Are you there, mother? It's me, Jeffrey! Er, if you hear this, there's absolutely nothing going on and the Captain hasn't removed any further segments! [static] --reasts. Breasts. Breast-- [static] Oh. ...It's, it's still on, is it? I hate phoni--

Beep.

"You have to guide me out of here," Jeff hissed into the phone, ducking his head so that he could enjoy the full coverage of the couch. In the distance, he could hear all the going about and the doing things and the calling his name, but he was going to stay here, where it was safe.

"Now what is it?" Steve asked. He sounded distinctly sleepy. And out of sorts. But, well, it was Steve. "No-- I can hear you gearing up to tell me details. I don't need details. My life is happily detail-free."

"I'm behind the sofa," he hissed.

"Jeff, for the last time, and I will say this only once more, so listen to the sound of my voice: Daleks are not in fact real. They are fictional. They exist on this magical box we call the television--"

"I'm behind the sofa in a girl's flat," Jeff hissed.

"...No way." Steve actually sounded pleased. "Don't tell me you've actually managed to pull some poor, insane woman into your cove of madness."

"She wants to have sex with me."

"Congratulations. What did you do wrong now?"

"I don't want to have sex with her!"

There was a long, long pause. "Jeff, you know there are any number of things you've said to me in our long and disturbing friendships that did not fit reality as any of us know it or would want to experience it, but that is, by far, the strangest."

"I think I'm making her nervous."

"Well, that's hardly a surprise--"

"Oh God, here she comes!"

Click.

[[ open for any phonecalls. While he hides behind the couch, yes. ]]

"I want to be in Disneyland, Steve."

Steve looked up over his toast (and newspaper) with a truly quizzical look. "Now where did that come from?" A beat. "Nevermind. I don't want to know."

"The Fandom Alumni are going to Disneyland," Jeff started. Whined. Somewhere in between the two.

"We're not going to Paris," Steve said, firmly, and unscrewed the cap on the milk jug.

"In America," Jeff corrected, eying him. From the couch. He'd just lost another life in his videogame and was ergo not as muffled as Steve would have liked him to be. "It's a park of fantasy. Full of American women. American women fancy me, Steve."

"Like a coming attraction."

"Right!" Jeff pointed at him, grinning. "I mean, it's Disneyland, right? What better place for camouflage? If I say something odd, I can always claim I was marching in a parade."

Steve just rubbed his face. An awful lot.

"It's perfect!" A beat. "...Oh god, if I don't say anything, they'll think I'm the Tiny Mermaid."

"I don't think anyone's in any danger of making that mistake, Jeff."

[[ open for phone calls! ]]

"PERVERT!"

"PERVERT!"

"Pervert! Pervert!"

"I didn't mean to," Jeff choked out, close to weeping. In fact, he had hidden behind the couch and had his hands folded over his head and. Sobbing. Yes. There were dreams, and there were nightmares, and then there were nightmares that were worse than dreams, or something like it, and then they came to life.

Of course, Steve took that exact moment to open the door. "Oh," he called, in clear sudden, surprised disgust, "Jeffrey--" His eyes raked over the girls, and his tone suddenly folded into something very pleasant indeed, "Hello, ladies. I'm-- dreadfully sorry about-- whyever you're here."

"Steve, don't!" Jeff called, squeaky-voiced, from behind the sofa. "It's-- it's-- I can't even talk about it!"

"Can I get you some tea, perhaps?" Steve tried, smiling as he sort of... hovered by the door. "Do you take it with milk? Sugar? A pair of trousers? Not-- that I'd want to impose trousers on such... lovely wardrobe choices. Actually, maybe we can all go without a pair of trousers--"

The girl in the middle shook her head. "We want a spanking," she announced.

"A spanking! A spanking!" her fellows chorused.

"It's the worst thing that could happen, Steve!" Jeff said, folding in on himself.

"What, a pair of naked-- I'm sorry, otherwise dressed-- women in your apartment clamoring for a spanking?" Steve had to shoot him an incredulous look. Just had to. "I'm not sure how you pulled this, Jeff, but you and I might have differing... viewpoints... on these women exercising their-- free right to consent."

