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Realistic or Modern Jackie & Tom's Excellent Road Trip

"You must be new," says Finn. He was tall and broad and very, very dead. "She can't hear you." And he looked up at the moose and added, "The fuck is that?"
 
"That's Daddy," Says Tom not missing a beat. He turns and looks at the spirit that has decided that now is a great fucking moment to strike up a conversation and wonders what kind of dead beat line backer haunts the parking lot of a meaphysics shop in ohio.
 
"Okay, sad Ohio parkinglot ghost," Tom says. He takes a step back, even though he's not physical, as the Moose forces its antlered head through the wall of the small round window. "Jackie, get up. Jesus fuck. Run." he's not quiet dead yet, so he tries- he reaches out his hand towards the crumbling metaphysics shop, and slams his first shut and watches the whole shop wrinkle up and pop and groan and hiss as it implodes, moose and all. In this moment he is dead and angry and in this moment it feels easy and good, as if he always knew how to use his power for efficient destruction and that it always worked.

The spirit moose screams as it and the shop condesnse and warped like a small black hole has gone off in its center. All that was left was a burnt spheere about as big as a basket ball and twice as moose-haunted.
 
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"Did you pick bein' dead here?" Finn drawls, and then says, "Holy shit!" as the metaphysics shop implodes around them. "What did you do?" he asks Tom.
 
"Don't vomit on his body, don't vomit on his body, don't-" She does not, but she was using what she thought was his shoulder as a brace to stand, but was using the crushed remnants of his head, which swiftly caves when she puts weight on it.

"Bruh, you got me fucked up. You got me fucked uppp."

She pushes herself to her feet on her bloody hands, looking between Tom's corpse and the store, where she can hear the howling moose and the sound of literally everything inside being broken but a rampaging animal. She looks to Tom, to the upper floor, to the ruined gremlin, then sighs.

She is looking at the building when everything pops in and implodes into itself. Clean, clear. Moose? No moose. Store? No store. Everything was gone. It even took the bumper of the Gremlin with it.

She says nothing, looks around, and see only cursed, haunting Ohio. She gapes at the suddenly empty for at least a solid five minutes, mouth working for a quip but nothing smart-ass coming to mind. She looks at Tom's gross ass body, then at lot. She looks at Tom, and hisses, "Yo, what the fuck, dog."

He says nothing.

"I'm not putting you in the front seat. At best you're going into the trunk.

And Tom says nothing.

"I'm putting you in the trunk. You will hate this," She says flatly.

He says nothing, and collects flies.

She leans down to grip his hands, pulling his kinda-sorta headless body into a sitting position, then to a height where she could fireman carry his corpse. She secures his unnaturally tall body onto her shoulder, making sure her grip is secure as she intends to yeet him into the trunk and is about to take a step when she feels something warm and sticky soaking from her shoulder.

She breathes deeply as torrents of blood begin dripping down her entire torso, then says with feeling, "Tom, I hate you. I hate you."
 
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"You murdered me, and you're gonna be MAD at ME!?" He demanded, "Non no no not the trunk not the trunk C'moooon. JAckiie. Jackie. Baby please don't do me like this. Gurl! GURL!"
He tuts with his hands on his hips as she slams the trunk shut and gets into the gremlin. she is clearly having a time, but he's dead and mad, so when he sits in the front seat, using the same mortal motion to phase through the door, the whole car shudders. "FUCKING GREAT."
 
Getting Tom in the trunk is easy, but also, in the same sense, is impossible. Getting the first three quarters is easy - she just dumps his body into the trunk. Trying to then search Tom's twisted body for the keys, then arrange his goddamned fucking bullshit length legs into the trunk, is impossible. She slams the trunk, leaning against it and breathing through the almost unstoppable urge to just go apeshit.

Then, as if nothing were wrong, she climbs into the driver's seat. She looks at herself in the rearview mirror, covered in Tom's blood, her own, and glass dust.

"This is fine."

She nods to herself, turning on the reluctant Gremlin, which cries to just be scrapped.

"This is fine."

She pulls back into the street, opens the GPS for the nearest motel or the nearest bar. Whichever comes first.
 
