[There's already pain etched on his face as Hector speaks, but slowly his body begins to shake, starting with his fingers and then spreading until he's struggling to keep his breath even through the shuddering of his shoulders.
He remembers it, that part of him with all the memories from virtual reality. Constantly looking for bigger shows, throwing himself into merchandising and spreading Hector's fame, bringing each new gig home like a dog with a dead bird. Hoping it would make him happy, but always seeing that edge of sadness on his face. It was never good enough, and he knew it, so he kept going bigger.
And it's the same here. It's the same with everyone, it always has been. He doesn't know what he's doing wrong, so it must not be enough. But now, he has finally realized that he was just making things harder, every single time.
He doesn't even notice the tears rolling down his cheeks. His voice is meek when it comes out, quiet and cracked.]
I was- curious. I wanted to ask, but I didn't- the people I hang around, you don't ask about their lives. You don't ask about their loved ones, because that's how you get killed. I don't want to talk about the people I care about. I don't want anyone to know and hurt them or- use them to hurt me.
I want- I want normal too, I want to just... hang out and play games and share music and stupid jokes but I've never done that before, Hector. My birthday, that's the most normal thing I've ever done. I've never had friends that didn't run in my gang, or- were- people I had deals with. But I- we were happy. You and me and Squalo and Nekane, we had fun. And I like being around you and just talking like that.
[He hiccups, shifts slowly to draw his legs up, make himself small while his gaze is stuck pointed at the cards.]
I just didn't- I got focused on important shit like that and I figured you didn't want to focus on the simple shit because I didn't want to. But that's what I was asking from you before, I don't want you to teach me morality and shit, I just need someone to show me how to fucking talk to people like they're human beings and not fucking chess pieces.
[He feels so fucking stupid. It's all excuses, even when there's truth serum running through his veins, he just needs to explain himself and he won't be happy until Hector understands. But try as he might, he just doesn't understand what Hector thinks, or what he wants. Even now, it's too foreign for him to wrap his head around. The pieces of the puzzle are all there but he can't figure out how they connect.]
[He watches the tears spill over, Dodger looking shocked and confused like he picked up that knife and stuck it in him. It's the second time he's made Dodger cry but this time is worse.
And yet, he just watches, letting it happen. Under it all, all the bravado Dodger tried to show when they first met, under all the pain caused, here it is exactly where he thought it would be. Dodger shrinks in on himself.
He reaches out. His hands go to the cards but he doesn't turn one over. Instead, he gathers them up, reforming them back into a pile, his own and then Dodger's and the rest. He takes the cards and the glasses and the empty vial of truth serum and bit by bit he puts it all back in the case, hidden away. Game over.
He sets the case down on the ground and he moves to fill the space. He sits by Dodger's side.]
You have to hurt. That's the trick. You have to let yourself hurt. And you have to let yourself be scared. It's dangerous. Risky. You'll get hurt more. And people will try to use you. But you have to give yourself. And you have to realize those people are giving and hurting too.
[He draws up his own legs. He hugs them to his chest.]
Ask me something. Not as a game, not so you can try and assure yourself about me. Ask something you want to know, just to get to know me. Ask yourself if you want to know me. And if the answer's no, then don't.
Just... just talk. And listen. Not proving how strong you are when we both know it's a front anyway. Not seeing what you can get.
[He stares down at his knees.]
... I want space. I want to talk on the little phone things. It'll help me feel safer. And I think it'll help you. If I tell you no, if you don't like something, then you have to think about what you want to do first, instead of just doing it. I know you don't like it. But if you want to treat me like a person, then you should think about what these things mean to me. We can do that so no one gets hurt. We can talk. You can learn how to. But first...
What do you want to know? Do you actually want to know me?
[He tenses a bit when Hector moves closer, but he lets him. There they are, too sad idiots curled up on a bench together. And while he doesn't like a single thing Hector is saying, he knows he's right. It's the puzzle piece he's missing, and he can't deny that it makes sense.
