bakerstreet | ( picture prompt meme )

Entry tags:

[meme] picture prompt

( picture prompt meme )

the picture prompt meme

I — Comment with your character.
II — Others will leave a picture (or two, or three...)
III — Reply to them with a setting based on the picture.
IV — Link to any pictures that are NSFW, please.
V — Be aware that this meme will be image-heavy.

Link to an image:

Embed image in your reply:

Image width and height:

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[...at the time he'd been told that there were a few things that they would need for the ritual. A knife. A container for Jojo's soul: his remains or something else. (Caesar didn't what to know what that something else was. He'd already been tempted too far.) Ash. Wine. But he'd also been told that they'd mainly need himself. More specifically, his grudge. He'd asked why, and was told some pretty poetry that was convincing at the time: it was human conviction that was necessary to make rituals successful. The strength to accept a debt, to bear it, and see it through to the end. Caesar's grudge would be proof of the sincerity of his will, and the grudge would complete the ritual and summon his Joseph. And at the time it seemed true enough. In retrospect, with this new information in mind, it was patently obvious that what the necromancer had meant was that either himself or the murderer would have to die before Joseph would be free.

...probably. Caesar had the feeling that texting for clarification wouldn't go well with anyone involved given the dick-ripping promise, and so instead he swallowed and pocketed his phone.

...thinking about it, this didn't change much besides making swallowing a bullet a Plan B if killing Jojo's murderer didn't work in regards to sending him back.]

Well, we'll have to fix that, won't we, Jojo? I moved recently, so you won't have to worry about anyone who knew you...before seeing you as you are now. We can go there, or, if there's anywhere else you'd prefer I can take you there instead. Either way, we should probably leave.

[(The manager, who had been staring at them warily from the counter - planning her attack but also reluctant to engage them for obvious reasons - was visibly relieved at the suggestion. Her stare was the universal one of oh thank fuck don't make me throw you out instead.)]

Not like I've got a choice now.

[ It isn't directed at Caesar - more behind him, to the man who actually organized and enabled this catastrophe of a plan - but he can't help that the only one here to hear it is Caesar. Joseph shoves himself up to his feet for the first time since first reawakening, and carefully works his way out of the booth, shimmying out awkwardly with his hands - one pushing from the booth's back, one from the table. His legs are more functional than they had been when Caesar hauled him in first, but to his dismay, the stiffness in his limbs looks to be a permanent side-effect of staying in the ground for so long. He lurches out, dragging his left leg as he goes, helping himself to any steady surface he can get his hands on along the way.

This does, unfortunately, include other people's tables. He hangs his head as he hobbles out and slams his back against the door to swing it open.

Once he makes it outside, he starts to gather his thoughts. Caesar would be asking questions, and being cagey about the answers was pointless now. He was involved whether he wanted to be or not. This would be his only way out. He sticks his hands in the pockets of his trousers, finds a hole, sticks his fingers through. Ignores the sudden skittering of too many legs across his ribs as he finishes the last stretch of their footbound journey - restaurant to car. ]

There were three of them. [ Start simple, start easy. Appended; ] Well. Two now, hopefully. I think I managed to kill off one before the other two got me. I don't know for sure. It was all... [ Fucked. ] Well, it was a manhunt.

Edited 2017-08-28 22:48 (UTC)

[The car was the same one as before. He followed after Jojo, prepared to pick up in his wake - a grimace here, a nod there, a few dollars shoved at the server (apologies about the smell, apologies about us, please don’t blacklist us-…me if I ever come back here again. please?) - and left. Restaurant to car. He listened as Joseph started to talk, unlocked the ca-]

A what? Wai- [And he gestured for silence. Closed his eyes for a second. Just…took in the night air, the faint breeze (as there was one blowing in from the south) trickling past his skin, just…] Shut up, Jojo. […just in case. Caesar needed to take a moment.

He took a moment. And then he gestured to get in the car.] It was a manhunt, you say.

[ He stops as Caesar does, and he lets him have his time. It's a bizarre thing to see Caesar this worked up, having to try this hard to contemplate something that had once simply been part of the life they'd chosen, to have to take a moment to digest that the very same dangerous cryptids and creatures might be hunting them (him) the same way that they were. To Joseph, it'd always seemed obvious enough that this would likely be their end someday.

He lets Caesar consult the black silence and the night breeze with whatever his thoughts were before he's signaled to continue. ]

Yeah. A manhunt. [ He gives himself a moment to jerk the car door open and to fold himself into the doorway, coming to a hard rest on the seat. He pulls the door shut and cracks the window open a sliver for the smell. Then, he puts his hands on his legs and takes a breath. The first hurtle. He reminds himself of the worst that Caesar could do, and more specifically, that it probably wasn't much.

Here we go. ]

I was... I was working. Alone. I thought that if I brought some money home with me, it might be... you might not be mad at me anymore. It would be easier to patch things up. I don't know. It's what I always did. Seemed to do the trick most nights.

