drake wallace ; dean winchester (likedillinger) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-05-13 15:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | dean winchester, todd hewitt |
Who: Drake and Rome
What: Rome needs shoes. Drake has shoes. Cue the awkward bonding.
Where: Drake's apartment.
When: After this.
Warnings: None!
Though Rome always thought aloud, the thoughts weren’t always loud. They were louder than most people’s, sure, just by virtue of being detectable to other minds, but they weren’t always inherently “loud”--if you could use that term to measure the impression his thoughts had on other people. The vast majority of the time, Rome’s typical “tone” was the equivalent of a tumbling mutter of “sound,” a trail of musings strung together and connected distantly as he moved from concept to concept. As he came down the Bathos hallway, he was thinking about the weather, and he was just as boring as the next person, cursing the cold and the wet and wishing he had a raincoat or that he lived in Arizona.
It was Rome’s impulse, as he stopped in front of 503, to try the door to see if it was locked, but considering how he and Drake had first met, he changed his mind. Not a good idea. Knocking instead. He knocked, awkwardly, with an intermittent pause in between the two. Not good, not good, he worried, rocking back on the heels of his tennis shoes. The duct tape holding them together made sticking sounds to the hallway floor.
Drake was rather proud of his success concerning Rome and the shoes, even if he kept being reminded of wild animals and how sometimes the best route was to let them come to you. He hadn’t asked for another brother, especially one so much younger than him, but if there was one thing he couldn’t do it was turn his back on family despite the complicated circumstances. He hadn’t mentioned that he owned a couple pairs of shoes that had belonged to their father, partly because he wore those ones and partly so he could avoid any potential awkward situations that might follow. Rome’s ability made privacy, at least on his end, near impossible.
Curiosity concerning how walls might impact the kid’s ‘voice’ caused him to position himself near the door, and he managed to catch something about the weather before the knocks came. He didn’t answer immediately, counting the seconds as they ticked by before pulling open the door. His apartment hadn’t needed much ‘tidying up’ since there wasn’t much in it to begin with, which was evident even from a brief glance. “Hey,” he said in greeting, gaze flicking to his taped-up shoes for a moment before he stepped aside. “C’mon in.”
Same guy from the parking lot. Rome looked at Drake with new eyes; he was looking for his father now, and Drake’s appearance was more than what he was wearing and how strong or rich he might look. Can’t tell if he looks like dad, can’t remember what dad looked like good enough. His expression didn’t fall, but his mouth firmed a little on his jaw as he got his emotions under control.
Hey, Rome thought in response to the greeting. He moved in, not following Drake’s glance to his shoes because he was way beyond what anybody thought of his appearance. The black leather jacket was in the best condition of all of it, and the worn out leather still had some duct tape repairs on the inside seams, barely visible under Rome’s arms as he moved. He looked around the apartment with interest, curious about Drake’s life and the things or people in it. Married? Rome thought, moving toward the hall and leaning to peer in.
Drake couldn’t comment on how much he did or didn’t look like their father; there was a clear bias in that sense, since Drake had wanted to look like the man so badly throughout his childhood that he could have very well convinced himself that he did even if it wasn’t true. Conversely, if he was being honest with himself, he had to admit there was a little of Dad visible in Rome even if it did have more to do with his demeanor than specific looks. Not that he intended on voicing that, but he did toy with the idea of mentioning the fact that he had pictures of the man. They weren’t out in the open, rather tucked away with other personal-type things where no one would ever find them, yet still existed.
“Hell no,” he laughed, nudging the door shut with one foot. “I’m not married. No kids either.” The apartment was, in all honesty, not much different than when he’d first rented it in terms of decor. He’d brought in a brown couch and a plushy chair in a matching shade, both showing signs of constant use, along with a TV (which was a little newer) and an Xbox complete with games he might or might not have gotten without permission from a teenager who’d found himself on Drake’s bad side. The main room was directly forward past the hall, to the right was the kitchen and a bathroom off in a corner behind a wall; to the left were the bedrooms, another bathroom, and a room he used for storing things falling under the category of ‘private’. Weaponry, for example, was included in that.
