John James Searle (inneedofrepair) wrote in the_colony, @ 2011-01-09 22:10:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | gregory blair, jacklyn baker, john james searle, | jack and searle, ~ series: archive |
Weeks 25-32
WEEK 25 - THURSDAY
Characters: Jack and Searle.
Location: Outside the house.
Summary: Jack decides she wants to talk to Searle again in hopes they can make up, but it doesn't go as smoothly as either of them want.
Rating: PG
Jack and Searle were never very good at staying mad at each other. Sure, they fought but it usually wasn’t more than a day or two before they apologized and things went back to normal. This time, Jack didn’t know what normal was anymore. Or what normal would be. If only she hadn’t kissed him. She was so stupid and everything had been ruined.
They hadn’t spoken in almost a week. Searle had tried to talk to her but Jack hadn’t been ready for that. Instead of talking, she gave him her best glare until he went away. He wasn’t allowed to talk to her again until she said he could and Jack hadn’t wanted that until now. Everything came down to a single decision: did she want to keep Searle as her friend or lose him completely? After the days apart, Jack wanted her best friend back - assuming that was even possible.
Jack found Searle outside, throwing a ball against the side of the house. Her stomach squirmed with nerves but she made herself walk forward. “Hi.”
When Searle looked away from his game, it was with wide eyes. He hadn’t heard Jack come up and her voice out of nowhere had startled him, but seeing it was her was even worse. His hand tightened around the ball he held. “Hi, Jack.”
“Hi,” she answered only to realize she said that already. Now what? “I got my cast off,” Jack told him, holding out her arm to show the lack of the bright orange cast.
“Whoa, about time,” Searle said, looking at her arm. It almost seemed strange for there not to be something orange there, but Jack had to be thrilled to be free of it. “That’s good.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged awkwardly. “Dr. Louisa said everything healed good. So yeah. That’s good.” God, why did she feel so lame? Maybe they really couldn’t be friends anymore after everything.
“Yeah.” Silence swept between them like an icy wind, but Searle was determined not to let the conversation die. Jack was finally talking to him, which meant she didn’t hate his guts anymore - at least not as much as she had. “Now we can do sports stuff again.” He would have also mentioned Jack wouldn’t have to shower with a cover on her cast anymore, but that seemed entirely inappropriate after everything.
“If there are any to do,” she pointed out. “There’s nowhere to skateboard and I don’t think we can take the bikes out. Greg’s going to teach me to ride and that’s it.”
“There’s tons of sports we can do,” Searle disagreed. “We can still play lacrosse - or, you know, catch with lacrosse sticks.” They couldn’t exactly play the game itself. “We’ll come up with something fun.”
Jack had never played lacrosse, not really. She’d done a week on the sport in P.E. but nothing more. Her interests had always been in extreme sports which were done alone instead of on a team. “Do we even have lacrosse sticks?”
Searle nodded. “I brought a couple when we moved, but haven’t used them. Did I ever tell you I used to play in a league?”
“No. No, you never did.” Her voice was tighter than it had been. She and Searle were supposed to be best friends but there was still a lot she didn’t know. They didn’t talk much about their lives before the flu.
Something about the quality of Jack’s voice made Searle look down at the ground, unable to play like nothing had happened between them anymore. It wasn’t enough that she wanted to talk to him again.
“Jack, I’m really sorry for being such a jerk to you. I feel so lonely sometimes, and I guess … horny.” Searle made a face and couldn’t help but blush admitting it. “You’re more than a best friend to me, and I don’t like you any less. I want you to know.”
No, he didn’t like her any less, he just didn’t like her the way she wanted him to. Jack bit her lip for a moment before she could answer. “It really hurt,” she admitted quietly. “How would you feel if the first person you ever kissed said they didn’t like you?”
“The first person I ever kissed did say that,” Searle said, lifting his eyes to Jack, “and we broke up. I think it’s normal, but I know what I did wasn’t right. I suck big time, Jack, I know that.”