[This was why he needed to take a moment. And that moment was insufficient to brace himself for what came next, the vicious punchline to that joke which wasn't what Caesar had been expecting. The terrible truth was that he was startled, yet deeply unsurprised, yet-

Jojo got a stare. Caesar knew he was...something, but he didn't know what, and he didn't care what Joseph saw on his face, what he gave away. It didn't matter. Jojo could always read him, anyway. Why not skip the formalities and just give it all away?]

It was never about the money. Did you really think that all I cared about was the money? I didn't care about the money. [And he said money in the same way that he would say that shit. That literal pile of dung on the porch.

Caesar grimaced. He rolled down his window a little bit further. (If this collaboration was going to exist longterm he clearly was going to have to figure out what to do about that smell.) Caesar drove. He needed to do...something with his hands. Fiddle, fidget- in a different lifetime this would've been the point in which he would've hit his idiot before pulling him into an one-armed hug, maybe. But that wasn't possible now, at least not in the ways that mattered, probably.

...and if they didn't drive off the few dollars he threw at Waffle House would only do so much in keeping them from making an excuse and calling the cops. So. Driving.]

I cared because you cared, and because you were usually gone long enough I started to get worried. [Apparently he has to go there.] Apparently for very good reason given where we are now- and I'll admit it. I regret bringing you back this way, and I regret tying you to this world as you currently are and I assure you that we will fix this, but I don't regret the fact that we can talk again. I missed you a lot, you idiot. You fool. You damned bastard.

[...take the hint and go back to business, before he actually has to issue a more verbal hint or drive the conversation back to business.]

[ I didn't care about the money, emphasis on money, draws his eyes back to Caesar.

I started to get worried raises his eyebrows.

I missed you a lot drops his jaw.

He wonders if this is as unbelievable to Caesar as it is to Joseph, because to him, each statement is a compounded earthquake, one on top of the other, rattling earth that he shouldn't even be able to walk. For a moment, he lets Caesar's words sit alone and untouched, filling the cab of his car, and he stares. He waits for him to take them back. He questions them in the safety of his own head. Caesar, missing Joseph. Right. Like that would ever happen. Caesar, who had had all of the company he could have wanted. Of all of the lovers that Caesar had seen come and go, Joseph's the one he misses. The guy shoving phallic lighters and books about cat hair in his face. Caesar "No Feelings Just Business" Zeppeli missed him. Joseph.

But he recognizes sincerity when he hears it, and for as much of a paradox as it is, that's what he hears here. He stares and waits until all that's left between them is the hum of the vehicle. ]

Sorry, I'm -- I'm... sorry. [ Feather-light, the only type of voice that he has in him in the wake of what Caesar had just dropped on him. For a moment, all other words have been scared away. He has nothing else in him but I'm sorry. Apologize for being killed - the Joseph of his last cycle of life would have never brought himself this low, but this Joseph has been shocked into it. Joseph lets his gaze float back to the window, to the blur of shops and buildings lining the road as they drive, and he scrambles to grab onto anything else in the short fraction of the impossible - of Joseph being at a legitimate loss for words. He opens his mouth, takes a breath to speak, hesitates, and then; ] I... never realized, I guess. It just -- if I brought a couple extra bucks to kick toward rent back with me, it seemed so much easier. Like we had an excuse not to fight without having to talk. I just didn't want to fight.

[ He pauses a moment, then, slowly; ] It has to've been months by now, right? I thought by now, you would have... I really doubted if you would even--

[ He shuts his mouth there. Right. Business. Right. They were talking business. ] ... That's all beside the point, I suppose. You want to know more about what happened.

[ Joseph shifts back into his seat carefully and ruminates for a moment. ]

It... I thought that I'd picked an easy job. A pair of old nutters willing to pay a fat sum over some men they'd seen in the woods out back of their house. You know? I was expecting to just have to tell a bunch of amateur witches to fuck off. One of those sorts of gigs, where -- you remember that one time, when we went to that crazy old bat's house over in York? The one we went into expecting wights and liches, and instead we just wandered around burning sage until she calmed down? That's the sort of thing I was expecting. And that if it was a clutch of vampires or something, I could either get them to leave or I could kill them without a whole lot of fuss. And, well...

[ His hands lift, palms-up, on either side of himself. And, well, this happened. They slap back down on his thighs. It takes him a moment longer to work toward the actual heart of what had happened that night. Joseph hadn't considered that the way in which he had died would prove too important to leave out, thanks to the nature of their prey. If they wanted this to succeed, and if he wanted to persuade Caesar to leave himself out of it, then he couldn't afford to leave any stone unturned. He works his lips for a moment before he starts again. ]

I haven't been able to figure out what they were yet. It was just... so strange. They were bizarre. Whatever they were, one of them was on me within a second. There was this weird little gale of wind that forced my eyes down into my sleeve, and when I looked up he was just... there. Huge guy. Don't know how he made it through the trees without catching my attention. I asked him if he was one of the fellows who'd been skulking around, and he just told me that if I went any further in, he would have to dispatch me. I told him that he was free to try it now, and the loonie climbed up a bloody tree and leapt off like a fucking bird.

