[ His head lolls to the side, looking over her for a long moment with an expression that would normally never been seen if this were daylight and if he were upright and sober. or even relatively sober. it's the blank eyed, hollow sort of thing. ]
I am. [ A murderer. Maybe he didn't pull the trigger on those that were slaughtered during the coup, but he stood by and let it happen. Played his part on it. But the counselor in Unity Hall. The red pool inching out over the expensive polished wood, the gunshot ringing in the room designed to support acoustics easily, and the cool emptiness he felt as he watched it. That was him. That was on his hands. ] You'll want to read it. You'll want to read everyone's here.
[ It's better she learns it now instead of getting to know him and finding out what he really is later. ]
Ohh, spooky. [She likes to think she knows better than to indulge someone when they're in this kind of gloomy mood. More importantly, she knows not to take anything a drunk says at face value. She picks up a bIt of snow and sprinkles It over hIs face.]
When I want your advice, I'll ask for it. [She's too old to argue with drunks. That's kId stuff. ] What rover you in?
[ Jack's blowing at the snowflakes falling towards his face, and while some of them get shot back up, the majority ends up decorating his nose and cheeks, expression wrinkling with distaste. Rude, Fiona. ]
Don't say I didn't warn you. [ A wry shrug, as much as he can shrug chilling out in the snow. When she eventually finds out, well, he tried. He's honestly more concerned about her not checking into the others at the moment. That'll be the actual danger. ] 020. Driver. You?
Don't worry, [Fiona stands, and dusts some of the now off her knees and ass. It's a gesture learned from habit rather than necessity; she's never owned waterproof clothes, and her CDC issued uniform remains a novelty.] when I fuck up, it's always all on me.
[She speaks with a slight twinge of bitterness, but this isn't about her. Very few things are. She pushes it aside, and her expression goes back to a tired yet affectionate sneer It's a slip, but she's not particularly worried. He's drunk and lying in the snow like a dead fish after she grilled him about his childhood out of nowhere; why would the hell would he, or anyone else, care?]
34's driver. But we're- [with a grunt, she grabs his arm, and begins to pull,] going to get- [another pull,] you home first. C'mon-
[ Jack grumbles out an irritated groan, but doesn’t fight Fiona hauling him up. Typically, there isn’t anyone around for this sort of task, save for maybe a bodyguard. Or Joseph. It’s been Joseph, and that brings about a whole new want to drink. Before he’s all the way up, Jack’s able to grab at the whiskey bottle that was chilling in the snow next to him and toss back one final swig, before he caps it. Gotta preserve that shit here. ]
Are you gonna tuck me in and read me a bedtime story too? [ spoken wryly, with a drunken half-chuckle, half-giggle. Are you his keeper now, Fiona? ]
[Fiona pulls his arm over her shoulder, lending him her support so he can walk in an almost straight line. She's an old hand at this, and every step is sure-footed despite the ice and the awkwardness. She's done this more times than she can count.]
Maybe if you ask real nice. Seems like tonight's my night to do dumb shit around drunk assholes.
[ Jack lets himself be maneuvered easily, slumping against Fiona, but not really with all of his weight. Drunk and wobbly and five sheets to the damn wind as he is, there’s still some conscientious part of him that doesn’t want her having to haul his tall ass all the way back. ]
You make a good Mom, you know. Kids need that. Your brothers or sisters or whatever need that. [ the unspoken part being ‘otherwise they turn into drunk assholes like me’, but they’ve talked enough about Jack’s shitty parents for the night. ]
[That was a very gentle, affectionate kick in the gut. Fiona's expression shifts for a moment, caught in worry and doubt. It passes quickly, but her smile is a bit more strained afterward.]
I know. [She stops, tries again.] I mean- I know they need it. Everybody needs it. [She needed it. She keeps trudging through the snow, dragging Jack along with her.] Four little brothers, one sister. Lip, Ian, Debbie, Carl, Liam.