We both know it's a front anyway. That gets another bristle out of him, but he doesn't deny it.
He just nods numbly, scrubs at his face until he feels like he looks decent, and thinks for a while before speaking.]
I want to know... about your wife. And your kid. And what it was like, being a musician. Y'know, the sh... the stuff that makes it worth going back.
[In the time that Dodger minds his face, he finds himself minding his own. There's only so much mess he can hide, with all of this, but it's fine. He just needs to put himself back together enough to get by.
He manages a small and very fragile smile at last. He turns it Dodger's way before looking ahead and then closing his eyes entirely.]
You wouldn't get along at all. She's made of steel and fire and she wouldn't have your nonsense for a moment. She'd have some words for me, hanging around you. But she's wonderful.
When she sings, she sings with all her heart. She's beautiful and her voice is more so. We grew up together in that same little town. She's the only one I ever had eyes for. I'd see her with her family, her brothers, and you could... you could see it, Dodger, the love in her eyes.
I... [There's a breath of a laugh at the irony of his words.] I thought I'd give anything for her to look at me even a fraction like that. And one day she did. Me, a street urchin with a guitar I may or may not have stolen. She sang and she took my heart and she came to life with a dance. Strong, passionate, and she'd do anything for her family.
[He knows she's still doing so now. Without him.]
Music was our life. Both of ours. She got me that guitar of mine, you know? It was a gift for our wedding. Dios, and all the busking I did to buy her a ring and a home for us, she still outshone me.
All my life, I played and played. Whenever things got to me, I'd go to the plaza and I sit there and I'd play all night. And when I was happy, I wrote and I sang and I danced and nothing else mattered. But it made others happy too. I thought that was wonderful. With just some sound and all your heart, you can reach out to people who'd never hear you otherwise. And they reach out to each other and for a moment everyone is family.
I dreamed of making a family of the whole world...! I wrote a song about it. Kind of embarrassing now but it wins the crowds. I played for quinceñeras, for weddings, in bars and in proper shows. But my favorite was throwing little concerts at him. We'd gather boxes and props and put on a private show for ourselves, the three of us.
But it took me from them, that music. I went out looking for family and I left it. Playing on the road... you know how much work it is, for a good or a bad show, it's the same. And I wouldn't know anyone out there. I could write letters but they couldn't write back. I couldn't see them. I grew up thinking I wanted fame, but I didn't. I knew I could still make enough money at home to support us, I didn't have to do this. I just wanted to... I just wanted a family. And it took all that to realize I had it.
[And lost it.]
... Her name is Coco. Short for Socorro. She's four years old and she loves to dance. She never learned to walk, she just went right to dancing. She loves the flowers and the ugly things in the dirt just as much. She has the passion of her Mamá and my terrible humor.
I'd be out playing and when I came home she'd race to the door. To me. Her littles braids flying behind her. I'd pick her up and spin her around and kiss her a hundred times. We'd make her Mamá smile and laugh. And I made myself better for them, for a brief time. I tried to make them proud. I tried to make them as happy as they made me.
We sing a song every night. Every single night, near or far. For nobody else, we sing. And just with that, I tell her again and again how much I love her. I love her more than anything in the world. If I close my eyes, like this, I can see her on her bed, kicking her little feet, reaching out to me...
[He lets out a quiet breath, listening to all of that and not being sure what to think. It's so... far beyond what he's lived through himself, it sounds like paradise. He can't imagine having a life so wonderful.]
That sounds like heaven.
[He leans back against the bench, taking out his pack of cigarettes and snapping his fingers a few times before they manage to catch flame.]
I never wanted kids, but they're... sweet. I like them. I just don't think they deserve me for a father. You, though, you really love your daughter. I... wish I knew what that was like.
[His shoulders slump a bit. This is exactly why he didn't want to ask, he doesn't want Hector dwelling on things that hurt.]
That guitar of yours is really beautiful, Hector. And your family, they're... I'm jealous of you, sometimes. It seems like you really had it made.