[Driving lasted approximately four red lights, six blocks, and a stop sign, and by the time Joseph hit like a fucking bird Caesar looked left, looked right, made a turn, and pulled over and into a random parking lot. Apparently for some hardware store, but that didn't matter: it was late enough that barely anyone was in the parking lot in the first place. (And a small, traitorous part of Caesar wondered if they could get something for the smell in there, but the rest of him was too busy curling up into a ball while trying to process what he had been told to really consider the thought or get too mad at himself for having had it.)

He leaned forward, rested his hands on the steering wheel, rested his head on his hands-]

... [And then just took a moment to breathe-] Of course I couldn't. [His phone vibrated. He ignored it.]

And if I kept on driving I would've crashed into something. [And there was the acknowledgement that this might have been hitting him harder than he had expected. He leaned back, gestured once, imperiously: go on.] So, he left like a fucking bird. Then you followed?

[ It's just as well. Joseph lets him take the car wherever it needs to go. He would have had to force him to a stop eventually, anyways. Might as well pull over now and make it easier on everyone.

He tries not to look at Caesar as he tries to compose himself. Looking at him would mean that, inevitably, he would reach one of his melting hands out. He looks down at them. Bloodbruised and splotched black with rot, fingernails all dark and peeling away, flesh eaten back enough to reveal the bones of a few fingers. His hands aren't anything that would provide comfort anytime soon.

They're best kept to himself. ]

No. I don't think you understand what it is I mean, Caesar. When I said "leapt off like a bird" what I meant was he planted his damned foot on that branch and jumped straight up, with this... dent going through the trees, this depression of wind rustling everything, and then he was gone. Couldn't've followed him if I wanted to, so I just... I laughed after him, called him a pussy, kept on.

[ Said with the unspoken apologetics of I probably should have turned around and come home then but I didn't and here we are. ]

The further I got in these trees, the deader things got. It was just -- eerie. Just this black silence. So dark, I couldn't find my way back even if my feet did get cold. I don't know if it was just these things messing with me, or... it just, even the smell was stale. Nothing actually lived in this fucking forest but me while I was there, I can tell you that. I could feel eyes everywhere, more than just the three fellows I encountered, but I could never see any of them.

[ He pictures the next character in this tale in his head for a moment before he embarks on his leg of the story. Tall. Massive. Bare, smirking, wriggling with thin and shadowy little appendages. ]

The second fellow was almost an accident. Like I was a stray cat he didn't expect to see on his porch. Said most didn't... persist, that far into the woods. Told him that I was tired of this shitty forest and I wanted to go home, so it was either they left peacefully or I cleaned them out, and he just laughed at me. Felt like the whole bloody wood laughed with him, too. He said that his boy must have liked me to let me get as far as I did, just watching me the whole time. [ He's stopped counting the number of times he'd tried to swallow the ash from his throat, but he thinks this must number around the third. When that fails, he continues, quieter; ] Said that he could see why.

So he starts circling me, and I can feel him just leering as I go around opposite of him. I saw something moving off of him, little... worm things. Tripped me with one - I know it wasn't a root, because I felt another one coming at me and I grabbed for it, and, well -- [ He turns up his palms to show the first of his scars of battle - rotting, white ligatures, strips peeled to necrotic muscle and white bone, ] -- it fucking hurt, turns out. I shot him three times and it just seemed to irritate him into backing the hell off, and I limp off. Came to make the connection eventually, somehow, that there might be a reason these bastards've never been seen in daylight as the cover lightens, so I work this guy over himself and tie him up in his own nasty little tentacles as the sun comes up. And he just -- he warps, skull stretches out and a horn blows through his face, he screams, and just before he dies, he points at me, and--

[ He stops here. Raises one fist, punches the side of it into his oozing chest. The impact rattles his ribs. ]

My own bullet. Right here. He took it in and shot it right back at me.

Edited (i used the word fucking like 11 times in this tag what t f) 2017-08-30 01:11 (UTC)

[Part of Caesar wants to claim that Joseph’s lying, say that there’s nothing true about what he had said, that there was clearly a simpler and less…Joseph explanation to be had. The rest of him knows that the fact that it was a very Joseph explanation said a lot to the truthfulness of it. Of course he didn’t merely get mugged. (Somehow in the woods, but something boring, mundane, self-explanatory.) Of course he didn’t.

Caesar could feel the headache starting. He stared at the hand, he listened to Joseph talk, and then, at the end of it-]

Hold on.

[Caesar opened his door to get some veneer of fresh air flowing in the car, and tried to not shudder or gag. Worm things. Tying someone up by their tentacles. Caesar grimaced- it was stupid, given their current situation, but…worm things. He’d probably have to take showers for weeks if that had been him. If he had survived. Which he might not have.]

I’m aware that you’re not, but indulge me: you’re lying.

[He needed some return to banter to keep from wanting to…something.]

What, you want I should pop open my shirt and show you the bullet hole?

