( Steve has no practice stealthing, he's always fast vaulting and clicking flashlights in his bright sailor suit for attention. so the one time he tries to sneak, it would figure he's not very good at it. at least he's not in the scoop troop uniform, that would have been worse. what can he say, he is mildly nervous about getting caught by the zombified cowboy now that he has the knowledge the guy hates him. it isn't the most fun to have a harpoon gun shot through the back of your head. he'd like to avoid it if he can.
rustling through dry dead grass wasn't the best stealthy choice, as evidenced by Susie finding him immediately. then again, she is good at that, it's just that usually she has to stab somebody first. ) Four people against one 8 foot tall wall of muscle, and again, chainsaw.( instadowns just hit different, Susie. you'll never understand the legacy of a camping Bubba, nobody can do it like him.
the problem with making your entire flirt strategy stupid jokes is you can never quite tell when things are serious. is he really here to take off his threadbare green sweater and prove the existence of his chest hair? will just flashing Susie do? so many questions. either way, chatting in front of the buzzard that looks more like a turkey in the open feels too exposed, even if he's not going to be required to take off his shirt at all. )
C'mon, ( Steve says, hopefully, because inside the Honkytonk feels slightly safer than outside of it. he eyes the place warily, and decides there's probably not any more aggressive murderers sleeping in the musty bed upstairs. so he sets his security blanket flashlight on the counter, and tries to rewind his brain back to what Susie was talking about. something about leaving Nea to die on first hook. ) Why would you pay someone else to play the video game? ( he repeats, dubious, even though that wasn't the point at all. he's taken Dustin to the arcade plenty of times and has never felt that the little punk deserved compensation. then again, he was pretty terrible at Dig Dug. )
[ Susie kind of laughs and rolls her eyes. It’s true, she’s not much of a camper herself. She only stays around a hook when she knows a survivor is already there trying to be sneaky to get a save in and she’s trying to find them. Otherwise, she’s got bigger fish to fry. Like the fucking Dwight across the map who keeps blowing up generators and jumping into lockers like it’ll save him. It never does. ]
Again though— mind of a child. And I have no idea. It sounds stupid. The future sounds pretty stupid.
[ After all the things that Steve has said to Susie, it’s clear she doesn’t really need to be nervous around him, yet the light fluttering in her stomach gets stronger once he comes out of the grass and she gets to see that he is not, in fact, wearing his hilarious little sailor suit. This kind of, unfortunately, makes her realize that in life outside of the Fog, a boy — gradtuated man, sorry — like Steve Harrington would never look at her, let alone talk to her and willingly meet up with her in a dangerous spot just to prove some stupid joke wrong. It’s surreal, in a way, and Susie raises her hands to very slowly put her hood down, her mask already having been removed when she arrived. She feels uncomfortably exposed this way— her face with her stormy blue eyes lined in black eyeshadow and eyeliner, thin wiry silver braces, and all of her long, bright pink hair on display, the pink complete with a few fading roots where the light brown of her natural color can be seen if one looks close enough.
It’s probably more than anyone has seen of Susie Lavoie in literal years, including the rest of the Legion. She doesn’t like it.
Steve is… well, Steve. Tall (at least to her), perfect, popular, cute Steve Harrington, with his kind brown eyes and his soft-looking long hair. Even when he’s clearly apprehensive, he somehow manages to carry himself with a sort cool, collected demeanor that speaks of confidence to Susie. He’s not one to panic too much when shit hits the fan. He knows he can rise to meet challenges that come his way and while he might not always win, he’s okay with that. He accepts that sometimes you just have to do whatever it takes, even if you know it won’t be enough.
Susie doesn’t know that kind of confidence. Her trials are a bloody nightmare of insanity sprung from the worst night of her life and the Entity often has to take the reins. It works to get her mind and body to where she can hunt like a wolf chasing down a doe and rip apart survivors with her knife like one biting down on the throat of its catch. Susie isn’t strong, isn’t brave— just a whole lot of mouth and fluff in place of substance. She knows that. But as Steve turns towards the saloon doors, she feels her anxiety surge and for a moment, she feels it fill her limbs like electricity, all her muscles coiled like tight springs ready to pop.
