What's Your Number? (Sunny, Casual)

[OSRIC YOUNG]

While it appeared to be mildly untrue, Osric was taught the whole 'Don't talk to strangers' thing as a kid, especially applying to big cities, he was just particularly uncaring whether or not he got kidnapped as a child, or something. No, no, that wasn't true, he was very afraid of being kidnapped, he just thought that he would never be dumb enough to make that mistake and talk to the wrong people. Of course, when he got older he realized that was a ridiculous assumption to make, how would he have realized, but the habit, even without the excuse, hadn't ever really died off.

And so it was that he saw, with wide eyes, Robinson fucking Crusoe, and duh, that guy wasn't a kidnapped, he was a class A writer. A grade 1 egg Osric had to go and say hello! So he did, even if he was on the way to the library to return his books, but they weren't going anywhere from his backpack, and neither was the library (well yeah, it was closing in about twenty minutes but who cared), and meeting this awesome duded was way more important anyways. (Though, if they library or books were actually moving that might take precedence, because that'd be magical and awesome.)

Osric charged up to him with enough energy to scare a lot of people, and said, with a shit-eating grin on his face and all at one, "Hey I know you! Hi! I love your books! I'm Osric, nice to meet you!" He thought, afterwards, oh, those words were a bit backwards in order, weren't they? But he was too excited to care right now.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

New York was odd.

Full of strange smells and even stranger people, it never seemed like Sunny walked the same route twice, even if his feet stepped in the same places they had the day before. Nothing was ever the exact same, though. Change was constant, and the only constant was change, or so he’d read somewhere. He was inclined to believe it, but that wasn’t something he liked to think on. See, change was a variable that he wasn’t able to control, and when he felt out of control, well, good things didn’t happen.

Still, today he was doing alright by not focusing on it. He was walking, the sun was shining it’s strangled melanoma filled rays, the pidgins were singing their cooing wails of despair and...

“Well, that was morbid, Robinson,” he chided, reminding himself to think more pleasant thoughts.

That or he was going to have to stop reading poetry. It was all so dreary and depressing, so of course he’d been fascinated with it. He’d even stooped low enough to camp out in the local library for hours on end just reading the words of authors who wrote dusty tomes and died...

Yeah, moving onto less depressing thoughts was a good idea.

As it was, he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he nearly jumped three feet when someone walked right up in front of him and started babbling.

"Hey I know you! Hi! I love your books! I'm Osric, nice to meet you!"

He blinked in surprise. Normally the people his brain made up were a bit less...odd. Well, not less odd, but they at least spoke slower. And yes, anyone who seemed not normal usually came from his head. Group was the exception because they were all nuts.

“Alright, I get it. Too much poetry makes Robinson a dull boy, so create some figment that’s not dull. Very clever,” he muttered, watching his new figment of his imagination.

The kid was practically vibrating. Sunny must have been carrying some nervous tension somewhere if his imagination was reflecting it like this. Hmm, maybe he needed to book a massage.

“Osric was it? Hmm, what an odd name. Well, let’s not hold up foot traffic.”

He gestured Osric along, hoping that no one was noticing that he was talking to himself. That would have been awkward, again. He was walking in the general direction of his apartment, so at least he had a destination in mind.

“So Osric, you like my books. That’s flattering.”

Of course it was when your own imagination seemed to be a fan of your work. He supposed it was better than having some odd self-loathing going on.

“Do you like to read or is it just my works that entertain you?”

It was good to know these things, after all.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

Osric hadn't meant to startle Mr. Crusoe, but he did, and he felt a little bad about it. "Sorry, sorry,"[/b] he apologized quickly, but the older man didn't really seem to be paying attention.

“Alright, I get it. Too much poetry makes Robinson a dull boy, so create some figment that’s not dull. Very clever," Mr. Crusoe muttered, looking at him, but in a way... not looking at him? Osric didn't really know, it was an odd look, and he had no idea what the writer was saying. But all geniuses got to get away with that sort of thing, so Osric just decided to think about it later.

“Osric was it? Hmm, what an odd name. Well, let’s not hold up foot traffic.”