[ He smirks, the moment of less tangible dryness a small relief, and hooks his stiff fingers into the breasted split dividing both his vest and his shirt anyways. Indulging him. Because I can if that's where we want to go. He won't, of course. There's no reason that Caesar should see that after all of this time. Joseph doesn't even know if he wants to see it. He can already tell that it's a mess of an injury by now. ]

Forget lying, Caesar. I'm not even done telling yet.

[ ... not that he could say that he was overly surprised by the accusation. If it were him listening, he'd probably think it was a lie, too. He's got an inkling of what Caesar's trying to do, but he doesn't have it in him quip or to go back and forth with him, and that's plenty evident in the slouch of his animated remains as the fresh air fills the car. He lets it have the stage for the moment. The deeper Joseph led him into this forest, the harder it became to keep going. He exhales a small reserve of breath that he didn't even really realize he was holding. ]

I started crawling. Hiding, really. [ Once the air cools his peeling face enough to let him keep going. He smiles, shrugs. ] Ripped moss off of the rocks and shoved it into my chest to help with the bleeding. The one was still looking for me - I knew he was around when the wind was. He'd stomp around, try to sniff me out, pick up broken sticks and things to see if I'd been there, and then he'd jump off again. Heard him talking with the third fellow now and again. [ The third fellow still safely nestled in vague allusion, away from the direct spotlight of the story for a time yet. ] It was stupid. Don't even know why I kept avoiding them. Already knew I was done for, would've been so much easier just to let them find me and finish the job, but... there was something else that I had to do first, so.

[ He gestures vaguely, clumsily, with his hands. He tries to coax the words out. They catch against the dryness in his throat. I called you. ]

Edited (one of these days ill send u a tag without editing it 900 times first) 2017-08-30 19:13 (UTC)

[...somehow, amazingly, against all odds - somehow, just, somehow, it was one of Joseph's talents, somehow - Joseph had somehow managed to successfully take I was killed and make it worse. Somehow. It was actually impressive in how the underlying mystery of the strange wounds and sudden death just-...Caesar had expectations. And once again, he learned that Joseph was good at defying them. They hit there was something else that I had to do first.

And it was just a bit worse, because up until that point Caesar could pretend like if he had taken that call he could've been there in time, saved Joseph from whatever it was that had attacked him, dragged him into the hospital...something. He didn't know for sure. But what if? What if? And yes, it was the fodder for nightmares, but it also-...it was nice in all of the worst ways of being able to wonder, "But what if." Pretend like he could've made a difference.]

You know, Jojo. [Somehow he ended up leaning forward again. It was either that or stepping outside. Not to go far, just to stand outside of the car and lean. (It was still tempting but then stepping outside would lead to punching a wall, or going into the store and purchasing something, or being...reckless.) Caesar fiddled with the lighter, that stupid novelty lighter, rolling it in his hand.] I wondered what would've happened if I had gotten your call. I wondered if maybe, if I had, I would've been there in time and then the conversation we would be having instead is how you're not allowed to go off by yourself anymore.

Edited 2017-08-30 22:43 (UTC)

Well, [ And here he shrugs, absently, more of a full-body shift than anything else, a smile bordering on wistful playing with his lips, ] I've never had very good timing, and you've never been very good at returning my calls. What else could we expect?

[ A little bit of levity breathes into his stiff body now, milky eyes turning into shining full moons for a moment, cringing to accommodate for a light and teasing grin. His barbs are dulled, not by time but by care. The moment is too fragile.

The sliver of shine fades from him, and he turns back to the window. He puts his eyes to the darkness. It's easier this way, and he needed things as easy as he could make them if he ever wanted to get anything from here out. He rests his opposing hand across himself and on the door, near the window. ]

I called you to talk. That's all.

[ He pulls up the door lock. Clicks it back down. Pulls it back up. ]

You can't've known, Caesar, I know that.

[ The words are planned. Carefully picked and ordered. He drops them with a slow and plunking precision as he curls against the car's door. He continues on pulling the door locked and unlocked again. This, too, is planned - rhythmic. It's soothing.

He lets the seatbelt cradle his cheek and brings his forehead to cool again against the window - he'd apologize for any smeared fluid and lingering stench later. Like the breaking of a dam, each of the rest of the words fall into its place, as too many books might fall from a shelf. He can't stop it, and by now, trying seems like too much effort. ]

If you're thinking that I held that against you, I didn't. And I knew you couldn't have helped me, because by the time I realized that I needed to try you, nobody could. It just... it occurred to me while I was crawling around down there that I had no idea what would happen to me after I finally bled out. I didn't know what these things would do with my remains, or if anything would be left behind after. I just thought... you and everyone else might not ever even know that I was killed. You might all wonder where I went, or you might try to look for me for a long time without finding anything. You might think that I ran off with someone. I just -- I wanted you to know what was happening to me.

[ The lock enters a downbeat - thunk to the plastic, and for the second time since being exposed to the air again, he breathes without talking in the form of a sigh rushing like water from his lips. His back falls with it. He sits in silence for a moment before letting the next words, the most fragile of them all, slot into their place, a confession wrapped up in silk and tied securely, revealed with care, porcelain words kept to a polished glow only by protection from the open air, don't break them-- ]

I wanted... to talk to you.

