Oh, that sort-of-smile sticks, like a burr in his fur. Sure, he's got no sort of stake on this guy— especially now that he knows he's not just his favorite NPC, but genuinely some weirdo from space— but something presses ever-so-gently on a bitter button in his mind at the notion that he's going with someone else.
Well. Might as well show up to make sure there's no funny business. (And to loudly, obnoxiously intrude if there is.)
"Ugh, fine. I'll see what I can do." A beat, and he puts that playful grin on. "Especially since you're really, really twistin' my arm here."
The aforementioned arm is, at this point, sort of a coiled wad, looking more like a wound hose than a limb.
At first, it starts with a light whirl, before it's slinging around the room wildly. Cabinets, chairs, the fridge, even the lamp hanging on the ceiling aren't safe from the maddening ricochet of the uncoiling arm, making a sound not unlike a helicopter in flight. It practically drowns out the yelping scream that Jax lets out, grasping at the counter's ledge for dear life as it threatens to drag him away with it.
Eventually, however, it twists him as well. He's set loose like a top on the floor as both sides of the coil untwist as quickly as possible.
And then, at last, it stops, feeling nothing short of as if a tornado had blown over.
Papers scattered around the room finally settle. The lamp groans as it swings. A hanging shard of glass swings from the window frame, back, then forth, before it drops in a loud clatter on the floor.
Jax stares, wide-eyed, holding his arms out from where he's been laid-out on the floor, square pupils shrunken and looking somehow both dazed and wild. His reply comes out as a similarly-dazed mumble.
North can only do one thing in this situation--- duck. As a gloved hand nearly smacks him upside his stupid blonde head, he drops to the floor, arms over his head like a tornado drill. "Son of a bitch!"
For a few minutes, all he can do is make sure he doesn't get his head cracked open. And then, as quickly as it started, it ends. Pulling his hands away, he looks around assessing the damage.
He blinks dizzily, before sitting up, lifting a hand to steady his head from tipping to and fro. Cabinets swing open, papers shuffle about the floor, and, yep, there it is, that damn broken window.
"...." The car-beep somehow manages to sound baffled and a bit boggled.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Well. Might as well show up to make sure there's no funny business. (And to loudly, obnoxiously intrude if there is.)
"Ugh, fine. I'll see what I can do." A beat, and he puts that playful grin on. "Especially since you're really, really twistin' my arm here."
The aforementioned arm is, at this point, sort of a coiled wad, looking more like a wound hose than a limb.
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And he lets it loose.
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At first, it starts with a light whirl, before it's slinging around the room wildly. Cabinets, chairs, the fridge, even the lamp hanging on the ceiling aren't safe from the maddening ricochet of the uncoiling arm, making a sound not unlike a helicopter in flight. It practically drowns out the yelping scream that Jax lets out, grasping at the counter's ledge for dear life as it threatens to drag him away with it.
Eventually, however, it twists him as well. He's set loose like a top on the floor as both sides of the coil untwist as quickly as possible.
And then, at last, it stops, feeling nothing short of as if a tornado had blown over.
Papers scattered around the room finally settle. The lamp groans as it swings. A hanging shard of glass swings from the window frame, back, then forth, before it drops in a loud clatter on the floor.
Jax stares, wide-eyed, holding his arms out from where he's been laid-out on the floor, square pupils shrunken and looking somehow both dazed and wild. His reply comes out as a similarly-dazed mumble.
"...I didn't know it could do that."
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For a few minutes, all he can do is make sure he doesn't get his head cracked open. And then, as quickly as it started, it ends. Pulling his hands away, he looks around assessing the damage.
"You motherfucker, you did break my window!"
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He blinks dizzily, before sitting up, lifting a hand to steady his head from tipping to and fro. Cabinets swing open, papers shuffle about the floor, and, yep, there it is, that damn broken window.
"...