Fox Wiley (todd_wiley) wrote in tiberiusswann, @ 2010-03-18 12:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | fox, jack, thread |
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Who: Jack & Fox
When: Thursday evening
Where: Fox's Room
What: Jack and Fox talk about feelings -- but do it manly style. With booze!
Jack would have been worried about the alcohol in his backpack if he thought security actually cared. As it was, he strolled along quite pleasantly, bag slung off one shoulder, toward Fox's room. Poor guy. Jack felt really bad for him. Joe Bronsky had been his only family -- hell, his only real friend, from the sound of it -- and that guy was gone. Jack had felt more than alone when his grandfather died, but he had had his grandmother and Rae to think of. Fox had no one.
When the half-angel let him in, he swung the pack over to his front and unzipped it immediately. "Hey man, what's up."
---
Fox had been feeling rather down the past couple days, spreading his time between classes and the gym. He ate when he felt like it, and unless people stopped by his room or dragged him elsewhere, he stayed on his own. It was a feeling he was more than used to and one he knew how to deal with.
The knock on his door was a little unexpected until he remembered what day it was. Thursday. Jack had said he'd bring alcohol, and if it wasn't for that, Fox wasn't sure he'd want the company. For now, alcohol, and thereby Jack was welcome. Opening the door, he stood to the side to allow the shape-shifter to enter. "Eh, nothing much," he shrugged, closing the door. Moving to the desk, he closed his notebook that he'd been using to both write out his homework and whatever came to his mind. Sitting on the edge of his desk, within easy reach of a couple glasses, he faced Jack.
"So how're you?" Fox didn't want to mess around with small talk but apparently it was expected.
---
"Eh, alright. Sorry you're shittastic," he replied, yanking the bottles out and setting them on Fox's desk. "You wanna mix, ice, eh?" Did Fox have glasses? Now that he minded swigging from the same bottle. It was just a little gay to do it alone with a man in his room. They should at least make a game of it.
---
Reaching out, Fox grabbed the couple glasses sitting on his bookshelf and set them next to the bottles. "But that's what you're here for, and with booze to boot, right?" Shaking his head at Jack's question, he added, "Nah, no sense in diluting alcohol just to make it colder." For a moment, he thought it was too bad neither of them were frost demons or mages or some shit. It'd be handy for cooling down the liquor quickly.
Now that Jack was here, Fox wasn't sure what to say. He'd told Rae pretty much everything the other night. Had she informed her brother as well?
---
No. The two didn't trade information on a regular basis. It generally made things boring and irritating when that happened. They shared what they had to. Ultimately, they were on each other's side, before anyone else's.
"Astrid told me about Joe, and Rae said you had been at the funeral..." that was essentially what he knew. He collapsed in the nearest chair with a drink in hand, looking for somewhere to prop his feet. "I fuckin' hate funerals."
---
Fox poured his own glass, but stayed seated on the desk. He kicked his rolling chair over to Jack for the other man to use as a footrest. "Funeral, memorial service and a meeting with lawyers to discuss the estate all within twenty four hours," he spoke bitterly. He swirled the drink in his hand. Why the hell was he the one that had to deal with all this shit?
---
"He left you something?" Jack asked, eyebrows up, eyes half-lidded as he sipped.
---
Fox nodded, taking a healthy swig from his glass. He wanted to get drunk. No. He wanted to get absolutely trashed. He had the fleeting thought of hitting up Frankie to see if she still had any weed. That would make the night go easier. After a long pause, he answered Jack's question. "He left me everything."
---
Jack sucked in a breath through his teeth, leaning back with an 'eeesh' expression on his face. "Wow. Bittersweet, huh." A thought occurred -- one that he thought might make Astrid pee herself -- and he looked up from his glass. "So. You staying here, then?"
Now that Fox probably owned property and had money, what the hell was the point in hanging around here?
---
He had been considering the same thing for the past couple nights, and he'd finally come up with his answer. "I made a promise to stay here for a year. After that, all bets are off."
