housewareshero | IC Inbox for empatheias

[ Lucky him, she almost exclusively goes for a text visual with nearly everyone whether they're close friend or stranger. But there's something to be said for a spoken conversation between friends. Especially when their company is welcome. ]

Hey, there.

Hey, Jill. Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. I'm still not used to these damn things. How's it goin'?

[ There's a quick bit of soft, stifled laughter. ]

Sorry about that. Usually go for text, but I figure we're on good enough footing that you deserve something a bit more personable. [ The way she says it kind of suggests she agrees, though. There's something disquieting about it. ] Oh, not bad. Same old, same old. Just wanted to ask you a question, though, if you don't mind?

Hey, besides that one?

[he has to ask, it's in the smartass credo]

Shoot.

Technically that shouldn't count since it's a question about a question.

[ She huffs a fond sounding smartie-pants under her breath. Mental breath? Funny how that can translate like this. ]

Sure you won't mind something personal? Might catch you off-guard.

[ At this point it's hard to gauge if she's just messing with him or not. ]

[Personal, huh? oh, he likes where this might be going]

Nah, seriously, what's goin' on?

[ He probably will not! ]

Hm? Nothing at all. Just wonderin' what's up with dyeing your hair? I mean, ladies dig the salt-and-pepper look.

--guess that makes me a hypocrite, considering.

[ But she has a good reason! ]

[THAT IS NOT WHAT HE WAS EXPECTING JILL GODDAMMIT. it takes him aback for a moment]

I - you - what? Hypocrite? So, what, do you dig the hair dye, or not, or - where's this comin' from? Considerin' what?

[HE DOESN'T WANT TO ADMIT HE'S OLD IS ALL, WHAT]

[ WHO DOES EXPECT THAT? But it weirds her out a little. He looks artificial. ]

Huh, oh I'm just sayin' it's a little strange is all. I mean you've got that nice bit on the side and then you go and fix it on the top.

[ Neither does she. ]

Hypocrite, I mean. I dye mine. I mean, the chestnut color is natural. It's just after... it. [ There's a long pause, like she wants to talk about something and sighs heavily. You can hear her shake her head. ] Nothing.

[you should have seen the wooden hand, now THAT was dumb-looking. this one is so much better]

You - wait, you seriously like the bit on the side? ... I hate it. It - well.

[he hears that hesitation, that pause of hers, and realizes that it might be for similar reasons. this is private. it's in their heads. and who's she gonna tell?]

I got it when I was only nineteen. On ... when everything started.

[ Still beats nothing, right? She's seen worse injuries, still. ]

Yeah, well, we all get older. Different for men, though.

[ They become handsome and dignified. Women are spinsters and hags. ]

...yeah? Might've noticed the blonde roots on me. I was... I was cryogenically frozen. I lost pigmentation in my hair.

[ha, dignified, right. ~~Exhibit A right here. Exhibit B: Rick Sanchez, aka Sir Not Appearing In This Thread~~]

That's a thing? Fuck. Well ... for the record, so's bein' scared so shitless yer hair goes white. It happened when I saw the ultimate manifestation of evil in the flesh.

[ Well. He can be, you know. When he tries. ]

Didn't think it was, but the bastard was using me as a human experiment. For the record, color I dye my hair is what it was before.

[ She listens with care. She'd heard it before, but it was supposed to be an urban myth. But it wasn't fear or shock it was literally the worst thing it could be. ]

Imagine that'd do it for just about anyone. You could pull it off.

Holy fuckballs, that blows. I hope you knocked his block off once you thawed out.

[he pauses. the thought that they're actually talking about all of this is both terrifying and an immense relief. she's one of the few who gets it, and in a place like this, with no Book, no Ruby, no Baal, he might actually be ... no, SHE might actually be safe. the fact that he even comes clean with himself about that distinction sets his crystal glowing bright enough to show through his shirt, and he's glad no one but him is there to see it. enjoy that positive hit, Elios, it's a strong one. so strong, in fact, that it makes his eyes sting. Jill might hear the faint sounds of piano music, despite himself. a flash of memory: a twirl of white, the sound of laughter, the feel of wind in hair with the windows down , a first hint of spring, heady and free]

... Y'know how you said in the woods, you only had three friends left? ... I ...

