Affable Redneck Theater Who: Gareth and Gideon Where: About in the trailer park When: Mid-afternoonish
Gareth was smiling as he walked. Despite the near-mishap from the evening before (note to self, never let D drink from him in a blood-lust again), he was in a fantastic mood. He'd awoken to breakfast (albeit burnt), and a very energetic and content room mate. After so many weeks of stress and discontent, Gareth couldn't imagine a better morning. After the hazardous breakfast (which he'd eaten vigorously, picking out the occasional charred and blackened eggshell), the blonde had felt better... better enough to go for a walk. He was running low on cigarettes and knew the gas-station near by would be able to remedy that problem. It was nice enough out, the air warm, and after telling Dusty where he was off to, the Texan had struck out, a few dollars in his pocket and a nicotine craving so strong it made his head ache. Smokin' ain't gonna help you fight cancer none." His mind cheerfully informed him, and he pushed the thought away. It didn't matter at this point anyhow. As he strolled, he took time to glance at the other trailers, his gaze and feet stopping at one particular location. Out in front of one the trailers was a van that looked as though it had rolled out of the sixties. He stared at it, mouth hanging open, and wished madly that he knew how to hotwire that particular model... and that it wasn't so damned conspicuous. Stealing such a vibrant vechicle was bound to get you caught in a matter of minutes. There was a man outside and Gareth slowly turned his gaze to him, eyes wide. "Is that yours?"
Gideon was feeling lousy. Not the worst he'd feel all month. That would be daylight tomorrow, when he probably wouldn't get out of bed, probably wouldn't accomplish anything but staring at the ceiling and listening to whatever record he'd left in the player until it threatened to drive him absolutely batshit insane. He'd already taken off work (easy once he'd determined his boss did, in fact, know exactly what he was) and was ready to just vegetate. But today was bad enough. He wasn't old enough to have completely forgotten the sensations of his living body, and the last day before the new moon always made him feel really hungry. The kind of desperate, nauseous, swimmy hunger that only came after a few days of nothing, something he'd experienced very seldom but plenty for his taste. If he tried to hold his hand directly out in front of him, it would shake. If he couldn't have been any paler than he'd been frozen sixty years ago, he would have been. He was on the ground, leaning back against Tara's front wheel, staring at the sky balefully. Basking in the sun wasn't one of the big things he missed, but even after all these years it seemed unfair that it just made him feel crummier. The sun might be buried in gray, ugly clouds today, but he could still feel it back there.
So rather than playing his guitar, knitting, or even just meditating, he was spacing. He was being absolutely worthless. His sire wouldn't have allowed this, but Gideon found both that the new moon made him miss Chongde a hundred times worse and that wallowing in self pity was about all he could do now, so he continued wasting time. His hair was down, hanging to the small of his back, and his battered old Lennon sunglasses were on crookedly. Yesterday's white t-shirt and torn jeans (still with bloodstains around his healed ankle) were rumpled and rather disgraceful; Gideon normally was a bit vain. He took a moment to realize he'd been addressed. He looked up at the man and felt like it took entirely too long. Gideon was small at the best of times, but slumped on the ground, Gareth seemed much taller than was the least bit fair. "Huh? Oh, yeah. S'Tara. We bin t'gether a while." The word "together" went on about five syllables too long. Gideon didn't speak with the rich, deep molasses drawl of a Texan but the twangy, slow singsong of Kentucky hill country. He tried to smile. Just because he felt like dirt didn't mean he should be impolite to company. He tried to sit up a little straighter.
"Well shit son." Gareth answered easily, still admiring the van. "That is just down right a beeautiful vechicle you got there." He breathed, and then looked back at the smaller man, interested by his accent. "Where you from?" It didn't sound Georgian, maybe Tennessee or Arkansas. "Ain't from Michigan anyhow. I can tell that." He took a step closer, taking in the sight of the other man, he was able to pinpoint his interests immediately. "Holy shit, you a hippie?" He asked it with a sort of surprised excitement. His father, before his death, had shown a strong love of almost all things created in the sixties, and it was one of the few things that had stuck with the blonde. While Dusty favored the likes of ACDC, Led Zeppelin and Bruce Springsteen, Gareth had harbored an affection for The Grateful Dead, Pink Floyd and The Mama's and The Papa's. This man, with his long hair and small and circular glasses reminded Gareth of his father a bit and he moved forward a little more, interest piquing. Everyone else in the trailer park had struck him as pure-bred white trash. The sort of people who thought that "dressing up" and going out on the town was putting on a stained wife beater and sweat pants and riding the electric shopping carts at walmart.
Gideon had to suppress a snort of laughter. Well, that cheered him up. He hadn't gotten a reaction like that since... Well, he wasn't sure he'd ever gotten a reaction like that. He'd been looked at like a caged gorilla back when he was still alive and he and the rest of his compatriots had settled in for sandwiches and music outside small towns, but that was usually with a mixture of fear and disgust. He'd never seen someone so damn excited, and he suddenly felt like he should have a big red arrow and a neatly printed label for everything from his bare feet to the harmonica sticking out of his pocket. On your left, ladies and gentleman, the North American Freak, better known as the Hippie, native to New York and San Francisco with pocket populations in between... Besides, the way rich suburban kids carried on through the ensuing decades, he didn't expect to be noticed as anything particular, just one more poser. Amused, and glad to be distracted from a day spent glaring at the sun, he hopped to his feet. Even feeling ill and miserable, he was agile, skipping upright much faster than a sickly looking kid ought to be able to. "Harlan, Kentucky's first homegrown Freak. Name's Gideon." He had the sense not to extend a hand. Even sitting out in the sun, it wouldn't be warm. He regretted the "first homegrown" thing a moment later, remembering that someone who looked nineteen shouldn't have enough history to mention. He wasn't very good about this whole supernaturals out in the open thing. Not yet.