[And that was when he- it wasn’t a pretty thing. It didn’t start as a pretty thing. Tears welled in Caesar’s eyes as he stared blankly at Joseph before he crumpled into the steering wheel-

brrrrrrrrrrm-

-and Caesar swore under his breath, something vicious, unintelligible (of course he’d accidentally honk the horn in a moment like this, of course) as he just-…hit it a second time-

brrrm-

-and then the noise stopped as Caesar willed himself to breathe, to breathe, to take everything he was feeling and to bottle it up. Safely stopper it away with a cork, and to save that bottle. And later, Caesar told himself, later he could release it. Later he could find a deserving target (ideally that which killed his Joseph, but barring that there were a few others) and then he could take that metaphorical bottle and bash it over their heads until it broke. Then he could take the sharp edges of that metaphorical bottle and metaphorically gut them with it, drag out their entrails, and throttle them with it and watch them choke and die. Caesar told himself he could do that later and so he should bottle it up now so he could be here and listen to what Joseph had to say.

It didn’t help. He was crying into the steering wheel.]

Continue talking, Jojo. [His voice wobbled, but that couldn’t be helped-] Please.

[ The car's horn blares, and he supposes it's a good sign for the integrity of his nervous system that it still makes him jump right out of his skin. Not such a good sign that a few more times meant that that might become literal jumping out of his skin.

He balms himself with the song of crickets outside, watches a cloud of birds rustle free and soar off screaming back at them from the nearest tree. He doesn't look at him. Looking at him would be to comfort him, and he would try to comfort him as he had when they were alive, and to comfort him as he might have when they were alive would be to touch him. He cannot.

Caesar asks him to keep talking, and he nearly turns to ask about what, before deciding that he would carry on the tradition he always held up proud and strong when he was alive - he's going to be selfish and do some blood-letting before he gets back to business. He trains his eyes to the plastic, locked little nub in the door, pushes his fingertip into the rounded top. He lets it come into focus, and he's sure that his eyes are worse than they were, but he can't say he's surprised. He sits there until he can feel the night seep into his opened skin. ]

... There was so much that I wanted to tell you then. [ So much, in fact, that Joseph would appear visibly lost navigating all of it if Caesar could see his face. ] You get in a real strange space when you know that something like that's coming, when you know that you've not got saving yourself to worry about. You can feel yourself bleeding out of your body, and your heart's going like a piston trying to put blood in you, and it's all you have just to think until you're gone. If you'd picked up, I would have lay there in the scrub and talked and talked until I finally died, and I still wouldn't have had the time to get all of it out.

[ He lets the words percolate and take shape in him before letting the first of it out. The gates are opened, because he doesn't have a heart to guard anymore, so secrecy and coyness seem like a waste of time. Joseph's milky gaze drifts to the dry pavement below the car, the dividing line between spaces at a crooked and frantic jaunt. ]

I wanted to ask you about Mother, if you thought of her as your mother more than I thought her mine. I always thought that you must have, you two getting on so well. I wanted to know if you knew how fucking bad that burned me up. All of the girls killed me too, but not as bad as you and Mother did. I hated you for it sometimes. That she left me with my Gran like that after Dad vanished and then came back with a new son. I don't know. It seems silly now. And all of the dumb shit I did to make you mad? Like when I would put my feet up on the dash over here, or shave into the sink and not rinse it out, or when I'd drink straight out of the cartons. That stupid thing I used to do where I'd put coffee in my mouth and then milk and swish it around? I wondered if you would ever miss any of that. Whether you'd throw out that dumb, dumb lighter or not. I wanted to ask you.

And I wanted to ask if you ever knew other things. [ Good things. Not all of the guts he had to spill were dark and evil. He pulls the lock up again and smiles at it. ] Like that the only reason I ever learned to get up early was so that I could wake you up, because right when you woke up was the only time you ever looked soft in front of me. When you'd look at me all tired with your mouth half-open. If you remembered that night we spent sitting on that cliff throwing back beers as often as I did. That I could listen to you talk and talk and talk, even if I couldn't or didn't want to understand you, because you were always so much quieter than I was. I wanted to tell you how to make my Gran's arthritis tea, because she always complains that nobody she's hired since I left has been able to make it quite right. I've never taught anyone else... going back there to do it a couple times a week made me feel needed. And.

[ If you knew that I loved you then, I guess. He swallows it back, and he shrugs again. ]

Things like that.

[Fine, breathe. Breathe. You said too much. On the tip of his tongue, but swallowed down: it wasn't that Joseph had said too much as it was that he had said, like usual, the wrong thing at the wrong time. Again. In a different lifetime they likely would've ended up shouting again, because apparently they were incapable of airing feelings in the first place without something drastic happening to one of them, and they were incapable of dealing and resolving ('resolving') those feelings without something else as a distraction: sex, money, things of that ilk. It was a wonder they had lasted as long as they had, really.