[And he's just... stuck there, thinking on it for a while, before he can think of something else to say.]
You were living on the street before that, yeah? What happened to your parents?
It was heaven. If I'd gone to Heaven itself instead of here you'd still have found me trying to get back.
[Just a few years of heaven. Not enough, but he had it.]
I know the feeling. I love my girl but it's hard to stop thinking how much I've cursed her to me. She deserves better.
[He told Nekane as much, before. He shakes his head then.]
I never knew my parents. I'd guess they're long dead. I couldn't even tell you where they're buried. My name, Héctor Rivera? That's my wife's last name. Before her, I didn't have anything. Just Héctor. A nobody.
I didn't have it as bad as some. [Not as bad as Dodger.] The nuns of the orphanage did their part to raise me. A priest taught me how to read and write and again for music. Terribly lucky. You don't find a lot of orphans who get an education. I was just a bit too wild to keep inside a lot of the time. And, you know, there's always more orphans to take care of. Especially during the revolution. I knew how to busk and I knew people in town. I suffered very little but loneliness back then. [There's a flicker of amusement in his face.] It was more the town that suffered me.
[Dodger's never heard Hector's full name, and he can't help filing it away the same way he latches onto every other bit of useful information. And honestly, Hector isn't wrong. He lived a pretty good life, compared to Dodger's, and Dodger isn't even sure he had the hardest life he's seen. He'd take his own life over what his brother went through, or Jason.]
Still rough, though... being on the streets until your wife took you in. Does it get cold in Mexico, in the winter?
[He's always just sort of assumed it doesn't, but it isn't like he has ever cared about other countries. Not enough to do any research.]
I can't really imagine you being a troublemaker. [He laughs softly.] Even the stories Squalo and Nekane were sharing... I just imagined the dumb look of shock on your face trying to get yourself out of danger. Can't see you stealing anything, just picking it up and then getting scared and running when someone talked to you.
[Which is adorable, honestly. He remembers being a bit like that, when he was little. He'd never gone in with a plan, just grabbed something he wanted and panicked if anyone got angry.]
Do you, uh... do you wanna know anything about me? While we're bearing our hearts and all.
Gah! So cold on winter nights. [He hugs his arms close and shivers.] Not as cold as Hell's gotten weirdly, and I definitely haven't seen snow, but it's cold enough for me. I'd usually try and sneak into places or bunk at- at Ernesto's.
[There's the barest wince but he pushes through it. It turns to a wry smirk, and he shoves at Dodger's side. Lightly.]
Psh. I was notorious, Dodger. You've got no idea. Oh, the things I'd get up to. And, well, I didn't steal so much as... borrow. For a long time. [Yeah.] Guitars are expensive, you know.
Anyway, I settled down with marriage. Mostly. I may have done a few small cons on tour. Little ones. Some of the hotel prices, eesh.
[He gestures a little as he speaks, feeling some warmth for... probably the first time besides that birthday party. Which, even that had its tense moments for him. This feels more natural.
But, with that done, his arms fold back. His head rests on his knees.]
I would like to know things. But, I have two rules. First, it has to be something you want to share. Second, it has to be something good. I want to hear about your best times. Or the bittersweet ones you love. The people who mattered to you... that stuff.
[He has to grin at the way that Hector talks, so animated and cheerful and... real. It feels like hanging out with the kids he ran with when he was a teenager, just sitting around and talking about nothing.]
I'm not gonna judge you, hotels are bullshit.
[He thinks for a while, trying to decide on something to share.]
A lot of the good stuff.. it's gone now. It's easier to remember losing it than having it, y'know? [A pause.] The winters in Boston are way worse - we got snow up to your waist, but in the city they'd have it all shoveled out by six in the morning. My mom was a mutant, like me - couldn't start fires or anything, but she was always warm, no matter what. She'd take me around and we'd share heat with whoever we could, 'cause we were always stuck sleeping outside.
[It's not really a happy memory, but he still seems to soften when he thinks about it.]
