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"I think everyone has a dark side. Some of them just like to get out for air." - To Jamie, here
"Want to get the rundown on why that would be the best way to undermine our society, or should I just tell you I'm glad the bombs didn't work?" - To Parker, here
"The violence stuff? I ... got really organized with it. Known for it. People are lonely, you know? Anything you can give them to believe on, they'll jump on it. So there were a couple of dozen guys who shaved their heads because Tyler said to, fought because Tyler said to, would have died because Tyler said to. One of them did die." He shook his head. "And really I'm just this kid who wants to work in insurance when I grow up, and it all freaked me out when I found out." - to Peter, here
If a part of you does something, you get to be responsible. You can disgust yourself, you can be angry at yourself, but you can't say it wasn't you." -- to Blair, here.
"Whatever hand somebody gets dealt, it's their job to deal with it, not ours to walk around feeling really bad for them." -- To Walter, here
Tyler expositions at Dawn
And discusses nuclear holocaust with Rory
Tyler deals with a ghost: Parts one, two, three, four, five, six.
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He had come with almost nothing, and he would leave with almost nothing.
After meeting with Principal Washburn, Tyler walked quickly, calmly back to his room. He crammed only a few clothes and his worn Anarchist's Cookbook into a bag.
After a debate with himself -- say goodbye, or just get gone? -- he left Alec a note.
Roomie -
The school doesn't appreciate pyrotechnic experimentation, so I am out. Thanks for the good times. Keep my stuff and use my bed if you want.
I'll look you up someday.
- Tyler Then, considering, he turned on the laptop he was about to abandon and tapped out another note. From: tyler.durden@fandomhigh.net
To: <stickbugs-list>, river.tam@fandomhigh.net, m.parker@fandomhigh.net, wade.wilson@fandomhigh.net, emma.frost@fandomhigh.net, walter.dornez@fandomhigh.net, nadia.santos@fandomhigh.net, pippi.longstocking@fandomhigh.net, sam.carter@fandomhigh.net
Subject: Goodbye, Farewell and Amen
Hey -
The lovely Principal Zoe Washburn has suggested I might make better use of my talents off of Fandom island, and I am heeding her suggestion as of right the fuck now.
Thanks for being cool.
Fight the power,
Tyler He shut the computer down, and he was gone. [OOC: Tyler Durden has left the building.]
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Nine bombs had been planted in the offices of nine teachers. The tenth -- to make it a dirty dozen -- was still in his backpack, its weight making a bulge.
Tyler whistled as he bounced it against his back and considered where it might go. Maybe Aly should get a second one, for providing such helpful guidance on Tuesday. He knew these would work.
He glanced down the hall, making sure he was still alone. ( Is he? )
[OOC: Follows this post. Preplayed with ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) cameronmitchell. NFB and no interaction possible.]
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Tyler had been sleeping well since he got out of the locker, and Wednesday night was no exception. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes as he headed for the bathroom.
And stopped, because whoa, his feet looked different. So did ... other things.
"I'm a girl?" he asked the air (and Alec, if the lump in the other bed was him.)
Then he ran to the mirror and added, "A blonde girl?"
[OCO: For the roomie if he wants. Or open for all your Tyleriffic needs.]
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There was, Tyler had decided, no way out of the land of standardized tests.
He had tried punching the proctor in the face; that got him sent back to his seat, with no damage done to the proctor. He tried asking for a bathroom pass; no windows, and no matter how long he stayed, the test was still there when he got back.
He tried hitting himself in the face. The other students -- they were always silent -- just looked at him, cow-like, until he sheepishly retook his seat.
More from boredom than anything else, he finally finished the test. In an instant, the proctor was at his desk, picking up the Scantron sheet. "Very nice, Mr. Durden," he said. "You may go."
Tyler blinked, confused. "Go?"
"You finished the test; time to go." The proctor half-smiled. "Unless you want to retake it for a better score ... ?"
Tyler shook his head and bolted for the door. He opened it and stepped through it, sure this was another trick ...
And tumbled out into the school hallways, not sure how much time had passed.
At least it was good to be back.
[OOC: Open if anyone wants to help him.]
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Tyler was not in a good mood; he roamed the halls of the school restlessly, not sure what he was looking for.
Of course, there had been a lot of things he hadn't been sure about lately. Where he had been since Friday, for example.
The ache in his ribcage that he suspected was a break and a bruise tinting the area around his left ear a ghostly green gave him a pretty good guess.
He kicked at a gum wrapper on the school hallway sourly. Maybe he'd go to the gym. At least the punching bag didn't hit back.
