Oct 27, 2021
Watching my Body/Life sequel doc get wiped clean fore the 3rd time in a row is like taking all the pins and strings and newspaper-clippings and sticky notes off my conspiracy wall... for the 3rd time.
seen from China
seen from Sweden
seen from Yemen
seen from China
seen from Bulgaria
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Bulgaria
seen from United States
seen from Greece
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Hungary
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
Watching my Body/Life sequel doc get wiped clean fore the 3rd time in a row is like taking all the pins and strings and newspaper-clippings and sticky notes off my conspiracy wall... for the 3rd time.
Tendershipping Week Day 2 - Control [Doll House]
@tendershippingweek
She's done folks, she's done, DollyFic is D O N E I hope you enjoy it.
Read on AO3 [https://archiveofourown.org/works/32559964]
Ryou doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’d woken up on top of his bathroom countertop.
His legs had folded neatly beneath him, only dressed in his undergarments. A shopping bag had been freshly emptied onto the sink countertop and more garments were hanging nearby. Hands that were not his wrapped around his waist, threading buttons through a very expensive-looking regency shirt.
The Spirit of the Millennium Ring was behind him, smiling from behind the mirror.
He'd wanted to demand answers but his mouth didn’t open. Ryou struggled to control his own limbs. He couldn't move. In the mirror, Ryou’s face was blank. His eyes were glossy and near lifeless, encased in the same stiff trance as the rest of his body.
“Good evening, Landlord,” The Spirit whispered in a low and cheerful voice into Ryou’s ear. Hot breath had slipped from The Spirits mouth and over Ryous skin - real lungs breathing real air. How it was possible, Ryou didn’t fathom.
The Spirit gazed into the mirror as he spoke, his eyes locking with Ryou’s blank expression. “Ready to play?”
Ryou couldn’t answer, of course. His body was hoisted into the air and carried into his own bedroom. A new laced comforter was draped on top of his bed. Ryou's eyes gazed emptily at a mirror set up across from the bed, watching himself descend onto the sheets.
Remembering what happened before he woke up in the bathroom is foggy, like seeing through salt water. He tries to unlock those parts of himself, but he can’t even close his eyes to concentrate.
“You only see what I let you see,” The Spirit says, putting a hand over Ryou’s eyes and closing his lids. The darkness helps Ryou remember the past 24 hours with clarity. The sensation of cloth beneath his fingertips, ripping off price tags, paying with cash. Coming home and laying out the millennium eye and then the rod in a pattern, spiritually connecting them to the other items nearby. He remembers The Spirit manifesting a second body, remembers watching it vanish when he let go of Ryou's arm, then reappear when he grabbed it again.
The hand comes off and it all fades - Ryou only sees the ceiling now.
With his mind still reeling from the information of The Spirits shopping spree, he’s sent into a brief shock when he feels a hand on his bare leg. His stiff body doesn’t follow suit of his own reflexes, however.
With an unsettling casualness, The Spirit bends his leg and something runs up Ryou’s skin. Sheer and velvet soft, it comes up to his mid-thigh and gently clamps down when The Spirits fingers slip out of the cuff. His other leg is grabbed, subjected to the same. His hips are lifted for him with one hand, another running the pants up his body, before settling around his waist with a snap.
Ryou still can’t move as the Spirit gets on top to straddle him, a new piece of clothing in hand. He gently puts Ryou’s head and arms through the holes -- they slip through it easily, letting the addition hug against his back. Hands that were not his button them up to his chest. A waistcoat, maybe?
“You look... decent,” The Spirit preens, running hands up Ryou’s torso. “Why not have a look at yourself?” Ryou’s chin is grabbed and his face is turned back to the mirror.
His reflected body is dressed in a regal, outdated outfit. The cream-lace ruffles and light-blue velvet matte compliment his light skin and hair.
Ryou’s not one for mirrors. He’s embarrassed by the instinctive compulsion, too at odds with the myriad of accusations and declarations of his appearance. Whenever he looks, he hears the background whispers and sneers of his peers and family and strangers. He always got more attention for his appearance than he ever wanted. Now, though? Forced to see himself? Watching the Spirit gaze at him wearing his own face? It was strange, but --
Secretly, he’s always wanted to dress like this.