My mom was an angel. I never knew my dad, he was gone before I was born. But she kept a picture of him in a little box, with all the things she owned. She raised me all by herself, out on the streets. She used to trick me into thinking she'd eaten already, so I wouldn't try and split my food with her. And she'd... she could remember fairy tales off the top of her head, she'd make them up if she couldn't think of any. She was great at telling stories. And if I found batteries we'd listen to music, but her CD player always ran out of juice too fast.
[He takes a long drag from his cigarette, a bit embarrassed that his first attempt was definitely not happy. But it's something he loves. Something he's never told anyone else about, but it feels nice to share it now.]
[He'd wondered about her, about Dodger's parents. He knows his father left, but Dodger said nothing of his father. He hadn't wanted to ask, in case it was another bad memory. But it's not what he gets. It's not happy either, but it's... good. In its way.
Dodger might be embarrassed but...]
She sounds wonderful, Dodger. She sounds like she really loved you.
[He means that.]
You know, back when I was younger, I would've given anything for that. God knows I had nothing to give, but, all the same. I used to imagine, at certain times of the year, that whatever family I had was like that. Kind. Passing down songs and stories before I could even understand them.
[He'd grown out of the thought. He knows it was probably something as simple as childbirth or some bad luck. They probably never knew him any more than he knew them. But at the time, the thought was nice. He carried it until he could make it real for a little girl.]
I can't imagine losing it. But I'm glad you had it. Thank you, for sharing that with me.
[His laugh is a bit awkward, and he shrugs as if to play off how happy it makes him to share and have it accepted and appreciated.]
I used to miss her all the time. Growing up with Benny and Yana, y'know, it was way different. They... they didn't care about me. Didn't care about my brother, either - he wasn't really my brother, he was.. their kid. But they'd rather have me than him, they said so.
[He stops himself, because none of that is happy, or bittersweet, or good. It all just hurts. Except for Tony.]
My brother and I - his name's Anthony - we used to play music all the time. We both played guitar, but I picked up the bass so I could play with him. He was trash at everything else. Sometimes we used to talk about... ditching the gang, going clean and starting a band with his friends.
[And then Benny had smashed his guitar.
It also... probably says a lot, that Dodger says his friends, not our friends. Because even if Dodger had been the leader of their group, they were Tony's friends, not his.]
[They didn't care about me. He's glad, in a way, that Dodger can at least see that. The admiration didn't sit well with him.
It's a story laced with pain but he gives an encouraging look when Dodger falters. He's doing good, as far as breaking a habit.]
... It was like with Ernesto too. Not you. But I had music and I taught him all I knew. But he was the one who... who showed me around, who made me feel like I was somebody. All his friends were older than me but Ernesto could make things sound so good, he could even get them looking at a scrappy ugly thing like me. And of course, we had our dream. To play for the world.
[He takes a breath.]
It didn't work out as you can see, but, at the time, it meant a lot.
[He doesn't suggest Dodger had better luck. He knows it's a lie.]
I think you would've been different if you had escaped sooner. Maybe you would've been happier.
[He probably would have been different, if he'd left sooner. If Tony had come with him, maybe that dream of a band could've been a reality. Now that's a truly bittersweet thought.]
Well... I started acting up. Couldn't handle the sort of person Benny was trying to turn me into. I started sneaking around with this girl I met, hiding out and playing guitar instead of running recon, doing all sorts of stupid shit. I was a kid, I thought I knew better than him.
[There's a laugh on his lips, but there's no humor in it.]
He found out about my girl. He told me if I wanted to stick with him, I had to kill her. Otherwise I was out, on my own, back on the street. We got in a fight. He ah... he broke a bottle, swiped my face with it.
[He gestures to his scars; some of the marks have healed away, but the three that are left had almost scratched the bones.]
...Don't remember much of what happened after that. I took a nap, left before the sun went up, found Janet and took off to New York with her. And... I left Anthony to find his dad's body.
[The smile leaves his face, he takes a drag from his cigarette and lets it out with a sigh.]
