The Hell Mix
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Meet Hooch and Jill. While Jill works at a client's home, she has the experience of meeting her client's son, and Hooch has the experience of wandering in while there's a stranger in his house.

The Roth Residence

January 28th, 2013

"If you fall in love, I cannot be held responsible for your actions. But I will hold still for them."


Too. Fucking. Early.

That's the look that's on Hooch's face at this particular moment. His room, of course, is the only place in this entire house that doesn't get to be cleaned. Maybe that's because his room is something close to the only place he has that can be a safe haven. Whatever girl he was with last night is sprawled out on the bed as he groans and stumbles his way up to his feet, boxers only.

"Fuuuuck." Hooch mutters to himself, tired stumbling his way towards the exit and grabbing a wifebeater to try and put it on as he stumbles his way out of the bedroom and barely understanding what in the Underworld is going on. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck." He pulls the wifebeater down and groans as he heads for the stairs. Time to go down and find something to eat.

"And one more Fuck for good measure."

A cheerful sight meets the groggy prince of the household: a pair of legs in magenta tights that disappear into a black pencil skirt embroidered stylishly with what appear to be cartoon owls, balancing on high-heeled wedge shoes that are very impractical for the slushy, snowy weather that can be glimpsed out the window. They are, as it happens, also very impractical for balancing, in turn, on the kitchen chair that has been moved into the living room. The dark-haired, tan-skinned female figure is wobbling courageously as she reaches up to a high shelf; she already has a a decorative vase under one arm, and the room itself is shifted in subtle ways here and there.

The stranger is humming a crooked but joyful tune under her breath, inspired by the white earbuds trailing from her ears. Her back is turned to Hooch; she's blissfully unaware that anyone is around as she slides a statuette to the far left. Her balance wavers and threatens to spill her onto the floor, but she readjusts with an awkward shuffle and turns the cursing under her breath into a cheerful "fuu—uuu-uuck~!" and keeps working.

Hooch is barely paying attention to anything and that's about the same time that he realizes there's something close to a hottie that's hanging out in the living room? What room is this? Who the fuck even cares what room it is? Hooch is hungry and he probably should be trying to do something a bit more focused on that whole meal thing but right now… he's looking up and he sees ass. It's working for him. And his Cookie Monster boxers.

"Yo! Legs!" Oh lord. Hooch. Is this how you're going to start identifying with women in the morning? Probably so! "The hell you doin' on my Mom's furniture?!" He doesn't even know about any earbuds in any ears. He's too busy turning his head to the side and back to the other side to admire things.

She startles, turning at the waist with the oversized vase pressed awkwardly on her hip. It's only by some twist of fate that she doesn't slip off the chair. "I wasn't listening to Avril Lav— oh hi," she exclaims in an embarrassed jumble, disoriented. She tears her earbuds out of her ears and just stares at Hooch, not entirely taking anything in. She's still filtering in bits and pieces of words she could hear through her music and deciphering them belatedly, her instinctive attempt at a bright and polite smile frozen ineptly on her face. "Oh! I'm— " she hovers her free arm out as she bends her legs, twisting uncomfortably to try to grab the back of the chair in an ungainly attempt to get onto solid ground, glancing up and down as she does, "Your mom wanted me to re-energize her corners. That— " she clunks a wedge onto the floor, " — that — that wasn't … an innuendo…" A flash of recognition strikes her face. "You're the son! I recognize you from pictures. Except you weren't…" And then realization that brings her eyes up from Cookie Monster like an escalator to the ceiling. "… weren't only wearing your underweeear… in the pictures…"

"I prefer to wear my underwear live and in person. Cooookiiiiiieeeee." Hooch is all about the comedy or the insanity, whatever it wants to be called. He doesn't particularly have a problem with standing around in his boxers and wifebeater, especially when hot people are all up in his Mom's house and what not. "Easier access." There's some waggling of his eyebrows in that next moment, before he turns to lean on the side of the nearest piece of furniture that hasn't been moved around. "Y'know, s'cool if you and Moms wanna' do your thang. We share." Okay, what the hell.

Now that she's standing upright on the floor, Jill starts to extend her hand to the young man for a formal introduction, but finds herself withdrawing said hand with a loud jostle of her bangle bracelets. She stares at Hooch with her mouth open and some form of murmur escaping. "Uh," maybe. It might be "um". It's entirely garbled. She blinks her eyes, their hazel mix of colours illuminating her confusion. Or shock. When she's had a moment to thoroughly experience Hooch and still doesn't know what to think, she assesses and bobs her head. "I don't know what to do with that, so I'm just going to … " She sets the vase down on the chair and smoothes her skirt, clapping her hand on it succinctly. " … keep working … "

"I think the Karma Sutra is around here somewhere. Might give you some ideas." And then Hooch is turning to make his way off in the general direction of the kitchen. If only because he's trying to get started on trying to get something delicious in his stomach. Shit, he doesn't even know if it's morning. Whatever. "Yo! You want some cereal?!" is yelled back out to the person that is apparently getting her work on. He's snatching down a giant bowl and then heading over to the fridge to grab a couple different boxes of hugely sugared cereals. Because. That's the only thing that gets him through these post party days. "I make a mean bowl of Hell Mix."

