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THE BUCK-O-PLEX (aka the Third Floor Common Room), Wednesday Evening

Most of the common room -- especially the couch and the TV -- had been roped off with bright yellow "POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS" tape. Sure, people could still get by it to go to their rooms or the stairs, but why would you want to?

The sign painted on a bedsheet hanging from the ceiling said "BUCK-O-PLEX Movvy ThEatR". By the one gap in the tape was a podium with a cardboard "TicKeTTs 5$ dolers" sign, and a TV guide taped to it. The smell of burnt popcorn was wafting from the microwave, which had a "Consecshins" sign near it.

Oh, yes, it was time for another one of Bucky's brilliant ideas.

[open common room is open for business]

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It wasn't exactly difficult for Susie B to slip out of room 512, and it was fairly easy for her to go stalking around the hallways, too. She mostly did it to be a pain in the ass, but when she caught scent of another cat, she went exploring to see the source of the smell, even if she mostly planned on being annoyed and acerbic toward whatever feline it was she chanced to encounter.

Her eyes were already narrowed in a judgmental fashion before she even peeked around to poke her head through the door.

Somebody was LOOKING at him. "What are YOU looking at?!?!" Bucky demanded as he spun around.

The vision before him made him change his tone, though. Slightly.

"Hey, there, sweet cheeks!" he called. "What's a girl like you doing in a dump like this?"

Susie B could best respond to a question like that with a grating yowl, followed by a hiss. She backed up a little bit, lowering herself and fluffing out her fur to let it be known that she could either attack or flee at the drop of a hat if need be.

Bucky glowered at her. "So it's gonna be like that, huh?! Well, back right up and turn around, then, 'cause there's a train full of whoop-ass that's headed for your station! You coulda had all of this manstudliness all up ons, but noooooo!!!"

Susie B fluffed up a little bit more, her tail whipping behind her as her rear rose up slightly. She met the threat with a strain of disbelieving mumbles, her claws digging a little into the carpet with each complaining sound.

"Yeah, well who needs you?!?!!?" Bucky hissed, putting his paws on his hips huffily. "There are plenty of other cats in the sea! Now SCRAM!!! ...unless you're here for the movie. That'll be five dollars."

Susie B hissed again, gave her bottom one more good shake, and was just about to pounce on the other cat and show him what-for, but then there were two hands at her side, plucking her up nearly mid-air. She let out a surprised yowl, squirming around as that horrible human keeper picked her up and tried to bring her to her chest.

"Susie, there you are!" Britta said, in a voice that sounded like mush. "I've been wooking all over for yew! Yes, I have! Not that there's anything wrong with you wanting to explore and see the world at your own pace, of course, but Mommy gets worried! Yes, she does! She gets worr--"

With another loud yowl, Susie B managed to wriggle her way out of Britta's arms, and got in a good scratch on the way down, too. Britta let out a yowl of her own as Susie B landed on the floor, hissed at both of them, and then scampered off. "Susie!" Britta called after her, but she realized that, if you loved something, you had to let it go, and her arms dropped despondently to her side. She glanced over to see the other cat there, her eyebrows lifting for a moment.

And then a grin surfaced. "Oh, I see," she mused. "Susie was running off to see her boyfriend."

Edited 2012-06-28 00:33 (UTC)

Bucky harrumphed and crossed his arms. "Yeah, she wishes," he spat. "She was all OVER me, and I was all 'Nuh-uh, Bucky Katt is a loner, baby. Besides, can't you see I've got a movie theater to run, here!?'"

Terry was coming back from some time in the cave when the burnt popcorn smell grabbed his attention.

"Oh god, what are you doing?" he sighed, pinching his nose as he walked into the common room to help with the smell.

Britta frowned for a moment, looking around. "Okay," she said, "I knew my stash has been low, so that means you're probably a legit talking cat, which is weird, but also a little bit adorable."

Then she read the sign on the bedsheet.

"Totally adorable," she decided. "Is that your name? Bucky? And do you play mostly cat film, or other stuff, too?"

"Apparently," said Britta with a shrug, "cats aren't the best at making popcorn."

But they were absolutely adorable in the attempt, so she couldn't seem to help keeping an adoring smile off her face as she shook her head. Oh, cats...

"I'm pretty sure there are a lot of things this cat isn't the best at doing," Terry said. The look on his face was a little more defeatist. That might happen when you roomed with Bucky. "But at least he's getting out."

"Awwwwwwww," said Britta, who seemed to be turning into something akin to human melting butter more and more by the second. It was as if she had just been told that the cat had been feeding starving children in Africa. "The poor little guy! I mean, look at all the effort he's put into it, too. It just comes to show you that not matter what your species or physical limitations, it's amazing what you can do if you put your mind to it."

And Britta's Cat Blinders were certainly not enough to keep her from noticing the fact that the other human in the room was a male of an attractive variety. If anything, it actually made her notice it more. "Is he...your cat?" she asked, head tilted with particular curiosity.

Terry looked around and really just saw poor spelling and horror. He wasn't going to let himself be awed by the fact that it was impressive work for a cat. Not when it was this cat.

"Well, no, I don't own him or anything," Terry said, not realizing that this denial could potentially be taken as animal-loving hippie talk. "We're roommates."

"I'm not adorable, I'm fearsome," Bucky countered. "You, being the lesser species, couldn't be expected to know that, of course, so I'll let it slide."

"Tonight, we're playing... uh..." He leaned over and looked at the TV Guide he'd taped to the tickets podium. "We're playing... that's crap, that's crap... uh... that's already started... oh, sweet, the new Michael Bay!"

Now THAT was the kind of language Bucky liked to hear!!!