[It's not a boast or an excuse. It's just a sad end to a story. His brow furrows.]
That man is a monster. That's not a man you want to be. [Not like Dodger tried to suggest.] You did know better. You went from a kid who kept people warm on the street, who loved music and your mother, to someone's living punching bag and being told to kill those you care about just to please this man.
[He shakes his head and looks away from Dodger, taking a drag from his own half-forgotten cigarette.]
I worry about what it did to you. And maybe to your brother too. But I can't say I feel much sorry for that man.
[Just when he said he didn't know if he could turn his back on bloodied hands. But it's exactly the point too.]
I think in at least some part of that, sparing your girl's life and leaving, I think that was the right thing. You can... you can do better. I still want to believe that.
[Even with truth serum in his veins and pain in his heart.]
When you've healed better, on a day like today where my own hands are working, we should turn on the video things on our phones. We can play. You with your guitar and me with mine. The batteries never run out on these. We can play and listen all night if we like. No one to stop us. Would you like that?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He remembers it, that part of him with all the memories from virtual reality. Constantly looking for bigger shows, throwing himself into merchandising and spreading Hector's fame, bringing each new gig home like a dog with a dead bird. Hoping it would make him happy, but always seeing that edge of sadness on his face. It was never good enough, and he knew it, so he kept going bigger.
And it's the same here. It's the same with everyone, it always has been. He doesn't know what he's doing wrong, so it must not be enough. But now, he has finally realized that he was just making things harder, every single time.
He doesn't even notice the tears rolling down his cheeks. His voice is meek when it comes out, quiet and cracked.]
I was- curious. I wanted to ask, but I didn't- the people I hang around, you don't ask about their lives. You don't ask about their loved ones, because that's how you get killed. I don't want to talk about the people I care about. I don't want anyone to know and hurt them or- use them to hurt me.
I want- I want normal too, I want to just... hang out and play games and share music and stupid jokes but I've never done that before, Hector. My birthday, that's the most normal thing I've ever done. I've never had friends that didn't run in my gang, or- were- people I had deals with. But I- we were happy. You and me and Squalo and Nekane, we had fun. And I like being around you and just talking like that.
[He hiccups, shifts slowly to draw his legs up, make himself small while his gaze is stuck pointed at the cards.]
I just didn't- I got focused on important shit like that and I figured you didn't want to focus on the simple shit because I didn't want to. But that's what I was asking from you before, I don't want you to teach me morality and shit, I just need someone to show me how to fucking talk to people like they're human beings and not fucking chess pieces.
[He feels so fucking stupid. It's all excuses, even when there's truth serum running through his veins, he just needs to explain himself and he won't be happy until Hector understands. But try as he might, he just doesn't understand what Hector thinks, or what he wants. Even now, it's too foreign for him to wrap his head around. The pieces of the puzzle are all there but he can't figure out how they connect.]
no subject
And yet, he just watches, letting it happen. Under it all, all the bravado Dodger tried to show when they first met, under all the pain caused, here it is exactly where he thought it would be. Dodger shrinks in on himself.
He reaches out. His hands go to the cards but he doesn't turn one over. Instead, he gathers them up, reforming them back into a pile, his own and then Dodger's and the rest. He takes the cards and the glasses and the empty vial of truth serum and bit by bit he puts it all back in the case, hidden away. Game over.
He sets the case down on the ground and he moves to fill the space. He sits by Dodger's side.]
You have to hurt. That's the trick. You have to let yourself hurt. And you have to let yourself be scared. It's dangerous. Risky. You'll get hurt more. And people will try to use you. But you have to give yourself. And you have to realize those people are giving and hurting too.
[He draws up his own legs. He hugs them to his chest.]
Ask me something. Not as a game, not so you can try and assure yourself about me. Ask something you want to know, just to get to know me. Ask yourself if you want to know me. And if the answer's no, then don't.
Just... just talk. And listen. Not proving how strong you are when we both know it's a front anyway. Not seeing what you can get.
[He stares down at his knees.]
