ic inbox.

[heatmetal]

[ his voicemail greeting is just a guitar riff ]

Comments

[camarod]

I guess we test it out when I drive back home?

[and - okay, yes. a use for it. and if - if it's safe, he wonders if Eddie could just, piggyback off of him to connect with others? hm. ]

I don't know what's worse, though - those goddamn walkie talkies, or having a bunch of us in your head.

[heatmetal]

Mm... Yeah. Walkie talkies are better. Dunno if I can keep my thoughts clean for all the kids.

[camarod]

The kids are not getting in. Steve - maybe.

[heatmetal]

I bet his head's real soothing. Like... easy listening radio.

[ it's a little mean but he says it fondly. ]

[camarod]

Just vibes. Some Madonna.

[heatmetal]

Definitely a shitton of ABBA.

[camarod]

ABBA’s so fucking depressing dude. Those lyrics? Yeesh.

[this is comfortable. Eddie’s shoulder is a little bony, a little awkward at this angle, but it’s comfortable with him also just there at the edge of his consciousness. a flickering little neighbour that feels like safety.

it’s real fucking novel, if he’s honest. he’s never felt safe before. let’s that one slip out before he can contain it. ]

I bet he’d like the Stones. Or KISS. Something he can dance to.