maskormenace

Ugh. Cliches like that are the bane of English Lit. students; way too much of classtime was us coming up with retorts to the original phrases, you have no idea. [His lips quirk for a moment, remembering better times spent shit-talking books with other students in English class, picking apart language and putting it back together. He's good at that. Or he was. He hasn't had much of a chance to do that sort of thing lately.]

The saying is 'no man is an island', but I'll point out now what I used to back then: islands are already being touched, just by the ocean, not other land. [He drops his gaze to his coffee, focusing overly-hard on stirring creamer into his mug.] Guess that takes on new dimensions since oceans make me wanna hurl these days. My AP English teacher woulda loved the irony of it all.

[he chuckles quietly at Brendan's disdain, already picking a second one up, belatedly hesitating before realizing it's too late, he already touched it. oh well. his now.

he chews slower, pushing a glob of muffin over to one cheek, tilting his head as the tone grows more somber. he gulps, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and goes quiet for a moment, thoughtful.

a little dubious:] Well...islands are connected to land underneath all that, right? So there's that.

[frowns.] Except floating ones. But those are in the air away from the ocean anyway.

Other than the island of literal trash that humanity created by dumping it into the ocean; of all the things to be constant between here and home, somehow that made the cut.

[He snags a muffin before Manabu can wolf them all down. It seems like everybody he meets in this joint is always hungry. Maybe superpowers make people need more food or something. He's not great at biology so he's not going to try and research that, it'd just make his head hurt.]

Back up, Sunset. Your world has floating islands?

[he shakes his head mid-chew, muffled:] Nn-nnrmh. [swallow.] Not Tobito. But there's at least one other planet that has that. There's a lot of weird stuff out there.

[belatedly, he pushes the muffins away from himself. two is more than plenty, he's sure.] There's an old story about Earth long ago that sent people out on a journey to save everyone, and they fought a giant floating island on Jupiter, too. [picking a piece of the one he still has left.] But that might just be a story.

I wonder what the metaphors in the books and stuff there are like. We did a whole thing about how environment informs language in my freshman English class - well, freshman AP English, anyway, the regular English class was rehashing the same stories we'd done in middle school.

[Brendan chews thoughtfully, considering both the fact that Jupiter is a casual place to go visit in some worlds, or at least not the intensive near-impossible mission it'd be if anyone tried it back home, and the fact that his life has gotten to the point where fights on Jupiter are plausible. And then he shrugs.] Sounds legit. First thing people do when they go somewhere new is usually start a fight. Not with an island, usually, but still.

[he laughs off a small wave of self-consciousness, rocking his weight off one leg.]

Maybe someone smarter than me will pop in from home. They'll have better brains to pick in that regard. Maybe David, since he always has a really nice, interesting way of putting things. [his head tilts to one side.] I mean...I wouldn't know if he was lying or not about stuff, but...it'd at least sound pretty cool.

[the last of the muffin gets popped into his mouth, and Manabu pushes off the counter, turning away and scratching at the back of his head while he chews. he does think it's a shame, come to think of it, that he doesn't know enough of the best stuff of home to share. at least-- more than personal experience. things about the railway or what Earth was like. special historical events that might be neat by comparison.

he really was more of just an empty-headed, stubborn, impulsive moron. his mouth quirks, hearing that in Louis' admonishing tone. shame she wasn't around to be surprised to see him working so hard to study.

welp.

hands go on his hips, and, after stepping out of the kitchen, he twists at the waist a couple times, then stretches his arms over his head, tilting one way then the other.]

Maybe I'll come across something interesting in the English books they got here? [after rolling his shoulder, he glances over it with a kind of dubious-looking grin Brendan's way.] You'll be able to tell better than I will as far as that goes, haha.

You're smart, you're just not into what I am. You oughta see my math scores, that'd take me down a couple o' notches in your eyes. From what I've seen, everybody's got something they're aces at. Don't think that because you don't know Shakespeare by heart you're dumb.

[He watches Manabu as he eats, trying to puzzle out how someone who's so positive can be so down on himself sometimes. And really, if Brendan wants to be honest about it, he's only smart about fiction because it was something that got him through how lonely his childhood was. Dad wasn't around? Turn the TV to AMC and watch hard boiled detectives who were way cooler than him anyway. Mom wasn't around? Read books where women were heroes taking on society's fucked up view of them. Both parents were gone? It's fine, that's an opportunity to sit in front of the TV and read during commercials.