[he blows out a sigh. right]

Till a few months before I showed up here, I didn't have any. It... was a choice.

...don't know. Might be dead. Got hit by the brunt of a rocket launcher blast and got here. I'm not... sure if anyone can kill him. If Chris doesn't succeed, the entire world will be infected. Millions will die.

[ There's a twitch in her voice, a tremble of certainty and yet a strange confidence in Chris. If anyone can do it, it'll be him. If anyone can, Chris will end his life and fix everything, even if she can't.

Jill's hits a weird twist of emotions, but when it boils down to Chris it always ends in trust. It's the most integral part of her being and one that she cannot help but struggle to bring to the forefront. But she recalls that day, the way she'd gripped onto his shirt with the fabric in hand and the way she'd pushed him away. The hope she had in her heart and the certainty. ]

...three are from before for me. I don't open up, really. Guess I might seem like I do, but it's not... it's too hard. I don't want a target on anyone's back ever again.

[ She breathes audibly and it's clear that she understands him. That it's commiseration at its most basic. Her loneliness is nearly palpable through this, a heavy drag of something jolting, tingling over fingertips and through the arms. ]

I'm sorry, Ash.

I knew you got it.

[he says it with certainty, but his voice is still quiet. saying it aloud, actually admitting that all his bluster and rudeness is to keep people safe, to keep them from getting close for their own damn good ... it's new.]

M'sorry, too. About how shitty it is for you. Sounds like we both left some pretty big messes behind.

Yeah, well... hope we do. No other choice, is there?

[ Not just to her own predicament, but his. Like she's talking about both sides, like she's sure he gets it and has to push forward, too. ]

Ha, guess like drawn to like, huh? [ But it's sweeter in a way, not just empathetic or understanding or even friendly. She figures they probably understand each other a little bit more now. ] All we can do is try to get back and do some clean-up duty. Seem like the kinda guy that manages, even if it means going through hell. Something I can relate to, but I figure you know that by now. Some people are just shit, aren't they.

Some people, some demons. Same shit, different universe.

[he huffs out a sigh and it carries over their mental link, too. it's frustrated, but relieved. it feels good to know he can actually unload on someone about this]

I was too bombed at your place to even want to tell you what happened, but ... you ...

[this is both the hardest and easiest thing to admit, and were Ash a deeper person, he'd marvel at the duality of it. instead, it's just odd. his crystal's still glowing as he breaks down the first layer of that Pink Floyd-esque wall]

I should tell you. Y'know. How it really started. How it went down. You already told me a ton of your shit. It seems ...

[what's that word that hasn't even seemed like a real concept in decades? right]

Fair.

Hey, so far this place hasn't been too bad. Let's not let my uncanny ability to have my pessimistic thoughts come true.

[ Honestly, she usually takes it as a sound of relief, expelling all the bullshit out in a breath. Maybe not easy path, but easier once the weight's been lifted. ]

Hey, it's... I mean, you don't have to. [ But she doesn't push it and make it sound unwelcome. ] No real thing as "fair," you know? We all do things at our own pace. I still get as pissed as I do sad when I think about working back in the RPD and how things went. Still got things that it's... I mean sometimes you have to sort it out on your own as best you can?

[ But that sounds like she's discouraging him. So she pauses and there's this extension through it all, something warm and soft. Not a breeze, but like a touch. A hand clasped over an arm, settling into the crook of an elbow. The way she speaks has that fine-tuned care in it, almost impossible to differentiate because she holds it all in.

She knows he's been through some rough shit. He doesn't even need to say it or imply it for that to be clear to her. ]

But if you want someone to listen, I'm pretty damn good at it.

How 'bout I come over to your place, or you come to the Pan, or whatever? I ... I'm not so good at this crystal crap, and ...

Not that I"m tryin' to say you can't handle it, but.

I know when I think about this stuff, my crystal tends do to some weird shit. I don't wanna ... I don't know. Blow up your brain?

You sure you wanna talk about this in public? Name the place and I'll be there.

