Emmett Honeycutt

"A boy like that, he'd kill your bro--" Emmett was singing along with the film, but directed at Audrey's bowl (he'd run out of Hepburn, comma, A, and had moved onto Wood, comma N), when his cell rang. His goldfish blurbled at him like she wondered why he was staring at the number on the screen; that'd be because it was his own. The one that went with the house he grew up in, anyway, and it took him a second more of staring before he picked it up.

"He-- Mama? What happened? Who died? ...Because the only times you've called me since I got here were when Uncle Junior blew up the dairy barn and when you thought Imajean swallowed her retainer and was gonna choke to death. What--" Unstoppable force meets...other unstoppable force that's related to it; which one gets three words in edgewise?

Enid Honeycutt, when the words are Aunt Lulah and stroke. In fact, she got a whole damn Gettysburg Address in edgewise after that, but the only additional words that registered on a conscious level were alive, wants to see you, can't get around, and county home, the last of which finally sucked "The hell she is," out of him, as he started to pack, the phone still glued to his ear. "It'd break her heart to leave that house; I can take care of her. ...Yes, me. Who the hell else will?"

Once his mother hung up, Emmett made a few calls of his own, stuffing suitcases all the while: the first to Francine about Support, the rest to people he figured he owed a goodbye to.

[OOC: Emmett's had his run, and is headed home for good (well, until he lights out for Pittsburgh) before he turns into a complete shut-in in my hands. Open for anyone who wants a last thread!]

Picture this like the teaser shot of a television show: suggestive noises coming from somewhere offscreen as the camera pans along the ground, where anyone with tracking skills might notice evidence of two pairs of shuffling feet making an awkward, fumbling path toward the wall of one of the cabins. Or, you know, anyone with eyes; it would be hard to miss the lost sandal and the discarded bronze mesh belly-shirt.

( ..... )

...We'll just leave you with that.

[Not really NSFW but I had an attack of paranoia, so. Co-writ with the equally-facepalming lady in question. Establishy (would you really want to walk around that corner?), but open for reactions if it pleases you.]

"Heartfelt but traumatizing family movies about lost, orphaned clownfish are all well and good, Audrey," said Emmett to the black goldfish looking over at him...sort of... from the small bowl next to his bed. "But what kind of parent would I be if I didn't introduce you to the finer things in life, courtesy of the lovely lady you're named after?"

So saying, and without an answer from Audrey, Emmett angled the screen of his three-models-old laptop towards the fishbowl, and clicked PLAY on Brunch at Cartier.

[OOC: Open for fellow Killer Tomatoes or anybody looking for the boy]

Emmett had been shoved into lockers (enjoyably and less so), stuffed into lockers, kicked into lockers and on one memorable occasion involving Crisco and a linebacker who thought he was funny, slid into a locker, but he'd never until today been yanked into one. By somebody already inside it.

He wouldn't normally be in the school building during break week, but tucked into the Fashion Design book he'd left in his locker was a certain magazine that he... decided he had need of. For intellectual purposes.

Later on he'd acknowledge that what followed it was his own fault, both for not paying attention to what the locker number was -- it was in the brochure, even -- and for sticking his incurably nosy nose anywhere near a locker left randomly hanging half-open in the hallway, but there was a Cattlemen of Montana calendar tacked up inside it and -- look, the point is we know how this ends.

It ends with Emmett Honeycutt yelling "Helllllllp! Anybody! Everybody! Hellllp! I'm trapped in a locker and there's somebody IN HERE WITH ME!" and not really expecting to be rescued anytime soon, because... school building. Break week. Yeah.

[OOC: for... me, because I couldn't not. And because there's actually a point.]