"Yeah, oh course,"[/b] Osric nodded rapidly, following after Crusoe, his feet practically bouncing off the pavement. He wasn't sure where they were going, but he didn't care, he'd just follow Crusoe. Who had just said his name was odd. That was funny, his name was funny.

“So Osric, you like my books. That’s flattering," Crusoe said, Osric buzzing about next to him, "Do you like to read or is it just my works that entertain you?”

If Osric had been thinking more, that might have sounded a little cynic. But he wasn't, not really, and so he replied quite honestly, "Well, I love reading,"[/b] Osric started. He hadn't used to, not as a teenager, but now, in his boredom, he'd re-discovered his childhood love of books. "But your's are fantastic. I mean, as far as alive people, you're definitely one of the best!"[/b] Crusoe's books weren't the best books ever, he had other favorites, but they were right up there on his list of the best, along with J. K. Rowling and Chuck Palahniuk.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

Sunny was surprised Osric was actually following along. Most people weren’t very happy to go along with what he wanted, well, unless they were interested in keeping him happy. People seemed to be far too eager to please him sometimes. He figured that this kid had no interest in that, so there was no ulterior motive. Maybe he was just weird, like every other person his head had come up with in the past.

"Well, I love reading. But yours are fantastic. I mean, as far as alive people, you're definitely one of the best!"

What was he on about...oh, right. He did ask the kid a question. Well, that was also flattering. Being a living success was nice to hear. He did make several lists and such.

“Who says I’m alive?” he asked, often pondering that himself.

Oh, it would make sense if he was dead. Seeing people, being turned over and upside down by life, and then landing in this place...He could think of worse Hells, but he was sure that there was a layer in the seven that was something like this.

“Well, I suppose I seem pretty lifelike. If you ever met Highway Thompson, you’d really question whether he was alive, but that’s neither here nor there,” Sunny amended.

Oh Thompson...he hadn't thought of him in a while. He did a lot to try and make himself seem more alive, but the eyes gave him away. Sunny, well he went the opposite way. He did very little so he would feel a bit less like he had a three act play in his head.

“So, Osric, let’s stop dancing around the bush. What can I do for you?”

He never did like dancing around the issue, unless he was the one doing the dancing. He wasn’t sure which one of them was doing the dancing in this case, so it was better to get the guy to get to the point so that he could either start with the dancing or pop a couple pills until he was alone in his own head again.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

“Who says I’m alive?” Asked Mr. Crusoe.

"What?"[/b]

Crusoe went on as if Osric hadn't said anything, “Well, I suppose I seem pretty lifelike. If you ever met Highway Thompson, you’d really question whether he was alive, but that’s neither here nor there." He had no idea what Mr. Crusoe was saying, not at all, but he just let the man go on - it would be disrespectful to interrupt someone of such prestige, or anyone at all really but special people got more rights. “So, Osric, let’s stop dancing around the bush. What can I do for you?”

Osric wasn't quite sure what he was meant to say. He would say, Can I have your autograph? but the way Mr. Crusoe had phrased it seemed like it was something more that he wanted. It wasn't a So hey, we're cordial strangers, it was more of a Hey, please hurry the fuck up because I just want to know what I need to do for you. Osric didn't know how to approach that.

"Sorry, um..."[/b] Osric tried to think of something very whimsical to say, because he wanted to sound smart and not as confused as he actually was, "I mostly just wanted to jump on the chance to talk to someone as interesting as you. I mean - it's a pleasure, really."[/b] This wasn't his usual branch of fancy vocabulary, but that didn't matter, he was a smart educated person, he should show it in front of someone who could potentially be impressed!

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

Sunny watched as Osric seemed to pull himself together. Well, at least he could keep up with a conversation. He had certainly been talking with people who were worse. Herman, for example. He was the ship’s cook when he’d been aboard. Oh, he did not like Sunny hiding out in his galley. That was alright with Sunny because he didn’t like the cooking, either, so it was a relationship of mutual hate and annoyance. Herman had been real, though.