He feels….
“Handsome…” Ryou murmurs. His eyes widen as he realizes that he had spoken the word aloud. He tries to say more -- to ask the spirit why this is happening. But his face goes frigid once more.
“I didn’t quite catch that.” The Spirit asks, voice low. Ryou’s face is turned again, staring up into the dangerous eyes of his otherworldly self.
His mouth and throat relax, returning to him enough for words -- but something is wrong.
““Whhhi’m-” His tongue isn’t doing what it should be. His throat pushes a burst of air from his mouth, forcing his lips open.
“I’m-” He swallows to stave off the compulsion.
“-So-” His neck stiffens, his head suddenly as stiff as plastic. The rest of him follows suit. His last defiance is to grit his teeth through the word-
“-Handsome.”
Hearing himself, Ryou’s face flares red. The Spirit laughs after the ventriloquism is complete.
“I’m glad you approve.” The Spirit answers.
Ryou’s fingers itch. He watches The Spirit bring out a jewelry box and he can taste bitter envy on the back of his tongue. He can’t move on his own, a limp puppet, incapable of even the slightest twitch without The Spirit’s allowance. He thinks back to how quickly he had control of certain muscles, and how quickly he'd lost that control.
The Spirit holds up a stick pin and a scarf. The stick pin is small, with gorgeous opal cradled in the jaw of a skull. Macabre, but tasteful. The scarf is wrapped around Ryou’s neck and the pin is placed with care.
The Spirit’s hand leaves the scarf, taking Ryou’s, and settling his itching fingers in The Spirit’s place. His middle and forefinger bracket the stick pin and Ryou can feel the smooth fake ivory between them, the soft cotton blend pillowing his palm. The Spirit drags Ryou’s finger over the opal, over the eyeholes, over the tiny rows of teeth.
Satisfaction runs crisp and refreshing through his chest. His ribs sink into it, trying to pin the feeling of perfection in place, but it quickly skews sideways and recedes.
The Spirit eases Ryou upright so the two were torso to torso against each other: almost in an embrace due to lack of working limbs on Ryou’s part. Ryou’s head is tilted forwards, cradled in the crook of the Spirit’s neck, comfortable against The Spirits’ arm. A brush starts to waft through Ryou’s hair. The repetitive motion of it is soothing. It moves slowly, relaxing his muscles and beguiling a lull in judgement.
“You like the feel of this,” the Spirit remarks. It’s a statement, not a question. The gentle combing continues. “Just as I deserve to have a handsome doll, you deserve to be one.”
Doll?
“My favorite doll.” The Spirit says softly.
A care and gentleness warms the back of his neck and scalp. Ryou understands that he’s being emotionally manipulated. He wants to point it out, but his mouth twists into different vowels, instead. “I’m so hand-” Ryou stops his sentence with a surprised grunt as soon as he realizes what was coming out of his mouth.
The Spirit starts speaking once Ryou goes quiet. “I’ve had so many dolls - you remember how many I’ve made, don’t you?” The Spirit drops the brush. “But none of them were as good as you. ”
Despite the manipulation, this is… hardly the worst The Spirit could be doing, Ryou reminds himself. No one’s getting hurt, friend or otherwise. And The Spirit’s been rather gentlemanly about it, overall. Besides being slightly embarrassing, Ryou can’t see the harm in being well-dressed.
“No,” Ryou’s loose hair is stroked back into place. "Not like you.”
Tendershipping Week Day 3 - Reflection [Body for Body, Life for Life]
@tendershippingweek Prompt was 'Reflection'.
This was gunna be for Holy first, day 4 is giving me SUCH GRIEF, but my other two plans for days 3 and 4 fell through and this suited 3 better. Yeesh.
AO3 link [here]
Ryou removes a demon from his body.
Have I done you wrong?
The water crashes onto his head. Ryou is surrounded by layers of running water, freefalling and pure.
“Harai tamae-”
Are you angry with me? Is that why you’ve turned me away so suddenly?