If his parents were actually present in his life, he might've turned out more like Manabu. Social, able to handle normal conversations, able to process things.

But.

San Clemente was not Tobito and they weren't in either, anymore.]

I've poked my head into the library here. Got wrapped up in the non-fiction section, though. Figure I should learn this place's history before I learn its' plays, you know? But if I find anything weird I'll let you know.

That'd probably be pretty good, actually... [he'd ducked his head at all the smart talk, but turns around at the offer, shaking the stretch out of his arms before walking back toward the kitchen.] Weird might be relative, but if this Earth is closer to history you know than mine, it could help.

[his eyes drop to the mugs on the table. if anyone thought he forgot there was coffee...they'd be right.

he hooks his finger on the handle of one to slide it a little toward himself.] I've been looking at outlines and study guides for the history part of a test I signed up for, but I think it's...probably banking on me having lived here to pick up context, ha.

...Do you have any milk or cream?

[Brendan pulls the coffee creamer out of the fridge along with the milk, wondering how it's possible to ignore coffee for that long. He hates the taste of it but he runs on it, some days more than others. He spent enough mornings hitting up the cafe on his way to school in lieu of breakfast back home that it's the one thing here that's truly familiar. Coffee, dark alleys, places that sell alcohol to the underaged crowd, and pharmacies that never think to guard their NyQuil - little pillars of familiarity admidst the oddness of being shifted across the country, away from California and all the quirks that same with it.]

Other than the Cold War and the fact I'm from 2006 as opposed to this place's present, everything's matched up ridiculously well. Almost eerie at points. Some shit really shouldn't've been etched in stone like that.

But the thing about history is, it's like acts of a play: you just have to get the order of the scenes right in your head. After that someone can ask you 'when does Mercutio tell Hamlet he's fine when he's actually fatally wounded' and your brain'll go 'before this, that, and after that, oh, so it's Act 3, Scene 1'. And then it'll be lodged in your head from now 'til Hell freezes over.

[Which, clearly, is accurate, given he just pulled that example off the top of his head and got it right and he hasn't even finished his coffee yet.]

[Manabu makes a soft sound, wondering if maybe that trick works if you know who Mercutio and Hamlet even are, or...if it works better after 10am.

the coffee in his mug goes almost sickly pale for how much cream gets dumped in there; honestly he should've just gone straight up with a glass of milk, but there's no going back. before dangerously over-filling, he stops and takes to carefully picking up his drink.]

I wonder if I can think like that... Its hard. I'm usually the kind of person who learns and remembers through experience, but you can't really do that with stuff that's already happened. Not--normally or by choice, anyway.

That's probably why I stink at history. [he nods, then begins to throw back the coffee. like in five loud gulps, no breaks. because coffee is gross but useful and by god he's not wasting food or drink.]

[Brendan has a lot of opinions on Shakespeare. Mostly that he wants Titus Andronicus to get more respect as a play, that The Tempest should never be performed indoors and that Romeo is an asshole who absolutely deserved to die and Juliet could do better.

It's easier to care about fiction. Fiction doesn't bale on you and leave a note saying 'be back soon, here's some $ for school' with a twenty stapled to it for the next couple of weeks. He knows people who have never existed better than he knew his parents and he knows if he lets himself, he'll sit there and think about how maybe he wouldn't have been a good parent himself and he'll end up doing something he'll regret.

So instead he rolls his eyes and fixes Manabu with a look.]

You can learn to think differently. I did. It's just a matter of effort and how important it is to you. If it's important to you, you'll work at it. If it's not, you'll tell yourself it's impossible and quit before you start, and then I'll have to take away your muffin privileges until you get it together.

[the last gulp is the hardest because there's that threat of food being taken away? he exhales loudly and shoots Brendan a look while wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.]

Haah-? That. Sounds a bit cruel... [slightly petulant:] Nobody said anything about quitting, here.

[jabbing his thumb at himself, chin up.] I've got a lot on my plate to accomplish, you know! I'm pretty determined to do just that.

Damn, Sunset, they're muffins, not crack cocaine. [Brendan can't help cracking a smile. He hasn't really laughed since he got here, but Manabu is just so unguarded sometimes, so expressive, he kind of wants to.] If I ever need a favor from you I'll hit up the kitchen, I guess.