"O my worshipper, I am running a movie theater!" he answered haughtily.

And the cat insisting on his fearsomeness despite his obvious adorableness was not helping matters. Britta looked as though watching Bucky flip through the TV Guide was the most exciting thing in the world right now...or like she wanted to do nothing more than dangle something fluffy on a string in front of his face.

"I'd pay five dollars to see that!" Britta chirped happily, pulling a wallet out from her back pocket.

And, really, the only way she would pay five dollars to see that was if a cat was putting it on. She'd even pay ten dollars for that. Or even thirty, but, then again, Britta never was exactly wise with her money.

Oh, and it was so being taken as animal-loving hippie talk. Britta's eyes were practically illuminated.

"Roommates," she mused, with a fond, approving smile on her face. She nodded. "I guess it's true. No one can truly own a cat, after all. I, actually, have the pleasure of both a feline and a female roommate, both of whom have names a variation of Susan. I'm," she added, oh-so-subtly, "Britta, by the way."

Edited 2012-06-28 01:25 (UTC)

"That wasn't worship, it was exasperation," Terry corrected. "You realize that people could just go to any other floor and watch TV for free, right?

To be fair, Bucky wasn't the type to fall for that stupid something-dangly-on-a-string bit. Not really. Much. Okay, fine, he'd attack it, but that WOULDN'T mean they were "playing together" and it CERTAINLY wouldn't count as a "moment".

As soon as the wallet came out, Bucky's paw was in the air. "Sold! No takebacks! Now, can I interest you in some refreshments?"

And Britta happily handed over the fiver. Even cats made capitalism look cute.

Although...

"I think you really need a top hat right now," she noted, because that would just make things even better. "Maybe a bowtie. But sure. What kind of refreshments have we got?"

"I'm Terry," he said, giving a friendly smile as he jumped at the opportunity to not talk about Bucky. "You were in the photography workshop, right? You did the really..." Terry searched for a nice description for a moment. "... artsy photos?"

Terry McGinnis: trained to remember people. And be nice.

"That's right!" Britta's beaming was definitely consistent. "That's why you looked a little familiar. Wasn't that a great class? I think it truly awaked a great potential in me. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, right? So just imagine all the things you can say!"

"What I usually said in that class was, 'Oh no, I almost forgot to take a picture of something,'" Terry joked. "I don't think that bothered Jaye too much, though."

"Yeah," Britta's head bobbed a bit in an approving nod, "she was pretty cool. I liked that. If I had more teachers like that back home, I would have at least reconsidered dropping out of high school the first time."

"So you dropped out and ended up at a boarding school?" Terry asked. "I'm pretty sure you're doing that dropping out thing wrong."

"This isn't TV, it's the Buckyplex!" Bucky insisted. Because that was totally different!

...And yes, he'd just gotten the name of his own fake theater wrong.

Bucky whipped out a little notepad (that was almost half his size) and a pencil, and scribbled a few notes. "Uh-huh... uh-huh... And would you say that said top hat and bow tie would make you more or less likely to bow to my iron will?"

As for the refreshments... "We have soda, popcorn, and candy, of course! What would you like?"

"More," Britta said, easily, without even a pause. "And none of the above. Don't you have anything that isn't basically poison?"

Britta winced. "I know," she commiserated. "I mean, things were going really well at first, but then my anarchist billboard tagging group decided to go all revolution on me and vote me out for being not anarchist enough. Then they went all Benedict Cumberbatch and turned me into the cops. So it was either go back to school or juvie, and I'm pretty sure I picked the right option on that one."

For once in her life.

"The sign said Buck-O-Plex," Terry pointed out. "Okay, I'll go along with it. What's playing tonight?"

Bucky nodded and scribbled down her response, put the notepad away, and let out an aggravated sigh. "We have soda, popcorn, and candy," he repeated. "What are you, deaf?"

"Mmmm," said Britta, contemplating if cats hawking junk food was cute enough for her to destroy her body, and the answer came up a negative. "I'll pass, thanks. Maybe if you had some organic dried fruits or something else for the more health conscious movie-goer, I might be more inclined."

"Michael Bay's Robots and Explosions Extravaganza: Part Three," Bucky answered. "The new one. It's a real good movie. Only five bucks."

"As a former juvie kid myself, I think you did," Terry said. "Especially since you ended up here. This place seems a lot easier to deal with than regular schools."

"Oh, I think I see a dried fruit right here," Bucky retorted. "Pop quiz: are you a vegetarian, Fruit? If the answer's 'yes', you don't get to see the movie."

"I'm from the future," Terry said. "I know how history remembers those movies. No thanks."

"You ARE?!?!??" Bucky asked, dumbfounded. "...I mean, I knew that!! Roomie from the future, totally on top of that one, check. So... what kinds of things are popular, in the future? Any hot new trends that it's important to be in on the ground floor of?"

"I should clarify," Terry said. "I'm from way too far to make any difference to you. Unless you really think you can hold out on making a profit for another 30 years or so."

"Damn straight I can make a profit for 30 years," Bucky replied. Sure, that wasn't the question Terry has asked, but it's not like Bucky was listening all that closely. "I'm an artist. What about YOU???"

"Most artists don't actually make money off of their art. You realize that, right?" Terry asked.

"Most 'artists'," Bucky countered, "are Commie Pinko Liberal scum. And stupid, too. All that 'suffering for your art' and 'integrity' crap."

"And 'spelling things correctly,'" Terry added. "Yep. They're not smart like you."

"Spelling things 'correctly' isn't Commie, it's Fascist!!!" Bucky insisted, facepawing. "Seriously, don't you know anything?!?"

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THE BUCK-O-PLEX (aka the Third Floor Common Room), Wednesday Evening

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