The wrapper banked off a locker, Locker 327, which sprang open a crack. "Doesn't make any sense," Tyler muttered to himself, going to close it.
His fingers, somehow, were sucked through the minute opening, then his whole hand, then all of him., And he was in ... a gigantic study hall, with a nebbishy proctor passing out phone-sized booklets and road map-sized Scantron sheets. He impatiently gestured Tyler to an empty seat as he continued talking.
"Late test-takers -" the proctor's eyes met Tyler's, and he had a sudden urge to duck his head - "will not receive a time credit. Pencils up; you may begin."
"I'm not supposed to be here," Tyler said. "it's a big mistake."
The proctor gave him a cross look. "I just administer the test; I do not handle dispute resolution.
Tyler stormed out of the room, only to find himself in another classroom with the same proctor and the same students. He ran out. The door lead to another. And another. And another. And ...
"Late test-takers -" the proctor said again, or for the first time, "will not receive a time credit. Pencils up; you may begin."
Slumping, Tyler grudgingly nudged the test booklet with his pencil. It didn't seem like there was anything else to do.
[OOC: Tyler will be in the Land of Standardized Tests until I get regular internet access. Thanks to Monster for letting me locker-mod.]
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Tyler hummed to himself as he squatted over his probably-illegal hot plate, the stockpot on which held a blob of yellowy fat that was almost to the point of melting. He had covered his bed with a scrap of plywood and turned it into a soap-making lab:
Ice water with lye dissolved in it, check.
Extra glycerine in case there wasn't enough in the fat, check.
Cocoa powder, check.
Chocolate scent, check.
Pretty molds to raise the price, check.
Open window and fan to mask the scent, check.
As soon as his not-a-goat partner got home, the Paper Street Soap Company was back in business.
[OOIC: For the rooooomie, but feel free if you wanna bug him.]
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Holiday spirit gave Tyler hives, so he had been keeping a low profile for the last week or so. He spent one day in a mall, reshelving books and altering signs to say rude things -- he was especially proud of rearranging HANDBAG SALE to read ANAL GASH BED -- stopping only when he got chased off.
Small-scale terrorism was much less satisfying.
But now, he was back home and bored. Cally's survey was a welcome distraction; he considered for a moment, chuckled as he filled it out, and dropped it off.
When he got back to his room, an Instant Message blinked on his laptop screen. Tyler leaned in to read who it was.
( Conversation back here. )
Tyler logged off and laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he idly wished he still smoked. Something about Marla brought that drive out in him.
[OOC: Door is open.]
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Tyler bounced a miniature basketball against his wall in an attempt to block out his thoughts. Between Nadia's quest and the knights who wanted a shrubbery, he was definitely home.
The only question was what to do next. He always thought that if he needed to, he could disappear into Fight Club again, but the last few weeks had shown him it wasn't an option.
Maybe he could go to actuary school.
[OOC: For the roomie, if he's around, or anyone else who wants to stop by.]
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Tyler scrolled down through his e-mails and sighed.
He'd been getting a couple of messages a week about Fight Club for most of a month. Little, nonsensical blipverts that called him sir and spit his words back at him, as if he didn't know what he had said.
Never mind that a lot of the time, he didn't.
He'd been ignoring them, deleting them, sending increasingly concerned notes to Marla -- who had either gotten sick of them or run off somewhere (and he refused to acknowledge any other possibilities). Either way, she'd quit answering him.
It wasn't so hard, trashing the e-mails. They weren't for him anyhow.
But today there were four messages with links showing Project Mayhem was starting to go into action in Philadelphia. Reno. Eugene. Wichita. Three destructions of corporate art, one attempted murder on a bank CEO, and cryptic messages that showed this was just a start.
Tyler wasn't sure if he wanted to stop the madness, or join in. Get his hands dirty again, either way.
Abruptly, he stood up and started jamming a few changes of clothes into his backpack. He scrawled a note for Alec -- hey, he'd want to know if things were the other way round -- and then set off for the mainland.
( Note on Alec's bed )
( OOC Explanation )
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So I'm having some kind of weird reaction to my flu shot where basically I just want to sleep and lurch around like the semi-walking dead.
Apologies to everyone I dropped a conversation with, and for being flakey about Elliot's stuff for getfrizzled.
*Crawls back into bed*
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| 2006-09-30 20:43 |
| Campus Grounds, Saturday Night |
| Public |
 sad |
| alec, becky, criminal justice, emotastic, ethics, kkg, motivational speakers, science!, stuco, vendetta v |
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Tyler leaned against a tree, lit a cigarette -- he'd kind of been forced to quit in the nut house, but it seemed to suit his mood tonight -- and sulked.
