Dusty "THAT DUMBASS THAT SLEPT WITH COBY" Baker (dusty_storm) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2009-11-08 17:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-06-21 |
Playing House, Being Nice
Who: Dusty and Gareth
Where: Trailer, where else
When: Morning, around 9am
Dusty had been up all night after his phone call to Ava, not having been able to sleep after so much talking, so much to think about. She'd definitely given him an earful, something he wasn't going to soon forget. When nine rolled around, Dusty had started feeling reckless, restless, eager to do something, interact with somebody. Gareth had been completely passed out since they'd left the scene of their hunting and execution, and though Dusty had been increasingly lonely in the trailer, he'd left his friend well enough alone. He didn't want to upset him by forcing him awake just yet, but... well, that time had passed and he was as impatient as it got.
Rather than being brutal about it, Dusty went into the kitchen and stared helplessly at the dishes and the pots and pans, considering them as though they were strangers in his home. It had been literally years since he'd cooked for anybody, including himself, and the idea that had crept into his head was seeming more and more ludicrous as he debated it. He gave in though, and started trying to prepare a breakfast for Gareth. It would be one of the first times in a long damn time that he'd gone out of his way for his best friend, doing something simply with Gareth's health in mind.
It wasn't long before smoke was filling the kitchen, black and thick and Dusty yanked the windows open, moving from room to room on his tippy-toes to be fast about it and avoid waking Gareth. "Shiiit," he hissed, teeth clenched together when he returned to the eggs on the stovetop. They were a little more... well, black, than he'd meant for them to be, but maybe they were still edible. They smelled like a bird had thrown up into the skillet and let it cook, though Dusty wasn't sure if that was how they were supposed to smell. He didn't like eggs when he'd been alive either; now wasn't making them any more appealing.
Dusty scooped the eggs onto a plate along with a (sloppily) chopped up apple and a few pieces of what were now chilled toast. It was all fairly mangled by the time he took the plate to the coffee table, and when he'd set it down he waited with his hands on his hips. Any minute now...
Gareth was sleeping deeply, it was a sleep blessedly free of nightmares. No sight of Dusty's dead father, no echoes of the night he'd seen his friend raped... nothing but sweet moments and memories. The first time he and Dusty had hunted alone. They were twelve, and Gareth's grand-dad had fallen ill. He'd sent them out to try a small kill with no safety net. Dusty was standing in a patch of sunlight, his golden hair bright against the emerald backdrop of the forest, and he held a silver arrow in his hand. "Sonofabitch went this way Gare." He was whispering contentedly, and using the arrow to point east. Gareth felt a grin stretching his features. In the brightly lit afternoon Dusty's eyes were almost silver-white, his small and thin twelve-year-old frame taut with excitement, each muscle practically strained under the stretch of his skin. Gareth felt young, alive, and happy. He was filled with a bright and completely unfettered love for his best friend that would never properly be articulated, and it felt innocent and so damned good. Then Dusty was urging him to go on, go ahead and find the next tracks, and he was moving forward, the thrill of the hunt running down his spine, through his fingertips. They would be getting this bastard on their own, bringing back an ear or a finger to show his grandfather, who would be so damned proud--
Then there was smoke. It filled Gareth's nostrils, the stinging, acrid scent of something far too charred. Gareth whirled around in his dream, terrified that the forest was set alight from an arrant cigarette, or perhaps from a were who had heard them coming. There was no fire however, and Gareth's brow drew in. Where was the smell coming from? It grew stronger, impossible to ignore and Dusty's voice, telling him to "Come on god damned it..." was fading.
Gareth's waking eyes opened and he sat straight up, head jerking around at the smell. What the fuck... Shifting in his seat, the blonde was alarmed to find their trailer, their home full of smoke. He rubbed at his eyes, inhaling deeply, and began to cough. "Dusty?" his voice was alarmed until his eyes settled on the figure of his friend, looking proud and somehow apprehensive at the same time. He looked from Dusty, to the kitchen, and then to the coffee table, and his eyes widened at the sight of breakfast before him. He simply stared. It looked burnt, yes, but he couldn't even remember the last time Dusty had paid for food, let alone prepared it for him. "What--" He looked back up at his friend, completely forgetting the strong smell of burnt that was permeating their clothes and furniture, and tried not to look too touched. "You made me breakfast D?"
"Hey, hey, hey," Dusty warned, jutting out a stern finger in the direction of his best friend. "Don't you go gettin' all sentimental on me or nothin', or I'll take this ba--" He stopped speaking suddenly when the sight of something bright caught his attention, and he turned in time to witness the stove he'd left on catching the curtains in the kitchen window, flames shooting upward faster than he could even react. Nearby that, leaning in the window was their top-notch wooden rooster, the sides of it tinging as the paint started to chip. It was like a horror movie and Dusty turned to stop it from happening. His hurried movements knocked the coffee table, bumping it hard enough to make it leap once, not quite bucking everything off of it but making a racket anyway. He hit his hip against the counter as he ran, skidding on the kitchen tiles in an effort to put the fire out. "Goddamn it!" he shrieked, his voice bellowing out at the top of his lungs. "The fuckin' trailer's gonna burn the fuck down!"
