wingsonherfeet (wingsonherfeet) wrote in 2145ic, @ 2018-07-22 00:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | arc, vaughn |
Bruises, Soup, and Emotions
Who: Vaughn and Arc
Setting: Near Central Park
There was something about churches that Arc found herself really liking. It was the architecture, she decided while she made her way up to the squared turret of the once majestic cathedral. The beauty of it had been tarnished over the years, but in Arc’s opinion, it still glowed brilliantly. A childish, innocent part of her liked to think she was a princess among the echoing chambers; lost and now found and ready to take the crown.
Fairytales were for children, and Arc hadn’t been a child in a very long time.
She’d messaged Vaughn about an hour ago to meet her there. Her fellow “child of the concrete jungle” and her would meet up purposefully from time to time, the last being when sinkholes by the river had begun to make the buildings there unsteady. No need for anyone to get caught in it on a run. It was dangerous enough as it was. She’d had a bolthole in the area and wasn’t sure if he had.
Reaching the top, the lithe young woman leaned against the weather worn stone and looked out at the decay of the city towards to buzz of Central Park. Wind whipped tendrils of dark brown hair across her eyes and she pushed them away with a huff. She was dressed for the weather in a thin, form fitting, long sleeved black shirt, and red running capris. Her shoes were scuffed but overall, the clothes had lasted her longer than she’d anticipated. The treads on her red soled shoes had lasted longer too. She might have been out more credits than she wanted to be, but not breaking an arm or worse was worth it.
Turning her back towards the late afternoon sun, Arc unzipped her bag to look at the package she had for Vaughn. It wasn’t going to be free… but she’d allow time. Their agreements between one another was of mutual benefit. They kept a clear eye out, and not having a fellow runner as an enemy was a good thing.
Vaughn never usually looked great – he lived in a tent in Central Park, it wasn't like he had clothes that lacked holes of some description. But today he looked worse than usual. In that 'probably needs a shower, to change clothes, get medical attention and have a major attitude adjustment' kind of way that struck him from time to time. He'd always been the kind of guy who projected whatever he was feeling when he was in a certain frame of mind, and now was no different. His entire person practically screamed 'fuck off' with every fiber of his being.
But he'd still showed up, because that's what he did. Besides, he needed the distraction, and not the kind he'd been finding of late. The kind that meant he was finding (and sometimes creating) fights to engage in. It had started with Samson, and after that he'd just kinda been jumping from rumble to rumble. He'd gotten a little scratch off of some people when he'd hit up an underground bare knuckle boxing ring and won a few fights.
So to say he was looking like he'd had better days would be understating it. He had gotten there early and was lounging out of sight, eyes shut as he attempted to get a tiny bit of rest before he went back out again. And maybe tried to find someplace else to be than home – he didn't want to run into his brother. Who was very much going to fuck off on him, and he had cut off contact with Piph, figuring she wanted zero to do with him. He was in hardcore isolation mode, and that was one thing Vaughn was pretty damn good at. Pushing people away was his forte.
When she turned her back, Arc spied the pair of boots poking out of the shadows and cursed herself internally for missing that. It was stupid, and it was a newbie habit to think that no one else would be up here already. One step closer, aggressive and gritted teeth before, “Vaughn?”
She dropped the bag down and knelt down next to her.. Friend’s feet. There was bruising and cuts and discolored flesh everywhere and she grimaced in sympathy. “What the fuck did you do?” She wasn’t waiting for a reply. Arc’s slim fingers were already unzipping the rest of her pack and pulling out the portable med-kit, another expense that wasn’t to be found in the near vicinity. “What do the other guys look like?” His eyes were closed but there was that twitch beneath them that meant he was conscious, so that was a good thing.
Arc was very aware of how privileged she was to have access to these sorts of things, and she wasn’t keen to share. Generally she wouldn’t play nursemaid, but the surprise rankled at her pride and before she knew it, she was popping the slim case open and pulling out the antiseptic wipes. It wasn’t unusual for Vaughn to get in fights. He was Fight, she was Flight.
Vaughn opened one eye at Arc, then rolled his eyes and shut them again. “Won some fights. Lost some fights. The other guys...” he shrugged. “Didn't stick around to find out. And stop it,” he said, holding his finger up when he heard her getting the med kit out. “I'm fine. Don't waste it.”
