Re: quicklog: atticus/matt
[Atticus quirked a brow. Was just as lazy as the smile on his lips.] Why did Steve like me? [Was an entertained question. Had only seen Steve a few times. Wasn't sure liked was on the table particularly. Steve liked people. He was people. Was interested in the world in a way Atticus was not. Atticus refused to care. Deliberately.] Think he likes anything that involves people. That kind of man.
Should talk to Janus. [Curiously.] Know Janus? Steve did. [Moving on.] Argue heroics with Janus often. Has a different view of war. Different view of being a soldier. My notes come from books, letters, history. Most people aren't heroes. No one's Jesus Christ. Suspect even Jesus Christ wasn't Jesus Christ. No proof, but it's a working theory. Not saying good men don't count. Saying writers aren't heroes. [He grinned. Lazy. Entertained.] There are heroes. Disagree with you. Some heroes help people cross roads in the rain. Other people drive by, walk by. Doesn't necessarily make those people bad. But a hero makes a difference. There are heroes. [Knowing.] Don't think you're one? Why? Because of what happened after?
[His parents.] Historian. Area of specialty for him. Think he was impressed by that thing you said didn't exist. Heroicism. [Which was overtaken by comments about PJ. Atticus said nothing. Didn't clarify. Didn't illuminate. Still felt PJ should tell this man what she felt. But, and this was not a good thing, Atticus was too drunk to concern himself overly much. The thought was gone a moment later. Out of sight. Out of mind.]
Don't write. Not willing to suffer. [That lazy smirk returned.] Don't write. Just read things other people wrote. Teach things other people wrote. Collect things other people wrote. [Didn't peek as he touched. Just touched. Fingers down over metal as far as they could drag, and then Atticus pulled his hand back and let it rest on Matt's leg. Wasn't deliberate. Wasn't not deliberate.
Matt stood.] Last call. [Scoff.] Old enough to be your father. [Wasn't. Was still entertained enough by the comment to smile. Opened his eyes, and he watched Matt pour the whiskey.] Don't need good words to be Kerouac. Need feeling. [Took the glass as Matt sat again. Closed his eyes again. Sipped.
Listened.
Wasn't surprised the Germans would want a version of Captain Liberty. Made sense. Made sense that the story was bloody, awful, a thing of nightmares. Made sense, but wasn't any easier to hear. Thumb tapped across his chest. Glanced down once. Looked back up. Hazel eyes were attentive now. Atticus didn't look away from the shadows in Matt's eyes. Knew shadows. Wasn't surprised by them. Matt slid closer. Atticus expected more words. Didn't expect the tap to the old port scar.]
Was a sick kid. [Not a lie.] Was made into a sick kid. [More honest. Blame the whiskey. A chuckle. It rumbled, and a cough followed.] Not used to being touched. Know, don't think anyone has outside of one of the strange town parties. Not counting the vampire. [That comment brought shadows. Darkness. Pushed past it. Wanted another drink.] Don't think you want my pity. My compassion? You have that, for what it's worth. But was a good story. [Wanted another drink. The glass was empty again. Could light a new cigarette. The old one was dead in the ashtray.]
Tell me, Kerouac, what would you do if I kissed you right now?