Jill just stands there, her eyes wide, half-surprised, half-disgruntled. You can't hear 'Karma Sutra' without picturing things. She glances for the nearest collection of books and abruptly away. "No," she calls out, dismissing cereal. Her iPod tinnily fills in the silence from her dangling earbuds. If she was listening to Avril Lavigne, the playlist has since moved on to something decades older. "And I'm an interior decorator," she adds, as if that should dismiss her need of the kama sutra. She moves the vase to a side-table, adjusts it and swipes the faux flower from its center. Tuning up the room unsupervised, she's fairly at home here, aside from the addition of Hooch; it's not her first visit to the Roth's. It's just her first time encountering … this Roth.

As she picks up the borrowed chair she was standing on and carries it seat-forward toward the kitchen, plastic flower stem between her teeth, curiosity gets the best of her. "What the hell is Hell Mix?"

"You never had Hell Mix? Oh fuck that. Sit down." Hooch is already pointing towards the chair that Jill has brought into the kitchen and he's moving off to the fridge to grab the milk. He kind of dances his way around the kitchen, scooping up a couple of spoons and some other things like chocolate syrup and marshmallows. He even grabs a couple of … seasonings? Is that cinnamon? "I'm about to introduce you to a whole new world of Fuck Me That's Good." and then he's pouring milk into the cereal and adding the other ingredients with ease and skill and even a bit of style, as if this were his own cooking show or something. "I gotta' tell you, it's almost as good as Hooch." Wink.

She starts to sneer in faint disgust at the notion of eating something with "Hell" in its name, but but her head falls back and the expression just melts off around the time she sees the chocolate syrup. "O-kay…" she says, lulled. She plants the chair back precisely where it belongs and takes the flower out of her mouth with a fleeting grimace. "…Actually, that looks awesome," she fully admits, more easygoing; now that she's not so startled, some of her incredible awkwardness has faded away. Still, Jill sits down slowly, despite her enthusiasm for the sugar bomb, watching Hooch dance around some skepticism. Being fed by her client's son isn't exactly the norm.

Hooch is way too into doing this and the giant bowl that he's using is normally what is used for creating salads for dinner or something. That's definitely the reason that he's grabbed two spoons. He always makes Hell Mix the morning after getting drunk as hell. Which, pretty much means, every morning or something like that. It just comes with the territory. And is also why his Mom keeps so much damn cereal in the house. "Me, the Hell Mix or the Cookies?" Hooch asks with a smile, before leaning over the bowl and the table with an offering of the extra spoon. "Now. You gotta' be careful with this. If you fall in love, I cannot be held responsible for your actions. But I will hold still for them."

Jill waits one beat punctuated by the wrinkle of her eyebrows before taking the spoon. "… Yeah, I think I can control myself," she assures him with just a smidge too much life in her voice to be deadpan. She digs into the concoction — and goes for broke, her immediate instinct to take the biggest helping possible and spoon it into her mouth. She may be skeptical of Hooch, but sugar … sugar she trusts. "Dude, are you kidding with this," she says before she's even vanquished her bite. Make no mistake, though: it's a a total accolade. She's going for more already. "I could eat this every day. I feel like I'm five." And she's eating like a five-year-old, chocolate syrup adding to the berry hue of her lipstick. With that logic… "Is this a college thing?" She narrows her eyes on Hooch, uncertainly digging her sights into his appearance — far from checking him out, it's more like assessing how long ago he left puberty behind. "Or are you still in high school?" She's not convinced that he isn't.

Hooch always believes he's in the middle of being checked out. It may be why he's actually posing at the moment in some weird and twisted way that makes the muscles he doesn't have stand out against the pointless wifebeater that he's wearing because he's skinny as all skinniness, It's just sad. But at least he created Hell Mix. "University of Toronto, Sweetheart. Eternally and Forevah!" And then he's taking a bite of his own deliciousness and proceeds to actually, literally, freakdance the chair he's standing behind. It is actually that damn good to him that he must freakdance a chair. Plus! It looks really awkward because he's in his boxers. "… Don't get jealous. You too can be in this chair."

Nothing stops the cycle of Hell Mix being shoveled, but Jill eyes Hooch like — well, like he's a skinny dude in his boxers freakdancing in his chair. Her eyebrows shoot up and furrow her brow until she's living his lack of embarrassment for him before her focus settles more safely on the cereal, marshmallow, chocolate explosion in the bowl. "Going to U of T eternally and forever sounds like a nightmare," she says. "A few years was enough for me. And like— you realize, right, that when I was going to university you were probably in elementary school?" She spoons a glob of Hell Mix in her mouth.

"That's why you like me. I remind you of a simpler time! When all you have to do is say Yes." Hooch finds himself stopping with the freakdancing of the chair in an effort to scoop up more cereal. "Listen. I know you think I'm completely out of my fuckin' mind. Honest, I am. I'm only like this because I'm hung over power level nine thousand and you're hot and my Mom's not here to slap me in the back of the head like she usually does. Soooooo! Don't take it personal! Unless you wanna' take it personal. Because then we could have hot, angry, get to know each other sex, right here on the table." He leans onto the table now and proceeds to try and look sexy with his next bite of crazy creation. Lingering Spoon Lick. "… in the Hell Mix." Oh gods.