Plus there was some part of him that got into fights to self-punish, and getting treatment for it defeated the purpose. While he kinda sorta understood how damaged that was, it was a very vague sort of knowledge in the first place. A passing thought he dismissed. Vaughn wasn't habitually all that self-aware. “Anyway what do you want?” he asked. “Just a catch up? Need me to help out with something?”
She waved a dismissive hand and then reached for his busted and bruised knuckles without asking, just doing. Might’ve been playing with fire but she was counting on the resistance ebbing once she started applying the stinging wipes to the bruises. Head tilted down, she looked up at him beneath her dark lashes and pursed lips, clearly conveying Do you wanna get sepsis and have your hands rot off?.
“Got… A thing. For you. You can pay me back later.” She nodded to her bag, encouraging him to reach for it. “Found them in this alley I never should have been in on the Upper East.” She bit her lip with a furrowed brow. “I think you called them sprockets.”
Vaughn bothered with both eyes now and sat up better, shooting her a glare. “I said I was fucking fine,” he grumbled. “If I wanted a mom I'd go find mine,” he said. Which was not true. Technically he knew where she was. Kind of. Up above, where she'd completely abandoned he and Vic for when they were little. Rich soulless bitch. When she mentioned she had something for him he arched a brow. “Okay?” he said. The payback later was pretty standard, even if they did do this. Sometimes he brought her shit too.
“Sprockets, huh? Awesome,” he said, finally letting some of his bitchy edge dull down. She was good at finding him parts for the bike, which were hard to come by at best. At zero point would he be able to afford to buy something. Though his thoughts turned dark again when he thought that Vic's new ass porn career might be able to now. Shit, he didn't want to think about Vic. He didn't want to think about Epiphany either. “What are you up to tonight anyway?” he asked. “Tell me there's something shitty and dangerous you don't want to run yourself that I can do for you.”
The glare didn’t phase her very much, but she still rocked back on her heels to accommodate his straightening up. The present seemed to ease the tension a little around his eyes because it showed in his tone. Arc rocked back to sit on the ground and toyed with the antiseptic wipe before holding it out to him. “At least the blood that isn’t yours?” Who knew what people had besides the poor sickness these days.
To his next question he had an eagerness in him and she understood that mood, but Vaughn was the type to embrace it. She looked over her shoulder up at the ledge and felt the ache to jump and see if maybe this time she could fly. It was a random and weird thought and she shook it away. “No. Actually I’m free tonight. Just me and the city.” A smile played on her mouth and she looked down at her shoes and could feel the reverberation of the ground from jumping. “What’s…”
Thing was, they didn’t really have heart to hearts. They didn’t talk much about their feelings. She knew he had a brother. He knew she didn’t have anyone except the contacts she made. She sighed and looked up at the greyish sky and wondered if there’d be rain soon. “Why? I mean, you know… Why do you wanna do something shitty and dangerous?”
Since she'd already gotten it out he took it, and sort of made a half assed effort to clean himself up with it. He rolled his eyes but it was less pointed than usual. “You and your girlfriend, Manhattan,” he said. “Who's been a bitch lately,” he added. “And because it'll give me something to do,” he told her. “I don't want to go home, I have nowhere else to be, and clearly I don't choose activities well when left to my own devices,” he said, gesturing at the state he was in.
It made her smile. It was one that dimpled her cheeks and crinkled the corners of her eyes and she crinkled her nose a bit. She shook her head and pushed away the stupid loose pieces of hair that wouldn’t stay put. Arc exhaled. “You can crash with me. I don’t always sleep between generators. Or crawl spaces. I do have, ya know, like real places.” They were too far from Harlem to make it before night and with the way things were going, they’d either get jumped, get into a fight, or both. She could fight, but didn’t particularly want to and she quietly assessed their odds as not in their favor. “It’s not far. Space enough for the both of us.”
Normally if he was left to entertain himself he'd be stalking someone. Most recently, Epiphany. But that had gone in a whole different direction than usual and things were pretty fucked now. So he wasn't going down there to her cult. And he wasn't hanging out with Vic either. And he probably needed a night that wasn't spent in a fight. He wouldn't admit it or show it but he was sore. He needed a break. He paused when she spoke. “...places. With an s. As in plural,” he repeated. “What the fuck? If you actually have someplace to call home, why do you stay other places?” he had to ask.
