Storytelling
Characters: Pippa and Jeremy Setting: Jeremy's room, early evening
Pippa decided she needed to see Jeremy and the best way to do that was to go to his room. But it was closed and locked and Pippa didn’t feel like waiting outside his room like some tramp. She took to picking the lock and was successful after a couple of tries, which allowed her a whole new set of things to be entertained with. She went for his draws, pulling through them to check his clothing and any items he might have stored there.
Jeremy wasn’t expecting to find his door open when he headed back to change for the poker night, though he shouldn’t have been surprised to find Pippa on the other side of it, even if she did give him a bit of a jolt. She was digging through drawers, though he knew full well she wouldn’t find anything. He didn’t have anything here. “Can I help you?”
“Depends on what you think I need help with, doesn’t it?” Pippa asked but didn’t turn around. Instead she just kept rummaging through his drawers, tossing items of clothing out of them when she could find them just for the hell of it.
“Depends on what you’re looking for in the drawers.” Jeremy closed the door behind him, staring at her. “How’d you get in here?”
“Opened the door,” She said simply. She found a pair of socks and brought them with her as she changed her course for the bed. Sitting on it cross-legged, Pippa unrolled them and slipped one of them on over her arm then tossed him the other. “When was the last time you played with sock puppets?”
“The locked door,” Jeremy said. He managed to catch the sock with ease, but shook his head. “Never. I wasn’t much of a child.”
“Yes, the locked door. What, a lock’s supposed to stop me?” Pippa rolled her eyes at him. “For a guy with pretty interesting mission, you’re really fucking boring.”
“It means quite a bit to most people.” He sat on his couch and watched her. “Really? Saying I lacked a childhood would actually interest more people than not. Why did I not have one?”
“I don’t really care why you had a childhood or not. I’m not here to throw you a pity party,” She said, narrowing her eyes at him. Locked doors didn’t mean much to her. If she could unlock them and she wanted to, she was going to do it, whether or not it meant more to someone else. “Is there anyone else you need taken care of?”
“Trust me Pippa, that last damn thing I want is a pity party. I have no need for it.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s just an interesting story is all. One that no one knows.” Her offer made him cringe slightly and he shook his head. “No, no I’m fine for now.”
The curiosity got to her, and paired with the idea that she’d know something no one else did Pippa leaned back a little on the bed. “Ok. Tell me why you didn’t have a childhood.”
He laughed to himself and adjusted the fedora on his head. “I raised myself on the streets. Fought to survive for as long as I can remember.” The way he said it made it sound like plain fact, but it was so far removed from everything about him, it seemed like a story he was telling her to amuse her. In the end there was no real way to determine if he was telling the truth or not.
Did it matter if it was real or not? No. Would it matter if she heard the story from someone else later, yes. Very much yes. But for now she was amused, sitting on his bed with one of his socks still on her arm while she listened. “Did you eat rat?”
He smirked more, something mischievous. “What do you think?”
“I think you’d be a pretty sorry street urchin if you didn’t eat rat,” She answered, watching him with eyes slightly narrowed again. “What did it taste like?”
“Chicken,” Jeremy said, feeling that was as simple enough of an answer. Everything tasted like chicken.
“When was the first time you ate chicken, if you grew up on the streets?” Pippa wanted details, because she figured it was interesting enough to have met someone who raised themselves of the streets but she wanted to know what that meant for him, what it was like.
“Do you have any idea what people throw away? What you can steal if you’re good enough?” Jeremy asked, watching her. “I don’t remember when, but it wasn’t that different from anything else. Food was food.” It was interesting, the way she bought into the story.
Pippa thought on it then plopped backwards onto his bed, looking up at the ceiling. “Then what did you do, to not live on the street anymore?”
He watched her relax thinking it was such an odd sight, someone like her so comfortable like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just killed a woman. “Whatever any bright American does, take what he wants.”
“So you think you’re bright? You’d pick ‘bright’ as your description over any other word?” Pippa asked, rolling her head a little so that she could watch him again. She wasn’t sure she’d pick ‘bright’ for him but she also wasn’t sure she’d pick anything for him.
“It sounds less arrogant than brilliant.” Jeremy did think he was brilliant though he usually came across as more humble than that. People didn’t want to be the dumbest person in a conversation even if they often were.
“Not when you say it, it doesn’t.” Pippa said, looking back his way for a moment before turning back to look up at the ceiling again. “What do you think my story is?”
“Tortured. Daddy hit you or hurt you and someone stuck you in an asylum at some point, but you weaseled your way out.” Jeremy didn’t even hesitate in the answer. That made the most sense to him.
Pippa laughed, an all out, hardcore laugh like he’d just told the funniest joke she’d heard in a while. She ended up sitting up but never shook or nodded her head, just turned to look at him with a grin on her face. “I think you think you know everything. How much of it are you confident in?”
He watched her. “What’s good about a story teller is it doesn’t matter if you’re confident. You just have to sound like you are.” Jeremy grinned. “You believed me didn’t you?”
“No, you lied.” Pippa said as she stood up and started toward the door. “Rat doesn’t taste like chicken.” She didn’t stop as she pushed open his door again and started out of it into the hallway again.
“Whatever you think,” Jeremy said, shrugging one shoulder, not bothering with getting up or doing anything. He wanted her gone. Reacting or doing anything to stop her wouldn’t see to that.