Gareth was many things, and usually observant was among the list. This time however, he completely overlooked the other man's apparent youth. He was too focused on the glasses, the twang. "Kentucky. I was a hair off. I thought maybe Tennessee." He grinned, pleased and gestured to the concrete beside the long haired man. "Mind if I have a sit? Feelin' a little weak." And he was. Dusty had healed the bite marks on his neck from the night before, but his pallor was muted, dark circles under his eyes. Dusty had fed too long, and while sleep had helped his recovery along, he was beginning to wonder if walking to the gas station was a good idea. "I'm Gareth, Arlington Texas." He drawled and sat down beside the man without waiting for invitation. "Gotta say man. It is fantastic to see someone around here who don't think a shirt with three wolves howling at the moon on it and sweat pants are the height of fashion. Ain't seen no one worth talkin' to before you." If he was being forward, he didn't realize. It had been so long since he'd met someone who hadn't announced they were a were, tried to arrest him, or transformed into a naked man in front of him that he was drawn to this muted and seemingly friendly soul propped against his van.
Gideon certainly wouldn't have denied the invitation. Aside from his moon-sickness, he was starting to feel pretty good. He almost seemed to have fallen back into his glory days, making friends with everyone who passed by, sharing hospitality. First Dusty, now this guy. If he'd thought about it for even another second, even Gid might have put together Dusty's mentions of a roommate and another man with a Texan drawl in the middle of Michigan, but he didn't dwell on the idea. What he did think was kind of funny was that Gareth was making fun of the other trailer park residents. He didn't distinguish much between Walmart white trash and aggressive cowboy types, having fled both about equally right around '64. He'd gotten over his more adolescent rebellion, but he still mentally categorized the aesthetics about alike. "Well, that's right nice. I do aim t'please." He settled in beside Gareth, crossing his ankles to hide the tears and stains from the doberman the other night. "Cain't offer much in the way of hospitality. Um, haven't... done shoppin' in a while." He thought he might have a candy bar somewhere. Gideon had learned how to treat guests mostly from his grandmother, and his first impulse was always to offer food, however unreasonable that might be. He pushed his hair back behind his ears, trying belatedly to look a little more presentable.
Gareth laughed at the offer of hospitality and sat back, getting comfortable. "Hey, no worries man. I ain't hungry, my room mate burnt me some breakfast this morning." He was grinning, content with some companionship. Dusty was his best friend, and always would be, but it was nice to be able to meet someone new, to talk to them... and fuck it, even if this guy was a supernatural, it didn't matter. He was sick of having people storm off on him. Besides, Gideon was friendly. "So how long you been around these parts hoss? I'm just moved in, Dusty an' I -- that's my room mate -- got here bout a month ago. We're havin' a hell of a time settlin'." He thought about how his friend had set the drapes on fire that morning... it had been the most normal morning they'd shared since Dusty had become a vampire. Taking off his cowboy hat, the blonde ran a hand through his hair, glancing at Gideon and starting to notice his age. Most hippies would be grey and craggy, this man looked as though he'd just stepped fresh out of high-school. Gareth shrugged internally, either he was a new-age hippy, or he was one of the supernaturals. At the moment the Texan couldn't bring it in him to care.
That didn't sound exactly pleasant, but as Gareth was smiling, well, to each their own. "Only about a week, week an' a half." It took a second for Dusty to penetrate. He really wasn't on his toes today. Oh! Well, good, they'd made up. Gideon had spent half their conversation last night trying to convince the new vampire, as subtly as he knew how, that he should make a point of treasuring every second. He'd understand soon enough how time could just disappear on the breeze. Gideon smiled crookedly, exalting in having done something right lately. He was easy to please this time of the month, just because everything felt so grim. "Oh, you're Dusty's buddy, huh?" Apparently he hadn't come up in conversation. He could understand Dusty wanting to be somewhat close-lipped about where he'd crashed that night. What good was a refuge if everyone knew about it? "He never mentioned y'name." Gid relaxed a little more and shoved his glasses up on his forehead, his body language opening up a little. He looked even younger with his hair pushed back and his smoke-colored eyes visible above lightly freckled cheeks.
"You know Dusty?!" Gareth nearly cried this out in his surprise and turned to look at the small hippie. He knew that Dusty spent a lot of time out and around the town over the past couple of days, but he hadn't realized that Dusty had spent time in the trailer park. "How'd you meet my hardheaded room-mate?" It occurred to him after a moment that if this man knew Dusty, he probably also knew that his friend was a vampire. "Yeah, that sonufabitch wouldn't mention my name." But it had been said amiably, with affection. After a pause, Gareth's blue eyes widened as something clicked. "Did he stay with you last night? Er... I guess... Yesterday... durin' the day? That fool had me wanderin' around the city all day wonderin' where the hell he was." His smile stayed in place though, easy and mild. "Hope he didn't put you out too much. He's kind of a butt."
Gideon actually cracked up at that. Sounded like the way he'd have described his brothers, back when he'd been five years older and not fifty years younger than they. He didn't stop laughing for a while. Gideon's laugh was a little odd, the same way his voice was a little too deep and scratchy for his size. Being turned hadn't healed the damage to his lungs, and forcing air around could be a laborious process. He pulled one leg up to fold against his chest, bracing his elbow on his knee and his chin on top, tiling his head to smile at Gareth once the giggling subsided. "Ah, he was fine. We mostly talked about Bob Dylan an' shit." And the ins and outs of being a vampire, but he didn't know enough of the situation to feel comfortable discussing that. "He did take my bed, though." Of course, raised with good manners and proper respect for his elders (even "elders" whose father he was old enough to be), Gideon would have insisted Dusty take the bed anyway. That said, he'd been quite amused at Dusty's total lack of polite protest at the idea.