Arc shrugged and there was a flash of uncomfortableness that reflected in her amber brown eyes before she shook it away. “It’s…” she made a contortion with her mouth before scraping her teeth against her cupid’s bow. “It’s the way it’s always been? I don’t even know where to start.” The hedging edge to her voice indicated she wasn’t even all that sure she wanted to talk about it with him. “Harlem’s too far, but I have a bolthole nearby. Favors add up, you know?” Or maybe he didn’t, she didn’t know, she wasn’t sure, and she was already feeling a little uncomfortable at his question. “The boltholes are the favors -- just come on. I can’t carry you if you have a concussion and I don’t wanna just leave you passed out somewhere. So follow me.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Normally she would’ve scaled the building for kicks, but she knew the door was unlocked and and while steep, the little staircase was still in pretty good condition on it’s way inside the sanctuary. People lived there but didn’t pay much mind to those who just went up for the view. It was communal living and she could smell something cooking which had her wracking her brain to think if she had anything fresh-ish to eat besides those athletic gel packs she was starting to run out of. She had cans. That much she knew.
Vaughn wouldn't have been surprised if she didn't want him to know anything on the housing front. They were friends, but weren't necessarily share buddies. And his mood wasn't the best at the moment either, that couldn't lend itself toward her wanting to open up. So he was vaguely surprised when she said even what she did. It was also clear that no, he didn't know how favors added up. He reluctantly got up, grabbing his back to throw over his shoulder. He did his level best to move normally, like he wasn't a walking bruise.
He followed her, not sure where they were headed. “Most people don't have multiple places to go,” he said. “Most people barely have one.” Or maybe it was just him who run out of places. Who had his tent in Central Park with his brother. And soon not even that. Vic would cut out. He knew that. It was what was best for him. But Vaughn was still bitter about it, even if it was what he wanted. No one said he made sense. “So you have warm places to sleep all the time – you have access to facilities.” He had an agreement with Cyren, where he could shower there.
Arc didn’t have anyone but herself. No brothers or sisters or family to speak of. No one to watch her back really, except herself. That’s who went to bed with her at night and woke up with her in the morning. She gripped the cross strap of her bag with both hands even though there was no need to. She felt like it would keep her insides in. Arc was feeling really vulnerable but fuck, he made her care, looking like he was two steps from something he couldn’t recover from.
She led him away from Central Park and down what was once 111th street. Columbia university was nearby, so the buildings were packed in from the once bustling city. Families crammed in homes that weren’t meant for so many people. It was one of her older hideouts - A favor that had accumulated among three families who needed their children found. It wasn’t Arc’s usual type of run. The four children had gotten into their head to try cross the river. Build themselves a boat. That sort of thing. She’d found them with scraps of wood on the beach and had gotten them home. Kids had been missing for two nights and they were lucky as anyone she’d ever met.
Out of it, she got a place to stay. It was ground floor. An old laundry room that latched and bolted. It wasn’t big but it was comfortable enough to rest and know that you could sleep without too much of a worry.
Arc jerked her head towards an alley and led Vaughn into the scrubby back strip of grass behind a row of houses.She reached into her bag for the key to the lock. “Look, before we get in, I know you’re good… so like, don’t freak the fuck out and bite my head off if I offer you food, a’ight?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and turned the squeaky handle.
The room was maybe three and a half feet wide, and eight feet long. It was narrow with mostly destroyed wallpaper, chipped paint, and old, half rotted boards peeking through in various places. There was a bed in the back corner, with stubs of candles in broken jars to keep them from setting the place on fire. There was a little stove type thing shoved up beside the door: something small and portable and easy to wave away like junk. There were battered boxes in covert places and Arc gestured Vaughn inside. “So…when was the last time you ate something?” She was trying to count in her head how many of those packs she had. They were for emergencies. A high calorie performance bar that she bought with her savings, for times when food was scarce. Runners like the two of them? They burned a lot of calories and this was a world where they didn’t get enough to eat as it was. It had been ten years of, well, hoarding and scraping out whatever she could to give her an edge.