There was a distinct lack of pictures that most people had, which suggested a lonely life that wasn’t really accurate in that sense. “Good news. The shoes I’ve got are completely duct tape free.” He spoke over his shoulder while leading the way, giving no outward sign that he didn’t usually have other people in his apartment. “Sneakers, boots, and... normal shoes, I guess. I don’t know what the proper name is.”
Shoes are shoes. It’s cool if they’re big, I just put on extra socks, socks are cheaper than shoes, Rome thought/said, the rest of his mind taking in what he saw. Emotions and images weren’t translated, only Rome’s internal narrative voice, so there were pauses and private impressions. Anything important was almost always ‘aloud,’ however. He was, for example, impressed by Drake’s belongings. Nice TV, Xbox, games. I could get a hundred bucks for that Xbox, old model, but still. Why games if no kids? Does he play? Must make a lot of money to buy a TV like that and keep up the Impala.
Rome only hesitated a second as Drake turned and walked deeper into the house, and the uncertainty wasn’t verbalized, so the only thing that trailed after him were more appreciative thoughts on the ‘nice place’ and how warm it was on the inside. Some things slipped through, however. Looks like dad from behind. Got his shoulders. Not so tall, though. Or maybe I’m not so small, I can’t remember. Did dad come with you here? Rome asked/thought, transparently hopeful. Before he... you know? Got killed. Rome’s rhetorical questions were always awkward, since he supplied his own answers.
“I saved up for the TV, believe it or not. EIT doesn’t pay so well, and I used to pick up some odd jobs when I needed to. When the Impala needs work I either do it myself or find some way to get the money if it’s too big a job.” No one joined their organization for the money, that much he was certain of. Cops were living the high life in comparison to EIT’s paycheck. “And yeah, I play. I kick ass at any and all first-person shooters.” Those were the ones he’d taught Rorschach how to play, which seemed surreal since they were both thirtysomething men and one was a vigilante who believed he was actually the mask. If Drake had an ability that verbalized his thoughts, most people would probably think he was a pretty sad human being.
It was a little strange to know he was being compared to his dad, but it wasn’t Rome’s fault. He couldn’t help what he could do any more than every other Creation could. “No, Dad was taller than me,” he agreed. Once they reached the main area he stopped, tucking away the observation on the apartment’s warmth for later use. “No. Dad died before I came over here.” It was the main reason he’d even crossed over in the first place. “You want anything?” Obviously Rome was here for the shoes, but Hamartia was barely livable and if the kid didn’t have heat he probably didn’t have much food either. The trick was to ask it casually instead of outright offering.
So Dad hadn’t lived here. Rome felt some disappointment on that count, but it wasn’t visible and only emotion, so there wasn’t any other sign of it except intuition based on the question. After that, Rome didn’t look as hard for signs of his father, not that he had any idea what they might look like. He seemed to accept that this place was Drake, and Drake was all there was. It was more than Rome had before.
He was distracted from a long train of vague theories about EIT by Drake’s question. Anything? Anything like food? Wonder what he’s got? Been ages since I ate anything. (“Ages” in this case was the night previous, but an hour later it was always “ages” since Rome ate.) Yeah, okay, he said, the muddy blue eyes turning up to look Drake in the face with the thought, making the thought an obvious address, mouth still but expression wary. EIT is that group that hunts down people like me, is he going to lock me up if he finds out the stuff I’ve done?
The last place Dad had lived with any sense of permanence was their family home when everyone was alive and death hadn’t yet touched them, but Drake could only remember certain things about it. He’d still been young when they left it behind.
He took ‘ages’ a little too literally, assuming it meant that Rome hadn’t eaten in days and doing a poor job of trying to convince himself he cared less than he actually did. “Yeah, like food. Most of the stuff I’ve got is microwaveable or in a can - never been very good with a stove. There’s some leftover pizza from last night, if you want that. It’s still good,” he said, with the confidence of someone who ate a lot of leftover food and had the utmost faith in how acceptable it was. “The shoes are on the chair - try ‘em on and I’ll get the food.” He had very little practice with playing host, and on the occasions when he did he was either one extreme or the other.
“We don’t hunt down people like you.” Drake sighed, having assumed he’d already clarified that issue. “You don’t use your ability to hurt people, right? So I’m not gonna lock you up. Relax.”