... I want space. I want to talk on the little phone things. It'll help me feel safer. And I think it'll help you. If I tell you no, if you don't like something, then you have to think about what you want to do first, instead of just doing it. I know you don't like it. But if you want to treat me like a person, then you should think about what these things mean to me. We can do that so no one gets hurt. We can talk. You can learn how to. But first...
What do you want to know? Do you actually want to know me?
no subject
We both know it's a front anyway. That gets another bristle out of him, but he doesn't deny it.
He just nods numbly, scrubs at his face until he feels like he looks decent, and thinks for a while before speaking.]
I want to know... about your wife. And your kid. And what it was like, being a musician. Y'know, the sh... the stuff that makes it worth going back.
no subject
He manages a small and very fragile smile at last. He turns it Dodger's way before looking ahead and then closing his eyes entirely.]
You wouldn't get along at all. She's made of steel and fire and she wouldn't have your nonsense for a moment. She'd have some words for me, hanging around you. But she's wonderful.
When she sings, she sings with all her heart. She's beautiful and her voice is more so. We grew up together in that same little town. She's the only one I ever had eyes for. I'd see her with her family, her brothers, and you could... you could see it, Dodger, the love in her eyes.
I... [There's a breath of a laugh at the irony of his words.] I thought I'd give anything for her to look at me even a fraction like that. And one day she did. Me, a street urchin with a guitar I may or may not have stolen. She sang and she took my heart and she came to life with a dance. Strong, passionate, and she'd do anything for her family.
[He knows she's still doing so now. Without him.]
Music was our life. Both of ours. She got me that guitar of mine, you know? It was a gift for our wedding. Dios, and all the busking I did to buy her a ring and a home for us, she still outshone me.
All my life, I played and played. Whenever things got to me, I'd go to the plaza and I sit there and I'd play all night. And when I was happy, I wrote and I sang and I danced and nothing else mattered. But it made others happy too. I thought that was wonderful. With just some sound and all your heart, you can reach out to people who'd never hear you otherwise. And they reach out to each other and for a moment everyone is family.
I dreamed of making a family of the whole world...! I wrote a song about it. Kind of embarrassing now but it wins the crowds. I played for quinceñeras, for weddings, in bars and in proper shows. But my favorite was throwing little concerts at him. We'd gather boxes and props and put on a private show for ourselves, the three of us.
But it took me from them, that music. I went out looking for family and I left it. Playing on the road... you know how much work it is, for a good or a bad show, it's the same. And I wouldn't know anyone out there. I could write letters but they couldn't write back. I couldn't see them. I grew up thinking I wanted fame, but I didn't. I knew I could still make enough money at home to support us, I didn't have to do this. I just wanted to... I just wanted a family. And it took all that to realize I had it.
[And lost it.]
... Her name is Coco. Short for Socorro. She's four years old and she loves to dance. She never learned to walk, she just went right to dancing. She loves the flowers and the ugly things in the dirt just as much. She has the passion of her Mamá and my terrible humor.
I'd be out playing and when I came home she'd race to the door. To me. Her littles braids flying behind her. I'd pick her up and spin her around and kiss her a hundred times. We'd make her Mamá smile and laugh. And I made myself better for them, for a brief time. I tried to make them proud. I tried to make them as happy as they made me.
We sing a song every night. Every single night, near or far. For nobody else, we sing. And just with that, I tell her again and again how much I love her. I love her more than anything in the world. If I close my eyes, like this, I can see her on her bed, kicking her little feet, reaching out to me...
[His breath shudders.]
I miss her so much...
no subject
That sounds like heaven.
[He leans back against the bench, taking out his pack of cigarettes and snapping his fingers a few times before they manage to catch flame.]
I never wanted kids, but they're... sweet. I like them. I just don't think they deserve me for a father. You, though, you really love your daughter. I... wish I knew what that was like.
[His shoulders slump a bit. This is exactly why he didn't want to ask, he doesn't want Hector dwelling on things that hurt.]