“I don't need any fucking charity,” Vaughn said under his breath. Even if he was hungry. Vaughn was barely holding on right then. He was usually better off, but his foundations had cracked really hard lately so he was far worse off than usual. He looked into the room and thought it looked pretty nice. It was inside, it was warm, there was a stove... it was kind of amazing. He went in and picked a spot where he wasn't going to be in her way, shrugging at her question. “I'm fine,” he told her. “You don't have to give me anything, and I don't have a lot to trade you, either,” he added. “I pretty much have me on offer at the moment, and I'm less than at tip top condition so I probably wouldn't be worth it.” He also felt a pang of something. Piph loomed in the back of his mind, even if he hadn't contacted her since he'd lost her when she and Samson went down into the subway.
The bolts on the door closed with a snick and the satisfying feeling of the aura of security. He was muttering and she peered at him over her shoulder. Vaughn was a dick. Or at least, the dick part of him could often be prevalent but outside of wondering if he was going to deck her here and there, he wasn’t…. bad. He didn’t give her the heebie jeebie fear the way some types of people did. The kind who you gave wide berth to.
She was starting to get the prickle of annoyance though. She didn’t quite know if she felt sorry for him. That sounded almost like pity but, well, she felt for him. He looked more off kilter than usual. Arc put her key away and rubbed her palms on her thighs before patting them, trying to figure out what she wanted to say.
“I said you were good for it. So that means tomorrow or next week or, you know, next month. Whenever.” She huffed through her nose and drew one of the little boxes closer to her to pull out a dented can of soup that should hopefully still be good. “Did, uhm… Did something happen to Vic?” She looked over at him out of the corner of her eye, steeling herself for silence or an explosion.
Vaughn was definitely a dick, he just was the up front kind. He wasn't trying to sneak around or anything, he wasn't manipulative. He heard the door lock, and looked over at it, something flickering behind his eyes. He was used to being in a tent, a completely make-shift shelter. He was not used to walls and doors that locked, and it gave him a little pause, even if he didn't know what that was about. He also didn't say anything about it though.
Then he was looking back to her again. He was quiet a second before he answered. They did work like that, they got each other back for things. He was probably being stubborn because he was still punishing himself. “Yeah, he's moving up in the world,” Vaughn said drily. “Got himself some 'business partner',” he did use air quotes and rolled his eyes. “That he lets fuck him so hard he can't walk the next day for other people's entertainment. But apparently he's making enough money to get himself an apartment, so hopefully he's busy doing that right now. Or he's getting drilled, I don't know.” And from his tone, there were a whole lot of issues rolled into that.
Damn. She tossed the can back and forth between her hands and settled her ass on the edge of the dingy mattress. The tip of her shoes toed the tips of his. There wasn’t a lot of room but it felt like a castle right then with the ability to lock the door. She didn’t think he’d want to hear a Sorry. It wouldn’t help anything. She noticed that he’d said that Vic got himself an apartment, not an apartment for them. Porn was, well, a pretty good in if you were pretty and willing. Arc considered herself lucky that she wasn’t pulled into the trade.
“It’s… fuck.” She let out a bitter bark of laughter and palmed her face. “It’s a job that’s hard to say no to sometimes.” The honesty scratched at her throat and she didn’t meet Vaughn’s eyes. She licked her lips, mouth feeling dry and started looking for the box of matches to light the stupid little stove. “You know where he is though, right? You’ve seen him?”
“I don't care that he's doing it,” Vaughn said, and his tone shifted to a little less harsh now that he was talking about it. “That's not my issue. It's this guy who he says is just his partner but I know that's not it. I don't want Vic falling for some asshole who's just going to use him then ditch him and doesn't take good care of him even while he's in the process of using him. But even then...” he growled a little and pulled his fingers through his short hair, sounding frustrated mostly with himself. “I don't want Vic to be in that position. And we were arguing because he wants to leave Central Park, and I don't, and he should. And I told him that and he's being a stubborn bitch. Plus I'm the fucking big brother, he isn't supposed to take care of me, I'm supposed to take care of him.” He looked away when she asked the last question and he answered by way of shrugging. No, he didn't really know where Vic was at. They were avoiding each other, he was pretty sure. Or maybe it was just Vaughn avoiding.