The Noise doesn’t hurt anyone, Rome confirmed, still worried about the rest of it but not as much as he could be. Drake hadn’t called the cops when he’d tried to break into his car, and that meant he wasn’t as likely to rat him out to the cops if he found out about the muggings and stuff. It only helps if they want it to.
The offer of food successfully distracted Rome from that train of thought. Rome ate a great deal of leftovers, and considering where he got most of his food, he didn’t have any faith in their acceptability, but at a certain point, you stop caring about that kind of thing. I can eat any of that. Pizza or cans or whatever. Food warred with shoes for Rome’s attention, but since Drake was already going to go back in the kitchen...
Rome went over to the chair indicated and sat down, unconcerned about the acceptability of being welcome to do so, since if Drake let him in, he must be welcome. He examined all the shoes, looking at the soles first to see how durable they were, and thinking aloud to himself about how long they might last and whether or not they would fit. Happily, he sat down and kicked off the old tennis shoes (which were far too large and deflated into heaps of silver glue on the carpet).
“How does it help?” That caught his attention, since hearing someone else’s thoughts didn’t seem very useful to either party involved. Drake hid a smile at Rome’s lack of specification when it came to food, though he knew it was probably out of necessity rather than choice. In certain circumstances the fact that food was food mattered more than what it was or where it came from. “I’ll get you some pizza,” he said over his shoulder, heading into the kitchen. He assumed Rome would know that he was welcome to sit wherever he wanted.
Stoves annoyed him beyond belief, but microwaves were simple and efficient in a way that suited his short patience span. It only took five minutes before he was back in the main room with a plate of pizza and a bottle of water; he’d been torn between that and beer but decided the former was the safest option. “So how do you like the shoes?”
Rome had brought three pairs of socks with him, all equally gray and holey, but he ended up only needing two to tug on a pair of slightly scuffed black workboots. A couple more shoes were on the floor, but these were he ones he was hauling on under the hem of his jeans, which were fraying in white strips. These are awesome. I bet I can run in them as fast, but they look better, and they won’t get so wet when it rains, like today. Rome ran his fingers through his tangled, greasy hair, and then lifted his toes to admire the shoes. I can have them?
The question was directed up at Drake for affirmation, but his eyes went to the pizza like magnets. He immediately put out his hands for the plate, and once he had them turned a few degrees away so he could put it in his lap and eat at the same time. The protective impulse was vaguely animalistic, but it appeared to be automatic because his thoughts were all positive. This really is from yesterday. Ow. (He burned his mouth on the hot cheese, but he stuffed it in anyway.) While he chewed, he thought/said, I can go into people’s thoughts too, sometimes, if they let me in and I want to go. That’s what I mean by fixing, but I almost never do.
Drake’s expression was one of restrained amusement, but it was far from the mocking sort. “They’re good with rain. Better than what you had.” Drake hadn’t even had time to move towards setting the pizza down, instead handing it to Rome with a chuckle he couldn’t hold back before giving his affirmation. “Yeah, you can have them.”
He noted the way he turned, as though protecting what was his, but sat down on the adjacent couch without commenting on it. “Fixing what? Their thoughts?”
Kind of, not really. I can’t explain it. Things that are wrong, like if they have really deep fears, or hurts. Sitting there on Drake’s couch and glancing occasionally down at his new shoes (nice, not so nice that I’m going to get jumped for them, but nice), Rome definitely did not seem like the kind of person you would show your deep fears or sorrows. He had pizza smears in the corner of his mouth and his shirt was the color of an old car gone to rust. His face was thin under his cheekbones, and his eyes had the deep-set, squinting look of someone who doesn’t trust much.
After a moment of thought he was pretty sure he got the gist of what Rome could do, but most people wouldn’t be willing to let some stranger into their head or admit to having ‘really deep fears’ in the first place. Drake watched the kid on his couch eat leftover pizza and glance down at shoes that really weren’t that great, not in comparison to new shiny things, and found it hard to believe there could be a level of mutual trust between him and whoever needed the fixing. “Have you ever done it before? Gone into someone’s thoughts and... fixed them or whatever?”
