[it might not be the response rumlow's expecting, given that tj has - apparently - been told to expect him. but these things just seem to slip his mind somehow, and only the knock taps the remembrance back in there. today's when he's meant to meet the latest addition to the Hammond family security detail. one near-death-experience too many and tj gets his own, personal stormtrooper.
he's not an idiot. when his mom agreed that it was time he move back to his own place again, he knew it wasn't really an act of trust. it's just embarrassing for a woman pitching herself as capable enough to run a country to have a son she can't even keep a handle on still living in her back bedroom. maybe if elaine wasn't hitting the campaign trail she wouldn't have asked for the extra help, assuming she or dougie would be around enough to keep an eye on him. maybe without the added outside focus that her plans for the presidency would bring down on all of them she wouldn't be so afraid tj would crack again.
but she's running, and the vultures have already started circling. pretty soon there will be people going through tj's trash and trying to take pap shots through his bathroom window. again.
he knows it's going to be hell, he just doesn't see how getting him a guard dog he can't even pet is going to help any.
so that's rumlow's first greeting. the knocking over of something heavy, and muffled cursing from behind the door.]
One minute! [says a voice trying to normalise itself, and maybe five minutes later tj's actually there looking out at him. he's wearing jeans with one button unfastened at the waist, noticeable because there's no shirt under his hastily pulled on leather jacket. it seems like he's trying to style this out as a look, though when he steps back a little his t-shirt's crumpled up under a chair by his desk (the reason he couldn't find it), and he's turned off the camera on the computer, but the skype logo's still big on the display.
he offers a wry smile to detract from all that, and the general mess the apartment's in. more a slightly artsy college student's digs than the grown son of the political elite.]
Hey, sorry, I was just -- cleaning up? [a shrug, a grin, and he looks rumlow over for a second. pierce he knows. pierce is charming and smooth tongued, and has been there to ruffle tj's hair at birthday parties since he was a kid: kinda hot in a silver fox way. rumlow's more an unknown factor.] Wow, you really came dressed for the occasion, huh? Are we expecting missile strikes at dawn?
(finally - i hope the format change is ok)
[it might not be the response rumlow's expecting, given that tj has - apparently - been told to expect him. but these things just seem to slip his mind somehow, and only the knock taps the remembrance back in there. today's when he's meant to meet the latest addition to the Hammond family security detail. one near-death-experience too many and tj gets his own, personal stormtrooper.
he's not an idiot. when his mom agreed that it was time he move back to his own place again, he knew it wasn't really an act of trust. it's just embarrassing for a woman pitching herself as capable enough to run a country to have a son she can't even keep a handle on still living in her back bedroom. maybe if elaine wasn't hitting the campaign trail she wouldn't have asked for the extra help, assuming she or dougie would be around enough to keep an eye on him. maybe without the added outside focus that her plans for the presidency would bring down on all of them she wouldn't be so afraid tj would crack again.
but she's running, and the vultures have already started circling. pretty soon there will be people going through tj's trash and trying to take pap shots through his bathroom window. again.
he knows it's going to be hell, he just doesn't see how getting him a guard dog he can't even pet is going to help any.
so that's rumlow's first greeting. the knocking over of something heavy, and muffled cursing from behind the door.]
One minute! [says a voice trying to normalise itself, and maybe five minutes later tj's actually there looking out at him. he's wearing jeans with one button unfastened at the waist, noticeable because there's no shirt under his hastily pulled on leather jacket. it seems like he's trying to style this out as a look, though when he steps back a little his t-shirt's crumpled up under a chair by his desk (the reason he couldn't find it), and he's turned off the camera on the computer, but the skype logo's still big on the display.
he offers a wry smile to detract from all that, and the general mess the apartment's in. more a slightly artsy college student's digs than the grown son of the political elite.]
Hey, sorry, I was just -- cleaning up? [a shrug, a grin, and he looks rumlow over for a second. pierce he knows. pierce is charming and smooth tongued, and has been there to ruffle tj's hair at birthday parties since he was a kid: kinda hot in a silver fox way. rumlow's more an unknown factor.] Wow, you really came dressed for the occasion, huh? Are we expecting missile strikes at dawn?