Arc listened quietly while she put the pot to heat up, even a little bit. Plate and bowls had no home here. Just the pot and some spoons. It was better when it was warm anyway. She was reluctant to admit to herself that no matter Vaughn’s sour mood and anguish, it was nice, in a way, to not be alone for a little while.
“What if one of those guys you were beating up hit you in just the right place. Killed you. Left you a fucking vegetable.” Her tone is softer, curious, with questions not pointed so much as feeling it out. She herself didn’t want to depend on anyone. It’s why she hadn’t aligned herself with a group of people. It was her and her alone. She liked it that way. “You wouldn’t be able to take care of him then… and if he’d never learned to take care of himself, then what would he do?” Life was balanced on the edge of a knife tip. It would cut you to shreds if you weren’t careful.
Despite his insistence that he wasn't hungry and didn't want anything, his stomach gave a loud growl at the smell of the soup as it heated. He steadfastly ignored it. “Then he wouldn't have to worry about me anymore and he could leave Central Park without feeling guilty, now couldn't he,” Vaughn posed. “I wouldn't be the fuck up big brother stone around his neck that he feels like he has to take care of.” He was quiet again, then he sighed. “He can take care of himself, and he'll have the money to do it. He doesn't need me anymore anyway. I'm dragging him down. Maybe if I avoid him long enough, he'll find an apartment and get the fuck out of the park.”
She fished out the little, bent spoons from the piece of cloth she had them rolled in and handed him one. She could feel her own stomach rumble, though not as loud as his own. He was starting to relax, it seemed. “I don’t think it’s about you. Like, taking care of you. It sounds like he just wants to, I dunno, do his own thing. Pull his own weight, you know? You’re brothers. That doesn’t just stop… right?” It was a bizarre thought that someone who had someone ready like a sibling would just cut them off. “Why can’t you be your own partners? I mean, look at me!” She gestured to herself with the spoon. “It’s just been me for as long as I can remember.” Literally. “No sharing, no having to watch someone else’s back. All the fucking loot is mine. The idea of having to just let someone else take care of me?” She shook her head. “Fuck that.”
He took it even if he didn't want to. He was hungry, a few bites wouldn't hurt and he could make sure to get her back soon. Though apparently she had several places like this she could stay. Wasn't fucking fair. He kept that part to himself, though. He watched her as she spoke. “We already were partners, and now he's got porn, which means that's going to stop,” he said. Which meant he was going to need to start taking more jobs. Maybe more dangerous ones. Though right now that sounded fucking perfect. “...I don't know if I get your point or not. Are you trying to tell me to go off on my own or that I should stick with my brother? Because right now it sounds like you're making a big case for us parting ways and calling it good.”
Her brow furrowed and she bit at her cupid’s bow in thought. What was she trying to say anyway? “I guess I’m trying to say… if I had a brother I cared about the way you care about Vic, I wouldn’t let him go. Even if things had to change and it hurt.” She was feeling vulnerable again and she was silently cursing herself for inviting him into her bolthole and caring. All this was supposed to be just a friendly drop off of Hey! Found you some sprockets! I’ll let you know when I need a thing or fucking surprise me, bro. Instead, they were sitting in the slowly dimming light sharing a pot of canned soup over her shitty little fire. She smiled tightly at him, feeling uncomfortable, feeling sympathetic and envious in this most frustrating little ball in her chest. “Maybe I’m jealous that you have a brother and maybe I’m pissed that you’re going to let it all go away and get yourself hurt.”
He listened, and looked away after that smile. He wasn't oblivious, she was uncomfortable. It was probably time to go. He pushed himself to his feet, and grabbed his backpack to toss over his shoulder. “Maybe you're the lucky one. This,” he said, gesturing around them, “Is more than we've ever had. Our mother fucked off to go live in the clouds, our dad was too busy with his gang to actually bother with us. Everything we have managed hasn't amounted to anything. And this? Is apparently just a 'bolthole' to you, you've got an actual place. Apparently a few. So looks to me like you've got it fucking made. Good for you. So, be jealous all you want, you're the one with more than I've ever seen anyone fucking dream about. I'll see you around,” he said, going to the door and staring at it for a few long moments to work out unlocking it.