"Bob Dylan? You should hear him piss an' moan when I try and play 'im on long car rides." Gareth answered, but now his grin was huge, his mood beyond happy and into jovial. Not only was he making a friend in the trailer park, his new friend thought he was funny. Pausing to crack his neck, Gareth raised an eyebrow. "Well I'm glad he didn't do too much damage -- an' trust me, I know all too well about him takin' the bed. I wind up on the floor ten times outta ten." He stopped after those words, realizing how he sounded. "Uh. I mean... we ain't like... you know sleepin' together sleepin' together. We just uh, only got one bedroom an' one bed, and we didn't want to fight over it all the time..." His gaze dropped to Gideon's face, a little pleading. "Don't tell him I made us sound gay. We ain't. He'd kick my sorry ass." Worry was apparent on his features, though it was only mild. If Dusty beat his ass, Dusty would beat his ass. He really needed to learn to think before opening his mouth.
Gideon snickered again, though he bit his lip to try and stifle it. Gareth looked so earnest. It just wasn't nice. He'd never understand people. "Well, I'da hardly thought y'were if one of you was on the floor. What fuckin' fun izzat?" He kept his tone light. Gideon had an innate, almost unconscious understanding of how unwise it was to even remotely suggest the faint possibility of gayness in the presence of a big guy from down south, probably something Gareth shared. What seemed to be honest fear might seem kind of silly, but he knew where it came from. He didn't think Dusty would care all that much, somehow, but so be it. "Besides, there's no room in these things." He loved Tara, but there wasn't any space to speak of even just for him. The other trailers were bigger than his little converted camper, but allowing for kitchen and bathroom space, irrelevant to a vampire, Dusty and Gareth probably had about as much space between them as Gideon did for himself. He slid his hand through his hair. One nice thing about having it long was that there was always something to fiddle with. Gareth was distracting him from his black mood, but keeping randomly active still helped. "An' hoss, you don't sound gay." Hoss was an affectation for him, not his native regionalism, but it was sort of fun to say. And he'd found that talking to Dusty and now Gareth made his accent pop. It sort of disappeared the more time he spent away from the south, but once he fell back in, he sounded just like he had fifty years ago.
Gareth relaxed visibly, blue eyes falling to focus on a butterfly that flitted across a neighbor's lawn. "Well... I mean, we share the bed, but he usually pushes me off'a it." He clarified this briefly. "'Specially when he thinks it's time for his gawddamned wings to come out." Well, that hadn't actually happened, but some nights Gareth couldn't sleep, completely convinced that it would. "Yeah? I don't look gay? Well that's good." His tone was decisive, but he looked a little uncertain. "Neither do you Gideon my friend." It didn't occur to him that Gideon might be gay. "It's good that I don't look it." His brow knit briefly, as the thought "Looks can be deceiving" flashed through his head. "I ain't gay." He challenged mentally, a little dismayed by his own mind. Absently, distractedly, Gareth reached for his pocket, intending to pull out a camel and light it. Normally he had his first cigarette upon waking, but thanks to Dusty's decision to smoke his last one, he'd gone without. Patting his empty pocket now, a sigh escaped him. "Damn it. Dusty smoked my last camel." He glanced a little hopefully at his new friend, hands falling back to his lap. "You wouldn't happen to have a spare cigarette, would you?"
As it happened, he wasn't gay. He wasn't anything. He hadn't been touched since he'd lost his sire, and twenty years had made him pretty much forget such things entirely. He was, however, a bit effeminate in looks and habits (long hair and knitting, of all things), and that was enough for some of the sort of guy who wore cowboy hats. Gid wondered why Dusty would bother smoking. He was sort of under the impression that it didn't do much of anything anymore. But then, he'd given it up over a year before he'd died, anyway. Probably had something to do with his lungs corroding from the inside out, though he'd still been hiding the cancer even from himself at the time. He'd just known that smoking made him feel nasty and cough more than it did everyone else. "Uh, sorry, no, gave that up a while back." Around '65.
He wondered idly if he was supposed to notice that thing about wings. He did want to know more about those wings, though. From what he'd heard about Dusty's house (Gideon knew next to nothing about vampires outside his own family), he wouldn't really ant to meet any more of them, but the flying thing was neat. He'd never had someone to go flying with, not that he'd have it in him to transform within the next few days. Took it out of him at the best time. "Glad I didn't try an' share, then." Should he ask about the wings? Dusty hadn't been happy about being a vampire, but Gareth seemed not to mind. His disposition was as sunny as an Arizona July. "...So, uh, do they just pop out?" Seemed inconvenient.
"Well uh, they've really only come out the once. D was showerin' and started screamin' like a chicken with it's head cut off..." Gareth had always been one for mixed metaphors. "And I bust in, and he had these giant dark brown wings." The blonde man reached up, grasping his hat, and pulled it off his head, holding up the feather for the other man's inspection. "This is one'a them. I guess it's like... typical of his house or what the hell ever, but the kid I talked to said that it took a lot of concentration to get 'em to come out. Dunno what Dusty was concentraitin' on so hard that they decided to show up right then, but they did. He couldn't get 'em back in, so I slept uh... on the couch that night." He carefully, delicately, placed the feather back in his hat, which then went back onto his head. "So Kentucky-- " He had always been fond of nicknames, had come up with Dusty's, with his brothers, even his grandfather had been given one. Kentucky sounded a little more affectionate than "hippie" would have anyhow. He looked the small man over, curious. This man wasn't batting an eye about his room-mate's vampirism, and while Gareth knew that it was possible to detect vampires without asking them outright, he couldn't help but wonder if he was sitting with a supernatural. If he was, well... what the hell ever. He was too drained to get up in arms, literally, and he liked this man, for the first time since coming to Ann Arbor, he found someone he didn't feel tense around. Pulling himself from his thoughts, he repeated "So, Kentucky, you a supernatural?"