"Sorry, um...I mostly just wanted to jump on the chance to talk to someone as interesting as you. I mean - it's a pleasure, really."

Sunny watched him for a long moment, trying to figure out if he was being truthful. After a moment, he decided he was. That was good then. He could deal with this, even if he was just talking with a figment of his imagination. Honesty was a good quality, after all.

“Alright. I can accept that, but I’m not that interesting.”

He really wasn’t. These days, he just wrote books and went to therapy when he wasn’t finding new ways to explore his imagination. He used to be interesting. He used to be in the Navy, going around the world on a ship. He used to speak three languages, he used to be an engineer, he...used to be sane. No, he wasn’t interesting at all. He was just sad.

“What would you like to talk about?” he asked, wondering what he would come up with. He had three blocks to kill until his apartment, after all. If Osric was willing to entertain him, he was more than willing to let him do just that.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

“Alright. I can accept that, but I’m not that interesting.” Sunny spoke blandly, but Osric's eyes widened with the unthruthliness. “What would you like to talk about?”

Osric continued following him to Unknown Destination, happy as a lark, and he said, "Oh, well, nothing really specific."[/b] He should think these things through! He had lists of all sort of things, but never one of things to ask authors. Damn, he'd do that later tonight. "Though, if you don't mind me saying so sir, I'm sure you're totally not not interesting at all! I mean, your books are so cool!"[/b] No one with a boring life could draw so much imagination, could they? It was why he could never write anymore, he thought.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"Oh, well, nothing really specific. Though, if you don't mind me saying so sir, I'm sure you're totally not not interesting at all! I mean, your books are so cool!"

He laughed – the noise escaping from him far too easily. Oh, this was by far one of his more flattering imagination moments. He really hadn’t invented anyone new in a long time. He spent too much of his time meeting real people these days. Perhaps there was something to be said for living on a desert island...or was it a tropical island? Eh, Island of Despair either way.

“What if I told you Ben Franklin was a book printer? He was a boring guy who did cool things,” he replied evenly. “Had he not been swept up in the Revolution, he would have died a boring guy because he wasn’t interesting otherwise.”

The same went for him. If not for the fact he could spin a good yarn, he’d die in obscurity, too. Not that his death would bring any tears. His parents would probably squabble over whatever he left behind and Susannah might turn up looking for a hand out, but she wouldn’t be a morning widow. No, she’d turn up in a bikini and insist he get thrown into a hole where the worms could eat his eyes because it was cheapest.

“Yet more morbid thoughts, Robinson,” he muttered, thinking he needed to stop reading Poe. Ah, Poe. That explained what this was. His mind was creating allegories – drawing connections with what he’d read to whatever this little mental slip was. “This is my midnight dreary. That makes you my raven. Well then, you can Nevermore me towards home.”

It was nice when he could make sense of the crazy.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

Mr. Crusoe laughed, but it wasn't a good laugh. It was a self deprecating, strange laugh, and Osric felt himself growing a little uncomfortable. “What if I told you Ben Franklin was a book printer? He was a boring guy who did cool things. Had he not been swept up in the Revolution, he would have died a boring guy because he wasn’t interesting otherwise - Yet more morbid thoughts, Robinson. This is my midnight dreary. That makes you my raven. Well then, you can Nevermore me towards home.”

...Poe? Osric was horribly confused. He was starting to suspect that Mr. Crusoe was, perhaps, a little mad. Oh, that wasn't right, he couldn't say - er, think - that.

"Benjamin Franklin was an interesting guy anyways. Everyone's interesting,"[/b] Osric said quickly, and while from most peoples' mouths that sound like pure, prepackaged flattery, from Osric's lips it was spoken with truth. He really believed it, after all - while some people could make themselves boring, nobody was born boring; and the fact that they're even alive in the first place makes them interesting, doesn't it?

He kept thinking that Crusoe was mad now, though, and they were hardly appropriate thoughts, but they were swirling around now, and he could never kill his ideas, not even early. The question was on the tip of his tongue, and resisting was lying and - "Are you kind of mad, Sir?"[/b] He hadn't meant to say that. God, he was stupid. He looked anywhere but Mr. Crusoe, embarrassed. "Sorry,"[/b] he said quickly, less than two seconds after he'd finished his own precious sentence. At least he'd said Sir.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"Benjamin Franklin was an interesting guy anyways. Everyone's interesting."

