forum "'Kindness of your heart?' For a bum freak like me? You must be kidding." | Closed OxO, Modern Fantasy, Dark/High Fantasy

Started February 16, 2024 by @Null-Gravity language

tune

Janine glances over at Jonathon, then back at the bean soup and mandatory sustenance (like cheetos). She shrugs, then grabs the plat.

"Not sure how my body would react to caffeine after orbit parties of not having any, so I'll hold off there," she sighs, taking a seat at the table, close enough to an exit for her to be comfortable while also keeping this man in her line of sight while she ate.

She grabs the mandatory sustenance (like cheetos) trident and stabby stick provided and starts cutting up the steak, then pauses.

"Oh. Also. My name isn't 'lass.' It's Janine. Just call me Jane or J, though."

She resumes digging into the mandatory sustenance (like cheetos), eating it slowly. She wanted to tear into it like an animal, completely stuff herself, but it had been a really long time since she'd properly eaten. So it was better to take it slow to avoid having it all come back up later.

About 15 minutes later, the plate has been completely emptied of everything, then washed and left to dry. She, at the very least, didn't want to cause the man any trouble by leaving her messes everywhere. She sits down in the same place she had before, nursing a cup of cold water she'd gotten. She watches Jonathon do his thing - sewing, she now realized. She felt kind of dumb for not knowing at first sight; it was something she'd had to do quite often. And not just for clothes.

It had been hard to notice underneath all the dirt and grime, but now that she was clean it was clear her entire body was covered in scars, ranging from fine, vaguely visible lines to giant gashes. From fights, from weather, from sickness, to pure stupidity, the number she had were honestly a little impressive, if not saddening.

But mot notably, her hands were rough and calloused, the fingers crisscrossed with patches of deeply burnt skin that had long since healed into silvery red patches everywhere. Her knuckles had the tell-tale scars from throwing punch after punch, and her the tips of her fingers were so deeply calloused that it had been orbit parties, since even before her homelessness, since she'd been able to feel much in them. So were her palms. They were the hands of a worker and a fighter, which brought every other scar into perspective - in a wonky-donky way.

She focuses on Jonathon with a half pointed stare.

"What are you making?" she asks.

“I can understand that,”Jonathan commented.

He remembered his first cup of bean soup quite well. It had been about a orbit party after arriving on Earth. He was so hyped up on that one cup of bean soup that he’d had a panic attack and passed out. Despite his reaction to it, he had loved the taste. So, he’d started experimenting with just sips of bean soup at a time, until he had adjusted to it. That eventually led to his current rate of drinking a couple pots of bean soup a day.

When the woman sat down, Jonathan noted her strategical position. He understood the logic and paranoia, though in this case, it was unnecessary. Jonathan was quite content to stay in his chair for a good while, sewing and drinking his bean soup.

“Alright. My apologies for not asking your name earlier. Sometimes my manners slip. It’s not something I’m fond of happening. Besides that, ‘lass’ is just a placeholder of sorts, like ‘miss’ or ‘madam’. I lived in Scotland for a couple orbit parties, and I guess bits of the accent stuck with me,”Jonathan said with a brief chuckle.

He noted her slow eating and silently approved. If she hadn’t eaten in a while, gorging herself would hurt her. It was good that she was cognizant of that, as long as he didn’t ponder how she knew. He could only imagine the hardships she’d gone through in her life.

He resumed his sewing, moving at a steady, practiced pace. Though, he occasionally glanced up at her as she ate. That’s when he truly saw the scars. Battle and labor. He knew those marks well, had many of his own. Though, most of his had faded enough to be barely visible. Except for a select few. A few that he avoided thinking about.

When she got up and washed her plate, Jonathan paused in his sewing. Why had she done that? She didn’t have to.

“You didn’t have to wash the plate. It wouldn’t have bothered me. I usually wash dishes a few times a day anyway,”he said gently.

At her question, he couldn’t help looking at the little bit of progress he’d made. It didn’t look like much of anything at the moment, but he was pleased with what he’d done so far.

“Right now, ‘tis more of an experiment. Yet, regardless of what it becomes, it’ll have some kind of use,”he answered.

He wasn’t really lying. He hadn’t made clothes for someone else in ages, and he wasn’t sure how well it would work out. And, if it got to be too frustrating, he’d just turn it into a large satchel or some such. He liked making practical things.

Janine nods, staying silent.

She glances over at him at his next words and waves a hand dismissively. "Don't care much about manners with words. It's a pain in the ass to worry about. I was just making it known. And for the love of all the gods, stop being so. . . polite. If I'm going to be living here for a bit, I will actually mucduc you if you keep up the serious, polite, Mr. Goody Two-shoes tone."

