Pete Wisdom is saving the world...from itself. (mister_wisdom) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-20 21:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, pete wisdom, romany wisdom |
"...that's not 'ow she died..."
Who: Romany & Pete Wisdom
What: Vacating Dominos, hunkering down at Casa de Wisdom. And there's a donkey. Honestly, Pete shakes his fist in the air at the weird and wants it off his lawn, and Romany runs to the weird and just wants to give it hugs and voodoo dollies.
When: Yeserday-ish sometime-ago.
Where: These people are transients. The end.
Rating: PG13, for language, and for the crime scene dream description during their conversation.
Status: Complete!
After the discovery of Domino leaving on her own - an obvious sign that she needed alone time and space - Pete realized they had been squatting in Dom’s apartment. It was a situation that needed remedied, stat. Fully dressed, he poked his sister in the shoulder. “Pack your things and take the rest of that bread with us.”
“Mmm?” Romany looked up.
“Get your shite, and you're coming with me.” It was Pete’s business tone of voice.
“Bugger off. I live out of a suitcase, I'm already ready to go!”
“This is why we don't DO things on other people's SOFAS, Romany. Great, I have my bag. GET IN THE RUDDY CAR.” He pointed toward the door, but abruptly stopped and went to fetch their loaf of bread from the kitchen. Because, food. That done, he POINTED AT THE DOOR WITH THE LOAF O' BREAD.
Half ignoring him, Romany flipped her brother off, before getting up and getting her things.
He was sorely tempted to throw the bread at her, but he might need to eat that later. Pete grumbled and locked Dom's place up as they left. He made sure to fetch his dvd as well, because it's his and Hard Boiled was one of the best cop movies ever. He walked in surly silence with Romany, all the way down to the beat up rental mobile, threw their bags into the back seat and got in. Once he was behind the wheel, Pete held out a pack of cigarettes to her like 'you take one, we smoke.’ That was said, naturally, with one of those grunting noises that only cranky men can achieve when they are peak crankiness.
Taking the cigarette, Romany lit up and smoked, puffing away quietly.
Pete started puffing away, too. He drove as recklessly as usual, nearly sideswiping everything that was on the road, parked or walking on either side of the road, or buildings and things that weren’t even near the road. He was also grumbling a lot, unintelligibly. Very abruptly, he reached over and thwapped Romany’s shoulder with one hand, lightly. There was obviously something on his mind. After another long moment of grumbling, it finally became clear when he accused her, “Why the FUCK are your cards not killing me yet? WHY?”
It was somehow her fault that hasn’t happened yet.
“Don’t know.” She wasn’t going to TELL him when he would die. That would be nutters!
“THEY NEED TO WORK FASTER.”
“I'm here now Peter. That’s why I came out.”
In record time, even by his standards, Pete turned the car into one of his dive addresses. It was conveniently the one that hadn’t caught fire.
“Are you going to shoot me face off? Are you?” He turned a critical eye onto her. “With your giant bloody handgun?”
“No.”
“Well then, your cards are broken,” said Squinty McSmokeSquint. “Get out, we're sleeping here. Steal your own lawnchair. Mind the rats.”
He got out and grabbed her bag for her, so that she could steal her own chair from the pool area. Then it was up the stairs with stompy feet and he unlocked the door, followed by promptly throwing their current worldly belongings inside, with an utter complete lack of care for the contents. That done, he stood in the doorway, waiting for Romany, and checking his phone. A text message from Domino was waiting for him and it was about...interior paint? Thurman had obviously cracked and shattered.
That was why Pete looked around until his gaze fell heavily upon Romany, and he announced so it was perfectly clear, “Fantastic. We broke her bloody BRAIN. I 'ope you're proud.”
He began to type with angry thumbs on his phone.
“They're not dead yet. Why are we leaving, I liked it there.”
“Because we obviously drove her mad. You did things on her couch. To yourself. And in her shower. We heard you. Bad house guest, Romany. BAD. She's obsessive compulsive. You can't DO that t'those people.”
Rolling her eyes, Romany replied, “She probably 'ad dreams.”
“Well, too right she did and so did I, and...she needs her space and her privacy I think. We were going t'go with her, but she took off as soon as I wasn't around. Wot else am I to think?”
“Or she needs 'er friend and you up an' pull a Kitty an' leave her.” This was Romany. Being helpful.