"No," Jeff returned, as the girls started leering and doing things and what-- "Videos that can hit you."

Steve opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. "I'm sorry," he said, finally, utterly businesslike, "My friend has this enduring problem with sanity. We're looking into it, but the prognosis is grim."

"Oh god," Jeff managed, "Have they started oiling again?" Beat. "Really. Have they?"

[[ open for phone calls and the like lah lah ]]

"I mean it, Steve," Jeff hissed into the phone, "I have reason to believe that in this very building my fully-melonned former employer has had sex with my upper-frontally endowed former teacher!"

On the other end of the line, Steve groaned. "Je~eeeff. Have you given any consideration to the idea that maybe 'I'm having dinner' just means 'having dinner'?"

"Oh, no, Steve," Jeff said, shaking his head sagely, "This goes deeper than that! It's one small step for a woman, but a giant leap for breasts!"

At least it was proving to be a nice distraction from all the women; a few minutes later Jeff was putting down the phone and eying the door and wondering if he should go out and meet people or something.

[[ post is open for anyone who wishes to mod voicemail messages being left/otherwise knowing where jeff is, la, including phone calls. hush, he's back and i can abuse him if i wanna ]]

Life had been frustrating for Steve yesterday, what with all the jetlag, but now that he was awake and there was a big, firm ocean between him and Jeff's ex-girlfriend, things weren't looking as bad. Actually, as he paced up the stairs with a bag of groceries and a discretely tucked-in mag (that he was going to read strictly for the articles), whistling, life was looking to be almost good.

( Steve's experience with life was that when it started to look good, something tended to pop up and ruin it. )

[ and Jeff's in new lands. ooc-okay, la! ]

Most of Jeff's friends had already left the island, or were leaving. He didn't particularly want to run into Turtle, but he did have some things in his room he sort of needed. So after an elaborate half hour spent ducking in and out, spying, setting up a guard post, and taking many other precautions to make sure he wouldn't run into her, he finally went back inside 513 and got his luggage out.

He was going to be spending the next hour stuffing porn mags and Hawaiian shirts (some with bananas on them) into his bags. Then, he was going to head down to the causeway, and get a portal, and then an airplane, and then he was going to move in with Steve.

Even if Steve still didn't know that yet.

[ open and, yep, this is Jeff's last post in Fandom. Wibble. ]

So Jeff had been pushing things around. And over. Most importantly the closet.

The closet, you see, was a bar. Or something. Well, it kind of looked like one, and if you propped up enough pillows, you sort of had a booth. And he had booze! That was the important part. Jeff was rather impressed with the whole thing, really.

All he needed now was his best friend.

And maybe to break the fact that he was going to move in with him to him. You know.

[ for that guy ]

Jeff woke up (yes, woke up) to jumping.

"Oh god," he said. "It's you again."

"DAD!" Trip demanded, jumping harder, "TAKE ME OUT FOR A RIDE RIGHT NOW! I must survey the estate!"

"No, no, no," Jeff replied, trying to make some ward-off-the-evil signs, "You're not surveying anything today. You're evil. Evil."

"You need to grow up," Trip announced, and promptly fell off the bed.

[ door is closed, post is open ]

So Jeff had another baby. Or, well, a bag of flour, but it was supposed to be a baby. He wasn't going to name it, because that would end badly, and he'd set it up on the other side of the room so he didn't have to look at it much.

It made him nervous.

Okay, maybe that was a lie. He hadn't really seen much of Turtle for a day, and she'd gotten married, and that was really nervous making especially after sticking her in a closet.

...

The bag of flour was still creepy, though. He made the universal sign of evil-repelling at it. "Evil."

[ oooopen! ]

"I am not speaking to you again," Jeff announced. "I can see you begging like a cheap whore, but it's not going to happen. I know you now. I know you bring only evil to these lands."

The phone stared back at him, unmoving.

"Don't try the innocent act with me," Jeff continued, "I know what you're like."

Again, the phone didn't move.