[She wonders if he'll remember this in the morning. Whatever, it keeps them off the subject of her.]
[ he might remember it. maybe. this is worse than he's been in a while, but he's not vomitting yet, so maybe he's not too terribly bad off. either way, his brain is a little soft and he's a little less guarded and stiff than he typically is, giving a slight half-smile. ]
Mostly boys. Too bad for you. They're the difficult ones. [ Michelle was easy, Jack thinks. Seemed like it, at least. Jack was the one always getting into things and causing problems. ] A lot to handle, even if you have two caretakers around.
[Fiona scoffs, rolling her eyes.] No, boys are the easy ones. Girls are the real bitch. Watch your step, ice. [She steers him as deftly as she's able, feet moving with a self-assured sort of muscle memory.]
Yeah, you can thank Our Lady of Broken Condoms for every little blessing. [She loves all her siblings deeply, but she has no illusions about why her life is the way it is.]
Hm. Maybe my sister was just a saint. [ A short, snorted laugh. Actually, yeah, Michelle sort of is. Makes sense. Stepping around the ice mentioned, he wobbles a little but stays upright. Fiona's good at this.
For a while, Jack's quiet, thinking, and peers over to her eventually, speaking in something that's just soft curiousity. ] Do you want children? Actually from you - not siblings.
[And there's another punch in the gut. She can't just brush it off, though; she already asked him a direct, evidently painful question about himself. She's obligated to respond in kind, if he wants something back.]
[Fiona's used to feeling obligated. Even if you were born in prison, you'd still miss home.] I don't- [A sigh.] I don't know. Depends on the dad, doesn't it? [Okay, so that's still technically letting the question slide by, but it's also the truth, right?] I know what I don't want.
You've proved you can take care of five on your own. All that depends on a dad is the sperm donation. [ Granted, the process is normally Marriage > Children > Happy Nuclear Family. But it doesn't have to depend on a dad. But Fiona's done enough on her own, from what her file says and what she's mentioned to him so far. She deserves Happy Nuclear Family. ]
Yeah, unless he hangs around and fucks the kid up. [He probably would. That's what dads do, isn't it? Which answers Jack's question-] I don't need another Frank hanging around. [She says it like it's a minor annoyance, instead of a major neurosis.]
So do an actual sperm donation. Go to a clinic. [ That is, if it's just the kid she wants and not the complete family with all the pieces. It'd be a pity, though, if she gave up on trying to find someone for the fear that they'd turn out like her father. Jack can't really blame her too much, he'd always been terrified of the almost certain possibility he'd have to be a parent. He's already molded enough like his father.
But Fiona's responsible, smart and genuine. She just needs someone who matches it. With a great ass. ]
[Fiona... Fiona signs.] Most people're fuck ups. [She gives him an encouraging pat on the back, like he isn't technically older than her. You'll grow out of it.] What about you? Ever wanted a kid?
[It's oddly refreshing to talk to a drunk when the conversation isn't all about politics or religion or crying and violence. That, and the sadness of previous questions asked, has an unexpectedly calming affect, similar to fatigue. She trudges on through the snow, an awkward two-headed, four-legged beast, trying to find warmth just like everyone else.]
Most. Not all. [ But that's like finding a needle in a haystack. David, he was worth it. He's likely on the run or dead by now, though. That's the issue with the good ones - they don't last long. The fucked up ones tend to tear them to pieces.
The second question has Jack actually physically slowing a little, something sick twisting in his stomach as he thinks of that too perfect room in the palace, of Thomasina and her message from Silas. If he can't find a way to stay in this place, he'll be going back to that. He'll have a son he won't know and he'll deliver him into the hands of the man that ripped Jack's life and person to tattered shreds. His voice is a little hoarse as he speak, but he clears it pretty quickly. ] No. I never wanted one.