That guitar of yours is really beautiful, Hector. And your family, they're... I'm jealous of you, sometimes. It seems like you really had it made.
[And he's just... stuck there, thinking on it for a while, before he can think of something else to say.]
You were living on the street before that, yeah? What happened to your parents?
no subject
It was heaven. If I'd gone to Heaven itself instead of here you'd still have found me trying to get back.
[Just a few years of heaven. Not enough, but he had it.]
I know the feeling. I love my girl but it's hard to stop thinking how much I've cursed her to me. She deserves better.
[He told Nekane as much, before. He shakes his head then.]
I never knew my parents. I'd guess they're long dead. I couldn't even tell you where they're buried. My name, Héctor Rivera? That's my wife's last name. Before her, I didn't have anything. Just Héctor. A nobody.
I didn't have it as bad as some. [Not as bad as Dodger.] The nuns of the orphanage did their part to raise me. A priest taught me how to read and write and again for music. Terribly lucky. You don't find a lot of orphans who get an education. I was just a bit too wild to keep inside a lot of the time. And, you know, there's always more orphans to take care of. Especially during the revolution. I knew how to busk and I knew people in town. I suffered very little but loneliness back then. [There's a flicker of amusement in his face.] It was more the town that suffered me.
no subject
Still rough, though... being on the streets until your wife took you in. Does it get cold in Mexico, in the winter?
[He's always just sort of assumed it doesn't, but it isn't like he has ever cared about other countries. Not enough to do any research.]
I can't really imagine you being a troublemaker. [He laughs softly.] Even the stories Squalo and Nekane were sharing... I just imagined the dumb look of shock on your face trying to get yourself out of danger. Can't see you stealing anything, just picking it up and then getting scared and running when someone talked to you.
[Which is adorable, honestly. He remembers being a bit like that, when he was little. He'd never gone in with a plan, just grabbed something he wanted and panicked if anyone got angry.]
Do you, uh... do you wanna know anything about me? While we're bearing our hearts and all.
no subject
[There's the barest wince but he pushes through it. It turns to a wry smirk, and he shoves at Dodger's side. Lightly.]
Psh. I was notorious, Dodger. You've got no idea. Oh, the things I'd get up to. And, well, I didn't steal so much as... borrow. For a long time. [Yeah.] Guitars are expensive, you know.
Anyway, I settled down with marriage. Mostly. I may have done a few small cons on tour. Little ones. Some of the hotel prices, eesh.
[He gestures a little as he speaks, feeling some warmth for... probably the first time besides that birthday party. Which, even that had its tense moments for him. This feels more natural.
But, with that done, his arms fold back. His head rests on his knees.]
I would like to know things. But, I have two rules. First, it has to be something you want to share. Second, it has to be something good. I want to hear about your best times. Or the bittersweet ones you love. The people who mattered to you... that stuff.
no subject
I'm not gonna judge you, hotels are bullshit.
[He thinks for a while, trying to decide on something to share.]
A lot of the good stuff.. it's gone now. It's easier to remember losing it than having it, y'know? [A pause.] The winters in Boston are way worse - we got snow up to your waist, but in the city they'd have it all shoveled out by six in the morning. My mom was a mutant, like me - couldn't start fires or anything, but she was always warm, no matter what. She'd take me around and we'd share heat with whoever we could, 'cause we were always stuck sleeping outside.
[It's not really a happy memory, but he still seems to soften when he thinks about it.]
My mom was an angel. I never knew my dad, he was gone before I was born. But she kept a picture of him in a little box, with all the things she owned. She raised me all by herself, out on the streets. She used to trick me into thinking she'd eaten already, so I wouldn't try and split my food with her. And she'd... she could remember fairy tales off the top of her head, she'd make them up if she couldn't think of any. She was great at telling stories. And if I found batteries we'd listen to music, but her CD player always ran out of juice too fast.
[He takes a long drag from his cigarette, a bit embarrassed that his first attempt was definitely not happy. But it's something he loves. Something he's never told anyone else about, but it feels nice to share it now.]
no subject
Dodger might be embarrassed but...]