Sounded kind of neat, actually. Gideon liked the image of Dusty with wings. Sort of badass, actually. He'd been raised in a very fire-and-brimstone sort of church, and his image of angels as a child had looked rather more like Dusty than the yellow-haired eunuchs with halos you saw in most paintings. And the rich brown was an interesting color. He wasn't an artist, but he could appreciate a neat look. Made the hat look a little more jaunty and a lot less redneck, too, which Gideon couldn't help approving of. He was glad he'd met them both now. If nothing else, this was a dynamic he'd enjoy being privy to.
Kentucky? It took him a second to realize he was being addressed. He hadn't had a nickname since he'd last seen his little brothers, and they'd just called him "Eon," which sounded pretty cool but was just an artifact of their inability to pronounce his name when they were babies. Gid didn't exactly object, but he was a little nonplussed (or he would have been, if he'd ever heard that there was such a word as "nonplussed"). "Um..." And then Gareth delivered the question he supposed he should have been waiting for. He sighed. At least his new neighbor didn't look like he was going to try and stake him. That was actually pretty funny, as it didn't work on his house. "Yeah." Why not just admit it? "I'm a vampire too. Though not the same house as Dusty."
"Oh yeah?" Gareth didn't bother to allow his emotions to stir up at this news. A touch of surprise did get through to him however, that Dusty had stayed with another vampire. If Dusty had somehow gotten over his blinding hatred of all supernaturals for an entire night, Gareth figured he could let his own slide too. "So you don't have no wings then?" Gareth asked easily, now craving his cigarettes badly. He'd have to scrounge through Dusty's pockets later and steal some money from the scruffy man. Gideon passed for human surprisingly well, he reflected, distantly. Gareth hadn't suspected anything. "What kinda special powers do you got?" He was curious, wondering what the differences between houses were. "An, one more question, how old is you really Hoss? Cuz, you know, you look like... young, an shit, but I'm willin' to bet hard cash you've got a Grateful Dead Record in that bunker, an' a couple dozen tye--dye tshirts... an' no young kids these days know what good music is."
"Heh, all my vinyl is original." He was rather proud of that, and rarely got the chance to brag. He was vaguely aware he could probably make quite a bit selling his first releases of just about everything that meant anything from '64 to '69. He just never would. "Sixty next birthday." As far as he was concerned, he still had birthdays. And he was so glad that Gareth didn't seem to mind his being dead and all that he smiled even more broadly. "I've got lotsa the Dead, yeah." Which, in the context of being a vampire, was kind of funny. He considered Gareth's question for a long moment. His house's powers, he'd gathered from his limited contact with other vampires, were kind of flimsy. Very useful, but not terribly threatening. Which might endear him even further, he supposed. He'd do his best to try and keep Gareth impressed with him. "Um, well, doesn't hurt when we bite. Actually, s'kinda nice." He'd only experienced it once himself, and been a little distracted by dying, but he'd heard it from many sources. "An' I actually do have wings. Only sometimes, though, and I gotta change all the way. Into a bat. It's random what you turn into, though. My sire was a bear." And it hadn't suited him at all. Gideon didn't think an ungainly fruit bat suited him either, though others might have disagreed. "But the important part is that we can control weres. The bit ones. On their bad nights, we can make 'em calm down. Just for a bit, but enough t'remember who they are, git 'em tied up until mornin', help 'em out. That's our job." The trade-off wasn't pleasant, and right now when he was suffering for it he was inclined to feel ill used, but he still smiled smugly. If he hadn't had that purpose, he'd probably have given up when he'd lost Chongde.
Gareth blinked, clearly impressed and a little jealous. "A nice bite huh? Dusty's bite feels like he uh, put fuckin' tobasco sauce and acid on his fangs before he sunk in." The blonde paused, thinking about how painful it was and wondering if he had just told too much. "An' the bite marks itch fer fuckin' days after." He added as a minor gripe. "Shit man, you can control weres? That's some pretty useful shit!" He caught himself a the last minute, his mouth on the verge of running itself off and telling the vampire about his job, his love of the hunt. "I mean, I guess it definitely would be... and to change into things like bats... so you can fly? Fuck, I've always wanted to fly. I can't imagine how freakin' cool that's gotta be." He grinned, imagining it, the ability to fly, to see things from above and feel the wind and... he closed his eyes for a long moment, wishing he could do... anything. Then the wish was gone and he turned back to Gideon. "Sixty? Shit man." One hand lifted, toying with his cowboy hat. "I knew you wasn't as young as you looked. No one under the age a' thirty has any fuckin' music sense. All these damn kids listen to fuckin'.... fall down boy, and uh... that Hannah bitch. I was sittin' here thinkin' you had to be somethin...." He shrugged a little and grinned. "Honestly, I'm amazed D hung with you all night. He don't like supernaturals much. Neither a'us really do."
"Yeah, um..." Gideon trailed off. He'd been able to see Dusty wasn't comfortable with vampires, with being a vampire, but he'd needed help and Gideon had given it. He was far too busy being macho, though, to ever allow even his best friend in the world to know about the vulnerability he'd shown that night. So he wouldn't mention that to Gareth. But without being able to say why Dusty had stayed with him if he couldn't mention that the poor man had been scared and needed his help. He fumbled a moment for a reasonable explanation, found nothing, and just soldiered on without one. "I thought it was fuckin' annoying when disco hit. Goddamn disco makes that in-sink shit sound good." There, musical agreement was always nice. "Um, I told him this last night, but maybe y'could, uh, remind him? He dun need to actually bite. Usin' a knife and lickin' works just as well. I bite 'cus it feels like gettin' a massage while yer tipsy, but I d'need to." He'd had one of his friends back in San Fran describe it that way, and his girlfriend had been a masseuse, so he'd probably know. "An', y'know, it's easier t'be careful." Biting too hard or in the wrong place, especially on the neck, could make a mess. Gideon had had to be pretty judicious applying his own blood before he'd gotten good at feeding.