Fine.

Coffee and milk in mouth, swished in his mouth.

Caesar would focus on that.]

I never understood why you did that. The coffee thing. It annoyed me- obviously, as you know this. And don't misunderstand, Jojo: if I focused on the rest we wouldn't be leaving this place for a few hours.

[Because he would be a sobbing heap. Because there's some things he can't deal with, and one of them is the undead idiot telling him things that should've come before, but isn't that the story of their lives? Just a little too late. Always.]

But I never understood why you would do that to coffee, milk, or your sense of taste...assuming you had any and I still hadn't decided if you had or not when you ran off like an idiot.

[ You've said too much is an easy criticism to come from a man who hadn't just got the stitching cut from his lips an hour ago. Perhaps to Caesar it was too much, but it was all too easy for Joseph to let them fly - they'd built up from his mouth all the way to his stomach since he'd been in that forest, and now that he was free to speak them, they had all come out in one unstoppable heap that seemed perfectly reasonable to Joseph.

And in a way, he's glad that Caesar picks something as easy to digest and swallow as that was. The rest could be left like a flaming bag on his porch. Maybe they could clean it up later.

The question comes as he yanks the lock up, and it stops him. He turns slowly, legs just beginning to unfurl, looking over his shoulder with his face at a tilt - either out of perplexment, or the rot. A confused smile begins to stretch his blue lips, his brows closed together. ]

Well... because it made you mad. [ He states it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. With the same tone one might explain to someone why carrot cake is orange. As though that simple goal made the sacrifice of coffee and milk and his sense of taste completely reasonable and justified. ] Why'd you think?

[And Caesar turned his head, equally slow in his own way, to stare at Joseph. Joseph's confused smile was met with a frown (bless that frown, he can feel the need to scream in fury, in rage, in sorrow being choked down by that frown) and he stared for a long moment.]

Because it made me mad. [And then, that.] Apparently I understood why after all. [And also that, you idiot.] I'd hit you for that if you weren't... [...] ...dead, you buffoon.

[And this was one of life's little moments in which part of him wondered why he thought bringing back Joseph's sense of humor was worth it, because it was, but also it made him go...ah, yes. Caesar Anthonio Zeppeli. You had let sorrow and nostalgia cloud over memories and let you forget, if but a little, why you ended up with Joseph in the first place: because he pissed you off so much that you couldn't ever ignore him.

And now you remember.

Now you really remember.

(It's easier than crying, and anything else- he was dead, so no.)]

As for your lighter, no, I thought about throwing it at your head when we buried you for the first time but decided against it.

[This was a lie, of course, but he-] That, and it gave me something to hold onto. [-...apparently couldn't quite lie at this point. There was more to it, of course, that it was one of the few things Caesar could roll about his hand on a daily basis without people judging him...too much for it, but Joseph didn't need to know that.] I let your mother and your grandmother have their pick of your things with dignity. It left me with very few options after that.

[ Like a roar, the simple confirmation that The Lighter still lives breathes new and loud life into him. He turns fully now, his ruined shoes slapping against the car's floor, and what starts as one disbelieving bark of laughter turns into rolling and lyrical peals of it filling the cab. ]

You kept the little dick-man lighter! After making all of that noise about it!

[ He slaps his forehead as the giggles shiver from him, lets his hand run down his face. Pulls his scarf askew, and if the lighting in the car had been better, would betray the one pus-black gouge drilling deep into Caesar's side of his throat, shining and rounded in purple and black bruising, dead veins shooting up and down his skin like roots from it. Joseph muffles his opened mouth with his palm and smothers the last seconds of laughter finally die. ]

Oh, that's good. I should've known that you were just jealous of it all this time. [ His head rolls over to him, eyes shining again, his smile as easy as it had ever been. ] See, Caesar, what you should've done is had the fellow at the funeral home stitch it in my mouth -- you know, cock-down. Could've ensured that I left this world as I lived.

[ If you expect Joseph to take his own burial seriously, then you don't know who it is you're dealing with.

He leans back against the seat and looks at Caesar directly now, some scrap of life clinging to his cheeks as he takes his words in, his lips still clinging to the shell of a smile. His poor grandmother picking over his old things. What had she learned about their life together that evening?Had she realized that she would never learn anything new about him again? He realizes now that his scarf has slips and he adjusts it. ]

Not sure what should surprise me more. That Gran let that scarf be, or that dear old Mum even bothered to show up.

Edited 2017-08-31 22:19 (UTC)

[Joseph laughed: Caesar stared, offended (maybe...not really and yet he was, except not very, and it was complicated like all things were) because he was not jealous of the dick-man lighter, how very dare Joseph insinuate that he was jealous of that, and maybe if he had better options in regards to keepsakes he wouldn't be reduced to twirling a dick-man lighter in his hands and hoping people wouldn't notice what it was he was playing with. The twitching of his mouth was only the shadows and the streetlights outside.

And then, like they started dancing together to a familiar tune-] Your mother cares, Jojo.

[Step step swing- had they ever danced? Given how he had shuffled in the diner, it was a moot point anyway.