[ There's a bit of a sound on her end, not so much disappointed as stressed. Not from him, but something else. ]

Yeah, tell me about it. I mean I'd be fine but there's something pretty crappy about talking about you know, important or serious things over what's essentially a phone in your brain. I do better in person, I guess.

[ Her voice is more controlled than her expressions. The tiniest way the light shifts in her eyes or her lips turn or twitch say more than any words she might offer ever could. ]

Me, too. This is -

[he can feel the memories already clawing at his brain, the sound of rotten nails against splintered wood, the faint rattling of chain. the stench of rotten fruit and old, moist, dirt, stale air.]

- okay, yer right, airing this shit in a public place, even if it's my room in a public place is a bad idea. You got any better ones?

[he's asking legitimately, even though his "voice" is right on that razor's edge of sounding like a dick about it]

[ She can feel it and recognize it the same way she notices her own feelings now. When you attempt to push it down it's still there, like a scribble erased while the impression from the pressure is still there. ]

...wait, you've been living there, too? I mean if you want that, it's no big deal. Guess my place is always safe. No one really comes in and out and I live alone.

[ Plus, it's coming together. Other than she isn't much of a decorator, still functionality above all else. ]

I'm comin' over. I'll bring food.

[it's the least he can do.]

((ooc: Mind if I make this a thread option in this month's post?))

Well, shucks. What a gentleman. See you soon, Ash.

[ OOC: You mean continuing this? Fine by me! c: ]

[ The pale white envelope with his name on it and a smallish brown box is left at the counter for him at The Gold Pan. It should still be sealed. Inside, the card is plain with a faint floral pattern and blank on the inside other than a tight, neat, all capital letter scrawl. The box beneath it is incredibly plain and on the interior top of the box in the same handwriting, though thicker with a black marker is ENJOY, MON PETIT CHOU. Inside are eight generous canelés definitely a little heavy on the rum side; half of them are filled with a sweet cream, despite it not being traditional for them. ]

HEY.

A GUY THAT I KNOW FROM HOME IS GOING TO BE STAYING WITH ME. I NEVER MIND IF YOU SHOW UP UNANNOUNCED, BUT I GET THE FEELING THAT HE WILL. A HEAD'S UP WOULD BE APPRECIATED FROM NOW ON.

HOPE THIS ISN'T GOING TO MAKE THINGS WEIRD? AS YOU MAY BE AWARE I'M NOT EXACTLY THE MOST SOCIAL AND I KIND OF LIKE HAVING IMPROMPTU HANG-OUTS AND YOUR COMPANY.

SEE YOU SOON?

- JV

Edited (i noticed all the typos yesterday man) 2018-06-13 15:07 (UTC)

[holy shit, a box and a note. he never gets mail, it's always for Scrooge or Yang. he gets the box and hauls it up to his room, wondering what the hell a Mon Petty Shoe is. either way, it's French. French is the language of love, right? this is nice. somebody likes him. he's already one mouthful into a pastry when he gets the note open, and nearly chokes on it.

'a guy that I know'. 'staying'. you write him a note in French and send him food and then this? way to rollercoaster him, Jill. he just sits there like an idiot with a pastry in one hand and the note in the other and his mouth full of half-chewed delicious while his brain reboots.

then he sets the pastry back down in the box with the rest, chews, swallows, and reads the note again. friend-zoned, that's what it is. plain and simple. he figured he was too old for her. it's fine.

this is fine. he scribbles a note of his own on the cheap note pads Scrooge stocks the rooms with, like the Gold Pan's version of Holiday Inn stationery, and sends it back]

YEAH, SURE, WHATEVER FLOATS YOUR BOAT.
- AW

[ She assumes it's because of the radio silence since talking about their pasts, of course. It was hard enough for her to reveal what happened to her and like she's known to do, she shut down emotionally after that. She probably should've tried to contact him before. Be decent. Let him know they're still cool and on even, friendly footing.

The worst part is he might be the only person she's not friend-zoned. Age isn't an issue, especially considering she's a solid ten years older in "reality" back home. She just isn't ready to get that close to anyone, let alone someone she deeply cares about.

