OOM: Jim

[herr_bookman]

Two weeks pass in Los Santos, and Autor finds he's settling in nicely. Buster makes a lot of messes, true, but cleaning them up doesn't take too much time. Neither does cooking for the dog, or himself. He has plenty of time to devote to his studies for premed.

Wilford is rarely home, and when he is, he's quiet, which suits Autor just fine. The man never sleeps in his own bed. He zonks out in a chair or stays awake, staring at his laptop. Autor often prepares German pancakes and bacon with coffee for breakfasts, and Wilford seems to appreciate eating that in the mornings. He eats like a horse, Autor notices, which is also just fine. For a thousand dollars a week, cooking and cleaning is easy enough.

Autor hasn't done much exploring of Los Santos, and for good reason: people dress in chicken suits and drive tanks. He panics the first time someone pulls a gun, and so keeps to the house.

But he's running out of food. He has to go shopping. He leashes Buster reluctantly and leaves the house.

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[herr_bookman]

Autor replaces the knife in the block and rinses off the blender. He picks up the licked-clean container of Korean food and throws that away. Then he brings out the mop and fills the bucket at the sink.

[just_cant_lose]

Jack finds a bit of a cheesy classic, and bops back into the kitchen with it blaring through the house.

'Oh, good thinking!' he says, hopping back up onto the counter.

'Excellent foresight.'

Because, right on cue...yep, there it is. Buster upchucks all over the floor. Jack wrinkles his nose, but looks extremely amused all the same.

'You really shouldn't feed him Korean stuff. Didn't Wil tell you?'

[herr_bookman]

Autor has never heard this song. He also wrinkles his nose at the dog puke, and turns to the counter to retrieve the paper towels. Using a liberal amount of them to scrub up the majority of it, he then dunks the mop into the bucket.

[just_cant_lose]

'You're very good at this. Is this your main job and you just keep him happy on the side, or do you do the cleaning as a side gig?'

Jack is a total bitch, if that weren't obvious.

'I suppose it's better you use the bedroom than the dog.'

(He's still nicer than Jim, though.)

[herr_bookman]

Autor washes his hands and mops the floor, ignoring the aspersions being cast his way. He radiates patience. After rinsing out the mop and washing out the bucket, he leans against the counter and crosses his skinny arms across his chest.

[just_cant_lose]

Patient people are so funny. Jim enjoys poking at the cracks in people like that - as long as there's something interesting to break into, of course. He takes his shades off and tilts his head, watching Autor's face with a slight smile on his own. The song comes to an end, and silence settles back over the house. Jim doesn't seem to care, or even notice.

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford could just about strangle Nichola. The horrible woman insisted he stay and see something through, and now there's some stupid motherfucker in his house doing stupid motherfucker things.

When he comes in, it's not through the front door, but from the stairs in the back. And he walks in to see this scene before him. He looks at Jim, then at Autor, and throws his hands into the air.

"I fucking told you to shoot him."

[herr_bookman]

"I own no gun," Autor says in English. He's still got his arms crossed over his chest, but he stands up straight when he spots his employer. "Jack is good to shoot."

[just_cant_lose]

'Darling.'

His grin is instant and wide, and probably addressed to Wilford as it's in English.

'There you are. Your houseboy won't even talk to me, he's so rude. Also - and I don't like to tell tales - but you should have told him not to feed the dog your leftovers.'

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford continues to glare at the entire damn thing.

"He fed the dog?" he asks Autor.

Sorry, Jack. Wilford trusts the house boy more than he trusts you.

[herr_bookman]

"Yes," Autor says, inclining his head. He scowls at Jack. "He tell tale. And feed dog. I clean up the vomit."

[just_cant_lose]

Jack looks highly affronted. Also maligned. He is Offended.

'How dare you. I played with him and everything.'

For almost a full minute! Jim flashes a grin at Autor - and it is Jim, not Jack; a far more malevolent stare, and malice behind the sharp white teeth - then lounges back on the counter, kicking his heels against the cupboard.