A few hours later in the parking lot of a themed bar and motel Tom struggles to find the emergency release. His phone is dead. His head hurts so bad he can taste it- like a whole glass of raw egg and piss. The crick in his neck. Un-fucking-speakable. The post mortem bruises were turning a terrible yellow green around his face and neck. It was dark- thankfully when he unfurled himself like a terrible undead lawn chair into the parking lot of what appears to be a clowned themed motel and bar.
"Jackie, what the fuck," He says, his voice rough like sandpaper run through a kitty litter box. He lights a cigarette and puts his dead phone back in his pocket and limps in through the front, something still isn't right with his pelvis as he looks for Jackie. She's got her arms thrown wide, yelling Jackie style about being a clwon bar with a line of finished drinks in front of her. He sits at the bar next to her and says.
"You put me in the trunk."
If he had bothered to look in the gremlins side mirror he'd know part of his temple was still dented in and his left eye had an uncanny dull look to it.
 
Jackie screams as a zombified Tom suddenly appears at her side, and falls out of her chair. She stands, but continues to scream.

"WHAT THE FUCK!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!"
 
"shh shhh shhhh" He says grabbing her hands and trying to get her to sit, "Stop screaming- its me."
 
"UM, I THINK THE FUCK NOT -" She wants to yank her hands out of his, but she's frozen, staring into his face, "You look so nasty, bro. So fuckin' nasty. You got a whole ass hole in your head. A whole ass HOLE, Thomas. This time you were really dead. 'I-squished-your-skull' dead, okay? I'm gonna have a fucking stroke. What the fuck? What the FUCK, Tom."
 
"Don't fucking throw me out of a window and murder me if you don't want to deal with me being dead," He hisses. He drops her hands and sit himself at the bar. The Bar tender standing infront of the clown themed bar mouths what the fuck to the waitress on the other side of the room.
 
"Thomas. I cannot emphasize to you enough that you have an entire hole in your head. Like. You're... You're fuckin' oozing, ese. What you're oozing, I don't know, because I dropped out of school, but dude it is getting fucking everywhere."
 
"Jackie," He says. And he says it as serious as she has ever heard him say anything, "Please." He was keenly aware of the dripping snesation which had asumed was blood and wich he now did not want to think about. He hurt. They were at a clown bar. She had murdered him trying to escape a ghost moose. He'd firmly lost control of his life in a cpacity that even he, an utter idiot, could understand.
 
"Thomas," She snaps, echoing his serious tone, "Things have never been less fuckin' okay. Okay? Let me freak out. Let me panic. You can pretend everything is fine and we never have to talk about anything ever because you refuse to talk to me, but I'm not drunk enough or high enough to not freak the fuck out over what happened. So unless you have coke on you, I'm gonna scream. Bartender?"

"... Yea?"

"I'm gonna scream into my coat. Cool?"

"Whatever."

Jackie nods, bundles her coat, and screams into it at max volume.
 
And that's When Tom, trash wizard extraordinaire, broke down crying at the clown themed motel and bar while Jack screamed into her jacket.
 
Jackie lifts her head up, grabbing the remainder of her drink and chugging it with the ferocity of a woman desperate to black out. It's not a clean chug, but Jackie is on the verge of a complete breakdown and Tom has finally cracked.

She slams the bottle down so hard it shatters across the counter, then turns to Tom even as the bar screams OPPA!, patting him on the back, "I rented a room here, nasty boy. You need to shower so fucking bad. C'mon. Let's go sleep in an actual bed and order alcohol to the room instead."
 
Tom lets her shepherd him away. Without complaint. Which was beyond weird and wrong. Jackie shoves him into the rickety elevator, whruich is thankfully not clown themed and they ascend. Tom slumps against the far wall. He rubs his hand over his face, and has scrubbed at his eyes enough to look merely stoned instead of distraught. He looks like maybe he's about to say something when the elevator jolts to a stop and the lights go dark.

"No?" Tom says.
 
Jackie has no words, at this point. She swaying just a bit, a glass of scotch she stole from a random customer held loosely in her hand that sloshes with the sudden jerk of the elevator.

Jackie hums to herself like a wise old sage, taking a sip, "Hm. Either God is forcing us to talk about our feelings, or we're about to die. And I really... I'm not sure which is worse. Ghost or obliged therapy?"
 
"If I die agian today." he said like it was some kind of full sentence wich it wasn't.
 
"Might be my turn," Jackie sips her drink, "I have coke in my inner pocket. We could do a line off the railing before we're gutted."
 
"Jackie. No." He says holding their collective brain cell firm in his minds eye, "This is not a Coke situation."

The elevator jostles and then begins to descend.
 
"Maybe we can drop your demon off like its his first day of kindney-garden."
 

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