"He's actually got this little finger thing that pricks my neck. Don't hurt near as bad as the bites." So Dusty had told Gideon about their feeding relationship. Well that was something. And weird. He wondered now just how much his friend had shared... the first thing he'd do when he got home was ask Dusty about his meeting up with Gideon. "And uh, the drinkin' part is alright. Don't hurt." In truth, Gareth was beginning to discover he liked being fed from. It was the intimacy. Once puberty hit and Dusty's father had started bringing down the pain on Dusty twice as hard, the scruffy man had ceased any and all physical contact betwen himself and Gareth -- unless they were fighting. Gareth was far from being "touchy-feely" by anyone's standards, but Dusty made him seem downright cuddly. Now that Dusty had to be close to him once in a while, Gareth found himself appreciating the proximity, the comfort of close contact. He of course, didn't share this with Gideon. "He usually just nicks my neck and feeds, works out really well." Here, Gareth hesitated again, a thought coming to him suddenly. How long would he be alright being fed from with the cancer? Glancing at Gideon uncertainly, the blonde took a deep breath. "Uh... do you know if it's safe for a vampire to feed off'a someone who's sick?"
Actually, Gareth had told him about their feeding arrangements. After all, how would he know so vividly what Dusty's bite felt like if he hadn't experienced it? Dusty had been very loath to discuss feeding with Gideon at all. "Uh, yeah, sorta." He nodded. "They won't git sick, an' the germs an' shit won't live long since their blood's dead and stuff. But for the sick person, I imagine it wouldn't help." If he'd known why Gareth was asking, he could have given very specific information. After all, he'd been in identical straits himself once. Chongde had told him later that he'd been waiting to reveal his nature to Gideon when what his sire had imagined to be a temporary illness passed, but hadn't wanted to feed off his student while he'd seemed weak. He didn't exactly think of his rapid decline as being sick. It had come up on him so gradually, after all. It had just been part of life. As it wasn, he imagined the blond meant something more akin to the flu. "I mean, since y'need fluids an' all when yer sick. Cain't be good." Gareth didn't look sick. Was he worried about Dusty carrying something? That was a legitimate fear, now that Gideon gave it some thought. Maybe something he should think about, since he bit his victims directly.
"Uh, not like... you know a flu or somethin... but uh... say I were to maybe have... Well, maybe like, hypothetically I had somethin' like... uh... you know... cancer." He stopped, his face falling as he remembered his illness, the blood he'd pissed into the toilet that morning, how tired he felt even when Dusty hadn't fed from him. "Like, would him feedin' off someone with... bad cells.... effect him?" Gareth knew vampires couldn't die from cancer but... "I just don't want to hurt him none, an' I don't want him feedin' offa other people." It came out of his mouth suddenly, and the blonde flushed, looking down at his hands. "He don't know yet. That I'm sick. Fuck. I just found out yesterday." While Dusty had been sleeping here, with this kind man. "And... uh, I don't want him to know, but if it's bad for him then... you know... I'll have to tell him to feed from someone else or somethin'."
"Aw, shit, man!" Gideon's eyebrows shot up. He wasn't really hearing this, was he? His own stupid mistake repeated right back to him, forty years later. His story exactly. Well, he didn't think Gareth had lung cancer. But plenty close enough. This time of the month, he was rather prone to dwelling on the worst memories, and hacking blood into his hands, hiding behind the temple, sure for reasons that had no doubt made sense at the time that his kind master would throw him out if he'd known his star pupil was about to collapse, shivering in the dark alley in absolute, all-encompassing terror was very nearly as bad as it got. He shivered with that memory of cold and fear, eyes far away for a moment. "No, won't hurt him." Cancer, he'd had explained to him in that cold, pitiless office, was caused by his own body screwing up, not germs. Couldn't do anything to a vampire. "But... don't hide that..." His gray eyes were wide and even frightened. He'd hated himself for putting Chongde through that, and he was sure, though the soft-eyed man had never admitted it, that he'd been quite hurt at Gideon's deception. "Don't put him or you through that. You'll regret it. Believe me." He briefly pressed his fingers to the back of Gareth's hand. He wasn't in the habit of being touchy himself, but this was important.
Gareth took in Gideon's worried features with his wide and confused eyes. "Look man, I... I'm gonna tell him." Oh you liar. He bit down on his lower lip, Gideon's hand against his own was cold, but the blonde man found he didn't mind, it was only helping to drive the brunette's point home. "I just... like I said, I found out yesterday, and... It's kidney cancer.... and it's uh... it's so far along that I... ain't nothin' goan save me." Gareth breathed softly, and for a moment, only the barest of moments, turned his hand over, squeezing Gideon's hand back. He let go almost immediately, bringing his hand back to his jeans. "So I got four months, max, and... I'm gonna tell 'im, I just haven't even comed to terms with it myself." He exhaled quietly, chewing on his lower lip. "I dunno man... it's fuckin' hard. Dusty... we been fightin' too much as it is, I just don't want to make this month any worse than it's been."
