opportunity to hold another wire in place and apply some more solder to join the two wires together.]

Of course they would. Unless, of course, the Staff messed with where the signal sounded like it was coming from. Which is very likely, but I've already started to work on this damn thing anyways.

Or if anyone can reach us if they knew where we are.

[Phil frowns slightly, as if thinking about something.]

[Ripley sighs, taking a moment to cross her arms and just stare at the work she's done so far.]

I'm trying not to think of that possibility. Right now, it's important that we try to do something.

[She glances towards Phil.]

If you're feeling good enough to hold that wire in place, you can probably walk on out of here without falling over your own feet.

Less smutty, more depression (Wednesday night PC w/ ripley)

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Arrives a million years late with starbucks

that's rly valid