Her response comes as a ping in the back of the mind. Still text, but more immediate. ]

Alright. I get it, you're pissed I went MIA.

That, or I burnt the canelés.

I guess I just don't know how to deal with being intimate with anyone. Not exactly like I have a track record that doesn't end in the other person's death. Basically got a guy older than you with kids and my partner that doesn't even get partnered with me anymore. Always been the one to hold it in and protect the people I care about, even if it's from having to console me.

It's... taking a lot for me to admit to this, you know. For what it's worth, I'm sorry.

[he's still getting used to this shit. when her message shows up, he's in the middle of sawing some boards for the third floor construction, and he nearly goes through the sawhorse afterwards.]

Fuck.

[he turns off the saw and detatches it to give his shoulder a break, sitting down on the hefty pile of two-by-fours behind him that he still hasn't prepped]

I think you probably already got the memo that I don't do this much either. And passing notes like the psych version of the back row of math class is just weird. Is your new roommate there?

[at least in text, the bitterness on the word "roommate" isn't clear?]

[ She is, naturally, out back beating up a tree. It's nearly busted apart thanks to the effort of her legs. It's hanging on like the last thread of sinew in a body part -- a few more hard strikes and the thread will slice in two and leave a stump. ]

Guess it would depend on what part you mean.

And everyone else talks like this. No one was stopping you from any other kind of contact.

[ That she's being a little huffy in return doesn't necessarily translate to text, but part of it comes from a place of hurt, too. And she's not good when it comes to dealing with that. ]

Don't know. Why? You afraid to talk to me like a grown man when another one is around? [ Now it's pretty clear that she's gone from worried that she'd messed up something between them to being annoyed with him. ] Nothing's stopping you from asking him yourself, Ashley. Do whatever you want.

[ There it is, that knife-sharp side of her. It's hard to tell if it's a dare or sarcasm, but it's clear that she's not happy with him right now. ]

Edited (never give me time to rethink a tag) 2018-06-18 06:31 (UTC)

[Jesus H. Christ on a Cracker, this is why he doesn't deal with women. THEY'RE ALL INSANE. suddenly she sounds like she wants to bite his head(s?) off. he recoils, and the shock and defensiveness come across clear as a warning shot, a crack across their connection. his heart falters, and one of the two-by-fours he's sitting on splits up the middle, sending him tumbling onto the ground.]

Shit --

[he recovers quickly, despite a fantastic facial expression of surprise that she'll get a quick, unconscious broadcast of. you made his emotions go slapstick, Jill, do you feel better? he heaves a sigh and just stays there, his butt in the dirt. what, they're brown pants, it's not like it makes a difference]

Look, you ain't the only one who doesn't know how to deal with this anymore! I been all but alone for thirty fuckin' years, and you're the first person who even -

[there's almost the mental impression of him writing something and scribbling it out, a thought he hit the brakes on. she was the first to even care about what really happened, the first to invite him to her home unasked, the first to touch him in comfort, the first to listen, the first to treat him as a friend not just because he saved her life. so many firsts. he bites down on them all, bites down on how special that made him feel. how someone else showing up right on the heels of that was like a kick in the junk to his fragile ego, and made him feel like he'd gotten up his hopes for nothing. that maybe she'd care more about someone whose crazy world was the same type as hers. science, not magic. mansions, not cabins.]

I'm shit at this, Jill.

[maybe the first time he's said it in decades:]

I'm sorry.

[ She's still got a temper. A lot of unchecked anger, especially from the more recent things in her life. She values a lot of things, including his friendship, and she doesn't get huffy or pissed if someone isn't worth it. She's unaware if anything happens on the other end, but she might soften and apologize if she knew. ]

Hey.

[ She feels bad. She feels really bad about it even if he wasn't being direct with her, even if she could feel some accusation -- but maybe she was assuming it? -- in his words. Maybe it's just what she thought he thought. It's not easy. When has it ever been, though? ]

...thanks.

I just value directness. Which isn't fair because I wasn't. I know I kind of dumped this on you out of nowhere, but it's not like I didn't tell you that you can crash any time at my place and that still stands.