The girl frowned, the latter part of his words erasing any sympathy she might have had for his similar experience. “Maybe you think it’s normal but I always thought I’d kiss somebody who liked me back. I didn’t want to be somebody you did stuff with just because you’re horny or whatever.” Even though she was annoyed with him, her face colored with the use of that word.
Searle’s eyes dropped to the ground again. He had no comeback for that.
Jack was suddenly close to tears and hurting again, just when she thought she was getting over it. “I didn’t think you’d do anything to hurt me,” she said sadly. “I wish I never started it.”
“It’s not your fault.” He spoke without much emotion. Jack didn’t know what else to say back so she stood quietly with her hands shoved deep into her pockets.
The ball thoked against the building wall, and bounced back into Searle’s hands. He threw it again. “So … yeah, whenever you want to do something I’m around.” Part of him wasn’t even sure Jack would be able to hear him speak, she felt so far away.
Jack was quiet again, eyes following the path of the ball. She felt like she was standing on the edge of this giant decision, like whatever she did right now would determine what happened with her and Searle for the rest of forever. It was an awful feeling and she resented having to make the choice.
“You’re still my best friend,” she sighed. “I promised.”
For some reason, hearing that hurt. “Is that the only reason?” he asked, still focused on his game. “You don’t want to break a promise?”
“It’s not a very good promise if I do.” She’d promised Searle she’d never leave him and Jack cared enough about him not to break it. The promise was all she had to use to get over how much she hurt.
Searle was quiet for a long time, and the last time the ball had bounced into his hands he hadn’t thrown it again. Words that explained just how much her answer pained him welled up inside of him, and he wanted to tell Jack she could just go ahead and break her promise because it didn’t mean anything anymore. … But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to be alone. He couldn’t let her go.
“Okay,” he said instead, defeated.
“Okay,” Jack echoed, trying to inject some confidence into her voice and wishing they could go back to when a hug and a ‘sorry’ fixed everything. How much she wanted to throw her arms around him and stay until they were better. “I gotta go see if Mike needs my help but if the weather’s okay, maybe we could play lacrosse later?”
“Sure.” He looked over at Jack, but couldn’t bring himself to smile. “I’ll dig the sticks out.”
Jack nodded and turned away. She didn’t think she’d go looking for Mike after all. Instead, Jack decided to find someplace to hide, somewhere she could stay alone until she felt better.
WEEK 26 - SUNDAY
Characters: Greg and Searle
Location: Barn.
Summary: Searle goes into the barn to be alone, but finds Greg instead.
Rating: PG
Greg exhaled as he shifted into the low guard position, focusing all his concentration on positioning both the sword and his body just so. The last few weeks since his arrival he had little time to put toward practicing the art of the sword, being busy with chores, guard duty, and instructing martial arts to those who were interested. He could feel his skills rusting, and those same skills might one day save his life, and so he squeezed a little time out to practice with the blade.
He’d been at it for a good hour at least here in the barn, and his skin was slick with sweat from the exercise. Again and again he practiced the basic forms, then moved to attack and defend against an imaginary opponent, with only the animals as an audience.
Searle pushed open the barn door and froze as the new light filtering in glinted against what he quickly realized was a sword. Watching Greg swing the weapon filled Searle with the same kind of awe he remembered experiencing when Chris had broken through glass doors with a forklift what seemed like a lifetime ago. It was an unexpected, but nice, distraction from what he’d originally come into the barn for.
“Uhm, hi,” Searle said, stepping into the barn so he could close the door behind him again and keep some of the chill out.
Greg had been so focused and ‘in the zone’ that at the disturbance he whirled around to face the younger man and immediately settled into a guard position, sword held at an angle by his hip pointing toward Searle. It took a few heartbeats for recognition to filter into his eyes and he pulled out of the stance, longsword moving so that the flat of the blade rested against his shoulder.
“Hello,” he told the younger man, still breathing hard from the exertion. The chevalier cocked an eyebrow at him, waiting to find out if there was something he needed from him or if Searle was there for another reason.