Anyway, what's this test you're taking for, exactly?

[he makes a face, a little pink. food is good, what can he say? he's not that complicated.

folding his arms, he glances up in thought, trying to remember what the acronym stands for.] General education...determination? [frown. no.] Something-D. I need that first, [counting off his fingers against his arm.] then I can try to get into one of the police academies. They won't let you just start there. So...

You mean a GED? [Brendan supplies, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.] Otherwise known as the broke man's high school diploma back home. Yeah, you do need to know the basics about life here to be a cop here. I'd sooner shoot myself than go work for the fuzz but, hey, it's your call.

I do get them wanting you to know the basics, though, much as their institution is fucked over in Maurtia Falls and back home. Kara, this Drama Club vamp, evil ex of mine - she's black. Black women have historically always been subject to brutality by police and by the law. For literally hundreds of years. Half the reason I never called the cops on her was that I couldn't be sure they wouldn't decide shooting her was easier than giving her a damn trial.

Now remember we're in the South, and Southern states have even more black people, plus Latinos, plus the baggage of the Civil War that my area never had to deal with. You need to know why people who don't trust cops don't trust 'em and why and what they're afraid of if you're gonna be able to talk to them worth a damn, Manabu. That means history, and fiction, and all the other basics.

[Kara and Brendan had issues - freshman year was rough - but he had promised her when he left her to go back to Emily that he wouldn't get police involved. Drug dealer and manipulator that she was, she wasn't a murderer and she didn't deserve to be shot where someone in her position who was white would get five to ten years in prison. There were some lines that were simply not to be crossed.

He hated Kara, she hated him, but they were amicable enemies. There was a truce there based in the root sentiment of 'thank you for not literally getting me buried'.] God help me, I think I'm developing a conscience. And I'm basically dead on arrival at school, so. I'll help you cram for your test on whatever subjects I can, but more than that, you need to know... things that aren't gonna be kind to your faith in humanity. Shit. There's no way I can dress history up as not being depressing to study sometimes.

[This is why he liked fiction: at the end of the day, no real people were harmed in the making of it.]

[there's always, always more. Manabu's head dips while Brendan speaks, bobbing point for point. it only makes his past mistakes and good intentions seem more and more feeble and ill-planned. makes his choice to suffer tests and books more and more right, though.

the dynamics Brendan speaks of, though...it's definitely not the same as home. it puts him at a pretty big disadvantage. that'll make it more worth it, right-?

he blinks and looks up at the conscience remark, confused. his expression softens at the warning, and he smiles sadly, shaking his head.]

I'm not that naive. Not anymore. So don't worry about that.

You act naive as a newborn kitten sometimes. You wear your heart on your sleeve and it's gonna get you hurt - and I can't stop that. [One thing he'd learned time and again was that in the end, he couldn't keep people from being burned if they were reaching for the fire.] You'd be a better cop if you less of a bleeding heart. It's gonna ruin you. Just. [He makes a vague hand gesture.] Know I'll be there when it all comes crashing down.

And if that means avenging your death, at least I've had practice with that before. But if you die, I'm hitting you when you come back and it won't be because of your power, I promise.

[It should be a threat, but mostly he just sounds and feels pre-emptively tired. What is his life.] I'm not saying you can't do it. Just don't rush it. This is a lot to learn, you gotta take this in steps. If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right.

[he feels his face heat up with the wave of old, compulsive anger at the remarks. his mouth tugs one-sided while he sets the empty mug down, and he turns around, sucking in a slow breath. he exhales some of the agitation out, unfolding his arms to shake the rest out.]

Haa...You sound like Bruce. My partner on the force back home. [he glances back, grinning a little.] Except more encouraging. He'd just stop at the you're-too-soft bits and stomp off to brood.

So I have to prove myself to you, too, huh. That's fine. I'll do it.

I like that you're soft. I'm not sure I ever was. If I was, I didn't get to stay that way. Things unraveled and eventually I just sort of learned not to care because the consequences were too high. I don't want you to prove anything to me. I want you to stay alive. Stay soft. Stay the guy who got flustered when I explained California slang, the guy who dropped everything to come over here, the guy who inexplicably didn't take the opportunity to jump me. You wanna prove something, prove you can stay that. 'Cause that's rare, and it's worth a dozen cops, any day.