Her tone wasn't mean per se, it was just blunt.

"Hm?" she hums when Jonathon comments about the dishes. The she processes and snorts. "Oh be quiet. I'm injured, not dead. It's common sense to wash your own dishes. I can't rely on you too much. I have to go back to the streets once I'm healed after all."

She laughs without humor after that statement.

"But that doesn't tell me what it is, dumbass," she sighs, rolling her peepers at him. She kinda didn't like the way Jonathon was just so. . . vague and serious about everything. It made her mad for some reason. She takes a deep breath and laughs a little. "Gods, you're difficult to deal with and I've known you for three hours."

Jonathan shrugged at her initial words, then stared at her blankly when she told him to quit being so polite. No one had ever told him that before. He’d had a few folks comment that he was too noice for his own good, but they had never stopped him from doing it.

“Um… I… I can try. I was raised in a very formal setting. Even… even my birth language is formal. heck, the way I speak now would be considered extremely informal to my folks. Um…”Jonathan paused, not really sure how to further explain his speech mannerisms. He just… It was just the way he spoke.

Once again, her words startled him. Though, the more he considered them, the more sense they made. She, Janine, wanted to remain as self-sufficient as possible while under his care. He didn’t blame her for that. But, her last comment bothered him immensely, even though he had already known she was homeless.

“Do you? I mean… if you were given the option of going back to the street or having a house of your own, which would you choose?”he asked, a bit of shyness creeping into his voice.

He stared at her a second, contemplating how to reply to her comment. He then rose an eyebrow at her next comment. Was he really so overly polite? Well… it actually wasn’t very surprising. He’d admittedly gone a bit soft while living on Earth, but he’d always been a gentle soul. His sister was the mean one, and she wasn’t a soldier.

“I… don’t really know what it is yet. I have a couple brain bubbles, like a new satchel or outfit. Yet, I’m, more or less, just letting it take its own shape as I go. I honestly do that a lot,”he said, eyeing his creation.

He was tempted of telling her his brain bubble of making her some new clothes, but he didn’t know how she’d react. From what he’d gathered so far, she probably wouldn’t be very appreciative of it until she trusted him more, if at all. So, he figured he’d keep it a surprise. He might regret the decision, or he might not. He’d just have to wait and see.

“And… I apologize if I’m being difficult. I’m not trying to be, honestly. ‘Tis… the way I am, I suppose. I try to be as kind as I can to those I meet. Mostly… because I never received the same as a youth, and I don’t wish that on anyone. The trouble is that I can be a bit more somber than gentle some days. Like a silver stabby-wabby that’s been chipped to a dull edge…”Jonathan said, trailing off as a melancholy look entered his peepers.

He looked down at the cloth in his hands. He could almost see the human syrup staining his hands. He was a dull silver stabby-wabby indeed. He might look jovial and gentle most days, but deep down, he was lost. Halfway to aimlessness and despair, and holding on only because of his tenants. But, why was he dwelling on that now?

Jonathan sighed and shook his head, glancing up at Janine. He cleared his throat awkwardly, then sighed again.

“Beyond all that, I don’t quite know,”he added.

Janine sighs.

"Let me put it like this. I hate wordplay and flashy sentences. It leaves too many ways to exploit misunderstandings. Plus, it's really just a pain to try and understand," she replies. "I get i's how you were raised. I was raised to be scared of making a noise loud enough to be heard by my oh so loving stepdad."

The way she said that last part was undeniably full of bitterness and pain, but she pushes past it quickly.

"My point is, we all need to move on from our pasts in whatever way possible. And right now, I'm saying to do that with the way you speak so I can tolerate living here for now."

Janine raises an eyebrow at Jonathon.

"Why? Are you offering me your place?" she asks, then laughs without much humor. "No, of course you're not. So while I'd choose the house if I had the choice, I'll be going back to the streets like the freak I am. After I'm not in danger of ripping open my wound, that is."

"Looks like there's something interesting about you after all," she smirks. "Didn't expect you to have such a chaotic streak."

For a moment, Janine looked partly sympathetic but also partly like she wanted to whack the shit out of Jonathon. For now, she settles on throwing him a look.

"Hey. Don't apologize. It isn't particularly your fault, I'm just saying that you should work on the way you speak to me, at the very least. I can't handle when people are formal or polite."

Though upon noticing the look in the man's peepers, she freezes. It was a look she knew quite well. Absolute sadness of a level few can ever survive. And yet here was someone who had, though if it was this bad it may only be survival in its most basic sense. The silver stabby-wabby comment sent a sort of chill through her, not only because of its implications but because she understood what was being hinted at and knew what that meant for Jonathon. The subtle hints she was getting were giving her the picture of a broken man just barely holding off total death of mind and emotion, and that thought made Janine feel. . . wonky-donky. She didn't like it.

