maskormenace

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It's weird to think that maybe this Earth could turn out like the one from my universe. Or timeline. Or however it works...
(I'm not really smart about all this, I'm sorry...)

But there's a lot that's similar. Even on the planet I lived on, and all the ones in the galaxy, we all use the same clock system, even though some days are longer or shorter depending on which planet you landed on. Same 24 hour clock. And this Earth uses one, too. And there's baseball and hovercars and the moon landing was about the same time (I think)...

So I wonder how long it will take for this Earth to leave the planet, if it will. Or maybe it won't because it won't make the same mistakes the Earth in my history did. Or maybe they WILL but they'll decide to do something differently. Maybe because people like us are here it's already changed how things will go. Maybe because I'm here the railways from my world can show, and maybe because someone else is here, something from their history will happen? IS that already happening?

It's also weird that I can think about all this without trying when I'm TRYING to study something else...

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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.]

A-ah-ha... [his mouth twitches, and a hand goes up to his face with no purpose, just reacting to react. the fact Brendan's not doing that on purpose is kind of killing him; it'd probably be better if he was just messing with him.

he fidgets, turning away again as Brendan just keeps going and Manabu kind of wants to yell PLEASE stop and just run out the door. through the door, if necessary. anything to derail this topic.

by the end of that, he's just nodding, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes and dragging them away, smiling with a pained expression.]

Ye-yeah. Uh. Mm. [cough.] I-I guess I. Appreciate that. Thought. But! But anyway! The point is! Is... [he gawks for a second, lost.]

...Um. [grimace.] Well, I... I don't remember the point, but. But.

[...]

But I...Think I'm going to go. [he nods. he nods faster, turning, phasing from slow motion to an almost panicked fast-forward in the scramble for his boots. no time for tact, his brain is already fizzled out, it's too late.]

[What is even Manabu's deal, Brendan has to wonder, taking in the very weird reaction with a tilt of his head. He can't even begin to read Manabu's body language, it just doesn't fit with how he's seen people act. Not only in this situation, either, but in general. While it'd be cute if it was him being flustered, it occurs to Brendan that it might be genuine discomfort and he hopes it's more based in the age gap than the bisexuality aspect, because he's not sure he can deal with it if one of his few friends here turns out to have homophobic hang ups.

He leans against the doorway's frame inbetween the kitchen and the living room, watching the mad scramble for the boots with a forcibly impassive gaze.] D'you want some muffins for the road? I can put some in a bag for you if you want.

[this is one of those things that makes Manabu seem much younger than he is. attraction, romantic advances, things like that are so far out from his scope, him so work-focused and...well. thick-headed. his failure to understand nuance in those regards is crippling as well, but damn, he's never had anyone bluntly, straight-up call him dateable. let alone it coming from someone younger.

they don't cover that stuff in SDF basic.

Manabu bumps the door in nearly losing his balance yanking his boot on. he plants both feet and holds his breath, having to stop a minute to think what he's doing, did he do it right, and what was next. and what--]

Huh? [he looks up, gawking dumbly. it takes a minute to process what Brendan said.]

Oh, uh. Mm, that's okay. I mean-- [his eyes wince.] I don't mind...either way.

[an attempt at chilling the hell out is made in smoothing out his shirt and pants, but he still feels uncomfortable in ways he can't properly interpret. he sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and then straightens up, heels together and arms pressed at his sides.

he bows low, eyes squeezed shut.]

I'm sorry for the trouble! And any confusion! [his shoulders start to tense up against his neck.] When it comes to those kinds of things, I'm! Not great...so. So! So please excuse my rude behavior.

Hey, hey. Tone it back, okay? I'm not mad or something at you. [He shrugs, trying to diffuse the situation, grabbing a bag to put some muffins in.] You're great at a lot of things, you're allowed not to be great at this, you know. Rude would've been telling me to shut the fuck up. This is fine.

[He holds out the paper bag with muffins in it to Manabu, smiling despite himself.] You're sweet, but I'll tell you if you mess up, trust me. Never been great at havin' a filter on my opinions.

Bu-but-- [he straightens back up, frowning in dismay while Brendan sees to packing food. he lets out a breath in a little, defeated puff while he starts to sag out of straight-backed, drill inspection posture.

he can hear the entire Vega platoon laughing at him for this. they would. jeez. jeez! he doesn't sign up for this kind of stuff, but he's expected to know how to deal with people--just straight-up, outright--

again, his hand is at his face, dragging at his cheek in a wave of humiliation. he shoots Brendan a pained look at the word sweet.

grumbling through the side of his hand:] Yeah, well. I noticed.

[he grabs the bag, almost outright sulking. he only puffs up a little, and even that barely has any steam behind it:] Just! Don't keep trying to pull a rug up from under me like that all the time! Saying once is enough already, jeez...

[huff.

a beat, and he straightens up again.] I'm off. I'll talk to you later, alright?

I'm not trying to. My world's different, I run in different circles than you. It's not intentional. [Brendan's intentional flirting might make Manabu have a heart attack on the spot, it seems like. And he's got a feeling it's got less to do with where they're from than who they are as people, but he's not going to say it.]

Thanks again for coming over. I - I'll try not to bug you too much, I know you're busy, but I appreciate it. Take care, okay? Ping me if you need anything and I'll try'n help.

[different, yeah. fine. he'll give it that, but that won't stop him from feeling so weird and embarrassed about the whole thing.

he nods, opening the door behind him and stepping out backward.]

Mm. I will. See you.

[letting the door close behind him, he turns and frowns at the street in front of him. after maybe half a minute just standing there he shakes his head, yelling JEEZ a bit too loudly while setting off at a run.]

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