Four months? Ouch. He'd been given more, but then, he was pretty sure that doctor had been trying to soften it, not wanting to tell a nineteen-year-old he was mostly dead. His years of martial arts had left him well in tune with his own body, and he'd felt it failing. Frozen forever at that point, he was skin and bone, pale as parchment, and his lungs hadn't put themselves back together just because he'd died. Observed closely, he still looked plenty sick, though his usually colorful clothes, smile, and active, smooth movements obscured that. "He's gonna wanna know." Gideon shifted uncomfortably. "Otherwise he'll just hafta watch you slow down, know you're hidin' from him, wait for you t'git better, wanna know what he could do an' why y'don trust him to help..." Chongde had been as gentle as he could be in telling Gideon what he'd suffered, but he wasn't one to sugarcoat when giving advice. He'd try his best to mimic his teacher. "Was my lungs that went. The kind y'just... git, not from smokin' an' shit." He didn't remember the specific diagnosis.
"You too?" Gareth turned wide eyes on Gideon, surprised. "You had cancer?" the whole situation took a sudden, surreal turn. Gideon's face showed sincerity, soft grey eyes and a too wide mouth lined with concern. Gareth suddenly felt raw, exposed. "Look... He is gonna know. I figure... I figure he's tasted other blood now and... you know, ain't nothin' I can do to hide it eventually, but..." Gareth couldn't explain everything -- not even if he'd been given ten years -- he couldn't tell this near-stranger how Dusty had been raped repeatedly as a child, how they had been together since time out of mind, how he ached whenever he thought about his friend being alone... and above all else, how their morals wouldn't allow Dusty to change him into a vampire. Taking a slow and deep breath, he turned his wounded and frightened gaze away, unable to look Gideon in the face. "We been together since I was six... Dusty... I don't know. When he got bit... he wanted me to... you know... end him. So it wouldn't happen. I wouldn't. I..." His throat ached painfully, heart tightening in his chest. "I don't want to tell him that after I made him be immortal, I'm gonna go an' die on 'im. Ain't fair."
Gideon drew in a shaky breath. There was no reason for it, but he'd never shed the habits of mortality. He'd have gladly shared his own story, how Chongde had taken him in and made sense of a world much too big for the simple country boy who'd run away from a comfortable but unhappy life, their training together, the gentleness he'd never known elsewhere, the quiet, simple offer to let him live on, welcome and perfectly acceptable when offered by the only person he'd ever felt such a deep affection for. He knew without needing the details that Dusty's change and Dusty's life had been far more grim and ugly, that he had every right to bitterness, and Gid thought he was holding up very well, all things considered. He assumed that just turning Gareth too was frightening, that Dusty was afraid of his own rather awful house. Dusty had heard Gid's opinion of hunters before anything of their life had come out, so he had no concept of the pair's deep hatred for supernaturals. Maybe he could turn Gareth? Certainly a house where the rules were mainly to be nice to everyone and look after bitten weres was preferable. But that would be a very odd suggestion to make now. He just didn't know what else to say. Chongde would have. He absently pulled a little jade pendant out of his shirt and ran his fingers over the smooth stone, wishing his teacher were here. "No, s'not fair," he said, very quietly. What did he say to that? He knew what his own answer would be. He'd given it, forty-some years before.
"So I'm goan wait an' tell him... no sense in fuckin' up our lives some more right now." He finally added, chewing on his lower lip. "I upset yeh, didn't I?" He asked, feeling bad. Gideon was trying to help him and he was bringing him down. "The guy who created you, he knew you was sick?" Gareth shifted, now turning to look at Gideon head on, bright eyes dull for a moment, feeling ashamed for making the much smaller man sad, feeling awkward and weird. This guy was a vampire, like Dusty... and like Dusty, Gareth found it impossible to hate him for what he was. "I... Hey... don't look so sad, okay?" He finally asked, doing something he rarely did. He reached out touching Gideon's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze and leaving the touch there. "I'mma tell him... when... you know, when I feel like it's okay to. I jus'... I don't wanna fuck up our lives much more right now." He licked his lower lip, gaze pleading. "Yer okay, yeah?"
Gideon managed a small smile. "Ain't yer fault, d'worry." He shifted a bit. What was important was making sure Gareth didn't make the same mistake he had, and making equally sure that they had the time they'd need to figure out their path. He was very glad of what he'd told Dusty last night. "This time of the month... When the moon's about gone. I'm tied to it like a were, an' I git, uh, moody. Anyway, yeah, Chongde found out I was sick. I'd been hidin' it. If he'd found out a few weeks later, I... I dunno what woulda happened then. But we managed to talk it out and decide..." His ice-cold fingers brushed Gareth's. "It upset him that I didn't tell. He'da wanted me t'trust him, was all." The circumstances might be different, but he knew much too well what Gareth was going through. "I'm fine. you just... worry about you, okay? Give it the thought it needs. An' I'll be fine, y'know, after tomorrow, if y'need to talk and stuff." He wasn't very good at advice, but here, if anyone could help, he could.
"Yeah? Well..." Gareth gave Gideon a grin, appreciating his company, enjoying it. "I'll tell you what Kentucky. I think we just made friends. Imagine that. Ain't had a friend that wasn't Dusty in... well... ever." He laughed a little, but it was quiet. At the cold brush of fingertips the blonde was jolted with a thought Just like Dusty's-- and then it was gone. He reached up with that hand, rubbing the back of his neck a little. "Tell you what Gid, I'm real glad I met you." He leaned back against the van. "An' I want you to come over to my -- our-- place. Sometime soon... look like... if stuff gets too tough for you tomorrow night or whatever with the moody thing, D an' I are great at throwing a party.... I mean, not really, but... you know. You could come and hang out with us." He pointed down the road. "That's my place. The one with the uh... wicked bad ass lawn gnomes an' shit." Stuff he'd stolen from neighbors. "We... you know... I can try an' take yer mind off things if somethin's botherin' you." He offered it carefully, unsure if Dusty knew about the were-like tendencies of the vampire or not. "Cuz... hell. We're... buddies."