It wasn't...it wasn't possible to pretend like Joseph looked alive, as, shadows or otherwise, there was nothing to be done about that smell, but there was enough that remained that Caesar could pretend like it wasn't as bad as it was, and, so, they could afford to dance around the point of all of this a bit longer. (This was important, anyway.)] And I told your grandmother that your favorite scarf was purple, which, in retrospect, was a mistake. [This was the roundabout way of saying, "You can have it back."] But your mother- what she told me that night should have been between you and her alone, but she told me that you take after your father more than you will ever know and that was one of the reasons she always had so much trouble dealing with you, Jojo.

[ And now Joseph's remembering the other reason they fought so much - Caesar's greatest talent happens to be sucking the mirth and joy from the air like some sort of happiness vampire.

His own words echo back to him - I hated you for it sometimes. Did Caesar want a fight? Was he trying to goad him? There's a split-second of confused silence, his face falling from its earlier cheer to sit in a confused sort of blankness as he struggles to get a bead on the conversation again, tries and fails to gauge whether Caesar's intent wasn't to shoot the whole thing down screaming. It was going well for about a split second, and now Joseph feels like he has to cut his mouth open and spew a whole new wave of glue-like venom, because yet again, it was Caesar whom she had turned to, and Joseph is again excluded, and there's a sliver of hurt that might be visible in more reliable light before he turns away again. He wonders what this news was actually supposed to mean, the word that, officially, Caesar knew more about his father then Joseph himself did.

Would, now.

He lets another breath leave him like a sheet of ice. He focuses on a flickering lamp casting flashes on the pavement. ]

Oh, wow. That's so incredible. I'm so glad that you could have such a heartwarming revelation about why I was abandoned as a child with my mother, Caesar. Really. I'm touched. Means the world that she cared enough to reach out to you like that. Thanks for letting me know about that very touching conversation that she decided to share with you, Caesar, with you. It's real great that you guys have that bond where, you know, she'll actually talk to you. That's really nice for you guys -- [ He turns here, hard and decisive, sweeping his hand toward the window as he speaks, ] do you see what might be the problem here, Caesar? Do you see why I don't have the most fucking sympathy over here? Any clue at all? Do you honestly--

[ Here, he catches himself. He takes a breath, then remembers how little that actually helps now. Joseph sits still as death before he tries to salvage things; ]

Look -- nevermind, sorry, just... I'm not talking about her. We'll fight if we do.

[“That’s fine. I can drop a twenty and pretend like I didn’t notice, and you can pick it up and give it to me and we can pretend like that’s rent money and everything’s fine,” was what Caesar didn’t say. He stared at Joseph for a long moment, and- then he shrugged, he slammed the door shut, he locked the door, he put the keys in the ignition and turned it on.]

Fine. [Fine, run away from this again, fine, we can talk about something neutral, something that won’t get us to fight, something like kittens or clouds or little puppies, something harmless because apparently that’s all we’re capable of - harmless - and if you’re wondering why I never talked to you this was part of the reason.] Fine, because running away from fights has served us so well so far. And of course, you realize that the reason why we share so close of a bond and the reason why she told me this was because you! Died! And maybe- actually, you're right. Forget it. Just forget it. Do you realize why I usually didn't like to talk freely around you? Because of things like this!

[Foot on the gas-] But fine, we can avoid that, just like we avoided everything else because apparently you couldn’t stand- fine, just tell me where they are. That’s all I want to know. Then I’ll leave you off at my new place and I’ll finish this. I’ve cable. You can find ways to kill time there until I’m done.

Oh, dear.

[ If one thing's still intact in Joseph, it's his flair for dramatics. He splays one rotting hand at the collar of his shirt and puts the other over his gasping mouth, his brows held high in apparent shock, his voice tightened to a scandalized, high-society wisp. ]

Have I gone and done it now? Have I offended His Majesty's delicate sensibilities by not fucking prostrating myself for forgiveness over some half-baked second-hand nonsense? Poor little cupcake. [ He spreads his knuckles with all delicacy to his brow, a false swoon, a tortured and softened little moan passing his teeth. ] Oh, my poor baby. I can't imagine what it must feel like to not be able to talk freely to someone. Never in my years.

[ Not someone important. No matter how many romantics Caesar wanted to prop up, Joseph's not convinced that he wouldn't turn this into a physical altercation if it would have more impact than a moment's inconvenience. If their seats were switched, he's almost positive that a barb like that about running away, after he'd just spoke of spending hours fearing for his life in half-dead flight, would be met with a stern punch to the jaw.

Joseph prefers verbal hits, though, as always. He snaps his fingers with Eureka and feels his skin begin to slough from his finger's pad. ] But hey! The good news is that I know just the thing! Why don't you just start fucking swinging again, huh? You know, like the good old days! When Caesar couldn't say what he thought and everybody else could. How about that, Caesar? Would that help? Would it loosen the lips a little bit? Go ahead!