“That was cool.” He pointed to the sword at Greg’s shoulder. “Are you still practicing? Or, uhm, I could leave. I wasn’t going to do anything important in here.”
“You’re welcome to stay lad, if you wish.” Greg nodded, “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t sent to fetch me back to the house for some reason.” He pointed toward some hay bales that were there from the loft above for the next time the animals needed some feed or the stalls needed cleaning. “You’ll be out of harm’s way there.”
“Thanks,” Searle said, as he made his way over to the bales of hay and took a seat. It might have been where he sat had he been alone in there as he’d planned, with only the nonjudgmental animals to keep him company.
Greg quirked an eyebrow at him again, then nodded to himself as if whatever question he’d had was already resolved, and began to work through the forms again. “So, if you weren’t here for me and the animals were already taken care of, what brought you to the barn?”
Despite his interest in the sword forms, Searle looked at his hands. “To be alone, I guess, but not alone.” After a pause he said “I don’t know, it gets too crowded in the house.”
The younger man’s words were considered for a moment, then nodded to acknowledge the point. “Aye, that it does at times. It wasn’t meant to house so many souls at one time.” He thrust from the low guard, then brought the sword up to guard against an overhead attack. It felt good to have the blade in his hands again, to focus only on it and practicing his skills.
Searle allowed them to lapse into silence at length, as he was more interested in watching Greg practice than talk about his own problems, though after a while he became interested in the man’s story. He had heard things about him, but they had never shared more than casual conversation.
“How’d you learn all this stuff?” Searle wondered aloud.
“Private lessons at first,” the chevalier grunted as he moved to parry his invisible opponent. “Then I studied with others who shared my interest in the sword once I had a little skill, since I was lucky enough to live in SoCal at the time and you could find just about anything under the sun there. Finally I learned from true masters of the art when I started working at the Academie Duello, which taught medieval combat skills.” The language was a bit stilted, but he was more focused on practice than language at the moment.
“Whoa, stuff they did during the Middle Ages?” As far as high school history was concerned, Searle hadn’t made it to European History, but he still had an appreciation for brave knights, princesses, and of course dragons. “How do they know how those guys fought? I thought there were only stories left over from those times.”
Greg smiled at the question. “Actual written records of instruction in the combat arts were scarce, true, but there were enough to get started. Add in statuary, paintings, and archaeological evidence and that was enough to allow people to start reconstructing how things were done. Plus given the arms and armor of the period there’s only so many ways they could have made it work.”
“That’s so cool,” Searle said, his mouth remaining partially open in amazement. “Hey, you teach Jack to do things, right? Do you teach her sword stuff?” Searle couldn’t picture Jack holding the sword Greg was using, but he was sure she’d want to.
“Not yet,” Greg straightened and rested the sword back onto his shoulder again, finished with his exercise for now. “I’m teaching her kung-fu at the moment, and exercises to build her strength. She’s expressed a desire to learn the sword and the bow, and I’ll teach anyone who wishes to learn.”
Searle couldn’t mask the surprise he felt upon finding out Jack was learning kung-fu, which sounded a lot more impressive than ‘some martial arts stuff.’ She always was a step ahead of him when it came to defending herself, and it was probably time to stop that trend. “I’d like to,” he said. “If it makes it easier I could take lessons with Jack, but I gotta warn you … we’re kind of weird right now.”
Greg had moved to the small workbench by the section of wall used as a makeshift tack room, and was busy running a towel over the sword. He glanced over his shoulder at the younger man, and cocked an eyebrow. “Aye? And why would that be?”
“We … had a fight,” Searle said slowly, glancing off to the side. “When we tried to make up, I don’t know if either of us meant it.” Searle had meant his apology to Jack, but when he’d accepted with her reasons for staying best friends he hadn’t been genuine.
“If either of you meant it?” The chevalier lightly oiled his blade and then slid it home into the scabbard before turning his full attention to Searle. “You mean your apology wasn’t sincere? What was the fight about?”