[Well, since Manabu's already angry at him, it can't hurt to be utterly honest:] I used to wanna be a police detective. But I'm trash and I posses at least a little self awareness; everyone I try to help out ends up worse off for it. Something's wrong with me that's not wrong with you. You, you can probably do the cop thing. Me? If I hadn't gotten ported in I would've bled out to death in an alley trying to get home.

If you've got it in your head I look down on you, you're insane. 'Cause I would trade places with you in a heartbeat if that wouldn't be a raw deal on your end.

[He steps forward, into Manabu's personal space. It's the one thing Brendan can do to try to convey sincerity when he's spent the bulk of his life lying. But if this is what it takes to correct the absurd assumption he feels anything other than worry and protective tendencies towards Manabu, hey, he'll put all his metaphorical cards on the table. Shame is for people who aren't him.] Honestly, I kind of wanted to flirt with you when I found you at the ballpark. I kinda did, low-key. You're soft and sweet and I could get in head over heels for you and do whatever I could to keep you safe, and all you'd have to do is say the word and be halfway decent and I'd overlook the age gap, the implications, everything that makes that equation unequal. I've overlooked worse for people not even half as good as you.

I know you'll do it. All I'm asking is you come out of it the kind of guy women write chick-lit about and I daydream about when I'm too drunk to know better. [Because again, he's trash. He knows he doesn't actually have a chance and it eats him alive in that quiet way lots of things do these days.]

[the praise for those qualities feels more like barbs for some stretched-out joke, the way he expects from other people who've marked on his demeanor before. at the start, anyway. he's still an easy read, so the transition from annoyance to confusion plays on his face without any attempt at hiding it.

that's supposed to be a compliment, then?] Well, I--

[cut off, too slow. his eyebrows shoot up with surprise at detective, furrowing at what follows. he wish Brendan wouldn't say trash or other bad things about himself, but it's kind of condescending to correct it, coming from him, isn't it?

even so--] You--

[nope. Brendan's up in his face. Manabu blinks, shaking his head a little to snap out of an unconscious bristle (close spaces, getting hit, all that), and frowns.

then grimaces.

then flushes scarlet and steps backward, nearly bumping something behind him. coffee table probably, since that thing is out to get him.

he doesn't like being made fun of, but kind of wishes he is right now. his eyes dart away, around, anywhere else with the very apparent uneasiness Brendan's remarks give him. worse, listing out all the problems with that. there's a very alarming, skin-crawling feeling of having done something wrong, but Manabu doesn't know what.

he gulps, leaning back on one heel, and hesitates for a beat. a beat longer, hearing nothing else, he looks back over, frowning, completely flummoxed.]

I-- [what.] You, uh. [what.]

...Shouldn't...do that. [what.]

Call yourself trash. You...shouldn't do that.

Edited (IPHONE AUTOCORRECT) 2017-05-31 18:25 (UTC)

I'm pretty what you actually mean is, I shouldn't hit on you. And you're right, and I won't. 'Cause you're not interested and pushy people are all kinds of wrong. Just take it as reminder you're worth it, and you should take care of yourself, and people who are gruff with you, it's... it's just a way of saying 'I care' without having to say it because that's got implications and I don't know if it's fair to put that on you. But I do know you deserve honesty because I know you wouldn't lie to me.

[He puts his hands in his jean pockets, looking at the ground. He probably shouldn't have gotten into the guy's personal space but God, he can't make another mistake like he did with Emily where he didn't say enough, didn't talk over her doubts and insecurities enough to talk about the real problems. He can't save her, she's gone. Maybe he can get Manabu to see he's a great guy, though, and maybe that'll keep him from getting depressed and anxious like Emily got, and if he can fix something for once, that's gotta be enough.

It's gotta be, or else, why is he even here?]

'Used goods' might be better wording after... the incident, [and oh, how he shudders involuntarily at the memory of being too weak to shove the body on top of him off,] but that's still damaged. Damaged things go in the trash. This isn't rocket science.

You, though, you're not used. You're not broken. You could be something outstanding, someday. Even if I made this all weird and you don't wanna talk to me afterwards, do not forget that.