It’s like an invisible pair of hands shoves her at him and it happens so fast, she almost doesn’t understand how one minute they’re a good few feet apart from each other and the next, she’s pressed up against his side, grabbing his hand between both of her smaller hands and squeezing lightly. Her flushed cheek rests against his bicep and for a moment she really just stays there, soaking up the warmth from his body. She’s always cold, like a phantom, like something dead— all the killers are. But Steve doesn’t feel that way, his warm skin brimming with life. ]
( Steve does have an easy sort of confidence to him. that's the trick to being popular, really, being really convincing. charisma more than anything. if you can sell other people on your bullshit, you're golden. and while he's come a long way from setting Tommy on Jonathan Byers like an attack dog and eventually coming to his girlfriends defense as his shithead friends did their best When Harry Met Sally impressions in the full thrall of a cafeteria lunch — some of it lingers. he's good at seeming like he knows what he's doing.
weirdly enough, as far as the realms are concerned? he sort of does. the confidence isn't entirely unearned when it comes to fighting tooth and nail to survive. sadly, unfathomable primordial horror is not a new phenomenon in his life. Steve has plenty of practice trying to keep his head screwed on straight as everything is going to total shit around him. it's a new wrinkle here that he dies when he fails, but he also comes back. not better, not really — but back. if anything, it made Steve more reckless. and it isn't like he wasn't reckless before. bravery isn't the absence of fear, it's action in spite of it. and plenty of survivors might argue Steve is a little too brave.
like, for example, sneaking away from the relative safety of the campfire to meet up with a member of the Legion. it is hard to feel like he made the wrong call, when Susie's long diatribe on solo queue fades off. when he sees her, no mask, no hood. just a girl, scared and alone and in circumstances she can't escape. meeting up for cowboy hooch and to prove the existence of his chest hair isn't really going to help her with the endless miserable loop she's trapped in, and Steve knows that. but a moment outside of it is still a moment, right? he's the king of padding out moments, like you can live in one forever.
he's not expecting Susie to close the distance. he should have known she'd be that fast, considering how she can scream across a map like a pink and tartan blur. he's tense, for just a hint of a heartbeat, because ... well. people rushing toward him isn't exactly associated with anything good, these days. it's been a long time since someone held his hand, or leaned against him. touches in the fog tend to be a lot more purposeful. unhooks or heals or trying to pry shattered ankles out of bear traps. or getting bodily hauled to a sacrificial hook, kicking and screaming.
but he relaxes about as soon as he realizes what's happening. there's a line between bravery and stupid, and maybe he got lost on the way back. Steve doesn't feel like Susie will hurt him, though. and if he can't remember the last time he held someone's hand, he's gotta guess it's been even longer for Susie. )
Hey, ( Steve says, with half a surprised laugh, at her sudden proximity. laughs aren't quite as rare as affection in the realm, though it still feels like he's a little rusty at it. greeting Susie after they've already been talking is frankly ridiculous, but that's Steve Harrington for you. he squeezes the palm tight against his, echoing the gesture now that he knows what's happening. it's strange how cold Susie feels, when Dead Dawg is so acrid and dry. Steve reaches his other hand for hers, tries to rub some heat into her fingers, even as he immediately starts on his charming dumbass schtick. ) Because there's no music, right? Bumbumdumbumdumdun. Sounds like a John Wayne movie.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
it is perfect forgive me I was too lazy last night to attempt prose lol
Date: 2022-09-19 06:00 pm (UTC)rustling through dry dead grass wasn't the best stealthy choice, as evidenced by Susie finding him immediately. then again, she is good at that, it's just that usually she has to stab somebody first. ) Four people against one 8 foot tall wall of muscle, and again, chainsaw. ( instadowns just hit different, Susie. you'll never understand the legacy of a camping Bubba, nobody can do it like him.
the problem with making your entire flirt strategy stupid jokes is you can never quite tell when things are serious. is he really here to take off his threadbare green sweater and prove the existence of his chest hair? will just flashing Susie do? so many questions. either way, chatting in front of the buzzard that looks more like a turkey in the open feels too exposed, even if he's not going to be required to take off his shirt at all. )
C'mon, ( Steve says, hopefully, because inside the Honkytonk feels slightly safer than outside of it. he eyes the place warily, and decides there's probably not any more aggressive murderers sleeping in the musty bed upstairs. so he sets his security blanket flashlight on the counter, and tries to rewind his brain back to what Susie was talking about. something about leaving Nea to die on first hook. ) Why would you pay someone else to play the video game? ( he repeats, dubious, even though that wasn't the point at all. he's taken Dustin to the arcade plenty of times and has never felt that the little punk deserved compensation. then again, he was pretty terrible at Dig Dug. )
i almost didn’t but then i rambled for like 2 paragraphs about survivor strats
Date: 2022-09-20 12:21 pm (UTC)Again though— mind of a child. And I have no idea. It sounds stupid. The future sounds pretty stupid.