---
Jack nodded, before chasing the rest of his drink so he could pour himself a new one. He figured Fox wanted to race through them, and he didn't want to hold the kid up. "Sounds good." He regarded Fox with a careful gaze, watching the younger boy's features. He looked beat. "Now you just gotta distract yourself until it doesn't hurt anymore."
---
Jack would have been right too. Fox would have happily picked up the bottle and started chugging, except he knew he'd throw up half the alcohol before he got good and buzzed. So pouring it into the glass and knocking it back was as slow as he wanted to take it. Finishing his drink in two large gulps, he waited until Jack topped off his glass before filling his own.
"That's the plan. Any suggestions?"
---
His eyes rolled sideways as he contemplated his past reactions. "Booze helps," he suggested, with a wry snicker. "And hitting things. You work construction, don't you?" Then he mimed bludgeoning something with a hammer.
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Fox smirked. "Yeah, but hitting nails isn't quite as satisfying as hitting something that can hit back." He smiled, thinking about the fight he'd had his first week of school here. "Of course, the less violent and destructive option is always getting laid." He tossed back his drink again, hissing out a breath from the burn of the booze.
---
Jack laughed softly. "That gets old, after a while, until you make it new again." He nodded though, a look of fond remembrance on his face. "But yeah, that was my game plan. Pussy, pounding, pouring." He took another gulp and then laughed at his own joke. "I mean, not when mom died. I was a kid. But when my grandfather died. Before we came here."
---
Fox nodded, laughing softly. "Yeah. I kinda like that game plan right now. Sounds like it may work and it's definitely one I know." Okay, so even he knew that he was bullshitting himself, thinking that the combination of bloody knuckles, booze and random women would make him forget Joe was no longer here. But he wanted the illusion, wanted to forget.
"So how well did that work out for you?"
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Jack shrugged. "I was shipped here when I was almost arrested. You tell me."
---
Fox wagged his head, thinking. "Well, you didn't actually get arrested, you didn't drink yourself to death, and you haven't caught some crazy STD." The last part was said with an arched brow, almost like a question, but if Jack didn't want to respond to it, he wouldn't have to. "Depends on how you wanted to end up if it could be called successful or a failure."
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Jack laughed, looking at him. "Hey, ain't you self-healing? You could heal your own dick if you needed to."
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Fox paused, having never really thought about it. "I'm not sure it works that way. Maybe I'll ask Angel at some point," he said, referring to his lore teacher. "It'd be hella fun to see her reaction to that question."
---
Jack let out a high pitched sort of giggle, finishing his second drink of straight-up rum. His insides burned, and he knew he'd probably pay for this tomorrow, because he hadn't really eaten much in a few hours, but he figured he Fox would appreciate it.
"Let me know how that goes."
A thought occurred, managing to work its way through the foggy alcohol coursing through his system. Then he lost it.
---
Fox did a double take as Jack giggled, then he snickered as well. He also hadn't eaten much recently, so the alcohol was affecting him faster than usual. "Sure thing." Deciding that sitting precariously on the edge of the desk was no longer a safe place to be, Fox slid down and grabbed the other chair to sit. "Much better. Now I don't have to worry about falling on my ass."
---
Jack, had had gotten comfortable and stayed in the same position, nodded. "I'd be cool if you were a shifter. I'd take you for a run. It feels good. Or a hunt. If you're into that. Rae isn't, but she'll still come with me on long runs."
---
Fox smiled, "I run anyways, just probably not as fast as you. And I've never really gone hunting. Hadn't learned yet anyways." He wasn't sure where the conversation was going, but hell. There was rum aplenty and Fox was well on his way to getting drunk. It was gonna be a good night.
---
"Yeah, not as fast as me. On four legs, anyway. On two legs I'm pretty average." Shifters had no supernatural abilities in human form -- better senses, but that was it. They couldn't scale walls or move super quick. Jack wished they could, though.
---
"Eh, so you stay on two legs and I'll go running with you at some point." Fox glanced down at the glass in his hand, looking at it in slight surprise. When had it become empty? He didn't remember doing that. Oh well. There was plenty more to drink. Reaching forward, he grabbed the rum bottle and filled his glass, passing the bottle to Jack so he could top off his own and keep up.
