Re: [Taxi: Cat & Jack]
[Cat, Jack had decided half-way through the underworld, was a dichotomy. She was neither the wild-curled woman who'd dripped poison and acid in the newspaper office and then in her bar, nor the teenager perched in the passenger seat and she was both. It made a certain sort of poetic sense, which meant it made none at all, but it was comfortable.] Too loved? Does she have a particular line of rebellion? Booze, drugs, games, men, women? It's far easier to be tortured and attractive to your rebellion of choice if you've got something to be tortured about. [Wry: he'd exploited that mine for gold when he'd been in school.]
Our mother looked very like him. She was quiet when she wasn't hysterical, I have the impression that if she hadn't been with the man, she might have borne a very similar resemblance to him. But he drove her off a cliff, metaphorically speaking. I feel horribly guilty for leaving him to it for years, and I'm still surprised by the fact he appears to want to know me. [Which added up to an entirely convoluted perspective to frame Newt through, but Jack seized on the opportunity for something else.] Why did Bob not want to tell him? Did Bob tell him?
[The laugh was a tell. It drew Cat-the-elder out of Cat-the-younger and blended them. And Jack remembered most of what he'd been told even drunk. Love poetry, and a little girl.] Someone who feels. I might not give stoic enough credit, it might bleed rivers under the surface. But from what I know? Passion. Don't ask for a physical description, I'll get gloomy over depictions of heroes on rooftops. [Humor, rather than cut-truth.]
I was vile to her - you - before Russia. She saved me from tearing apart Newt, but christ, I wish I hadn't. [Which they'd both known, but honesty as the car ate miles.]
Do you want it reversed? [He took the point about data, but he was curious, and it showed.] Where will you start looking?