"The lawn gnomes are pretty badass." He smiled, wishing he could take the invitation. Tonight, maybe it would help. It'd be nice if this were the worst it got, if he just felt lousy and moody and non-functional. He could have lived with that much more easily. He'd have really preferred not having to turn down this invitation, mostly because he didn't want Gareth to really know the extent of his moon-madness. "Um, wish I could. But, uh, don' work that way. I'm the same as a bit were on a full moon. I'm not even in here." He jabbed his index finger to his forehead. "Oh, actually, I am. Or I swear I remember stuff. But I'm not in charge. I basically turn blood-crazed animal. I'm small, so I cain't do too much damage, but I don' fergit how t'fight dirty, just, y'know, bein' human Not that I've ever got out or hurt no one. We all learn t'be careful first thing. I've got a whole setup with rings bolted to the floor an' real handcuffs. Not the shit you play cops and robbers with when you're a kid. Steel, with locks. Bugfuckin' hard t'git in an' outta, since I need t'make sure that I cain't when I'm all blood-crazed and mindless. I gotta break my thumbs half the time come mornin', just t'git out. Dusty said he wouldn't mind stoppin' by an' lettin' me out, so that'll help, but it's still a shitty way t'spend a night." He didn't tell Gareth about the way he got trapped in the very worst memories, how sometimes he was sharply aware of what his rogue body was doing, how being mindless didn't do a thing about the pain of hurling himself against chains and trying to bite his way out if he was careless enough to leave himself able to reach. He always woke up with his cheeks crusted with blood. Had he remembered to tell Dusty that vampires cry blood tears? He didn't think so, but he didn't think Dusty was the teary type.
"Oh jesus. Really?" Gareth tried to imagine the contraption that was being described to him, the pain and torment that the poor man went through... he shook his head a little sighing. "Well, if you ever need... you know... help..." He sighed again, looking at Gideon long and hard. He couldn't believe he was offering a vampire anything. Two years ago... hell, two months ago he wouldn't have even considered this a plausible scenario. His fucking life was upside down these days. "You know Gideon, man... life is fucked." He smiled, but it was an exhausted smile, one weak and void of real humor. "I uh... I really can't thank you enough fer listenin' to me." He paused, his cheeks tinging a little. Sincerity always made him painfully uncomfortable. "Christ. You have to break yer thumbs? For fuckin' real?" He had suffered more than a few broken noses, and those were beyond painful -- he could hardly imagine what kind of agony Gideon went through. "Shit. I need a god damned smoke." He reached for his pack, remembering again that they were gone. "Fuckin' Dusty."
"Yeah, well, if I'm chained in proper I cain't reach the key. Usually just one thumb to git out, though it scrapes m'hand raw, too. But if the damn key gits kicked away... Ain't pretty." he'd stop talking about it. Who wanted to hear about such things? A mess predictably ensued. He hadn't had anyone to tie him up or let him out for ages. Back when he'd lived with Chongde, one of his sire's human friends would simply come and release them come morning, as they carried each others' keys on chains around their necks. Those had been ugly nights, but without the loneliness, and with far fewer unpleasant memories behind him, it had been a lot easier. "So yeah, that fuckin' sucks. Uh, I guess I'd warn y'about the smokes, but... I guess I won't." Smoking hadn't been responsible for his problems, but he was pretty sure it hadn't helped. "Cain't help, though. I gave 'em up years before I died. It kinda... hurt an' stuff." He should really stop complaining. His whiny difficulties weren't Gareth's problem. Sure, one had a right to be upset about dying young from what could only be seen as a cruel act of God, but he'd had decades to move on, and Gareth hadn't.
Gareth gave him a broad grin, it was rakish and prideful, the grin of a man who has seen the edge and decided that he'd step right off it. "Doctors say I got only about four months to live, right? Ain't gonna waste those four months tryin' to give it up, miserable and grumpy, only to die anyhow." He shifted, one leg starting to go numb along with his ass. "But yer welcome to warn away all you want man. Good to know someone cares." He chuckled quietly, pausing to give Gideon a quiet glance. "I'm guessin' it's probably not a good idea to offer to... like... stay with you or somethin' when that shit happens, huh? Havin' a human around probably gonna make yer bad night even worse." But the idea of this tiny and fresh-faced hippie -- who had listened to his problems and... quite simply been kind and unassuming -- alone and chained up in his house... Gareth hated it. "But... if you... if you like... maybe want company or something before you go all crazy, I can come by."
"You two think exactly the same, y'know that?" He probably did know that. They were a cute couple. "Though Dusty just said it like he wanted t'watch cus it'd be funny. It ain't fuckin' funny, I can tell y'right there. S'godawful horrifyin'." He'd never watched himself or been particularly aware when in the company of his sire, but he was pretty sure he'd have nightmares if he watched someone reduced to a rabid animal, flailing, shrieking, and totally unaware as they repeatedly injured themselves. It wouldn't sit right with him. Wouldn't sit right with anyone, or he wouldn't want to meet that person. "It'd be a nasty way t'spend a night, and it ain't like there's a lotta spare room in Tara when I'm not tied t'the floor an' freakin' out. Or like there's somethin' to be done." Though he thought it might make him feel a little better just knowing he wouldn't be alone, he didn't want either of his new friends to see him like that. He didn't want to see himself like that. "Dusty said he wouldn't mind, well, lettin' me out in the mornin'. An' if one of y'could maybe drop in before dark an' help me get tied in... If someone helps it's tighter." He was less likely to slip up and be able to reach his wrist, try and gnaw his hand off or something.