“Look. I've been there glued to me friend as a safety measure.” And as a comfort measure, partially due to Kitty stuff, and partially because he was feeling like reheated ass. All that had happened since then was it complicated things that he knew didn’t really need to be complicated, with a friend. Not a coworker, but a friend. Of course, though, he was not saying that too much, out loud. “I can stop by again, but really, us having our own space so we're not waking up shooting one another? Probably for the best. Don't give me shite about it. You're stuck with me so I can make sure you're not full of bullets.”
He paused and then was certain to add, “For the time being. Then you're on your own.”
“I already found a flat, for the three of us.” She folded her arms stubbornly.
“Fantastic, now it's for the two of us and a houseguest.” Or the extra room could be a splatter room, he can throw down tarps and those giant plastic garbage bags to catch the mess. Why not He considered that he made a mess the rest of his life, so he could at least be considerate enough to not make a mess when he dies.
“Donkey.” Romany gestured out the window towards a donkey crossing the road.
Pete wondered why there was a donkey crossing the road. He stood in the doorway, phone in hand so he could continue texting Dom, but he was meanwhile staring numbly at a donkey.
“Bloody Mexicans,” was the only thing he could say about that.
The donkey bayed at him, and tried to get in!
“I'm reminded of my time in Tijuana.”
Oh no, donkey, you no get in. Pete pull Romany inside and closed the door on the donkey, so the donkey was OUTSIDE. Then he went right back to keeping an eye on his phone, to see if Dom was going to have a meltdown and he’d have to locate her and try to fix it, somehow..
“He was a very nice donkey.”
“I don't care. We're not having pets. No pets. No donkeys. No snakes. No demons.”
You ever been to a donkey show, petey?
“No, and I don't want t'know wot a donkey show is, you piss midget.” He grumbled and sat down in his lawnchair, after taking off his trench coat. It doubled nicely as a blanket and he proved as much by covering himself up with it, while waiting for the next text.
Romany then started to describe one in excruciating detail. Because she’s Romany and he’s her little brother.
There was only so much he could take of that, before he yelled loud enough that his voice reverberated throughout the room, “Romany! FECK OFF!”
Pete winced and frowned down at his phone, still waiting. He even started to look upset. It was creeping out from under the cranky crusty exterior.
“...Petey?”
This time his voice was a quieter mumble, “...wot.”
“Wot's wrong?”
The phone was dropped for a moment, his fingers on both hands squiggling and curling into claw shapes, to relieve some tension. That quickly stopped and he slapped his hands over his face and started to rub them, mostly over his eyes. It was as though the dream had burned itself into the back of his eyelids, because every time he closed his eyes, he could see it all over again.
It was still too fresh and raw, so he said as calmly as he could, “I'll explain it, later. Part of it. Some of it.”
Romany clucked her tongue at him. Expectantly.
He wearily peeked over at her, out from his spread apart fingers. She wanted to know? He could give her a summary.
“Bad dream.” There. He answered. Via summary.
“Oh? Wet yeh bed again?”
“This is why I don't tell you anything. Can you not have a sane conversation, without it turning into yet another jibe about wot I did when I was three years old or the likes? Really? This is why I ne'er call you.”
“Oh, out with it!”
“NO. It’s...it's a lot of things, lately...it's not only one thing, but...I had...you know...how...I don't want t'talk about it.” He spoke those last 6.5 words in one very rushed breath.
“You're talkin' about it.” Romany stated the obvious!
“Really? Well, right then. Now I'm done.” Pete started to light a cigarette, but there was an almost imperceptible trembling to his fingers while doing so. He drew in the first drag like his life depended on it.
There was a moment, hanging in the air, before she lightly hugged him from behind. Big sis mode was engaged.
He smoked in silence for a moment and then raised one hand to clasp hold of one of her arms. His hand was very warm too - as was the rest of him - like his fever had kicked up a notch, all over again.
She squeezed tightly.
Due to his being in a stolen lawnchair, Pete couldn’t lean back against her. But he made for a very well huggled space heater. Cigarette clamped between his lips, he typed a message with one thumb very slowly back to Dom. He also began searching for something to maybe make her laugh and cause everyone else to squick on the valar net. All part of his plan to play keep-away with the rest of humanity which was, as usual, a raging success.
She patted his head, and even stroked his hair. She almost even rocked him!
He was meanwhile taking very deep breaths, mostly off of his cigarette. Because his lungs didn’t process regular air anymore.
With her free hand, she poured him a shot.
A drink? Marvelous. Pete took the offered shot and knocked it back, immediately. Then he proceeded to show Romany what he posted, so she could get a giggle out of it.
“Oh that’s just lovely.” She snerked.