He had come to a conclusion: Nothing mattered. No, really. Not who he was, not who he fought, not what he did. Not Criminal Justice or Becky -- and how big a fool had he made of himself there, anyhow? -- or the stupid frat or Ethics. Certainly not science-exclamation-point. The energy he and Alec had spent on pranking V was energy wasted. Motivational speakers could kiss his ass with their "be all you can be" crap.
And how the hell had he ended up on student council, anyhow? Prom princes and princesses. God. Next he'd be worrying about what end table went with which lamp again.
[OOC: Mostly an emotastic linkdrop, but open.]
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Tyler walked quietly along the hallways with some offices on it, carrying a heavy jug of a foul-smelling plant fertilizer.
The door did not look like much, he reflected. "Do you think this is the one?," he asked Alec, a little doubtfully.
[OOC: For roooooooomie.]
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Tyler laid back on his bed and frowned at the ceiling.
He had gotten elected to the student council.
He had avoided detention for well over a month.
He was being entirely too much of a good little boy, and that had to change.
Struck by inspiration, he pulled out his laptop and visited www.mischiefandmayhem.net. Most of it was just talk, but there had to be something he could do on there....
[OOC: Door is open.]
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Posted in various prominent locations:
( A campaign poster )
The text reads:
Tyler Durden
Sophomore Student Council Rep
He will fight for you.
Vote 9.20.06A handwritten annotation on a few signs adds, "Sophomore class meeting, 5th floor CR, Saturday after detention. Free pizza."
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It is my birthday in seven minutes and we are going away for a long weekend, probably without the laptop.
I'll be back Saturday evening or Sunday, as will Angela, Elliot and Tyler. (Technically, Elliot is sick, but she won't be doing anything until I get back either way, though health class will be posted.)
Tyler will tag into his Thursday classes if they go up before I leave tomorrow and I have the chance; if not, there's an excuse note for him. Which I know will totally impress Lord Vader.
*hugs*
*will miss you all*
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To: tyler.durden@fandomhigh.net
From: cinderella.suicide@gmail.com
Subject: Wilmington stuff
Jackass -
I never thought I'd write you again, but you saved my life so I figure I still owe you. Anyhow, a bunch of people with busted noses have been running around downtown lately, and some mouthbreather with a black eye in my colon cancer support group was blabbing about trains and something big going down this Friday. You might want to come out here, prove you aren't dead, and see if you can do something about it. Or not, whatever.
How's your little friend?
-Marla ( Tyler's response )( And from Marla )( Tyler again )( And Marla gets the last word. )
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It wasn't fair to call what Tyler did sleeping. Not really. Not when he spent most of the night up, down, bouncing a basketball off of the wall, flushing every pill in his dorm room down the toilet -- he'd have to replace those vitamins sometime -- and, mostly, worrying.
When Jamie told him about something he claimed Tyler had done that Tyler had no memory of, he didn't panic. Not externally, anyhow. Alec and Dr. Pevensie both seemed to think it could be a sick joke, and Tyler tried very hard not to think about the possibility it wasn't one.
But he noticed Tuesday night that Alec was sleeping heavily, which was unusual in itself. And he hadn't really woken up by Wednesday night.
So yesterday, he had asked Dean about it in Wilderness, figuring Dean was the closest thing to family Alec had. When they got back to the dorm room, Alec was near comatose and having seizures.
They got him to the clinic, anyhow, where they found out why it was a very bad thing to confuse tryptophan with valium. But from what Dr. Goodchild said, Alec would be okay, even if he'd taken enough of the sedative to dope up an entire city.
Now Tyler needed to figure out whether someone was trying to kill Alec ... or whether they were looking for a shortcut to his other self. It was obvious which choice was worse, but Tyler wasn't sure, in the early morning hours, which one scared him more.
Scratch that. The scariest thought was that he had done it himself. I lead a terrorist cell, he thought. Had no idea it was me. Fun with pills would be a step back, wouldn't it?
He was turning that over in his mind as he gathered some clothes and a book for Alec and headed to the clinic.
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With both roommates at workshops, room 311 was absolutely silent.
Well, almost. There was the soft hum of the air conditioner, the odd audible scrap of conversation or laughter from the hallway outside, and a faint buzzing that Tyler's alarm clock made if he didn't shut it off exactly right.
But for the most part? This was one quiet place.
[OOC: Open for someone.]
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bored
cheerful
annoyed
creative
frustrated
determined
happy
bitchy
anxious