[Caesar so would've taken a swing if both of them were alive, or, barring that, if Joseph were alive and he dead: if Joseph were alive his jaw could handle a blow, and if Caesar were dead then he'd have to be the one to deal with the loss of a barely functional hand, not Joseph. One sidelong glance, though, and he clenched the steering wheel just a bit harder, reached over with his free hand to turn on the radio, blast some music, any music, it didn't matter what music, to fill it up with noise, if he lashed out they'd probably have to turn around and get some goddamn duct tape for that jaw-]

...

[-...actually, no, fuck that.] Believe it or not I actually don't really care anymore about what's between you and your mother or the fact you can't-... [Words. Fucking words. Caesar regrets trying to use words already. Fuck words.] ...that's between you and her in the end, and, given that you're already dead, that won't be your problem for much longer. What I'm...upset, shall we say, about is that once again, you got mad at something I said, said what you wanted to say, except instead of standing by it, you immediately tried to backtrack and change the subject, and given that's what got you killed you damn bastard that's a little bit of a...thing, shall we say, with me. [Ha. This was so much easier when they could distract the other with pretty much anything. And if Caesar's foot hit the gas just a bit more it was only because the sooner they got back to his shitty rented room the sooner he could check his phone, and the sooner he checked his phone the sooner he'd know how bad whatever he got messaged by whomever was, and the sooner he dealt with that he could sleep.] I know, I know. I'm alive, you're not, I bound you to this world against your will and I'm going to have to get myself killed to get you out of it again, but as that's little bit of a sore spot the next time you get mad, please, just don't avoid the fight. I would rather shout at you for two hours than trying to avoid the damn fight.

Well -- yeah, that's why I'm pissed off. Because she shouldn't have ever made it your business how much like my father I am. She never even made Dad my fucking business, and Lord knows she had enough time to do that, but she'll talk about it with you? Like -- right, okay. Bare with me here. Let's do a little hypothetical thinking.

[ Because Caesar wanted to talk, because Caesar insisted on stepping over boundaries and making himself welcome where he wasn't -- he doubts that he has the self-awareness to understand what he's about to do, but it's all that he has to try and get him to understand. He straightens himself up and takes a breath. ]

Your dad --

[ His hands come down in the air before him decisively, two flat and bordering palms to mark Your Dad's position, ]

-- let's say after all of these years, he just shows up again. Not saying he will, not saying he would. Let's just say we opened the door one day and he was there, just -- "Hey, son, I'm not dead, I just fucked off for awhile!" [ Down-pitched voice and open-palmed wave included in this impression of Your Dad. He glances over to mark the breaking of this impression and turns his palms up, a request for understanding, ] Right? He just turns up after leaving you to think that for all of that time like it's nothing. Like suddenly now he belongs here. No apology, no explanation -

[ Palms closing, both pointer fingers pointing back to indicate the secondary antagonist of this story, ]

And then he meets me. And suddenly, we're talking all the time while he ices you out. He laughs at all of my stupid jokes that you hate, and actually, he thinks I'm just hilarious. He thinks I'm a fucking gas. When I'm not around, he's talking to you about me some more, just to really salt the wound. And we go out and we do shit while you're left wondering to yourself what it is we talk about all the time that you can't be around. And when I'm not hanging out with your dad, I'm sat over here, telling you why it's fine that he did what he did to you by telling you all of these things that he's told me about it. [ His hands are spinning around themselves now, indicating the passage of time and too many conversations, ] About you, about your family, but he's kept them from you, because he won't talk to you, because you don't know why.

[ He lets the situation sit for a second - but only a literal second, because Caesar's father is a hot enough topic that he's got to move quickly. It's boiling milk. If he lets it sit too long, it'll scald. ]

You're telling me right now that that wouldn't get to you? Hearing that from me and not him would just fix everything -- that'd be good enough? You wouldn't consider that reason to be upset?

[Then, after a moment:]

No, Jojo. This might surprise you, but I would actually consider that a very good reason to be upset. [And Caesar’s looking for a good place to pull over because apparently they’re incapable of carrying on a conversation that wouldn’t distract him while driving to the point in which he has to pull over, but-…construction. More construction. No side streets at all. Poised to get onto the interstate - not far, just two exits - but far enough that the interstate was the quickest route. Of course.

And so, with a grunt of of course when I need to pull over there’s nowhere good to be had he carried on driving.]

And I wish I knew all of this sooner. [He probably would’ve accomplished…absolutely nothing, but it was like catching the call with Joseph: he could still pretend. Caesar could pretend he could say the right things to Joseph’s mother (who, yes, he privately thought of as his mother but didn’t want to admit to anyone besides himself) and…something.] But you’re wrong: I didn’t think it would be good enough. I just thought…I don’t know, that it was important enough that you should hear that from someone, at the very least, while you have a chance. You obviously can’t hear it from her, and I’m a poor substitute, but at least I could…I don’t know, at least you could hear it, even if it wasn’t enough, wouldn’t be enough from me. It was a stupid idea.

[He just wants to sleep. It's been a long day. What was he thinking. All of this was a mistake.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject