mojo_rising (mojo_rising) wrote in rrinitiative, @ 2012-11-10 21:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | day eight, evan, evan and mojo, mojo |
Name calling
Characters: Evan and Mojo
Setting: Activity room, noon
It was going to be a busy day, Mojo already knew. Waking up to the news from the administration had confirmed as much, and despite the sleep that had clung to her brain in that first chunk of waking time? Mojo could pick out the finer details, both stated and not. She had to track down Meg, to put real-world contact to the journal entries she’d read. There was going to be some kind of memorial service for the woman who’d died, Caroline? And Mojo wanted to be there.
More than that, though, was the recurring theme in others’ journals; the tones of frustration and worry. Just from what was happening on there and in the facility, Mojo was expecting someone to call a meeting or something, to try and bring up the group-wide topic of what they were going to do now. And as much as she wanted to be there for it, Mojo knew that she had to be ready for it. That meant clearing her head and working off the excess energy that made her tough to deal with. That meant... something.
Thankful that no one else could hear her failed attempt at drama, she’d locked up her room and headed out for breakfast and a wander. And so far? Mojo felt like she was doing good. She’d knocked out laundry that she could pick up later, nabbed a few books from the library, and hefted them with her across to Block B in her search for the activity room. And as well as it had gone before reaching that space, it was going doubly so now.
Mojo had pulled off her button-up overshirt, fashioning it into a crude parcel she could twist up and tote back from here as she loaded it with small jars of paint, a few brushes, and a boxed-up chess set. There’d probably be room for the books too, but for the moment she was browsing everything else on the shelves of the activity room, singing to herself in a soft lilt that carried past the partially open door. “Birds of a black, black feather flock together, forever and ever and they always remember...” she sang, voice soft and pure as it carried.
Evan was walking around, basically just getting the lay of the land, as he put his mind farther and farther from the talk with Carmel and his memories of Corrine. It had him concentrating on more practical things. He wanted to know where he was heading, wanted to know where everything was, just in case. Paranoid? Yes. But he still thought it was a better idea than stumbling around if anything went tits up. So, he was checking out the rooms. Singing caught his attention, and he slowed up as he was passing the activity room.
Quietly, he stepped closer, til he was leaning in the doorframe, watching the girl with the black hair sing. She wasn't bad, that was the first thing he noticed. She absolutely wasn't bad. Instead of alerting her to his presence, he kept quiet, doing his best impression of a creepy stalker, only without the stealth.
Words had slipped by unbidden during Evan’s approach, and Mojo was still heedless of his presence from where she’d settled on the floor to peruse a shelf. Her head was still bobbing in a lazy rhythm as she reached up to twist her hair back messily, working it into a tight twist and shoving a pencil from one of the games through to hold it tight. “I’m not gonna rot, nope, fuck that snot,” Mojo went on in her little sing-song voice, “You can let them let you rot, man, but I’m not gonna watch...”
Mid-word, she gathered her legs under her to stand again, and a sudden laugh of exasperation slipped free as the pencil fell from Mojo’s hair and clattered away behind her. “Balls on toast, man,” she muttered to herself, chuckling and turning to retrieve it. Which was when she spotted Evan in the doorway, eyes going wide at the same time that one hand knotted into a fist at her side. “Shit!” Mojo blurted, “Um... yeah, hi?” Who the fuck was this? And how long had he just been looming like that? Doubts unanswered, she still raised her other hand in a small wave to Evan as Mojo chuckled at herself again. “You’re early, man. Scrabble league doesn’t start until six.”
A little half smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, there then gone, but present for half a second. "I'd kick everyone's ass." he told her. "Probably shouldn't join. Hi." he greeted, noting the fist when it had made an appearance, but he noted she didn't go immediately into a defensive posture. "What were you singing?" he asked, curious. He hadn't recognized it.
“Yeah, sounds like you should try out for the modesty club too,” Mojo joked with a more developed smirk to answer Evan’s half smile, an expression that flashed in her eyes genuinely. Stooping low, she grabbed her pencil and set about retwisting her hair, the tattoos on each bicep showing starkly as she reached up to set it in place again.
“It’s this Aesop Rock song, kinda?” she answered eventually, “But I was just singing the hooks, this chick named Kimya Dawson sings them.” Studying him for a moment, Mojo was still smiling even through pursed lips as she determined that no, she hadn’t seen Evan at any of the courtyard meetings, impromptu or otherwise. “You’re new here, hey?”
"You know I tried? But they just can't seem to accept me. Something about being an asshole, and too awesome." Evan quipped, watching her as she moved. He definitely caught her ink, looked like she had a lot of it. "And okay, I've heard a little of his stuff." he added, marking the details in mind so he could listen to it later. "As for new, yes. Got here this morning. Looks like things have been a shit storm before I got here. Got any helpful hints for the new guy?" he asked, really just curious what she might say.
Mojo’s grin widened, edging with something sardonic at the details of Evan’s arrival. “This morning? Shit, they really just don’t give a damn,” she mused more to herself than Evan. But dropping him or anyone else into the building situation here was just twisted, based on how reactive Mojo though she’d be in that position. “And helpful hints?” Mojo continued, chewing her lip in a moment of thought, “That’s a tricky request to fulfill for a man with no name.”
One she needed to think about for a moment, too, though Mojo didn’t take too long with it. “I’d say get used to balancing?” she suggested, “Like... we get a lot of little freedoms in here, take advantage of the ones you can for sure. Go swimming because there’s a wicked-ass pool, crank up any stereo you can find, make yourself a grilled cheese just because you can cook for yourself.” Belatedly, she realized she was being a little rambly with a total stranger, but this was what Mojo was trying to purge before whatever gatherings happened tonight. “But like I said, balance. It’s still prison, right? There’s still people watching. Oh, and they’ve got complete control of this brick bitch we’re in. And I’m Mojo,” she tacked on at the end, grinning wider with the introduction.
"Oh, I have a name. You just haven't asked for it." Evan told her. He blinked slightly at the name 'Mojo'. It helped, though, providing a name with the face, placing some of the journals. He'd read back on everything, and that name stood out. "Don't you mean Batman?" he asked. He also took in what she was telling him. "So, it's a lot of weird, all rolled into one?" he asked. "Good things, bad things..."
And when he brought up her journal name? Mojo couldn’t help a rich laugh, her eyes lighting up with humor in time with it. “Nanananananana, dude,” she confirmed for Evan, “And yeah, sounds pretty close. It’s more good than bad so far, I guess? But I’m gonna assume you already heard about yesterday.” It had been discussed on the journals enough, that was for sure. “So...” she trailed, studying Evan more intently, almost challenging in her tone, “What’s your name, since I’ve been so helpful?”
“More or less.” Evan confirmed about the journals. “As for my name, most people call me Asher.” he told her. Which was true. Most people didn’t get his first name. “So what was all this?” he asked, motioning to the paint. “Also, pick a tattoo, and tell me a story about it.” he added, wanting to see if she’d roll with it or not. So far she seemed like the kind who rolled with things easily, something he was appreciating at the moment.
She had to give a throaty chuckle at the little list of requests and questions, studying Evan more intently. If he was giving her such apparent interest, it was only fair. “All this,” Mojo answered first, turning to put her back against the shelves as she nodded to her plunder, “Is stuff for my room. ‘Desolation Angels’ and ‘Ishmael’ from the library, paints for my wall or shoes or whatever, and chess. I make a move on each side every day, never quite sure who’s gonna win.” Mojo’s head tipped back, resting against the edge of a shelf as she regarded Evan. “And is Asher your name? Or just what most people call you? Tit for tat if you’re keen on story time,” she offered, eyes sparkling with amusement.
He took all that in, finding the different items and their descriptions interesting. "Who usually wins?" he asked, about the chess match. "And Asher's my last name." he admitted, the ghost of a smile appearing for a heartbeat before it faded again. "I don't generally give out my first one."
“Well, this isn’t a situation most people end up in. Generally,” Mojo pointed out neatly, grinning wider for a moment. “And usually someone quits in frustration, that’s just how good I am.” She raised up both arms again, folding her hands behind her head to show the ink under her arms once more for Evan, shrugging away the request for the moment. A little good faith never hurt, maybe she just had to give in order to get...
“So until I was seventeen, I never lived anywhere longer than like four months,” Mojo began without preamble or warning, “And when I did? I ended up in Denver, waiting tables in a coffee shop at first. It was... it was really weird at first. Like, when you’re always on the move, you never really see the way time shifts in a place? Seasons are just... snapshots, glimpses before you go.” She chuckled softly, a solitary laugh as Mojo sat there, subconsciously glad for a chance to vent this with her enthusiasm. Both tended to affect her moods.
“Anyway, I ended up in Denver just before winter, and this coffee shop did some decent tourist business. But it had a lot of slow time too, where it’d just be me and the stereo, and I didn’t know shit for music or anything,” Mojo explained, “These are from the first album I bought there, after I heard some guy play it at an open mic. I always just felt like it fit for me, y’know? For that first place where I got to just stop and breathe.”
"You rage quit against yourself?" Evan asked, having to barely bite back a full little grin at that. He couldn't stifle it completely, though. He also stepped closer when she showed off the tats on her arms, leaning in to get a better look. Also a little show of trust, since he recognized that she was doing so. See if they both were going to behave and not do something terrible to one another. "I met a ghost, but he didn’t want my head, He only wanted to know the way to Denver." he murmured under his breath a little.
"That's got to be a strange way to go about things. If you moved that often, you couldn't have gotten close to anyone but whoever you were with." he noted. "Interesting about the seasons, and time, though. Never thought about it like that, but I bet it kind of warps it all." He ticked his gaze to her eyes, noting they stood out against her dark hair like that. "How did it feel to stop and breathe?"
There was something undeniably compelling about her initial reaction to that question; some extra spark, a different curve to the smile on her lips. “Absolutely amazing,” Mojo replied, “You can’t really describe it, I don’t think. To just wake up in the city one day and realize you’re moving forward with it instead of just witnessing it? Trust me, continuity’s something most people don’t appreciate nearly enough. You Shel Silverstein-quoting fool.” A hint of teeth in her grin with that as Mojo lowered her arms again.
“And I made up for lost time, no doubt,” she went on with an errant shrug, “Got my own place, made friends pretty fast, landed a better paying job and blew every cent...” And if there was any way to ignore their shared convict status, it might’ve seemed like Mojo was perfectly content where she was. “You know, living the dream or some shit.”
She earned another little smile, at recognizing the line he quoted. Most people wouldn't have picked it out at all, so he was duly impressed with the fact that she did, and off the top of her head, no less. He watched her as she spoke, noting that her words seemed to infect her posture, her expression, her eyes. It was fascinating, really. "So did it seem like the beginning of your life was spent standing still?" he asked, since she talked about moving forward. "And what did your dream entail exactly?"
“Not so much, no,” she answered Evan’s first question, “More like... preparing, maybe? Learning what else is out there before I settle somewhere and draw a line on where ‘out there’ begins.” That sounded apt to her, coming with a smart little nod of satisfaction. “And my dream? Nothing special, I don’t think: working enough to get by without doing so much that I hated it, spending my free time where it made me happy, not regretting what I’d done with a day when it ended. It’s a pretty good way to be, for real,” Mojo asserted with a more languid air, gradually settling in against the shelves.
Evan kind of liked the sound of that. 'where 'out there' begins' was an interesting concept. He walked farther away, realizing maybe he should back off slightly when she did and he leaned against the wall, eyes still on her. "So what was it that made you happy?" he asked. He could picture the life she was describing. Something simple but full of color, noise and people. That vague crowded room noise that was a lot of real words, but nothing could get picked out specifically. Her, an ink streak through it.
Her smile edged wistfully as Mojo sighed, letting her head roll back a bit. It was surprising just how much she’d confide in a literal stranger; some guy who’d just walked into the room, even. Still, it didn’t feel wrong to play into the mission statement of this place. It honestly felt good just to talk about what had been left behind in the life she’d been forced to cut free. “All kinds of things,” she answered at length, “Sitting on the steps of the Basilica at dawn and watching people do the pub crawl home, curling up on the sofa and just sleeping until the sunlight woke me up but didn’t hurt my eyes enough to make me move, hitting the record stores, going to shows and parties and all of that. Really, it all boiled down to setting my own pace, I guess. Being able to go fast or slow, whatever I felt like.”
It was easy to watch her as she spoke, liking the way that she seemed to embody everything she was talking about as she did so. She was animated, that was for damn sure. "Sounds like a good life." he told her, not being facetious at all on that score. It did sound like a good life. He'd have taken it. Something simple but vibrant. Didn't sound bad at all.
“Your turn, Asher,” Mojo said then, looking back to Evan squarely as she sat forward a bit. She was grinning again just from using his nickname, wondering if he’d correct her with something else or just leave it at that. “We can even start simple, since you snowballed all that up on me. Got any ink?” she asked curiously, guessing that he might, if his interest in Mojo’s tattoos had prompted a lot of what she’d shared.
He didn't correct the use of the name, wondering if she was ever going to bug him about what his first name was. He wanted to leave it out there, see if it ever sparked her interest enough to attempt to find out. Then he realized he might actually want to talk to her again, and that was a little weird. He ignored that, though, since she was asking him a direct question. "Yes." he answered, giving her a brief flash of a shit eating grin. He knew she wanted more than that, of course, but he wanted to see what she'd do.
Chuckling coarsely at him, Mojo offered up a quick middle finger in response to Evan’s grin as she pulled her legs up towards her chest. “Witty shit right there,” she teased, “But I figured. You struck me as a unicorn-tattoo kind of dude, you know?” It was damned curious for her, that was for sure. There was a strange, already obvious facet of him she was seeing there; some tendency to guard his own details and dig for other peoples’ at the same time. At least, that was what Mojo was getting.
“Where at?” she pressed, “And of what? Show and tell here man, c’mon...” And Mojo knew she wasn’t always an easy woman to say no to, not with the right mixture of insistence, pouting, and playfulness in her voice. “Because maybe you think you can stall me out, but I? Am stupidly patient.” Which was probably a lie, if she’d already admitted to losing to herself in chess, but it seemed like that might’ve been half of the fun for Mojo.
He almost laughed at the unicorn tattoo thing. He just watched her with that near-grin on his lips. He opted to answer some of her questions, but didn't show anything yet. "Two on my arm, one on my wrist." he told her. "None of them are unicorns. So, you're going to have to guess again." he told her, arms folded so she couldn't automatically spy the one on his wrist.
Sighing at him heavily, Mojo tsked to herself as she looked Evan over from head to toe, trying to imagine just what he might have tattooed based on what little she knew of him. “So you get a free look and a story, and I get a guessing game?” she mock-griped, rolling her eyes dramatically, “And here I was, worried more about my required meeting with a stranger. Should’ve been looking out for loners who come seeking Uno decks.”
But if she had to guess? Mojo was thinking it would be something personal for his ink, something beyond the gruff and restrained humor Evan had shown so far. Guys with that front went one of two ways; the vanity tattoo they showed to the world or the juxtaposed one that gave a hint of something more. “Okay, lemme cold-read this mother,”she said then, “You don’t come off religious, so it’s not a cross or a saint or some creepy-ass baby Jesus with a burning crown. And you’re not throwing it in my face, so it’s not gang or sports-related, thank god? So... animal of some kind? Maybe a tribal?”
He liked her working things out, liked hearing her reasoning things out loud so he could follow the thought process. "One's an animal, yes." he said. And, because she'd actually guessed correctly, he tugged the sleeve up on his arm, just enough to reveal the raven there. Evan even turned so she could see it better, get as good a look as she could. The raven was in flight, not an overwhelming amount of detail to it, but not a poorly done job, either. It wasn’t a prison tat.
Up went both hands, fingers curling to leave Mojo hanging her fists in the air with the ‘rock’ gesture on them as she beamed proudly. “And is there a story attached to it? There’s always something with an animal tattoo, y’know,” she jokingly confided, “Even if it’s a stripper with a dolphin tattoo that her boyfriend made her get. Sometimes those are the best stories, but I’ll make do with whatever you’ve got.” For sure, one of the best things about this so far was easily that Evan didn’t seem to really mind her being kind of a bitch. It was as relaxing as any other part of Mojo’s day so far.
Evan quirked a half smirk at the rejoicing gesture there. When she asked for the story, he looked down, then back to her. "My best friend drew it." he told her. Which was absolutely true, even if it didn't get into the rest of it. And while he didn't give anything away in his voice, there was a tension that crept into his frame, one that didn't have much of an identifiable source or bent.
It was hard to miss that, really. He’d been pretty attentive on Mojo since arriving, so even that fleeting glance down was telling. “How long ago did you get it?” she asked then, not directly chasing down the tidbit Evan had shared. His reaction alone said there was some connotation that threw him, though if it was pure badness? Mojo couldn’t tell. Maybe it was just a friend on the outside, someone he missed... the best way to try and find out for now was to build whatever framework she could of Evan, to patch together whatever details he might offer.
"About six years ago." Evan answered, not finding the information anything worth keeping from her. And, because she had been so giving with her own story, and she wasn't actually seeming to get frustrated with his lack of detail, he gave her a little more. "I actually got all three on the same day." he shared.
“Tell me about that day, then,” Mojo requested, “Why’d you get all three done at once? Doesn’t take a genius to guess that something happened...” Or to wonder if whatever it was ended up linked to Evan’s incarceration. This was different than the bad luck that had landed Mojo in jail, she was sure of that much; it was tied to the grimness in him. She was sure of it.
"Well, I was about to go kill two people, really. Figured I wouldn't have the opportunity to afterwards. In the meantime I had a best friend to bury, and a little plotting to do." Evan told her, going with the truth. He stated it in a flat manner, not leaking any tell tale emotions into it. He watched her very carefully as he spoke, just to see how she reacted to that. This could, after all, be the end of the conversation. She could end it right then and there and decide not to speak to him again.
“Ho...”ly shit, Mojo started, catching herself before the L sound could fully form. The odd thing was, she didn’t necessarily retreat with the fragment of speech. There was some tense awareness in her limbs, to be sure; a subtle ripple up Mojo’s body as she let her head tilt a bit to go with her abruptly-new perspective of him.
It was staggering to hear, something she couldn’t have prepared for despite the quietly intense focus Evan had shown. It was premeditation; spoken plainly but... not coldly. Just in an even way, as if it made perfect sense. And if she didn’t let it shock her? Mojo could even put together the different statements to lay things out clearly. He had to bury his best friend who’d drawn that tattoo, then go kill two people. Which was quite possibly the most personal thing Mojo had ever heard... if she didn’t let it shock her.
“What did they do to your friend?” she finally asked, quiet with her first complete thought. What did you do to them? came next, choking Mojo as she kept it unspoken. That was morbid, plain and simple.
Evan paid attention to every little nuance in her reaction, how the tension appeared in her frame, how she didn't actually back up, even if he thought she was going to. He watched her eyes widen just that slight bit, saw her working things out in her head. And, when she spoke, he was again a little impressed with her deduction. She hadn't let the shock of the 'by the way I murdered not just one person but two and it sure as fuck wasn't spur of the moment' derail her entirely. She worked things out past that point.
So, it got her an answer. "We were at a party. When I caught up to her again, she'd been roofied, and was in the midst of some drunk monster raping her. He wasn't the only one that night, either." He paused, just for a second, the immediate rush of anger not actually all that dulled in his system as he thought about it, though the main telltale sign was a set to his jaw and a tension that bunched through his fists. "I almost beat that bastard to death. Lawyers got me off on that score, but things weren't actually over, of course. Corrine, she never actually got over it. The trial was still dragging out when she decided to see if she could fly, and turns out she couldn't. Four of the people brought up on charges pled guilty, but two were hold outs. After I took care of Cor, I got a shotgun, and went and evened out the score."
There was some natural pallor to hide Mojo’s creeping sick feeling as Evan detailed his past, but it could only go so far. She’d been raped by six people? Mojo wasn’t sure she could’ve pulled it together after that, either. How could anyone? Swallowing hard, she gave a slight nod as if she understood, or at least followed his reasoning. But what did you say to something like this?
“You...” she murmured, eyebrows drawing together heavily as Mojo mulled over her words. She didn’t want him thinking it was just okay, that was psychotic behavior, but at the same time? She couldn’t condemn him, not with the queasy, kneejerk reaction that just hearing about it prompted in Mojo. “You took care of her even after she was gone,” Mojo finally managed, looking Evan’s way as her brow smoothed out, “And made sure you could carry her with you. The raven, right?” And maybe the other two, or maybe they were reminders of the men he’d killed. Either way, it seemed like a safe bet that they were tied into Evan’s loss and resulting vengeance.
Evan almost excused himself, ended the conversation because it was so clear to him that she was disturbed--and really, he couldn't fault her for that. It actually gave her points, in his book, that she was. "Did the best I could to take care of her, anyway." he said. "And, all three. The raven, there's a dragonfly, those two she drew when we were freshmen in highschool. She was a pretty good artist. The last one," he paused, then opted to go for it. He tugged his sleeve up and showed her his wrist, where it said clearly in loopy handwriting 'love, Corrine'. "Her last words to me. I was the one she sent her note to."
It still took a moment for Mojo, working to her own conclusions in her head as she listened to Evan, but eventually? She seemed to lose the wary tension, rocking forward onto her knees and looking in closer at his wrist. “How do you go on past that?” she had to ask, knotting a hand up before she could do something stupid like reach for his wrist, but Mojo was sometimes stupidly curious, and always impulsive. “Just... knowing what happened, what you did to them for it? What kept you going this far after? Her?” Mojo wondered with a faint frown, unable to capture some idea of it herself.
Evan shrugged, looking down at his wrist before he covered the words back up. "Honestly? I'll let you know when I figure it out." he said. Because he hadn't, yet. He often felt like he'd finished his purpose. He'd done what he needed to do, and his story should have ended a while ago, only it hadn't. But he wasn't a suicidal person. Not after having been on the receiving end of one. And while he didn't really have anyone left that wasn't his and Cor's parents, he didn't want to do that to them. Plus people had to find the corpse, deal with that...it wasn't just something that ended when you decided to punch your own ticket. "Mostly I've just gone through prison, tried my best to break jaws when people come at me, and I've killed a couple child molesters on the inside. I wouldn't actually say I 'go on' so much as continue to exist."
With a much fainter smile, Mojo shrugged at that as if she doubted some of what Evan was saying. “Here’s where I’d probably dust off some Kant or something and try arguing that the two are the same, philosophically speaking?” she said to his last words, “Except I think I’d feel like an asshole trying it now, what with zero clue about how it is on your side of life.” The confession to the extra murders, that wasn’t something that solidified her smile so much as it widened her eyes again, but Mojo nodded all the same. “There was a pedo in lockup when I was too, I saw what happens to them...” she agreed, at least sharing the idea that Mojo understood. Maybe she didn’t approve, but there were some things that even the wicked could dole out punishment for.
"Thank you for not." he said, not really thinking getting philosophical at the moment would really do much. Well, nothing but get irritating, or offensive in some manner. "But, there you go. Sorry you asked, yet?" he asked her, again paying close attention to how she held herself.
She finally hopped up from the ground, standing tall and actually somewhat easy. There was no hugging herself, no drawing-in from fear, because as unsettling as Evan’s story had been? Mojo wasn’t afraid of him directly. If he’d been a threat, he would’ve wasted some prime opportunity in here to actually be a threat. “I’d rather know and sort through my own wires tangling on it than not know and have to wonder if I saw you around,” Mojo told him with a hint of a more confident smirk, something closer to when they’d just been bullshitting.
Evan gave the ghost of a smile at that. "Good to know." he told her. "So, you got my story, the gorey, tragic details, what about yours? When did your vibrant, colorful, simple-yet-awesome life turn into this?" he asked, making a gesture towards the room they occupied.
The smile Mojo gave in kind was small, a touch distant as she shrugged a shoulder and moved past Evan to fold her overshirt around everything she planned to take back to her room. “Not that long ago, really,” she answered as she twisted the arms up, readying the shirt to be tied around her as an impromptu knapsack. “Feels longer than I know it’s been even. Shit’s weird like that, y’know Asher?” Mojo asked, giving an extra bit of emphasis to the nickname. Maybe he’d correct her, maybe she’d have to keep at it.
“I was dating this guy, Scott. He was... he was a really good guy,” Mojo recalled with a faint laugh, “Funny, smart, hell of a lay... it wasn’t like we were in love or anything? But he always made me laugh, and I think we both just kinda knew we were going to run our course eventually, so why not celebrate it while it was there.” Sometimes people thought it was a callous outlook, but Mojo had never wanted to dress up what happened: it was already tragic without someone thinking she’d lost the love of her life or something. “So one night, we’re both pretty drunk and he’s driving us to some party,” she explained, “And he goes through a guard rail. I get thrown from the car, Scott dies after impact. And the next day while I’m in the hospital? His dad the senator makes some phone calls and I get cuffed to the bed.”
There was a definite dimming of Mojo’s zeal there, even if it hadn’t fully returned after Evan’s story. She was slightly distant, eyes focused somewhere beyond the room as she spoke and twisted one of the shirt sleeves with vague anxiousness. “He wasn’t twenty one, see, and I bought the booze. So when he’s being buried, I’m sitting in a holding cell listening to a public defender talk about how I’m liable for his death and a few other charges, but since I don’t have a record? I can get out in maybe three years with good behavior, if the judge doesn’t fuck me. And then the senator made some more phone calls,” Mojo finished, smirking more bitterly as she gestured at the room with her free hand. “And voila. Mojo, meet Bullshit. Bullshit, Mojo.”
Evan listened and thought it sounded like a good deal, her relationship. Something that had an expiration date, but that didn't mean it couldn't be taken for what it was in the meantime. He could understand that. He didn't interrupt her, listening to her entire story, watching how she moved as she told it, where her gaze went, how she held herself. All of it playing into the words he was hearing.
"That is a story full of suck." Evan told her, and even if his words weren't exactly delicate, his tone wasn't nearly as rough as it could have been. He meant it. "Sorry to hear. How long did you wind up with in the end?" he asked. "Sentence, wise."
“Twenty fucking years,” Mojo muttered in answer to his question, her hand digging into the shirt sleeve it had curled around. “Between all the charges, that is. Good behavior could get me down to fifteen if I thought I’d have a chance with parole hearings. Just long enough for me to learn how the world works again.” And she wasn’t sure she could do that, because this time there’d be no bottled passion for the world ready to pour forth. No, in prison? She was sure she would’ve just faded and died over time.
“And one of the worst things is that that old fuckhead always had it out for me after I met Scott. Or before, even. I think that this was just his first chance to do something where no one could stop him. Fucker lost my vote next election,” she finished in a low voice, sniffling once before Mojo gave a short, sharp laugh at herself to rebuild some kind of composure.
"Jesus fucking christ, seriously?" Evan asked, taken aback by that number. He ducked his head slightly at her sniffle, not entirely positive what to do with that, but she laughed,so he rolled with that. She didn't want to get all misty, he wasn't going to do anything but move ahead in the conversation. "Sounds like you got the shit end of the stick. In a rather epic way." he noted. "At least here, if you manage to get through, you'll be 'someone else' and won't have to be on the inside that long. Y'know. If we don't all die horrifying deaths in here."
Mojo looked back at him when he said that, her eyes going wide and her jaw falling slightly with surprise. Then? Another solitary note of laughter, this one brighter and more earnest before she clapped a hand over her mouth for a second to stifle it. “Too soon, maybe?” she suggested, though the look she was giving Evan said otherwise. In a way she was grateful for something bleakly humorous, if only because it wrenched her back from what had happened. Or because it was something close to kinship on a fucked-up level.
He smirked faintly at her before it died, but it remained a half second longer than previous versions of a smile. "I always look at the worst case scenario. Worst case is...horrifying death after mentally debilitating experiments." he told her, in a tone that was unclear just how serious he was.
“Aren’t most deaths horrifying, at least to whoever it’s happening to?” Mojo asked, kinda playing along even if she wasn’t sure Evan was playing at all. “I mean, throw the experiments in and yeah, this is going to be as fun as amateur night in a dentist’s office,” she mused, hefting her bundle up and tying the sleeves off across her midsection so the bundle hung from her back.
Mojo had to toy with it a moment, picking her t-shirt out from under the impromptu strap to cover up part of her scar, hiding the curve of mottled tissue where it ran up from her waistline to disappear under her shirt. “And like, I know that I don’t know you? But if this shit cracked someone in the first week, and it gets worse? Don’t be afraid to slap the crazy out of me. I... I’m not gonna go like that,” she stressed, working to block out the memory of Caroline’s broken-doll form in the courtyard.
"There are worse ways to go. I'd say some death isn't actually horrifying. Others, oh yeah." Evan told her, honest in that assessment. Corrine, jumping off a building? That was fucking horrifying. He always imagined those few seconds before she hit the ground, just enough time to regret the decision.
He noticed the scar when she adjusted her clothes, the clear mar of her skin jumping out at him immediately. In fact, it distracted him a little, not enough that he didn't catch her next words, but enough that he had to re-center his attention on her face. "You want me to have your back, in case you start losing your shit?" he asked, even if what he really wanted to ask about was the scar. He wondered if she'd gotten it in the car accident, but he wasn't sure if it looked recent enough. He needed a better look.
“Yeah,” Mojo confirmed as she adjusted her parcel, “Like, I know I can be a pain in the asshole on my good days, so if I hit my bad ones I figure it’d be smart to have someone who can deal with it. Just to tell me to nut up and all, ignore me when I call them something heinous, make fun of me if I start sulking... the usual.” And while she may have noticed the flicker in Evan’s focus? Mojo let it slide.
They were both plumbing dark waters here, if his had him distracted then she could understand. “Which I know is a lot to throw on a stranger, so feel free to tell me to get fucked,” she added belatedly, grinning wider to try and make it more earnest. Some people just didn’t have room for the problems of others, and what Evan had shared made that seem very possible.
"I've been more civil to you than I usually am to anyone, so, just in the interest of fairness, I'm not exactly the easiest person to be around either. I'm not very nice, I don't pull punches, and I'm even less interested in playing well with others." he added. "But okay, since we're both pain in the asses, and I'm fine with that, and you appear to be, okay. If I see you spiraling..." he trailed off, not quite sure what it was he was agreeing to. He guessed he'd find out. Either way, he probably needed to face the fact that he was in there with a bunch of other people, and she was at the very least interesting. So, there was that.
“Nice,” Mojo encouraged with a flicker of humor sparking in her eyes again, “I’ll totally paint your shoes in exchange. Which, given my art skills? Is like paying back money with a punch in the dick.” It definitely helped for her to be able to fall back on the vitriol again, it was a solid buffer against anything unstable. And so far no one here seemed to find it unbearable, which made everyone Mojo had met a bit more tolerable in kind. “If you see me spiralling, just do something. Trust your gut. But don’t leave me trusting mine,” she stressed with a chuckle, “It’s too close to my ass and I think that distracts it. Gets a girl in trouble.”
"Are you not to be trusted?" Evan asked, wondering about her wording. He quirked a half smirk at her as he did so, arching a brow. He crossed his arms again, sort of half noting that she seemed to have prepared to leave, but she hadn't actually made a move to do so yet. "And are you really planning on decorating me? Because I'm not sure I'm decorateable..."
“And I’m not so sure that’s a word, Mr. Oxford Webster Merriam,” Mojo retorted with a feigned huff of disapproval. “But no, I’m totally trustworthy. I’m also a terrible artist who just happens to like painting anyway, and is honest enough to admit it. Plus? I get bored before I fill a canvas, so shoes are easier,” she rattled off, grinning a bit more with each count. “So no to both questions? I mean, it’s not a plan, just an offer.”
"It's a word now." Evan told her with just a hint of mock-warning in his tone. Like it really mattered, or he was going to decide to put his foot down about this ridiculous point, of all things. "And you're going to trust my gut? You realize you actually know my gut has, on more than one occasion decided murder was the way to go, right?" he asked.
Mojo sighed at him as he tried to caution her, shaking her head at Evan. “Yeah, I know,” she assured him, “I didn’t spend the last ten minutes not listening. But so far? You don’t scare me enough to not trust my gut, either. What you did? I can see the trail you took to get there. And waiting tables sucks, but you get pretty good at reading people. So... tell me I shouldn’t trust you, sell me on it if it’s true.” That, as she finally took a step away from where she’d loaded up, moving towards the door while watching Evan over her shoulder.
Evan considered that, and took a step closer to her, into her personal space, crowding. He loomed over her, looking down, even taking the trouble to be sure his shadow fell over her features. He blocked the exit while he was at it, and leaned closer. "I wouldn't say I'm trustworthy. I wouldn't say my judgment is sound. But if you want to take the risk? That's your call." he told her, giving her that and seeing how she reacted to the entire thing.
The moment he encroached, she was doing her best to rally her nerves, and Mojo actually managed to look up at Evan without much wavering in her expression as he blocked her in. “And I didn’t ask you to say that,” she pointed out quietly, lips pursed as her head dipped back, “So it’s my call. Good.” Which, yeah, it was freaky. If she was wrong about him, Mojo potentially had her C.O.D. standing in front of her. But at this point in life, it seemed a little belated to start worrying about the risks she took. “So are you gonna move? Or are you gonna walk a woman back to her room?” she asked challengingly, maybe compensating a bit to try and prove something.
He stayed where he was for a long moment, then stepped back, and even held his hand out, showing her the door. "Walking a woman back to her room." he told her. He figured if she managed to stand up to that, she had spine, which he liked. He also couldn't decide if she was just a little too brave for her own good, or she did actually see something in him that wasn't a threat to her. Which, if he was being perfectly honest, he wasn't. He was a threat, yes. But he didn't see her doing anything that would actually cross the lines he had drawn in the sand in his own mind.
Mojo nodded at that smartly, even smiling as she breezed past him. “Should’ve pushed my luck and got you to carry my stuff,” she joked as she moved, starting for the elevator back to the sub-level. “And um, I know there was a thing on the journals today about a service for the girl who died, Caroline?” Mojo continued as she walked, “I’m not sure how keen you are to mingle or anything, but if you’re looking to meet people in here? That’d probably be the place to start.” Though so far Evan seemed more like he might want his solitude.
Evan fell into step half a pace behind her, hands in his pockets as he listened. At this point, however, he wasn't watching her anymore, he was watching their surroundings as they walked. "Pretty sure I should avoid socializing as much as possible." he told her, though didn't strike down the suggestion as stupid or anything. "Especially at a function that's meant to be all teary and shit, I don't think it'd be great for me to go barging in, knowing what kind of attitude I usually have." He was an asshole, but that didn't mean he was enough of one to go ruining what amounted to a funeral.
“I didn’t figure it’d be like that,” she mused as they walked, shoulders shrugging under her parcel, “I mean, none of us really knows each other all that well yet. I guess I thought it’d be more like... like we all recognize how fucked it is that this happened, and we try to figure out what to do next as a group. Which is probably a recipe for disaster, but at this point it just seems inevitable that someone’ll try it.” And if it was presented well? Mojo would even support it. She just wasn’t sure if it’d make any difference. “But I get it too, no sense in making yourself uncomfortable just for the chance of pissing other people off. It’s not like you’re looking for it or something.”
"You figure a memorial is going to turn into a town meeting?" he asked, since that seemed to be what she was describing. "What's your suggestion for the group, out of curiosity?" he asked, to see if she had one. He might show, at this point, just to hang at the back and see what other people had in mind. See what the fuck he was dealing with.
Mojo laughed uncertainly as they reached the elevator, shrugging before hitting the button. “I wouldn’t even know where to start, man,” she answered before stepping in, “I was a waitress, y’know? Not someone used to organizing communities of convicts, no offense. I mean, it seems like we need something better for being decisive?” Mojo moved to the back wall of the elevator, leaning against it patiently as she considered. “Like two days ago, when we had to put people in the stocks? Everyone was arguing, and one guy got people into a voting system, but even after that we had no way to enforce our decision. It made the whole thing seem kinda limp-dicked, so that’s gotta change.”
Evan got in the elevator with her, watching her again. "Hey, come on. You're the one who said you can read people well. So don't give me that 'I'm just a waitress' bullshit. You're confident, you seem to have conviction and a spine. So, lay it out there. If you had your way, what would you have put in place? What would you do?"
Being put on the spot wasn’t what Mojo had planned on happening, and clearly Evan wasn’t going to just let it go. She was pretty stuck in having to answer, and that screwed Mojo’s expression up in thought as the elevator carried them down. “Something like a senate, maybe?” she suggested first, “A mix of people who have the authority for those calls, but for serious ones there has to be a unanimous decision? Or... like a meritocracy. Like there’s all kinds of shit to be done around here, so whoever gets off their asses and helps with it gets a say when there’s issues to deal with. It’d probably motivate people to keep things running smooth, at least.”
"Interesting." Evan noted, not discounting her ideas. Though he wondered how well the meritocracy would work. Just because someone was willing to put in the work didn't mean they had the brains to blow their nose, let alone make decisions for a group of people. "Would you want to be one of the people making calls?" he asked out of curiosity as the elevator slowed, the little pleasant 'ding' sounding.
“God no,” Mojo answered as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, “And that’s the rub for me, I think. I don’t want to make other peoples’ decisions and I don’t want anyone making them for me. And that’s totally not gonna work in here, not for long if at all. And really, it should probably be someone who doesn’t want to, who ends up deciding shit? That’s the kind of job some sick fucker would run wild with. But again, not me.” And even if she did want to? Mojo doubted anyone would listen, based on what she’d seen of the others to date.
"You think that the best person for the job is someone who doesn't want the power." Evan said, thinking she could have a point. Because she was right, it was the kind of thing some sick bastard could really fuck things up with. He got out of the elevator with her, but waited for her to pick the direction since he didn't know where they were headed. "Anyone around here seem like the mini hitler type?" he asked.
Starting down the hall that led past the laundry room and to the other elevator, Mojo laughed to herself over the ‘mini-hitler’ bit as she glanced Evan’s way periodically. “Weirdly no. Not that I’ve seen at least. It’s like... so far people seem pretty cool? And maybe that’s just all of us playing nice or something,” she mused with another shrug. “But I know the guy who called the vote stepped up fast, the chick who brought people to the stocks was pretty in control, and a while back? Like my first day, maybe, there was this thing on the journals for everyone to just share their convictions,” Mojo shared, “And dude. We’ve got more hardasses in here than a gay porno.”
She managed to get a little short laugh out of him at the last bit. She was vulgar, that was for damn sure, but it was kind of nice, actually. He liked it about her. "I saw that, about the convictions." he said. "Looks like there are definitely people in here with one foot in crazy town." he said. "Guess we'll see how it goes when people stop playing nice. Because I think if no one's come out with some bullshit by now, then yeah. People are still on their best behavior."
“Yeah, like I know there’s been a little bit. But it’s been accidents and shit, stuff people explain or apologize for,” she agreed. So far the outbursts like Brady’s had been the exception, not the norm, and overall this was still a step up from womens’ prison, which itself hadn’t been as bad as Mojo expected. “But for all we know? Could be a long time of playing nice,” Mojo offered as they neared the other elevator, “Just with what we’re being offered, I think everyone here’s willing to bite their tongue if it’s for real, you know? A clean slate?”
"I have to wonder about that part." Evan said. "I sort of can't quite get a handle on what they plan to do with people. Just...hey you've killed people, or gone on a crime spree, but here you go. Be someone else." he said, shaking his head. "Seems kinda fucked up."
“Maybe it’s some fine-print shit,” Mojo guessed as she stepped into the next elevator, “Like we still serve years, just less than our full bids? Or maybe they have some plan to monitor us after release or something.” Because yeah, what she knew some of them had done? Mojo wouldn’t exactly be calling for clemency for the whole facility.
“But then, I don’t know either. It’s like everyone’s complained about the bullshit treatment we get and how it’s insane? And maybe it’s only insane to us down here. Which I don’t actually buy,” she amended with a wink and grin, “I just mean that as cool as it is here, there’s a whole lot of unknowns. Enough that we shouldn’t really just buy their stories as truth right away.”
"Because that's a great idea. Monitoring everyone. That's not going to wind up being impossible, or if it is, it can't possibly turn into damaged, fucked up people watching other damaged, fucked up people. It'll end really well, I'm sure." Evan said, sarcasm heavy in his tone. When she winked at him and finished her statement, he had to smirk. "So you're cynical as well?" he noted. "I don't really trust any of this, honestly. I think it's all going to go up in flames, possibly literally."
Mojo waved a hand to either side of herself, as if she could confirm Evan’s observation with the little gesture. “Oh yeah, something in here’s going to just go sideways and pile the fuck up,” she agreed, “If it’s not the monitoring bullshit? It’ll be one of the residents flipping out again. Or... shit, Mothra.” She smirked again, sighing and glancing from Evan to the running lights of the elevator. “But it’s the only shot we’re gonna get, and... I don’t know. If this is going to fucking blow up in our faces, and we can’t get clear? It’s a tiny relief to know I’m not the only one watching for it.”