You could've just asked about him. Only met him a handful of times. He knows Chris' sister and I'd like to think you know me well enough to know I'm not gonna drop everything just because someone I know pops up. Is that it?

[ This is so awkward. This is so awkward and she's not entirely sure what to ask, say, or assume. She knows what she teeters on, but she'd rather not address it. She knows it bothers her so much because she cares. ]

I'm sorry for being an asshole. Kinda known for being a bit aggressive sometimes, in case you haven't noticed.

[he can't do this brain-written stuff anymore. it's too weird, especially when they're talking about something so emotionally charged. she'll hear his voice now, loud and clear. a little tired. a little scared.]

Nah, y' weren't. But I figured if you had someone from your place to talk about all your shit with, then -- they'd get it better than me. I mean - I'd get that, if you did. If that was - I mean -

Fuck. I pegged you wrong, but not 'cuz I think yer an asshole. I'm - I'm used t' everyone else in the world bein' an asshole. It's ... y'know. Reflex. Shoot first, think never.

[ She follows suit because she likes him. Normally she'd carry on in the text, allowing herself to carry on with that curtaining her. She's strained and exhausted on her own end, unsure how to progress but unwilling to be silent. ]

Yeah, that's it. I'll ditch your ass and spend all day and night with a guy who works for the government and has the hottest boy band haircut. [ A chuckle slips out, but it's clearly just for his benefit. ] I might keep my friendship circle small, but I don't let people in without intending to keep them here. Sorry to break it to you, but you're kind of stuck.

[ She makes another sound, this time more genuine. A little huff; not quite a laugh. ]

I'm not always as forthright as I wish I was. I never know how to approach my feelings or... affection or, well, intimacy. But I don't use people. I'm too old for that shit, Ash.

[ There is a long pause, but there's that strange, alive crackle like when you're on the phone and someone is on the other end. ]

Hey, what do you call a ship that doesn't sink?

[he gives a small, tired, laugh, too: because he knows this one. GOD, it's bad, too, but he knows it, and the best way to get them past this is to be a wiseass about it. she can hear his grin in his voice, clear as day]

Not the Titanic!

[ At least he seems to take her backwards, exceedingly awkward apology well enough. She's not sure how much -- or if -- he really believes her, but it's the best she's got. ]

...cute. But the answer is a friendship.

[ Embarrassing. ]

Yeah, yeah, I knew that, I just had to give you a hard time.

[honestly, Jill, please hear that smile. he even chuckles a little. he knows how awkward feelings are. let's avoid them as much as possible, right? we cover up with bad jokes and ribbing and shoulder punches and noogies, that's how this thing works. OH and of course, changing the subject, too]

Those cake things are amazing, where the hell did you find 'em?

You could stand to learn a bit of subtlety, you know.

[ It's there in hers, too. That one-two punch from earlier that she thought was her being subtle has all but dissipated. She's more than glad, though to ignore the blossoming feeling in her chest, like sparklers going off and trickling throughout her. ]

Oh! I made them. It's, ah, been a while. So I was a little worried they might end up soggy or with bad texture. [ She nearly stumbles around her words. ] Figured if I'm going to do something nice it should have meaning behind it.

Why?

[no, really, Jill, what's the point of that? he doesn't get it]

You ... you made them? Seriously? Holy cow. You cook like that all the time, or just when yer sendin' me notes I fuck up on responding to?

Funnier that way.

[ She has her priorities sorted out, obviously. Although a little subtlety can be charming, too, she's not going to say that. ]

Occasionally, yeah. Kind of hard when you spend so much time traveling. [ She pauses before offering more clarification. ] My father had one of those small early morning bakeries, the sort that closes around noon whenever it sold out.

[ She can only disregard his actual question and a real answer for so long. ]

I was kind of an avoidant asshole. It's an... apology. Like I said, I don't... talk about myself or the past a lot -- never, actually. I shut down on you. I'll make it up to you if you'll let me.

Edited 2018-07-02 23:06 (UTC)

IC Inbox for empatheias

voice.

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physical note, backdated to earlier idk.

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