“Well, that’s an exaggeration. You haven’t met everyone,” Sunny mused, thinking he hadn’t met everyone, either.

Had he met everyone, there would be nothing left to do in the world. If there was nothing left to do in the world, then life wouldn’t be fun, and if life wasn’t fun, then what was the point? For the most part, most people were interesting, but then there were the ones who were very un-interesting. Like his parents. They were the most boring people on the planet, looking at plants all day, going over mounds of paperwork at night because they had to do legal things to protect the plants...He’d have nicked a vein years ago if he’d had to live with that.

"Are you kind of mad, Sir?"

Sunny blinked, looking at his companion. That was a very out there question. Most people were far too polite to point out things like that. Sunny raised an eyebrow, contemplating how he was going to answer the question. Before he could, Osric seemed to realise the social faux pas and looked away.

"Sorry."

“No need to apologise. I ask myself that question daily,” Sunny assured him. “Besides, speaking your mind is something to be proud of, seeing as how there’s a constitutional right to it in this country.”

The fifth or second or something like that. He never was good at remembering facts like that. He was better with people, turning them into characters and writing them into stories. Facts were things for his editors to check, after all.

“As for the answer, it depends on the day of the week, the alignment of the stars, and whether I’ve taken my medication,” Sunny replied. “And before you ask, those things are all important. There is a thin line between madness and genius, after all.”

And taking his medication made both moot. As for the day of the week, Tuesday or Thursday made all the difference, seeing as Tuesday could manhandle him into taking them, and Thursday would natter on in Chinese and give up. As for the stars...well, it couldn’t hurt to have everything line up, after all.

“I think I like you. What’s your story, Osric? How did you come to be you?”

After all, he was his figment, so he might as well give him something useful. After all, what was the point of his mind hallucinating things if they couldn’t be useful?

[OSRIC YOUNG]

Osric felt a rush of relief when Sunny said, “No need to apologise. I ask myself that question daily,” and actually seemed honest. “Besides, speaking your mind is something to be proud of, seeing as how there’s a constitutional right to it in this country.”

Well, that was true, but the way people exercised that right these days was a bit crass. Tabloids, and all. “As for the answer, it depends on the day of the week, the alignment of the stars, and whether I’ve taken my medication - and before you ask, those things are all important. There is a thin line between madness and genius, after all.”

Osric had no answer for that.

“I think I like you. What’s your story, Osric? How did you come to be you?”

Osric grinned. Wow, that was a big compliment! He was so flattered. "Thank you,"[/b] he said, sounding overly-impressed. But what was he supposed to say about himself? He didn't have the most interesting life, he didn't think, at least not currently. Sure he'd bore Mr. Crusoe with his pedestrian existence. It's not like he could be written into a story or anything. Though that would be cool.

"I... well. I'm from Utah. I'm kind of a Mormon, though I guess not really anymore. Um... I was in a band for a long time, but then some stuff happened and now I'm not. But I work in a music store now and that's cool."[/b] Wow. He sounded dull. "I guess I'm only as interesting as Benjamin Franklin before he did cool things."[/b]

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

"Thank you. I... well. I'm from Utah. I'm kind of a Mormon, though I guess not really anymore. Um... I was in a band for a long time, but then some stuff happened and now I'm not. But I work in a music store now and that's cool."

Sunny nodded, thinking that was a fairly succinct description of a life.

"I guess I'm only as interesting as Benjamin Franklin before he did cool things."

Oh, that was a simile that he would have argued. It sounded as if Osric was only telling the highlights of his life, but they were CIA cover-up, black inked, ex’d from the record...It was sad that he felt that he had to make the interesting stuff go away like that. It was the interesting stuff that sold books, after all. If he couldn’t be interesting, how could he be in a book?

“Osric, the first rule about being a writer is that you have to have something to write. It doesn’t matter if you have all the talent in the world if the story has holes.”