"Uh, D... D's got a weird sense'a humor, don't mind him none." Gareth offered quietly, his face quieting for a moment. Fuck. There he went again. Two months ago he would have invented a machine that held a vampire down while he agonized, just so he could watch the monster suffer. What the fuck was changing? The blonde man didn't know. Thirty six years of hating vampires, weres.... and now this. Hell, Dusty even WAS a vampire and he hadn't seemed to change any. The entire thing was frustrating, he wasn't ready to give up a lifetime of beliefs just because he'd met one or two supernaturals that were exceptions to a rule. As that idea dawned on him he relaxed a little. That was all it was, Gideon and that Horse guy... Krist. They were just exceptions to the rule. Everything had exceptions. He wasn't going soft on supernaturals, he'd just found two supernaturals who weren't complete monsters... Gideon was really nice actually. "Well, I guess... hey you know, we're just down the road, so... if there's a problem or whatever, you can come to us. We could probably lock you up or somethin if needed." He grinned a little. "Otherwise, sure, I'd be glad to come by and tie you down, and D can come by in the morning and let you go. The idea a' breakin' your thumbs is god damned awful."
"Yeah... yeah, that hurts. Uh, thanks." He'd just have to deal with being seen in that state. Gideon was a little vain of his appearance, but on principle didn't really care how people thought of him. Except in this. He didn't want that monster that must be somewhere inside him all the time to be known. How could anyone know he turned into a slavering beast every lunar cycle and still see him for the self he was the rest of the time? But it would be worth it if he could get in and out of his bindings without struggling half the day and bleeding everywhere. He'd have to get them something nice to make up for it. His mother probably would have made up a plate of cookies, which Gareth would probably like, if not Dusty. Baked goods solved everything. But food was really the only gesture of that sort he understood. He'd have to think about it a while to come up with something for the vampire. He didn't announce his intentions. The magic of thank-you food depended, from what he remembered, on neither party acknowledging it was repaying a debt. "Um, make sure y'git here a good while before it's all the way dark. Don' really git goin' until the sun's down, but I git edgier, an' well, s'just... for the best."
"Yeah, you got it." Gareth was smiling, feeling a little better that he was able to offer something to the small vampire. His hand strayed again to his pocket, reaching for cigarettes that weren't there. "Shit." He looked Gideon over and then back down at his pocket. "I gotta say man, I've gone about as long as I can without a smoke. I was just runnin' down to the gas station on the corner, if you, you know, wanted to come with me..." He offered it lightly, blue eyes considering the brunette before him. Gideon looked so damned young. Cancer, at such a young age... Shaking his head a little, he gestured down the road. "It ain't far. But... you know, addiction an' all." He smiled and it was charming, quiet. He didn't want to just up and take off, but he could probably sit here all night with Gideon, and his body didn't like that idea at all. It wanted nicotine.
"Yeah, I smoked a while. But it was the sixties. No one didn't smoke." He shrugged. "Nice while it lasted, I guess. Not for me, though." He'd really lost interest in the drug aspect of the culture early on. Why go to so much trouble when you could have just as much fun sleeping in the sun and listening to It's a Beautiful Day? Besides, his teacher hadn't approved. Martial arts and smoking didn't mix, and it was hard to meditate in the midst of a nicotine jones. "Did git kinda shaky when I went off 'em. Uh, much as I'd like t'hang out, I'm feelin' really lousy. Should prolly git outta the sun." Not that there was much sun. The clouds were thickening again. But he felt it in spite of cloud cover. Gideon pushed the hair out of his eyes and smiled apologetically. "Y'don' mind if I beg off?" It felt like he was ditching Gareth, but even the thought of hauling himself a few blocks toward a gas station was unpleasant. He was having an especially bad month. Maybe having help before and after his moon fit would make up for it.
"Hey, no... no worries man, I always ferget how the sun does to you guys." He smiled and reached up, straightening his hat. "We can hang out later. Is your moon craze thing happenin' tonight, 'r tomorrow?" He asked this quietly, unsure of what the man had said earlier. "I'll be glad to come by and tie you up--" He paused and then a gale of laughter passed through him. I'll come by to tie you up. That sounded so incredibly... gay. He kneeled over, his cheeks burning red, his breath short as he laughed. When he finally straightened again, the giggles tapering off, he was grinning. "Sorry... but.... "I'll come by to tie you up"... it uh, it has a certain air to it, don't it? I mean, you know. Someone walkin' by who mighta heard me... I mean, it sounds kinda... fruity." He laughed quietly again, shaking his head. The bigger man didn't know the words "Out of Context". "So... but yeah. I can come by. No problem."
"S'tomorrow." He half wanted to tell Gareth to grow up, but if he wanted to pretend, sure, he could pretend. Gideon had watched "gay" go from a shameful mental illness no one would talk about to some sort of reviled, degenerate choice to something like a simple fact of life free of moral implications. But he had a sense Texas was closer to that first stage than most places. As Gare liked it, he supposed. "Man, no one would ever think you was gay." Gideon didn't really grasp how sarcasm was supposed to work, but he tried. His voice was rather deadpan and he couldn't repress a small smile. It didn't help that Gare was kind of cute, in a goofy way. If he went around yelling that he wasn't gay at the drop of a hat, people were just going to look closer, weren't they? Silly kid. "Guess I'll see you then. Thanks agin." He braced his palms on the ground and stood up lazily.
Gareth grinned, not catching the sarcasm. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow." He reached out taking Gideon's hand. "It was good to meet you man." He added, looking pleased. "I'll catch you tomorrow." He stretched, cracking his back as he did so, and let a large yawn pass his lips. "Oh man. I think Dusty's food is gettin' to me." His stomach growled unhappily, churning and he shook his head. "See you around Kentucky." He turned away, heading towards the street. Today had been good so far, and it was still morning. He was curious about what the rest of the day would hold.