She was quiet again, waiting for the elevator to stop and chime once more before she looked Evan’s way again. “If it were true, if we got let out?” Mojo asked as she lingered, “What would you do with a fresh start? Doesn’t seem like you’re the kind of guy who’d just go commit another crime. Like... you had reasons, you knew what you did was illegal even if the ethics of it aren’t so clearly cut, you could get a genuine second chance out of this. If it were legit.” Which it was clear now, neither of them (or possibly most of the facility) thought that was necessarily true.
"I kind of think Mothra will be an improvement on whatever I come up with." Evan told her, quirking a smirk again. At her other question, it died, however, and he didn't answer right away, giving it honest thought instead of giving her a kneejerk response. In the end, however, his kneejerk response was the true one. "I have no concept of what I would do." he told her. "And if they think prison doesn't leave a heavy imprint on a person, they're bullshitting themselves. Even if you don't have to go around with the stigma of being an ex-con? That doesn't mean you aren't one." he said, hoping that made sense.
It did, though Mojo couldn’t directly relate to where Evan was coming from. But once again? Thinking about what she knew of him helped to put everything in order. He’d been in prison since highschool, she figured, and that had to have defined huge amounts of how Evan saw both the world and his part in it. “Like... you left part of yourself in the system the day you hit it, another part when you took out those pedos, and maybe a part here?” she ventured in a quieter voice, hesitant as if she might be wrong.
“And what got swapped in for those parts, the things that got you through... those’ll always be with you. No matter how many fresh starts you get,” Mojo finished thoughtfully, nodding a little. “I think I get that. Like it wouldn’t matter how far I went from where I’d been.” She started out then, moving into the airy halls that surrounded the courtyard and heading for her room. What had been an amusing talk was leaving her thoughtful now, closer to where her mind had been last night. But that wasn’t far from Mojo’s original goal; thoughtfulness and contemplation kept her as quiet as wearing out her zealous personality.
Evan shook his head. "Not exactly." he said. "I don't feel like I left part of myself in the system. It's just something that stays with you. You can't unsee things. You can't get time back, I don't see it as losses, just a bunch of shit that'll be there even after I'm set free. Which, by the way, I wasn't ever meant to. So, it's possible I'm having a little more trouble adjusting to the idea of everything because of that too. Could be different for people who weren't meant to get strapped to a table and given a hefty dose of poison. Though they put you to sleep first, which...I don't know. Seems worse to me, I think." he muttered. He shook himself slightly, slightly irritated with himself for sharing that bit. "But whatever. Maybe what I'm talking about is just me. Or maybe you can spot an ex-con a mile away, depending on how bad their time was." he said. "Maybe you'll be just fine."
“Well listen to you there, Harvey Danger,” Mojo muttered as she tried to take all that in, and it was more of a kneejerk reaction; a reflexive tease. Because seriously? None of that had dawned on her before, not that it would’ve naturally. Mojo had twenty years owed, and that would be rough, but Evan...
She couldn’t say anything past the joke made for her own benefit, not for the first bit of corridor from the elevator. Hands stuffed in her pockets and leaning into the strap of her bundle, Mojo stopped at the edge of the courtyard, leaning a shoulder on a support beam. “Maybe what you’re saying is you know you’re not supposed to be alive, really.” she offered, turning to look back to him. “I think that’d fuck with anyone’s head, you wouldn’t be alone in that. And me?” she added with more of a grin, “We’ll see. I roll with it pretty well most of the time.”
He shrugged. "Maybe." he said, thinking she was probably right. He wasn't sure how to sort of go about thinking it through himself, definitely hadn't so far taken the time. But he'd just arrived, so he theoretically had time. He just also knew himself, and deep down he didn't think he'd ever set foot outside of a prison. His particular fate had been sealed the day Corrine died, and this was a detour. He wasn't someone who played well with others, not by a long shot. He didn't really think this place seemed like that stellar an idea in the first place. So, at the end of the day? He figured he'd fuck up, and be sent back to death row, eventually. No one in their right mind would set him loose again. When she said she rolled with things well, he could imagine that to be the truth. "If you roll well enough, maybe you'll wind up with a shiny new life out there. You can go back to music, coffee shops, concerts, clubs, all that noise."
“So can you,” Mojo was quick to say, turning to put her back against the beam so she could watch him more directly. “That’s... to me that’s the point of this place. Not their bullshit mission statement about turning us back into model citizens,” she went on, “This place? Either we’re people who got fucked over or people who already know what they did, and I say if you earned that time in prison but they’ll let you get out of it? Get. The fuck. Out.”
There was definitely something bubbling up in her again, and she still had to find Meg today. Fuck. “You remember how to smile. At least... halfway,” Mojo pointed out from her vantage, “So you’re not done living even if the law said you were. It’s a gift, do something with that.”
"I wouldn't go expecting much more." Evan told her, not sharing the fact that she probably had gotten more out of him than anyone had in years. "And this is my cue to fuck off, because you're getting all fluffy and positive." he said, walking backwards away from her a few paces. "It would take a whole fuck ton of work to get me to start warming up to any idea that isn't 'rocks fall, everyone dies'." he added, just so she was fully aware of the circumstances she was up against on that score.
“Oh, right. Keywords ‘smile’ and ‘gift’,” Mojo taunted as she stepped away and moved for her door. “Unclench your balls, Asher. This is me right here.” Popping her door open, there was a glimpse of candles melted to her desktop before Mojo blocked the wedge of visible space, giving an errant nod Evan’s way. “See you when I see you.”
"Later." Evan said, giving a nod in return before he fully turned around to walk away. He did note what door was hers, though, even if it didn't look like he did. He might actually say hello to her again if he saw her. Not the best of ideas, of course, but...whatever. What was, at this point?</lj>