He Talks Too Much ~ Septiplier

2

Jack really couldn't decide if this man was a serial killer or not.

He'd never really been a master of conversation but seriously, this dude was on another level, a level only two types of people could achieve as far as he was concerned. A) Evil masterminds B) Insanely hot, popular people. Some people might say they are one in the same, but that wasn't for him to decide. 

Jack had spent the last quarter of an hour talking to the mystery man and the most he'd got out of him so far was that he owned a dog. A big and beautiful golden retriever named Chica that was this man's pride and joy.

But that's it.

I mean come on, for 15 minutes of conversation that was just pathetic.

The man had kept to his word too. He'd answered every question Jack had thrown at him. Just, carefully avoiding any specific details. Which, to be fair to the guy, was quite impressive.

However, it was getting a little annoying to say the least, especially when Jack found he had given away rather a lot about himself without really registering it. Obviously nothing too personal (contrare to popular belief he wasn't a complete idiot), but just stupid random things that the mystery man liked to ask and Jack couldn't find a reason not to answer truthfully. A prime example was the man's latest line of questioning.

How do you feel about red?

By this point, Jack was back in his apartment, kicked back on the couch with the TV on in the background and his eyes glued to his cellphone, excited for each new message that came through.

His apartment wasn't particularly big, but it did the job of holding him and his suitcase worth of clothing just fine. The majority of his furniture consisted of a large, squishy sofa he'd found at a bargain price at a yard sale a few months back, his bed, a small wooden coffee table, his considerably old Tv and nothing else. The walls of each room were painted a basic cream colour, with a few simplistic pencil drawings hung as decoration that came free when he bought the place.

Any stranger who walked in would probably describe Jack's choice of decoration as bland or unimaginative, too plain or too indistinct, but that's the way he liked it. He loved the way everything had its own specific place, it's own specific use, in his mind and wouldn't move a single inch until he wanted it to. It was an interesting feeling, and one that Jack relished. He had few friends nowadays, but that was his own choice too. Friends took up time and energy and the prospect of searching for ones in this huge city just made his head spin. 

Jesus, he needed to get out more.

It is a colour.  

The answer came almost instantly.

I know that, smartass. I meant do you think red would suit me? Like hair-wise?

See, I was just thinking about cashing in on some hair dye today. So, what's your opinion on the colour red? Think I could pull it off?

Jack sighed quietly to himself. How was he supposed to know? This man didn't seem to get that it was impossible for Jack to give an opinion without looking at his face first and he blatantly refused to ask for a picture when he didn't even have the guys name yet. Still, the guy was probably still drunk so his answer most likely meant very little.

I don't know, man. I'm not big on the whole hair dye thing but go for it if you want.

This time the reply took much longer to come through, and Jack waited, fingers drumming on the faux-leather of his couch. He contemplated heading towards the kitchen and grabbing that little tub of ice cream he had in the back of the freezer. Maybe it would take the edge off the empty feeling that currently filled his stomach; a feeling he was all too familiar with. A painful mix of disappointment and loneliness.