'If you wanted someone to look after the mutt, you know you only had to ask. What wouldn't I do for you, sweetheart?'

[cottoncandypink]

"Because I don't want you in my fucking house, jackass." Shouldn't it be obvious.

Wilford turns to Autor again. "Yeah, Jack is good to shoot. Next time, get a gun from the closet and blow his fucking brains out." He's a little too angry for short, easy-to-understand sentences right now. Sorry.

[herr_bookman]

"You shoot him," Autor says, and the tone is more a question than a statement, though Autor doesn't mean it as one. He doesn't shudder at that grin, but his expression shutters, closing him off from the room as a whole.

[just_cant_lose]

'He won't shoot me.'

This in German, to Autor. Despite the fact that Wilford would, if he felt like it. Jim is unconcerned.

To Wilford, he says, 'Sherlock would have had him at ours.'

[cottoncandypink]

"The kid's just here to cook. I don't want to drive all the way to your place just to pick up my dog."

He kicks off his own shoes, aiming vaguely for the front door. It was a filming day today, and he hates the sort of shoes he has to wear. He also hates being choked by his own damn tie, so that comes off as well, in an angry flurry of knot-untying.

"You wanted to throw him off a cliff, remember?"

UGH. "Don't shoot him now. Next time," Wilford instructs.

He's already inside the house now. Nothing to be done for it, since Wilford doesn't want to clean up blood from the carpet.

[herr_bookman]

Autor leans on the counter again, his arms still folded. He returns to ignoring Jack, but keeps an ear open just in case Wilford has some more instructions for him aside from "shoot him next time."

Autor's gaze falls on Buster, and he reaches a hand out for the dog. Buster comes trotting over, and Autor strokes his ears.

[just_cant_lose]

'I want to throw you off a cliff too. It doesn't mean I will.'

That would be far too easy. And Sherlock won't let him hurt the dog.

'You're a terrible host, just as your boy is. Neither of you have offered me a drink. I had to make my own. What's his name?'

[cottoncandypink]

"Stay the fuck out of my kitchen, dick."

He wants to change, but ugh, so many people are here, and Jim will just follow after him like a fucking creep. So Wilford falls into his chair - the big, wide one he decided on while they were shopping - instead.

"What did he break?" Wilford asks Autor.

[herr_bookman]

Autor stops petting Buster, and follows Wilford into the living room. Buster trots after the boy mournfully. "He touch your music," Autor reports, pointing to the vinyls.

[just_cant_lose]

The vinyls are perhaps a bit messy. But he totally didn't break any of them! Jack pouts and sashays over to one of the sofas he picked out, lying down on it like he owns the place.

'And he threatened me with a knife. Or, y'know. Tried to. Nice to know he's fitting right into this world, he'll be killing people in the supermarket in no time.'

Jim waves Buster away when he comes sniffing. He's touched him enough today.

'He'd have no bed to sleep in if it weren't for me. Tell him to be more polite.'

[cottoncandypink]

"Don't fucking touch my vinyl," Wilford says.

Fuck around with the TV, sure. But Wilford actually cares about his record collection. It's just about the only material possession he's ever bothered to accumulate in his life.

"I've changed my mind. Shoot him," Wilford says to Autor, knowing damn well the kid won't.

[herr_bookman]

Autor stiffens, looking to Wilford with an expression of dismay. "You do not pay me much to clean up blood."

[just_cant_lose]

'Dear oh dear oh dear,' Jim murmurs, Jack melting away in an instant.

'You picked one who's squeamish, darling. Not that he won't kill if he has to. He already has. But it's wrong, isn't it, kid? Unless someone really deserves it.'

Wilford gets a reproachful look.

'If you're not paying him enough to clean up blood, you've brought him to the wrong world. Give him a raise.'

[cottoncandypink]

Annoyingly, Wilford's ashtray has been cleaned out, and there's no empty coffee cup nearby. So Jim gets a shiny clean ashtray chucked in his direction. He really ought to invest in some heavy glass ones for next time, if Autor's going to be sticking around.

"It's none of your goddamn business."