A slight smirk and he texted back to Neena with one hand, flicking the remains of his cigarette across the room so it landed on the kitchen floor, and didn't catch the carpet on fire. At this point, he really couldn't care if it did. Maybe he shouldn't have flicked it so far....
“If summat happens t'me,” Pete suddenly announced, “you need t'go to Thurman’s. Understood? She's going to watch out for you, until you can leave the country.”
“Red would be a good color on her. Petey, I can take care o'meself.”
“I've basically asked her if she would. She said yes. It's better you know, knowing that you'll at least have a spot of help if things go pear shaped.”
“Only if I can make 'er take care of yeh, too.”
“It doesn't work that way,” he attempted to explain. “Thurman and I have our own jobs. We don't talk about them. We don't share them unless we've been informed by our superiors to do so. We don't ask about them. Watching you is a personal favor, but she can handle herself, and I can handle me own self, and we both know that.”
“Besides, I don't like working with partners,” he said as a closing statement. It was the truth. He didn’t like having a partner and worked better alone. He wasn’t putting up with it either, not after that last time. A lot can change when one has a coworker shot in front of them, and ends up wearing their brain matter. That was why working on one's own is for the best and Interpol was even better, because it was mostly liaison work anyway. “You want to post summat on there, about how you thought you were possessed by some dead victorian kid who really was into fairy cakes, like that one time? Go on then. Grab the laptop an' have at it, sis.”
“You're me brother, I'm goin' to worry an' fret an' I want you to be ...okay.”
“Romany, to be perfectly 'onest....it's ne'er been okay. It ne'er has been okay. It's ne'er going t'be okay. You're goin' t'have t'stop worrying at some point an' let it go.”
Romany’s lips thinned out. This was always the hardest part, with Pete.
He lit another cigarette.
She pulled away. It hurt, but she wouldn’t show it.
“Doesn't mean I don't love you any less, even when you're a pain in the arse.” He appeared to be lost in his thoughts, or watching the tendrils of smoke for answers to life, the universe and everything. “Kitty was probably the best thing in me entire miserable, rotten life. An' I messed it up. An' now she's messed up and I can't do a bloody thing about it. Don't rag on about her either, Romany. Not right now.”
“You're all I 'ave left, Pete.” She kept her voice even.
He glanced up at her and lazily began to explain, “I think there's a difference b'tween the both of us. You're a survivor and can breeze through anything. Some of the rest of us just soak up life's shite, think we're goin' t'be happy, get kicked in the balls, an' realize it's not in the ruddy cards for us. An' once we've soaked up so much of life's shite, we can't absorb anymore.
“I've reached maximum absorption. I reached it even b'fore I saw her again, here. And after last night, I think I'm ready t'explode in a fine shower of shite, all o'er the place.”
“It's not bloody fair.” Stiff upper lip. Even Romany can pull it off, even if her insides were a broiling mess.
“Life isn't bloody fair,” Pete said, through clouds of exhaled smoke. “Get used to it.”
“I want to know what god or goddess decided our family was their idea of a fucked up game to play!” The stiff upper lip wavered, and then cracked as she snapped at him.
“Oh for pity's sake, you got the least worst of it. Be happy about that, would you?”
“Yeah. I know.” She disappeared into...well whatever resembles the kitchen to see if there's anything edible that's not a fungus.
The kitchen held nothing but fungus, since the man lives on take away and drive thru. To make matters worse, the rats had made off with the bread, already.
“Nothin’ to eat.”
“...bugger, I forgot me meds over at Thurman's. They were in the loo.” He was listless sounding, like he wasn’t all there. “Not like they were helping anyway.” Finally, to let it be known he had actually heard her, Pete added as an afterthought, “Phone for pizza.”
Romany ordered pizza with the works, plopped down, listless herself and not at all her cheerful self.
He eyed her for a moment, squinting through cigarette smoke.
“...you know...when mum died...how we got a phonecall...an' they were saying...'Oh she's been murdered, shot at. But we know it's your mum, she's got her identification there, an' we don't need you t'look at the body?'”
“Aye?” She hugged herself, “I would've spit on her corpse.”
“Apparently, if I believe Kitty, which I do, implicitly, b'cose she's got no reason to lie...an’ stop sounding scottish, you tart...” He drew in as deep a breath as he could manage. “...these dreams are memories. We're remembering ourselves, some'ow or other. Apparently, in my dream, it wasn’t a phonecall. I was there. I made it a point t'push some officer out of the way at the crime scene an' go in, when I'd heard wot happened. So...in me dream, last night...guess who's corpse I was standin' o'er. An' who's fault it was, she ended up with that many holes blasted in 'er.”