---
Jack hesitated, then reached forward and poured himself another drink. "Just don't do anything stupid." He had to say it. Because he knew Fox was probably going to do it anyway, and he wished he had had a friend to say it to him before, instead of encouraging him to break his grandmother's heart.
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"Stupid? You'd have to be more specific." Fox knew he'd done a helluva lot of stupid things, considering he was only twenty. As far as he cared, he would do a lot more before he finished.
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"You know. Knock over convenience stores, ecetera." He let out small burp and drank again. "I mean, not to be gay, but, you know. It's sorta not worth it." Then again, Jack felt like his dead grandfather had knocked that shit out of his system. Fox might not have had that happen for him.
---
Fox had that drilled through his head. Joe raised him better than that. It was still amazing to him that the officer could do a better job raising a child that wasn't his own in six years, than the actual father who'd had him for fourteen.
He shook his head slightly, not wanting to think about the man who was now buried in his officer's uniform in a glossy oak coffin, six feet underground. Biting the sides of his tongue to keep back the burning tears in his eyes, he swilled the rum, suddenly wishing it was stronger. Tequila, moonshine, absinthe. Anything.
---
Silence was cool. Jack could handle silence, so long as it wasn't awkward silence. Which this wasn't. Mostly because of the alcohol. He finished off his drink and, now officially slappy, decided he should hold off for the night. Or at least a little while.
His thoughts drifted to his own past funerals; had it been so long ago? He could remember his mother's like it was the same day as his grandfather's. As if they'd been buried on on top of each other, stacked. His grandmother was a strong fucking lady. That he knew.
---
Clearing his throat briefly, Fox drained his glass. "Not gonna rob any place. The worse I'll do is drink too much, drive too much and fuck too much." He waggled his head, stopping immediately since the room started to spin. "Maybe smoke too much or some shit, but I ain't gonna hold a place up."
---
Jack laughed, from somewhere beyond the fogginess in both their heads. "Right. Maybe not all at the same time."
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Now there was a thought. "Y'know, I've done the drinking and driving and the drinking and fucking. Haven't done all three together."
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Jack laughed, this time a little harder. Silly boy. Though, he'd tried two of them together and well.. it was difficult. "On a bike. You gotta do it while balancing on a bike. Otherwise you lose all cred, dude." He giggled.
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Fox grinned, setting his glass on the table and leaning back in the chair before the room spun too badly. "Of course. Totally brings a whole new feeling to road head though. Gotta be one flexible woman."
---
Somehow a lucid thought grabbed the drunken shifter. He was talking about road head to the guy his little sister had a crush on. The rum souring, a little, he grinned and leaned back into his chair with a nod. "Yeah.." Was Fox speaking from experience? Impressive. He didn't believe him; it was just impressive he was telling the story.
---
Fox hadn't ever gotten road head like that. He'd been blown on his bike though. And it wasn't like he was trying to pass it off like he had. Not really. "So yeah. It'd be cool, and if I manage all three without killing myself, I'll let you know."
---
"Well, if you do kill yourself, don't come back as a ghost to throw it in my face that you died in the most awesome way possible."
---
Fox chuckled. "You can't see ghosts, right? So I'd have to bug a medium anyways." How the hell had they gotten on this topic again? It didn't seem the smartest thing to him to be discussing ways to die, awesome or not. They had been talking about road head. Road head...aw hell. Fox decided to stop thinking with an alcohol laden brain. It hurt too much.
---
The conversation continued along a similarly drunken vein, full of boastful testosterone-filled stories and claims. The hours passed, and Jack eventually decided he should stop drinking while he had all of his balance left. It was almost 1am when he finally stood and bid goodnight to Fox, with an offered hand for a slap and a manly sort of half-hug, if Fox was willing. Hell, Jack would have actually hugged him if the biker-boy was up to it; he was drunk and feeling pity for the guy.
Somehow, someway, while texting he managed to stumble back to his room. He vaguely remembered taking his shirt off but not much else before his head hit the pillow.