[ He's another fuck up anyway. Maybe the kid would actually be better off with Silas. Jack's existence there is a sinking ship, and his mind wasn't terrible stable the last time he saw Shiloh. ]
some day both of them will. today is not that day.
[Fiona is a good study of people, but she wouldn't have to be, to get the blazing neon sign Jack sends out, all flashing and everything. Wrong subject, wrong question to ask. It occurs to Fiona-- he's fucking gay, you idiot-- that this may be a sore subject for him.]
[That's two things she's done to upset him in one night, and on a night where he said he was already down. Good job, Fiona.]
[She should change the subject. Back to her, then? A fitting penance for failure.] Well, if mine ever end up here, you gotta promise not to tell 'em I been talking shit about 'em. [She gives him an affectionate nudge. It's not the world's most subtle of shifts, but it doesn't have to be.] But don't go easy on 'em. Nobody else will.
[ He's a little caught up in his head for a moment, hearing what Fiona's saying distantly, but it takes a while to get a reply out, and it's a little dazed. ]
I'll keep your secret safe. [ And a weak half-smile comes for the nudge, giving her one back. ] They sure as hell won't be getting away with calling be 'douche.'
[ Jack lifts his head a bit as he sees it, and suddenly the thought of sleep is fucking excellent. ] Can't have that. Am I allowed to make them do push ups?
[ hurgh, give him a second, hobbling up these things and using fiona's shoulder for stablity, thanks brosis. ] I made full grown men do worse, I can handle it.
[ once he makes it up half way, he glances back to fiona. ] Am I getting a bedtime story?
You threatening to fuck my little brother? You might wanna lay off the alien whiskey next time. [Dingus. If she was taking that more seriously, she'd likely have threatened to cut some important part of him into tiny pieces.]
[She helps him up, trying awkwardly to compensate for his weight while steadying them on the cold and occasionally slippery stairs. Again, experience is a great aid.] Once upon a time, there was an idiot who almost froze to death because he decided to fall asleep drunk in the snow. [And he wasn't even related to Fiona this time!]
Surprisingly enough, not every sentence I saw about men has to do with fucking them. [ Said as he leans a little too far back on the ladder to look at her with a gurl pls face. ] Major in the military. I made them clean my humvee with toothbrushes.
[ He also made one particularly douchey lieutenant that was really attached to the word 'faggot' wear a dress and heels for a week and repeat the words 'I like bows in my hair and I want to kiss all the boys' any time it was asked of him. That was satisfying. ] Bedtime stories are supposed to be non-fiction.
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I am. [ A murderer. Maybe he didn't pull the trigger on those that were slaughtered during the coup, but he stood by and let it happen. Played his part on it. But the counselor in Unity Hall. The red pool inching out over the expensive polished wood, the gunshot ringing in the room designed to support acoustics easily, and the cool emptiness he felt as he watched it. That was him. That was on his hands. ] You'll want to read it. You'll want to read everyone's here.
[ It's better she learns it now instead of getting to know him and finding out what he really is later. ]
Better to be aware.
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When I want your advice, I'll ask for it. [She's too old to argue with drunks. That's kId stuff. ] What rover you in?
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Don't say I didn't warn you. [ A wry shrug, as much as he can shrug chilling out in the snow. When she eventually finds out, well, he tried. He's honestly more concerned about her not checking into the others at the moment. That'll be the actual danger. ] 020. Driver. You?
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[She speaks with a slight twinge of bitterness, but this isn't about her. Very few things are. She pushes it aside, and her expression goes back to a tired yet affectionate sneer It's a slip, but she's not particularly worried. He's drunk and lying in the snow like a dead fish after she grilled him about his childhood out of nowhere; why would the hell would he, or anyone else, care?]
34's driver. But we're- [with a grunt, she grabs his arm, and begins to pull,] going to get- [another pull,] you home first. C'mon-
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Are you gonna tuck me in and read me a bedtime story too? [ spoken wryly, with a drunken half-chuckle, half-giggle. Are you his keeper now, Fiona? ]
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Maybe if you ask real nice. Seems like tonight's my night to do dumb shit around drunk assholes.
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You make a good Mom, you know. Kids need that. Your brothers or sisters or whatever need that. [ the unspoken part being ‘otherwise they turn into drunk assholes like me’, but they’ve talked enough about Jack’s shitty parents for the night. ]
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I know. [She stops, tries again.] I mean- I know they need it. Everybody needs it. [She needed it. She keeps trudging through the snow, dragging Jack along with her.] Four little brothers, one sister. Lip, Ian, Debbie, Carl, Liam.
[She wonders if he'll remember this in the morning. Whatever, it keeps them off the subject of her.]
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Mostly boys. Too bad for you. They're the difficult ones. [ Michelle was easy, Jack thinks. Seemed like it, at least. Jack was the one always getting into things and causing problems. ] A lot to handle, even if you have two caretakers around.
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Yeah, you can thank Our Lady of Broken Condoms for every little blessing. [She loves all her siblings deeply, but she has no illusions about why her life is the way it is.]
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For a while, Jack's quiet, thinking, and peers over to her eventually, speaking in something that's just soft curiousity. ] Do you want children? Actually from you - not siblings.
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[Fiona's used to feeling obligated. Even if you were born in prison, you'd still miss home.] I don't- [A sigh.] I don't know. Depends on the dad, doesn't it? [Okay, so that's still technically letting the question slide by, but it's also the truth, right?] I know what I don't want.
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What don't you want?
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But Fiona's responsible, smart and genuine. She just needs someone who matches it. With a great ass. ]
Or don't marry a fuck up.
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[It's oddly refreshing to talk to a drunk when the conversation isn't all about politics or religion or crying and violence. That, and the sadness of previous questions asked, has an unexpectedly calming affect, similar to fatigue. She trudges on through the snow, an awkward two-headed, four-legged beast, trying to find warmth just like everyone else.]
some day jack will stop being a fucking sad shit
The second question has Jack actually physically slowing a little, something sick twisting in his stomach as he thinks of that too perfect room in the palace, of Thomasina and her message from Silas. If he can't find a way to stay in this place, he'll be going back to that. He'll have a son he won't know and he'll deliver him into the hands of the man that ripped Jack's life and person to tattered shreds. His voice is a little hoarse as he speak, but he clears it pretty quickly. ] No. I never wanted one.
[ He's another fuck up anyway. Maybe the kid would actually be better off with Silas. Jack's existence there is a sinking ship, and his mind wasn't terrible stable the last time he saw Shiloh. ]
some day both of them will. today is not that day.
[That's two things she's done to upset him in one night, and on a night where he said he was already down. Good job, Fiona.]
[She should change the subject. Back to her, then? A fitting penance for failure.] Well, if mine ever end up here, you gotta promise not to tell 'em I been talking shit about 'em. [She gives him an affectionate nudge. It's not the world's most subtle of shifts, but it doesn't have to be.] But don't go easy on 'em. Nobody else will.
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I'll keep your secret safe. [ And a weak half-smile comes for the nudge, giving her one back. ] They sure as hell won't be getting away with calling be 'douche.'
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[ once he makes it up half way, he glances back to fiona. ] Am I getting a bedtime story?
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[She helps him up, trying awkwardly to compensate for his weight while steadying them on the cold and occasionally slippery stairs. Again, experience is a great aid.] Once upon a time, there was an idiot who almost froze to death because he decided to fall asleep drunk in the snow. [And he wasn't even related to Fiona this time!]
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[ He also made one particularly douchey lieutenant that was really attached to the word 'faggot' wear a dress and heels for a week and repeat the words 'I like bows in my hair and I want to kiss all the boys' any time it was asked of him. That was satisfying. ] Bedtime stories are supposed to be non-fiction.
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