“I woke up in a dark apartment with some creepy guy staring at me saying I was his. You wanna be jealous about that?” she blurted out, frustrated, a weird sense of panic that Vaughn wanted to leave. “Everything I’ve been able to get is because of this guy I don’t know except for the jobs I run for him. So yeah, maybe that makes me lucky. Maybe that means that one day it’s gonna run out and I’m gonna hit the concrete from twenty stories up because he, I dunno, remote fries my chips or something. I’m just… you’re my friend, okay, dude? I’m just… fuck. I don’t know.” she pushed herself up to her feet. She was maybe three or four inches shorter than him, and the only thing keeping him from going was the locks on the door. It would be creepy as fuck to keep him in. “You can stay, okay? I don’t…. Dude…” She gritted her teeth and looked at him with that stupid vulnerable feeling making her eyes blink a little bit. “I’m… I’m afraid if you go, I’m never gonna see you again.” Her point was clear. There was a genuine fear that made her voice hitch a bit. She was scared for him. The intent of her statement was clear: If he walked out that door, Arc was pretty sure he’d get himself killed.
Her dumb hands were shaking and she blamed it on being hungry. Fingers curled into fists and she looked away, embarrassed, humiliated at her outburst.
“Yeah well apparently he took good fucking care of you, now didn't he,” Vaughn pointed out, gesturing around. “So long as he isn't abusing you, looks to me like you have a pretty fucking sweet deal. The whole city is crawling with creeps, one taking an interest and handing you lucrative work doesn't sound shitty to me. Sounds like you were handed gold.” He looked at her. And he wasn't heartless, so he didn't enjoy seeing her look...whatever that look was. Afraid? Was she gonna cry? Shit. He didn't like when people cried, either. “You'll see me again. I'm apparently hard to kill,” he assured her, voice finally soft, gentle, even. The anger part was gone. “I'm just going to go back to the park, maybe see if I still have a brother, okay?” He reached out and put a hand on her upper arm, giving it a very light squeeze of reassurance.
Arc hadn’t talked to anyone in awhile and she was recognizing, in that sort of absent and unconscious way, that maybe that wasn’t entirely a good thing because she was feeling this weird sense of panic. And he was looking at her now like he felt sorry for her now and it was making her frustrated. He gripped her arm and she huffed, rolling her eyes and feeling too awkward to meet his in the moment. “I can’t believe you fucking made me care,” she huffed under her breath, loud enough for him to hear. If they were children, she might’ve stomped on his foot for it, but she was an adult with relatively good impulse control. “I’m not your mom, or your keeper, you can do what you want.” she took a deep breath and met his eyes, returning the softened tone their conversation had abruptly taken. “Yeah… yeah, okay. I’m not trying to keep you hostage I’m just…” She waved a hand as if gesturing at the air could explain it. She reached for the key and moved up beside him to undo the bolts.
“You can stay here. When you need it. It’s not charity,” she added before he had the chance to get his hackles up. Arc looked up at him and gave him a smile that was less anxious ridden and more genuine. “It’s… friends help each other out…”
Vaughn cracked a little half smirk. “Me neither, I'm kinda an asshole,” he commented. Which he knew. He was usually pretty shocked himself if people for some strange reason started to give a shit. He waited to see where her sentence ended, not quite sure what she'd been going to say. “You're just...?” he prompted. But she was moving on, so he addressed that. “Okay,” he said, with zero intention of ever taking her up on it. Friends did help each other out, he didn't expect her to show up to unlock it for him every time he wanted a space to sleep that wasn't outside. But he understood the gesture and what it was meant to accomplish, and that was what the genuine-sounding 'okay' conveyed. “I'll see you sometime soon,” he promised. “Go back to not worrying about me, I'll be fine. I’m always fine.”
Lonely. It was there just making fun of her in the back of her mind. She was lonely and it was feeling that had become very acute. It had motivated her to stop by that motorcycle, to give her an excuse to see her friend. It made her feel like a child. But he’d smirked at her in that way that made her want to push him and roll her eyes. She’d figure out how to get a spare key made, and she’d get it to him. She gave him a salute and watched him walk out into the gloaming with his bruises and his new sprockets. She locked the door behind him, staring at the scarred wood.
“I always worry.”