The interior decorator pauses her sugar consumption, glances at the nearest clock, and gives Hooch a long, stun-eyed look of vague consideration (a study which excludes his tongue). Planting on foot, she leans over the table, reaches toward him, and — "Hell no," she says and smacks him in the head. She flops back down and twirls her spoon into the Hell Mix. "… but there was sooort of a compliment in there somewhere… it's good to know I'm hot to the kids." She narrows her eyes — at herself, more than Hooch, dwelling on the possibility that she could have worded that better, but lets the expression fall in defeat and asks instead, "So um— when does your mom come home?" she asks skeptically, not sure if asking a hung-over college student is the best way to gain an answer.

"You touched me. You're weakening." This is said after a wince from the being slapped upside the head. He's happy with his developments and has taken to dropping himself down into the seat he was previously freakdancing and thus gets himself back into the world of comfortable seating. Kind of. Is sitting on chair s in boxers even really comfortable? Who knows. "Uh. Shit If I Know O'Clock. I'm supposed to be in class right now. I think." He turns to look at his 'class schedule' on the fridge (which is where his Mom hangs it because he's always in the fridge) and he taps his chin. "Whatevs. I can be my Mom though. I've got wigs." He raises a hand up. "Uh, not for sex. Even that's too weird for me. But I mean if you need somebody to boss you around and tell you how to do your job thing whatever it is that you're doing." Pause. "… what are you doing again?" He doesn't listen. Ever.

Jill stops her distracted rubbing of her hand on her skirt (like he said, she touched him). "Not your mom!" she blurts out, trying to make a joke, but the words emerge too loud and insistent and she's left with a dumb smile that shrinks back awkwardly, much like she does in her chair. "Uh, I'm just redecorating the living room a little bit. It's just an adjustment, kinda like the decorating version of going to the chiropractor. I brought a few things to liven it up. I — really, that's okay, I don't need you to boss me around," she says, a touch incredulous on that note. "I sat down with your mom earlier, we have a decorating game plan." She stands up. She stabs her spoon into the Hell Mix and leaves it be, telling Hooch cheerfully, "You can help me move the couch!"

"Yeeeeeeaahhhhhhnotgonnahappen. You see, moving the couch sounds like work. And, as we both know, I don't work. Thus: Eternity at U of T. Plus! You're the one that's the Professional Rearranger! So moving things would be your job. Not mine. And! Furthermore, my client, that would be me, has expressed on numerous occasions that he would love to have sex with you anywhere in this house, couch included. Yet, his advances, my advances, have been met with nothing but No and Hell No and I think assault. I'm not sure, I haven't finished watching Law & Order. But! There is one thing I will do for you though! Come!"

Hooch snatches up the giant bowl and stomps his way into the living room, sliding right over to the stereo and touching a couple things. And Eye of the Tiger begins to pump out of the speakers. Hooch grins and turns to sit right down in what could only be his chair. "I'll watch." He grins and scoops up deliciousness and slurps.

Montage!

"Wwwooooowww, no." Jill marches quickly to the stereo and stops the montage before it begins. Bye-bye, tiger! "You're gross." Now that she's delivered that high-brow insult, she flounders over how to follow it up; balling her fists on her hips makes her feel saucier and maybe even her thirty-something age, however. "Go— to your— room," she tells Hooch in ungainly command. While 'young man!' feels like it should follow, she hesitates, since she's obviously not his parent in any way, shape or form and he is, at least technically, an adult. "Or something." She tries the next best thing. "… or I'll. I'll call your mom."

"You suck. Suck suck suck suck SUCK!" Hooch whines and slides from his favorite chair, as he turns to start making his way to the stairs. "We could've been pals. We could've had great and enormous fun! We coulda' been contenders! I have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about right now but I'm just trying to apologize. Or something. Go with it."

Hooch makes it halfway to the stairs and that's when the annoying ditzy voice of some random blonde from above calls out, "Hooooooooch! I can't find my bra!"

"Check the aquarium!"

"OKAY!"

Hooch pauses and slurps some more Hell Mix down, before turning back to Jill and rolling his eyes. "Whatever I was saying, yeah, believe it or something. I dunno. Don't touch my chair. It's sacred. And I had lots of sex on it. With guys. And a bear." Hooch makes the I'm Watching You motion with his fingers and then turns to stomp his way up the stairs… also sashaying because… boxer bootay.

"Yeah well— !" Jill raises her voice — after she finishes raising her eyes up the stairs. "You— suck— also… apparently," the attempt diminishes and fizzles out. "I don't know where I'm going with this either," she adds, mostly to herself. Glancing at his chair, she determines that it, thankfully, does not need to be moved. She's left mouthing 'a bear?' as she heads for the decor — beautiful vases and statuettes poking around the colourful paper in shopping bags — and the layouts she left by the couch, getting back to work unwatched. As far as she knows.

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