She sounds wonderful, Dodger. She sounds like she really loved you.
[He means that.]
You know, back when I was younger, I would've given anything for that. God knows I had nothing to give, but, all the same. I used to imagine, at certain times of the year, that whatever family I had was like that. Kind. Passing down songs and stories before I could even understand them.
[He'd grown out of the thought. He knows it was probably something as simple as childbirth or some bad luck. They probably never knew him any more than he knew them. But at the time, the thought was nice. He carried it until he could make it real for a little girl.]
I can't imagine losing it. But I'm glad you had it. Thank you, for sharing that with me.
no subject
I used to miss her all the time. Growing up with Benny and Yana, y'know, it was way different. They... they didn't care about me. Didn't care about my brother, either - he wasn't really my brother, he was.. their kid. But they'd rather have me than him, they said so.
[He stops himself, because none of that is happy, or bittersweet, or good. It all just hurts. Except for Tony.]
My brother and I - his name's Anthony - we used to play music all the time. We both played guitar, but I picked up the bass so I could play with him. He was trash at everything else. Sometimes we used to talk about... ditching the gang, going clean and starting a band with his friends.
[And then Benny had smashed his guitar.
It also... probably says a lot, that Dodger says his friends, not our friends. Because even if Dodger had been the leader of their group, they were Tony's friends, not his.]
no subject
It's a story laced with pain but he gives an encouraging look when Dodger falters. He's doing good, as far as breaking a habit.]
... It was like with Ernesto too. Not you. But I had music and I taught him all I knew. But he was the one who... who showed me around, who made me feel like I was somebody. All his friends were older than me but Ernesto could make things sound so good, he could even get them looking at a scrappy ugly thing like me. And of course, we had our dream. To play for the world.
[He takes a breath.]
It didn't work out as you can see, but, at the time, it meant a lot.
[He doesn't suggest Dodger had better luck. He knows it's a lie.]
I think you would've been different if you had escaped sooner. Maybe you would've been happier.
What happened to that plan?
no subject
Well... I started acting up. Couldn't handle the sort of person Benny was trying to turn me into. I started sneaking around with this girl I met, hiding out and playing guitar instead of running recon, doing all sorts of stupid shit. I was a kid, I thought I knew better than him.
[There's a laugh on his lips, but there's no humor in it.]
He found out about my girl. He told me if I wanted to stick with him, I had to kill her. Otherwise I was out, on my own, back on the street. We got in a fight. He ah... he broke a bottle, swiped my face with it.
[He gestures to his scars; some of the marks have healed away, but the three that are left had almost scratched the bones.]
...Don't remember much of what happened after that. I took a nap, left before the sun went up, found Janet and took off to New York with her. And... I left Anthony to find his dad's body.
[The smile leaves his face, he takes a drag from his cigarette and lets it out with a sigh.]
Sorry. I'm just bringing the mood down.
no subject
[He shakes his head.]
This is different. I asked.
[It's not a boast or an excuse. It's just a sad end to a story. His brow furrows.]
That man is a monster. That's not a man you want to be. [Not like Dodger tried to suggest.] You did know better. You went from a kid who kept people warm on the street, who loved music and your mother, to someone's living punching bag and being told to kill those you care about just to please this man.
[He shakes his head and looks away from Dodger, taking a drag from his own half-forgotten cigarette.]
I worry about what it did to you. And maybe to your brother too. But I can't say I feel much sorry for that man.
[Just when he said he didn't know if he could turn his back on bloodied hands. But it's exactly the point too.]
I think in at least some part of that, sparing your girl's life and leaving, I think that was the right thing. You can... you can do better. I still want to believe that.
[Even with truth serum in his veins and pain in his heart.]
When you've healed better, on a day like today where my own hands are working, we should turn on the video things on our phones. We can play. You with your guitar and me with mine. The batteries never run out on these. We can play and listen all night if we like. No one to stop us. Would you like that?