Gareth was smiling, about to reply, when he saw Dusty's eyes dart away. Following the other man's gaze, Gareth let out a shout, panic rushing his system, and he jumped to his feet. "Shit! SHIT! The rooster!" The swell of terror that washed over him was overwhelming, too much, and for a moment he nearly fainted, blue eyes wanting to roll back in his head. Instead he jerked his body forward, throwing himself towards the kitchen. "Don't pee on it to put it out!" The words were out before he could think and he lunged for the fridge, pulling out the gallon of orange juice they kept in there and yanking the top off the bottle. "Oh fuck, the fuckin' curtains!" It came out in a delirious moan and the Texan unceremoniously thrust the jug forward, squeezing the soft plastic and sending juice spraying every where in an attempt to douse the flames. Most of it spilled across the stove, killing the flames in the burner, but the reach wasn't quite enough to put out the curtains or rooster.
Dusty was pitching a terrible fit by the time the orange juice splashed all around him, getting in his face and all over his clothes. "What the hell would I even use to pee on it?!" he screamed, grabbing at the nearby half-empty glasses of water to chuck them at the curtains. Finally deciding to fuck all hesitation, Dusty reached up and smacked the curtains down, knocking them and the rooster into the kitchen sink. He turned the water on as fast as he could and watched the flames die out slowly but surely. Eventually he turned blue eyes to Gareth, trying not to let the sticky feeling of orange juice get him down. He'd been feeling so damned energetic, and then he had to nearly burn their trailer to the ground. "Don't you fuckin' say nothin' about this," he warned.
"How can you jerk it if you can't piss?!" Gareth cried, completely baffled even as the flames continued to eat at their curtains. He watched as Dusty reached out, knocking the flaming objects down, and then put out the fire. A small breath escaped him, relief and amusement, and when Dusty growled a warning he shrugged. "Ain't got nothing to say." It wasn't the first time they'd accidentally caught something on fire, and he doubted it would be the last. "Thanks for breakfast D." He said easily, and reached up, wiping some of the orange juice off his room-mate's face. It was done with no forethought, no concern for reprimand, and he turned, grabbing a washcloth and pouring water on it before handing it to his friend. "Here." He looked down at the soaking wet and blackened rooster for a long moment before pulling it out of the sink. "I guess it's been downgraded to a second notch rooster." The words were said with true remorse. He liked that rooster.
Dusty's eyes flashed dangerously when Gareth touched his face, though the look had been missed in light of the other man's concern with the rooster. He took the washcloth and wiped off his face, groaning as he realized just how burned their favorite household decoration had become. "Oh dayum," he moaned, dropping his shoulders, hands falling to his sides mournfully. The two of them stared in silence for a long time, their eyes locked on the object in Gareth's hands. Finally Dusty let out a long sigh, tossed the washcloth into the sink and declared, "Well, that settles it then. I ain't never comin' near this god-awful kitchen ever again, Gare."
Gareth frowned a little, taking the washcloth from the other man. After a pause he began to wipe at the rooster, brightening a little as the soot came off. "Well hay, look at that." He held it up. "I think only the feet and sides are singed. The rest is just dust." He wiped a little more off, and then gave his room mate a half-smile. The look was heartening and goofy. "Yeah, alright, you have the right to stay out of the kitchen I guess." He put the rooster on the kitchen counter and made his way over to where his food sat -- now burnt and cold. He didn't mind though, Dusty had made it, and that was an extreme when it came to affection from his friend. Tossing himself onto the couch, the blonde reached out to grab his plate. "Looks good anyway. Thanks a lot man. I'm starving." And incredibly weak, even still.
"Oh, good then." Dusty nodded and turned to go sit down on the couch, feeling like he needed (and deserved) a good sit-down. He was never going to cook again, not for as long as he lived. Which... was a long damn time, he realized, a brow perked briefly as the though passed through his mind. "No problem. You better love every damn bite of it, Gare, 'cause we damn near lost our kitchen for that food." He gestured toward the plate and sat back against the cushions, heaving a sigh to get comfortable. Dusty's feet ended up on the coffee table, worn socks with holes in them crossed at the ankles.
"I will." Gareth said, and the hell of it was, he would. He would probably swallow the entire plate whole. It had nothing to do with the quality of the burnt eggs and cold toast, but more that Dusty had bothered to cook. He began to eat ravenously, not actually tasting a bite. "That's our dinin' table man. You shouldn't put yer feet up on it." The blonde managed between bites, though the chide was mild. "It's good, by the way. Ain't eaten eggs in too long." He couldn't remember if he actually liked eggs, but seeing as the charred things on the plate tasted nothing like eggs, his memory had yet to be refreshed on the matter.
"Yeah, my nasty-ass feet are prob'ly just about rancid by now," Dusty returned, grinning before setting them back on the floor. The move was only the hoist himself upward off of the couch, not really to appease Gareth -- at least not openly. He walked to the kitchen counter near them and snagged the cigarettes, dumping out what appeared to be the last one and deftly lighting it to take a draw. "Damn it," he muttered, watching it as the smoke wafted upward. "It just ain't the same as 'fore I gone and died." Dusty shook his head and shrugged, putting it back between his lips as he strode off toward the bathroom. "That there was yer last one, Gare. You best be gettin' off to pick up another pack iffin you don't wanna die of no headaches. I'm gonna take me a good shower, though, so you cain't come in here, understand?" Dusty shot the other man a pointed look and disappeared from sight, the bathroom door not quite shut yet but pushed most of the way there.
"That was my last cigarette!" Gareth declared, looking more shocked than he felt. "God damned it!" But he wasn't really mad, mostly put off. He'd have to go get some more. "Why the hell would I go in there? I seen yer bare-ass naked enough for one week." He answered, but there was a laugh in his voice as he stood, making his way to where he'd dropped his coat when they'd come in the night before. "Enjoy yer shower." It was muttered and the blonde grabbed his jacket, making his way to the door.