Greg went and asked the one question Searle didn’t want to answer, and that showed sure enough on his face. “We like each other in different ways,” Searle said, after several moments of thinking. “I asked her if the only reason she was my friend again, after avoiding me for a week, was because we promised we wouldn’t leave each other a while back, and from what she said … I think it is. She just doesn’t want to break a promise, and I don’t like it. I didn’t say anything because I guess … I don’t want to lose her, even if maybe I deserve to.” He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “So, that’s why it’s probably going to be weird.”
“Ah. So your apology was sincere, but you don’t know if hers was.” Greg nodded knowingly, honestly not caring if Searle was comfortable answering the question or not. “Part of my training is mental as well as physical. About disciplining your mind as well as your body. If you cannot control yourself, what chance do you have of defeating your opponent? None. If the two of you are ‘weird’ around each other you will have to put it out of your mind.”
Searle didn’t expect that answer, but after processing it in his mind resolve seemed to pass over his features. “I’ll do my best,” he said, looking up to meet Greg’s eyes. “I don’t know how much control I have.... I’ve messed up a lot in the past.” Being unable to shoot during the first hunting trip he’d gone on, and Luc being angry with him, flashed through his head. “But … I will try.”
“Show me someone who has never ‘messed up in the past’ and I’ll show you someone who’s either never tried, is a liar, or a robot.” Greg snorted and shook his head. A small smile spread across Searle’s mouth. “Besides, this is what lessons are for, learning to control your body and your mind.”
“When are they?” Searle asked. “Is there a set time and place?”
“I typically have a session in the morning, before breakfast, and one in the afternoon. You’re welcome to attend either.”
“Thanks.” Searle wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before to ask Greg to teach him things, but then again he was of the opinion that knowing how to use a gun was enough to give him a fighting chance. “Have you ever had to use your sword in a real fight?”
“I’ve used both blade and bow in the past year.” Greg nodded. “I’ll admit that a pistol or rifle is more convenient, but both are loud and a muzzle flash can give away your position if its dark out. Neither a sword blade nor an arrow make much noise if you do it right.”
“No one else is using a sword, so you can’t get that sword clang,” Searle agreed, and swung his arm up, then down on a diagonal like he was slicing at someone with a sword.
“At the moment that’s true.” Greg agreed. “I’d not be surprised if they made a comeback. Modern gunpowder isn’t easy to make, and in a few years the ammunition will start going bad. We’ll see whether old muzzle loaders make a comeback or if we’ll go all the way back to blades and bows. There’s millions of sword blanks sitting in parking lots and driveways around the country, all that needs happen is the shaping and sharpening.”
“You mean cars? You can turn stuff like than into swords?” The way Greg put it, Searle didn’t have much trouble imagining a future where people used swords as their primary weapons. They could only create what they had resources for.
“Not the entire car, though I suppose you could do something with the metal bodies of the older ones.” The chevalier leaned against the work bench and kept his attention focused on the younger man. “But the leaf springs that hold each wheel could be made into several blades. Mostly trucks and older cars than the ones that have front wheel drive, but there’s enough out there for anyone’s needs.”
“I have a Jeep - well, I kind of donated it to the group when we drove out here, but when no one’s using it anymore and it could help you, I don’t mind you taking it apart.” It might not be optimal, but Searle couldn’t help but think it would be cool to have a sword from it. After all, Kathleen had given it to him before she left. That was a memory he didn’t like, but he did like to remember her.
“We’ll see.” Greg shook his head. “There are any number of abandoned vehicles out there we can scavenge from if we need to before taking yours. A sword is merely another tool, a useful one true, but a tool nonetheless. And with that,” he said, pushing off the workbench and starting toward the door, “I’m off to clean up. Good talking with you lad.”
“Yeah,” Searle agreed, standing as Greg walked off even though he didn’t follow. He was in much better spirits than when he’d first come in and he hadn’t even had to spill his guts to an animal audience as he’d originally planned. “I’ll see you soon, ready to train.”