"You're plotting right now," he said, "I can see it. Evil."

Nana put her head between her paws and sighed the mighty sigh of a Saint Bernard exasperated.

[ open door and so is the post! ]

Jeff had known it.

Since the first day of it, really, he had felt it deep inside. This trial, this horrible thing. The naked apocalypse. It was happening. He could hear the screams!

Jeff was curled up in a corner of the room clinging to a single sock to ward off all the evil outside. He'd attempted to duct tape the door shut, but that had only worked out so well. And now...

He cowered.

[ door is closed, post is open, but fear Jeff ahead! ]

Steve had sent him some new posters for Christmas, like the one from the old zombie flick that was just airing back home and was sort of a classic right now (well, a cult one). Jeff hadn't wanted to touch any of the gifts he'd gotten from his mother (the idea was too terrifying to think of), and so that box was left sitting in a corner, warded off with little stacks of books.

He got up on the bed to hang up the first poster, taking a moment to fondly consider his large Thirteen Hundred Feet of Woman! film poster. That one was a classic, too!

[ open door, open room ]

Jeff was not out and about today, or drinking coffee, or even walking the dog. Jeff was in his room mournfully staring at Turtle's bed when the whole vision thing hit, and he was still there when it passed some three seconds later. But that was probably a thing of note more for the end of things, and the narrative might have gotten away from itself in that regard.

( Once upon a future time... )

When it retreated, yes, Jeff still remained in the room. That is to say that the closet door closed with a click behind him, and he did not reappear until far, far into the afternoon, shaking a little, and craving a lager or twenty.

[ for IAWL, yes. ooc welcome, some dialogue stolen from the canon ]

There was another body in the bed, which wasn't really odd or out of the ordinary in any fashion whatsoever. Jeff turned a bit, mostly to snuggle (well, cosy up in a manly sort of way) into the heat. He felt something wet on his face.

"'s a bit early," he mumbled, grinning sleepily, "But that's alright."

Although he didn't recall Turtle had had breasts that large the night before. Maybe she'd taken a sudden interest in cosmetic surgery? ...It was Turtle.

She probably hadn't.

Jeff's eyes opened slowly, with the sort of leisurely calm of a man who was entirely too used to freaking out and was trying not to right now.

The plump, midwife-shaped lady with him in the bed panted at him, radiating pure and utter joy in everything alive ever, and glomped him so hard his poor limbs were left to twitch and flail under a weight he simply couldn't shoulder. Or stomach. Or kneecap, really.

[ door is closed, post is open! ]

Today was the day. It was Parents' Weekend. Jeff was prepared.

He had disguises. He had materials for a barricade. And he was awake early enough that technically speaking, the Night Effect could still confuse his mother into submission. He would simply have to have most of the work done before the sun was fully up in the sky.

He slid out of bed, got the disguises out of hiding, and set up the many wooden boards and other objects he'd gathered over the week.

Now, he simply needed to speak to Turtle about the disguises.

[ open post but closed door! ]

While Jeff might have meant 'everywhere' as a sort of general statement, when push came to shove, 'everywhere' seemed to come down to 'a pub', and 'anything' seemed awfully similar to 'drinking alcohol'.

At least he'd gotten significantly less anxious as the day had progressed, although Steve had yet to stop staring at him intermittently. It would pass. It was just Reunion Recognition Syndrome, and Jeff found that with a pint of lager in his hand, his ability to care depleted somewhat.

Only somewhat.

[ la la for the person people present, nfb! ]

Jeff had been a bit nervous before.

After actually hearing Turtle on the radio, his anxiety had exploded to epic proportions.

That would have explained why he'd found himself seated on the edge of the bed in clear line of sight of the closet. Just in case. He had no idea what was going to happen.

[ for the girl! ]

There was no screaming, yelling, confusion, or anything of the kind on Jeff's side of the room this morning.

Just the word "Excellent!" being produced at a civilised volume, followed by an awful lot of squishy noises. What? Jeff's breasts were big. Like stallions.

[ open, especially for the girlfriend, la, door mostly shut but cracked ]