His face was grim, even if his words were softly spoken, “She always liked you better. She let you get away with murder. Heh. Irony she ended up bein' filled full o' holes by a spree killer.”
“It wasn't yeh fault.”
“It was. I dreamt it. We fought before, o'er the phone. She said she ne'er loved me, ne'er wanted me, an' I told 'er t'get fecked, I hated 'er guts, I hope she rotted an' I hung up. Then, when I was s'posed t'go o'er there, to visit...I didn't go. I was angry. I sat at home, getting blind stinkin' pissed drunk, instead. An' she was waiting for me, checking out the front window...an' she was shot up.”
“So say wot you want, Romany. But that was on me.” He swiped at his nose with the back of one shaking hand, and concentrated on his cigarette.
“Wasn't on you. Was on the bastard who shot 'er. If you'd been there youd've been shot, too!” Her brother’s death wish twisted at her insides again. He always blamed himself, for everything. He had since he’d been four, and asked her why their mum had looked at him a certain way, like he was at fault for their life being the way it was. She’d tried to turn it around into something else, but she’d never believed he’d believed her.
She was right. Even at age four, he had given her a dubious staring at. All sullen big blue eyes staring up at her, tousled hair, and a candy cigarette clamped between his lips.
“I could've pushed 'er o'er. I could've heard the shots, an' got 'er away from the windows. Phoned for help. Shot him back, so he didn't kill anyone else. But I wasn't there. I couldn't do any of those things. An' she looked really peaceful...for once in 'er life...laying there, shut up, silent...blood all o'er the place...hole this big from a rifle, in 'er face.” He paused to make a circle shape with his thumb and index finger, and helds his hand to his forehead, to show her. “An' that's that.”
“...that's not 'ow she died...”
“It is, last night,” he assured her. “I was there. After it was done with. I saw it all. I touched the glass that was broken when it was shot through. I felt my hands pushing the bastard officer aside who tried t'stop me getting in, as well. She was shot here, an' here, an' here....”
He lazily pointed at those spots on himself, while smoking a little faster. It was like he was hoping that it would help calm his apparently frayed nerves. Or, at least, it looked like it.
Romany moved onto another cigarette, gunning it, “I vote we gorge on pizza an' drink ourselves silly.”
“Right. We can do that.” He sounded and looked like he was miles and miles away. With a sigh in his voice, he managed to continue talking and not get lost entirely in his own head, “Kitty's been brawling. I bet she was really bloody good at it. I wanted t'give her a hug an' a kiss an' tell her not t'think those dreams were real...an' I couldn't do it.”
“Might be a curse.”
“Wot's a curse...?”
“The dreams. Maybe it's a curse of some kind.”
“The dreams?”
“Yeh.”
“That's too many people t'curse, Romany. I think we're cursed anyway. Got an extra dose.” He barely noticed that the cigarette was burning its way against his fingers. It was sort of a grand irony that, at that moment, he chose to make the following statement, “I don't feel well anymore.”
“...lets eat an' get drunk, Petey. We can face t'world tomorrow.” She didn’t feel well anymore either.
“...yeah, sure...” Finally the heat and pain registered, enough that Pete winced a little and unceremoniously flicked the burning cigarette butt toward the kitchen floor. It could burn itself out, there. He couldn't be arsed to care.
As if to prove that uncaring point, Pete burrowed more under his coat so that his nose was hidden under the upturned collar. He didn’t even bother to see if it went out or not. He simply closed his eyes, and it looked as though he was content to save eating pizza and getting drunk, for later. But, hey, look at that. He left her the laptop, so she can have entertainment.
Romany glomped onto him instead.
He was very much like a furnace, one step beyond a space heater, fever-wise. Pete groggily peeked open one eye, then the other. “...wot're you on 'bout...?
Romany let go, her expression souring, “I'm goin' to play with the donkey.”
“Don't do dirty things with it, an' leave it outside. Don't let it indoors.” It was like listening to a father telling a kid the big list of do not do’s. He patted her back before she pulled away entirely, in his best 'it'll be all right' patting. Even if he knew it wouldn't be all right.
“I'll jus' do some satanic rituals to it.”
“...aw’right, then...you do that...” He closed his eyes once more and was incredibly quiet. It was his high alert sleep mode, where he was asleep but looked like he was listening for something at the same time.
Romany quietly headed out, to walk, and maybe do some..protective spells around the place. To ward dreams away.
Don’t get shot!
Romany will be fiiiine. She even got along with some gang bangers!