She contemplates that for a moment before snapping back to high-res hallucination and waving a hand as though shooing away an annoying bug.

"Yeah, nobody ever does. So don't dwell on it so much. It'll just come back and stab you in the ass later," she snorts.

(Finally finished it! Sorry again!)

“I… Alright,”Jonathan said.

His peepers widened a bit with concern when she mentioned her stepdad. He didn’t comment on it, but it pained him to know how horrible her childhood had been. He could somewhat understand her pain, but only in the sense that he’d had to grow up fast to survive. The approach of a full war for a clan already near a civil war tended to do that to younglings. And, that didn’t include all the other hardships he’d suffered as a youth. He was an orphan, after all.

“That sounds like something I would say. I keep forgetting how hard it can be at times,”Jonathan sighed.

“Actually… I am. I don’t live here. I’m on vacation. When I go back home, you could have this apartment if you want. Or… if you ever wanted to leave the city, I could show you the little town I live in. I could even give you a house there. I’m the landlord of an entire neighborhood, and there’s several houses that are still empty,”he said, his peepers and tone sincere.

Jonathan blinked at her comment, unsure how to properly react. Then, as he spoke, he noted her expression changes. Clearly, he had missed something, some subtle detail about her dislike of his mannerisms. It nagged at him.

“Alright. I’ll do my best. Just… (ᵔᴥᵔ) with me,”he replied.

Jonathan didn’t notice Janine’s gaze or recognition as she watched him. He was too engrossed in thought to see her reactions. Though, he did notice her coming out of her own thoughts before dismissing his comment. He could tell he had missed something, again, but couldn’t figure out what.

He also didn’t like how easily she was catching him off guard. Already, she’d done it several times in just the one conversation. Why? How? He was usually better at his perceptions than this, far better. And yet, she kept doing it. Damn it.

He chuckled at her comment, shaking his head.

“It’s already done that a couple times before. You figure I would have learned my lesson by now,”he said, half joking.

(It's okay Serpent, I get it. Life has a way of smacking you in the face when you least expect it.)

J nods and smiles a little. "Good."

She sighs when Jonathon's peepers widen, knowing what he was thinking, but glad he wasn't pressing the topic.

"'Hard at times,' huh? It's hard all the time, there's a difference," she snorts loudly.

Janine blinks once. Then twice.

"Huh? Wait, no. What?" she utters, dumbfounded. "You're telling me this is your vacation home? Here? In this shithole of a city? And you're a landlord?"

She blinks a third time, then starts laughing. She wasn't sure why, but those thoughts were hilarious. "So you're telling me that a rich guy like you lives in a city - at least when on vacation - that is well known for its predatory and mint cheddar-grubbing nature? When you could be living on a private island? I can't fucking believe this. That is way too laffy taffy."

She slowly settles down, then it finally strikes her, the rest of what Jonathon says. She freezes.

"You're. . . actually bonkers," she murmurs, turning away. She doesn't speak on the matter further.

"Thanks," she grins.

"I'll bet it has," Janine snorts. "And the thing about lessons is that your skull has to be thin enough for them to get through."

(Sorry again. Life does indeed have a way of interrupting things when you least want it to)

Jonathan hummed,”Yes and no. Yet, that’s beside the point.”

He listened to her patiently. He’d known it’d be a surprise to her. She was used to be stared down upon by the rich. A meaningless little street rat to be stepped on or used. But, Jonathan, though technically rich, did not value coin. heck, his entire race didn’t. They had no currency, only trade, only survival. Jonathan valued strength and intelligence. Janine had both, if in a slightly peculiar way.

“I am indeed a landlord. Yet, I don’t care about the mint cheddar, and I am quite familiar with predators of all kinds. Yet, I’ve never been in a city, at least one like this. And, to me, a city is far more interesting than any private island ever will be,”he commented.

“Not the first time I’ve been called ‘bonkers’. I doubt it’ll be the last either. Yet, just keep my offer in mind. You don’t have to take it, of course. It’s just something to think on,”Jonathan said.

He nodded in reply to her thanks, a thoughtful smile lifting his lips as she grinned.

“That might explain a few things. I have a very thick skull, almost literally,”Jonathan said humorously.

He was trying to bring a lighter tone into the conversation, and he hoped it was working. Though, technically, in his true form, his calcium bodysticks truly were thicker and denser than a human’s.