[ After all the things that Steve has said to Susie, it’s clear she doesn’t really need to be nervous around him, yet the light fluttering in her stomach gets stronger once he comes out of the grass and she gets to see that he is not, in fact, wearing his hilarious little sailor suit. This kind of, unfortunately, makes her realize that in life outside of the Fog, a boy — gradtuated man, sorry — like Steve Harrington would never look at her, let alone talk to her and willingly meet up with her in a dangerous spot just to prove some stupid joke wrong. It’s surreal, in a way, and Susie raises her hands to very slowly put her hood down, her mask already having been removed when she arrived. She feels uncomfortably exposed this way— her face with her stormy blue eyes lined in black eyeshadow and eyeliner, thin wiry silver braces, and all of her long, bright pink hair on display, the pink complete with a few fading roots where the light brown of her natural color can be seen if one looks close enough.
It’s probably more than anyone has seen of Susie Lavoie in literal years, including the rest of the Legion. She doesn’t like it.
Steve is… well, Steve. Tall (at least to her), perfect, popular, cute Steve Harrington, with his kind brown eyes and his soft-looking long hair. Even when he’s clearly apprehensive, he somehow manages to carry himself with a sort cool, collected demeanor that speaks of confidence to Susie. He’s not one to panic too much when shit hits the fan. He knows he can rise to meet challenges that come his way and while he might not always win, he’s okay with that. He accepts that sometimes you just have to do whatever it takes, even if you know it won’t be enough.
Susie doesn’t know that kind of confidence. Her trials are a bloody nightmare of insanity sprung from the worst night of her life and the Entity often has to take the reins. It works to get her mind and body to where she can hunt like a wolf chasing down a doe and rip apart survivors with her knife like one biting down on the throat of its catch. Susie isn’t strong, isn’t brave— just a whole lot of mouth and fluff in place of substance. She knows that. But as Steve turns towards the saloon doors, she feels her anxiety surge and for a moment, she feels it fill her limbs like electricity, all her muscles coiled like tight springs ready to pop.
It’s like an invisible pair of hands shoves her at him and it happens so fast, she almost doesn’t understand how one minute they’re a good few feet apart from each other and the next, she’s pressed up against his side, grabbing his hand between both of her smaller hands and squeezing lightly. Her flushed cheek rests against his bicep and for a moment she really just stays there, soaking up the warmth from his body. She’s always cold, like a phantom, like something dead— all the killers are. But Steve doesn’t feel that way, his warm skin brimming with life. ]
He’s not here. I’d know. You’re safe.
Susie is all of us watching sweet confused solo queue babies
Date: 2022-09-21 02:34 am (UTC)weirdly enough, as far as the realms are concerned? he sort of does. the confidence isn't entirely unearned when it comes to fighting tooth and nail to survive. sadly, unfathomable primordial horror is not a new phenomenon in his life. Steve has plenty of practice trying to keep his head screwed on straight as everything is going to total shit around him. it's a new wrinkle here that he dies when he fails, but he also comes back. not better, not really — but back. if anything, it made Steve more reckless. and it isn't like he wasn't reckless before. bravery isn't the absence of fear, it's action in spite of it. and plenty of survivors might argue Steve is a little too brave.
like, for example, sneaking away from the relative safety of the campfire to meet up with a member of the Legion. it is hard to feel like he made the wrong call, when Susie's long diatribe on solo queue fades off. when he sees her, no mask, no hood. just a girl, scared and alone and in circumstances she can't escape. meeting up for cowboy hooch and to prove the existence of his chest hair isn't really going to help her with the endless miserable loop she's trapped in, and Steve knows that. but a moment outside of it is still a moment, right? he's the king of padding out moments, like you can live in one forever.
he's not expecting Susie to close the distance. he should have known she'd be that fast, considering how she can scream across a map like a pink and tartan blur. he's tense, for just a hint of a heartbeat, because ... well. people rushing toward him isn't exactly associated with anything good, these days. it's been a long time since someone held his hand, or leaned against him. touches in the fog tend to be a lot more purposeful. unhooks or heals or trying to pry shattered ankles out of bear traps. or getting bodily hauled to a sacrificial hook, kicking and screaming.
but he relaxes about as soon as he realizes what's happening. there's a line between bravery and stupid, and maybe he got lost on the way back. Steve doesn't feel like Susie will hurt him, though. and if he can't remember the last time he held someone's hand, he's gotta guess it's been even longer for Susie. )
Hey, ( Steve says, with half a surprised laugh, at her sudden proximity. laughs aren't quite as rare as affection in the realm, though it still feels like he's a little rusty at it. greeting Susie after they've already been talking is frankly ridiculous, but that's Steve Harrington for you. he squeezes the palm tight against his, echoing the gesture now that he knows what's happening. it's strange how cold Susie feels, when Dead Dawg is so acrid and dry. Steve reaches his other hand for hers, tries to rub some heat into her fingers, even as he immediately starts on his charming dumbass schtick. ) Because there's no music, right? Bumbumdumbumdumdun. Sounds like a John Wayne movie.