Yes. Three times now. A girl in juvie, and two different guys at two different shelters in LA. They didn’t really know what I was doing. It’s not like here, where everybody knows you can do something weird. Rome shuddered a little in his jacket. The guys were totally crazy, and the girl was really messed up on crack, he thought/said, casually, wiping his fingers on his shirt. It’s not... really that fun, he confided, eying Drake. Does he think I’m lying? And immediately after, in his undetectable switch from private thought to address: Do you believe me?
“Doesn’t sound very fun,” he agreed. Unlike some abilities, Rome’s didn’t seem to come with any real personal gain in terms of usage. It did occur to him that he could be lying, but from what he’d already experienced the ‘Noise’ couldn’t be controlled or censored. Even aside from that Drake didn’t get a lying vibe from his story. “Yeah, I believe you.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and genuinely curious in how the ability worked. “What happened after you fixed their thoughts? Did they calm down or something?”
Rome was pleased to have Drake’s relative good will. The questions about what he could do were new, because up until this point, nobody knew about it. Yeah, like that. They calm down and they don’t get as panicked or angry about the thing I fixed, unless they really want to. It’s just easier to... to chill, you know. Can I have more pizza? He looked from the empty plate to Drake, and tipped his head as a thought occurred to him. What do you do?
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I get it. Does it last, what you do, or is it only temporary?” Drake hadn’t been paying attention to the progress Rome made with the pizza and was surprised to find the place empty. “Sure.” He stood, taking the plate with him, and spoke over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. “Mine is like a step down from invisibility. As long as I’m not in someone’s line of vision they can’t see or hear me. Amped-up stealth, I guess you could call it.”
Rome thought that was the coolest thing he’d ever heard. Cool! Ninja stealth, like the Bat. He nodded several times, and without thinking about it he trailed after Drake into the kitchen, still thinking loudly about how awesome stealth was. Do you use it in your work? If I had an ability like that, I’d never be hungry again. Mine is kind of like the opposite of stealth. He grinned, a real grin, for the first time, and watched for the pizza to make an encore appearance.
He’d always thought his ability was pretty damn cool, but few people had ever shared his enthusiasm. “Yeah, like the Bat. I just don’t flaunt it like he does.” Drake assumed Rome would stay in the main room, and since he was using his thought thing instead of actual speech it took him a minute to realize he was following him. “Of course I do. It comes in handy a lot, trust me. At first I relied on it a little too much but practice helped with that.” He went through the same fridge-plate-microwave routine, pulling the pizza out when it was harm and holding it out with a grin.
Standing in his new, surprising comfortable shoes, Rome took the plate and the pizza again. Once he picked up the slice it never came back down, and this time he didn’t turn away to eat it. He could ‘talk’ and eat at the same time, so a running commentary met this new round of information. Are you going after those people you talked about, the ones that attack? It took me a while since I’m pretty bad at reading, but on the forums they talk about the one in your nightmares or the one that kills you with water or something.
It was kind of funny to watch him eat while being able to understand what he was saying, something that never happened without food flying everywhere, which was a mutual albeit small bonus for the both of them. “Night Terror and the Kappa. We’re looking for both of them, actually, but the nightmare guy is tricky to find. The cops arrested someone they think might’ve been him a while ago but so far his trail’s gone cold after they released him.” Drake left out mention of the Engineer and his Dream Machine since that was a little too much information to just throw around. “Listen, if you ever see a woman in a green mask you turn around and run the other way. I don’t know how much distance she needs but if you let her get close, well, you’re in trouble.”
Okay, Rome said, willingly, always eager to hear things that would keep him alive. Rumor on the streets was treated as law. I’ll spread it around, lot of people aren’t sure which Masks are the bad guys and which ones are the good guys. Rome gave Drake a look all gratitude, and it was all the more obvious because it was not accompanied by a vocal thought. Can I play your Xbox? he asked, already turning with his remaining pizza for the living room again.
“Good. I’ll keep you updated, then. Half the problem is people being left in the dark.” He was a little surprised that Rome was listening, but he suspected that somewhere along the line he’d done or said something to wear away at some of that initial distrust. At least their capslock battle hadn’t translated into anything outside of the computer screen yet. “Yeah, sure. Go wild.” Drake did wonder how long the kid would stay, but decided to keep silent and let Rome decide for himself. He couldn’t kick him out knowing that he was going back to a crappy apartment with no heat, no food, and a crazy man for a neighbor.