Brendan-- [he grimaced, bringing his hands to his face and dragging the heels of his palms down, like trying to scrub the dismay off by force. he shouldn't have slammed that coffee so fast; instead of feeling awake and energized, he just wants to throw up.

it's bad, very bad. what he's hearing. it's jumbled up bad with all the bad this kid has had to put up with, and it's smearing bad all over him and what he thinks is him. bad the way he's talking Manabu up like some ideal.

he's terrible with this stuff. Brendan's too eloquent and direct and fast. Manabu is sloppy and confusing and slow. and not. perfect.

he puts up his hands and cuts in before his exasperated pause can go on too long.]

Please stop. I'm-- I'm sorry. I...appreciate what you think of me. What you think I am or might be. But. [he shakes his head.] Don't talk like that...at your expense. People aren't. Things and when they break or bend they don't get-- tossed. They're not supposed to be. I don't do that. Don't-- don't do that.

[his hands slowly slower as he talks, at times hesitating with his cadence, because trying to spit out words properly is a struggle. he lets them drop limply at his sides.]

Every terrible thing you've been through, it's...it's not what decides you as...you. You carry it, maybe drag under it, maybe even suffocate under it sometimes, but it's...not what should stop you. It can't. [his voice cracks there and he recoils, bringing a hand to his head and pushing at his hair.

he turns, stepping around the coffee table and away into the middle of the room. he stops, staring at the floor. he tries to assure himself he said things right, nodding vaguely. if he let what happened to him sink like this...

he exhales heavily.]

Look. If I can't let myself go too hard, stop being a softie... Then. You can't think you're already a lost cause.

Okay?

Not a matter of what I think. What I know is, you're a decent guy. It's obvious. [He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to take in that spiel, that genuine hopefulness, that idea that things aren't utterly ruined. He wants to believe it. He really does.

Hope is scary and expecting more out of himself than trashy behavior and thinking of himself as more than that, it leads to hope. Hope, the great temptation that hurts so much when it fails that he's learned not to reach for it. Brendan wants things not be like they are and he knows they can always get worse. That sort of thing froze him into place back home.

Back home he was alone. He didn't have a friend like this. This could... this could be different, right? Maybe this is the time he finally protects someone and someone cares about him without strings attached and he can breathe for once.

He swallows, trying to keep himself a respectable physical and emotion distance apart for the moment, before it gets too weird.] ...okay. Okay, I'll - I'll probably screw up once or twice, I know myself. But I can try. I'm not trying to make excuses for slipping up in advance; sometimes, it all gets heavy. Heavier than I know what to do with. I'm still figuring that bit out, I guess.

But I can try.

[after a beat, Manabu hastily scrubs at an eye, sniffs loudly, picks his head up, and turns around, pulling a smile. it's hard to force at first, but it settles with ease when he talks.]

That's when you do what you did. You say it's really tough, and...ask for some help. And you get a little help to get your footing again, and then you can move forward again.

You let someone remind you to not be ashamed for the help, because you know you'd do the same. And you have to remind them that later, probably. You even let them tell you you're an okay-guy now and then. [his head tilts, mouth quirking.]

That's how it goes, I've found.

Does it get any easier? Asking for help used to mean owing people favors and waiting for the catch. I know that's not your thing, but it's hard to shake off everythin' that ever held true back home.

[He rubs at his arms, awkwardly. Normally he sort of hides in his jacket, feels a little more like he can blend into the crowd with it. Without it he's minus even that small bit of normal comfort. He learned to take comfort in things, not people, when Emily died. It was all he could do to keep himself going.] ...if you ever decide I'm an alright enough guy to date, you know where to find me.

[Which is all he'll say on the matter of his initial foolish-bad-idea attraction to the upbeat nature of the guy. He's dated two drug dealers at this point and Emily had... problems, with addiction and depression, he's not great at picking people, usually. But whatever happens, it's gotta be because Manabu wants it to. Nothing good comes of trying to force anything to manifest.] For the record, much as I joked about your love life when we first hung out, anybody'd be lucky to have you. An' you deserve to be happy, with whoever. I don't judge. Unless they hurt you, then I'm going to have words with them, immediately. I have a feeling you wouldn't let it slide if somebody here hurt me so consider it a preemptive return on that.

[True friendship is giving the shovel talk to the people your friends date. Or at least it was back home. Other than Brian, who was asexual and thus spared Brendan the duty of having to go do that on his behalf, even if Brendan had to go get a book to educate himself on what asexuality even was after they talked.]

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