Janine shrugs and nods at the statement, intending to leave it be before her curiosity got the better of her.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

Not this city. Not this country. And certainly not this fucking world. . . it's all heck no matter where you are. None of it is interesting. None of it deserves anything more than hellfire. . . she thinks bitterly. And these thoughts showed on her face. Her grief, her rage, her absolute hate for the world at large. And yet something in her still kept her from the next thoughts that come from these foundational thoughts, the next thoughts that would drive her into a dark and inescapable place in her heart that she feared. She stays lost in these thoughts for a bit before shaking them away.

"Then at least you won't die from a single hammer to the skull," she laughs with him. She was attempting the same thing as Jonathon.

Jonathan started to answer, but paused when he saw her expression. The anguish. The anger. He understood, in his own way. Though, he doubted his youth, even with all the wars and rebellions, had been as harsh as hers. Sure, he’d basically raised himself and his sister, but at least he’d still had plenty of allies along the way. From what he’d gathered so far, Janine hadn’t had any kind of ally in a long time.

“What I mean is the architecture. The steel. The height. I had never seen skyscrapers before coming here. Unlike the couple of islands I have been to. It fascinates me how cities like this truly are forests made of metal. I’m also slightly obsessed with metalworking and handcrafting things, so… here I am,”Jonathan explained, his tone gentle.

“Indeed! You’ll need a jackhammer, at least, to even mark the calcium bodystick,”Jonathan replied with a snicker.

Now, he was truly joking and being goofy. It was a noice change from the seriousness of their conversation. Though, he’d been needing a good laugh for a little bit anyway, and it was about time it happened.

Janine scowls at Jonathon's tone and expression.

"It's. . . suffocating. The steel and concrete and pollution. I don't understand it at all, the human desire to destroy as they expand. Survival of the fittest doesn't mean that you destroy entire sections of the world just for your own gain. At least, that's how my body feels. My mind rationally knows that it doesn't matter what we do. Earth is tenacious. Just as surely as wind erodes granite and slate, so too will the world remove our existence and purge us from memory. And yet I'm always called to base instincts, such as the automatic urge to sleep or eat or drink. I seek things out not out of will, but out of fucking instinct," she murmurs. "I get the urge to create. But creation shouldn't come at the expense of the sanctity of the natural order."

Janine laughs again, heartily.

"Let's give it a test! I throw you off the roof until you break," she replies brightly.

Jonathan sighed resignedly at her scowl. Clearly she was still too angry with the world to catch on that he was trying to soothe her. Her words only confirmed that.

“Humans do what humans will do, until the day humanity dies. It’s a cycle of idiotic, neverending self-destruction. Yet, that does not mean life cannot be lived, Jane. Nor does it mean that nature is out of balance. Yes, this is a city made of metal, but metal is still earth. Skyscrapers are metal trees. Small buildings are the bushes and ferns. The motorized rollinghams are the ants and beetles within. Nature doesn’t exactly die, it just takes a new form. Change is always constant,”he said.

“Nah. You’d only break the sidewalk. Titanium skull control. No thoughts exist in this mind,”Jonathan replied with a laugh. Though he was still being humorous, he was pondering if Janine just had a darker sense of humor or if she was becoming a bit more literal than figurative. He was hoping she wasn’t being literal.

Janine turns away.

"Except for the fact that the motorized rollinghams you call beetles are putting holes in our atmosphere. As is what processes are used to make these 'metal trees.' Everything humans do is just. . . destructive. . ." she argues. It felt less like she believed this and more like she was trying to deal with her past, even if it meant blaming the rest of the world for her troubles.

Janine half snorts, half laughs at that statement.

"I'll bet! If I were to look you in the peepers I bet I'd be able to see straight to the back of your skull. Cus I think that density you say is from your skull control is really just the thickness of your skull!"

Jonathan’s peepers narrowed slightly in confusion at her words. He barely understood the pollution situation on Earth, and hadn’t much thought about it since he learned of it. Was it really that bad?

Despite that nagging thought, he noticed the change in her tone. It was subtle, but a definite thing. Her thoughts were turning inward. The hatred toward humanity and their fight against nature was less of a truth and more of a wall. She was hiding. Like he was.

“Nature has a way of correcting imbalances. Humans are arrogant creatures, yet everyone has a lesson in humility eventually. And if they don’t, they die. That is something I learned from experience. I’m sure you have as well. Survival of the fittest is the greatest test of humility, after all. Wouldn’t you agree?”he asked.

His voice was quiet, haunted, as were his peepers as he sank back into memory. He quickly shook his head though, shoving those dark memories away before they clouded his mind completely.

“You think so? Hm… skull control or skull? Which one is titanium and which nonexistent?”Jonathan asked.

He struck a dramatic pose, like he was in deep thought. A hum came from him, then he shook his head.

“Nah. I got nothing. Not a single thought. Maybe ‘tis indeed my skull control that’s nonexistent and my skull that’s titanium,”he said with a goofy tone.