Oh, how true that was. He was always lucky to have both the talent and the ideas. Some guys never got anywhere in the gig if they were missing the story part – talent could be created artificially through ghost writers and what-not, after all.

“You, Osric, would be a very poor writer if you insist on leaving holes like that in stories.”

It wasn’t said to discourage, but rather to encourage.

“Be brave and tell the story the way it should be. That or make something interesting up,” he amended, hoping to get more out of his entertainment.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

“Osric, the first rule about being a writer is that you have to have something to write. It doesn’t matter if you have all the talent in the world if the story has holes," Mr. Crusoe said briskly, looking pleased with his own advice. Osric knew that was the truth. Maybe he just wasn't ready to write, though.

Crusoe continued on with his advice, “You, Osric, would be a very poor writer if you insist on leaving holes like that in stories. Be brave and tell the story the way it should be. That or make something interesting up."

Well, sir,"[/b] Osric amended, unable to feel a bit down at the purposeful encouragement, though not taking it entirely personally, "I'm a pretty bad writer, so I guess that explains it. Thanks for the advice."[/b] He was rather honored to have such a fantastic writer giving him advice.

"How did you start writing yourself, anyways?"[/b] He asked. Osric was the kind of person who liked to have a face to things - even the silent authors of books - and google images was how he knew what Mr. Crusoe looked like. But he knew little about his life, besides what was on the back of the book flaps.

[SUNNY CRUSOE]

“Well, sir, I'm a pretty bad writer, so I guess that explains it. Thanks for the advice."

And yet he still wasn’t making with the story telling. Oh well, maybe next time, Sunny.

"How did you start writing yourself, anyways?"

Hmm, perhaps this was his chance to teach the kid how to tell a real story. Figuring that he’d have to be his own entertainment, Sunny threw out his chest, trying for impressive.

“It all started when I was in the Navy. I had a tramp of a wife who ran off and I was in a mood, so I may have snapped at the wrong Rear Admiral,” he waved his hand a bit, as if one thing explained the other. “I was sentenced to babysitting an Island in the South Pacific where I was the only inhabitant. Seeing as how I needed something to keep me from going crazy, I started writing stories about everything, and apparently they sold well in the real world. That is how I started writing.”

It was supposed to keep him sane, but he’d seen how that boat had sailed.

“Now that is how you tell a story. Opening incident, escalating conflict, satisfying resolution.” He listed each by ticking off his fingers, making sure Osric was getting his money’s worth here. “If you want to start writing, follow those steps and you’re golden.”

Well, as long as he had something interesting to write. If he didn’t, then the entire thing was a moot point.

“What do you do if you don’t write?” Sunny asked, figuring it may have been said before, but he had been distracted, after all, and details were important.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

Mr. Crusoe seemed to gather himself for a tale of grandeur, starting with dramatic utterance of, “It all started when I was in the Navy..."

Osric listened eagerly to the sort of tale he could only dream of happening to himself with rapt interest. He wondered if Mr. Crusoe might write an autobiography - that'd be awfully interesting.

“Now that is how you tell a story," Mr. Crusoe finished confidentially. He didn't seem very upset abut being stuck on an island, alone. Osric wondered how he got off. "Opening incident, escalating conflict, satisfying resolution - If you want to start writing, follow those steps and you’re golden.”

"Yes Sir,"[/b] Osric nodded, pleased with the undoubtedly valuable advice he'd just been given. Even if Mr. Crusoe was a bit mad, all the best people were anyways.

“What do you do if you don’t write?”

Oh. Well, that was a bit tricky. Osric paused, thinking. He ought to tell the truth. But the truth was so dull. Honestly was a good quality to maintain, though. "I work in a music store. Ya know, that sells instruments and sheet music and some CDs and stuff. And I do some odd jobs, like, moving things for people." He almost felt guilty because of how boring he seemed right now. Normally he didn't mind, but vocally it sounded dull. "It's pretty good,"[/b] he backpedaled a bit, "I like the music." He omitted his latest coping mechanism for boredom "You like music?"[/b]