His eyes stay closed. But he knows The Demon in his body stands and waits for him on the other side of the waterfall.
“-kiyome tamae-”
You’re not even going to answer me?
The voice in his head cannot be drowned out by holy words. They are a tool for focus.
“-rokkon shōjō.”
What a cruel Host you are.
Ryou ignores the jab. Instead, he focuses on what’s around him - crisp mountain air, the smell of salt on his skin, the sting of sake lingering in his mouth. The careful movement of his lips as he chants.
“Harai tamae kiyome tamae rokkon shōjō.”
That chanting’s hurting my head.
The chanting is important.
The Demon groans - eyes closed, Ryou can imagine the pout. He holds that pretty image in his heart for a second longer, before banishing it along with the rest of The Demon's wiles. It will have no place within him soon.
Heeey. The Demon says. Have I really been so awful that you want to get rid of me? A chill, one colder than the mountain waterfall, reaches for Ryou’s chin. After everything I’ve done for you?
It’s hand stops, suddenly, recoiling to hover over the waterfall, as though pricked with needles.
Ryou hears the distressed grunts of The Demon, likely repelled by the salt he’d rubbed into his flesh. A knot of regret tightens inside his chest, but he persists.
“Harai tamae kiyome tamae rokkon shōjō.”
A moment of pain is worth a lifetime of reward.
The Demon scoffs. You think the gods reward a fool who bit off more than he can chew? You ask too much of them. The only way to take your body back is to give me a different body… or return hers where it belongs.
-
“A body for a body,” Ryou had agreed with his sister's corpse presented to The Demon. “You can use mine.”
You beat me to the punch.
-
That’s the ground, by the way. The Demon reminds. Don’t worry, it’s not murder if there’s no one inside.
-
The soul costs more. It said, A life for a life.
“Whose life?” Ryou had asked.
I’ll let you choose.
-
But I think- The Demon stops, clicks it’s tongue -No, I know actually, that you don’t want me gone.
Ryou chews his cheek. He doubles down on his chanting (“Harai tamae kiyome tamae rokkon shōjō.”), on focused thoughts, but The Demon is in his head and knows which memories to dredge up.
-
Winter nights hotter than the summer ones, even without his clothes or sheets.
-
You want me.
-
Soft melodies drifting across the back of his neck, inside his ears. The Demons siren song is insomnia’s fatal weakness.
-
You want me close.
-
Kneeling at a riverbank and gazing into black water. His reflection is backlit by a moon that doesn’t shine that night.
He leans down and kisses water.
-
You want to keep me.
-
The Demon had curled around and inside him those hot nights. Had stroked his hair as it sang. It leaned up from the other side of the water and kissed him back.
-
Can’t I keep you back?
His eyes open, the question sending an adoring shudder through his heart. He sees The Demon’s wry smile from the other side of the waterfall, it’s own body Ryou’s reflection in the water. It should be unsettling, and was at first, but now-
Now, despite his cleansing, he falls in love all over again.
-
Despite the times he wakes up, knee-deep in red slick and viscera.
-
Focus, Host. It teases. Focus on me. It tilts its head at him, inspecting Ryou’s nearly naked body. The Demons eyes are lidded, but his smile stays - desiring, fond. It’s attention is addicting.
-
And like an addict, he allows anything to get what he craves - he allows bodies to disappear, allows a new taste to fester in the back of his mouth. The Demon likes his meals to linger.
-
A finger curls and uncurls in the reflective sheet falling before him.
Ryou leans forward, almost instinctively. He’s only human and the water is his only gateway to those mirrored lips. His still tongue runs dry.
His mind snaps to attention. When did he stop chanting?
Ryou’s brow furrows as he thinks, trying to reclaim anything from a few minutes ago. All he can find himself thinking of is The Demon and Amane.
-
Staring blank, breathing little, force fed and manually moved. Her body, but not her. Alive, but lifeless.
-
A heavy sigh leaves him as he, in turn, walks through his reflection, through The Demon, as he leaves the waterfall.
So soon? What of your exorcism? The Demon sneers victoriously. Or my kiss?
“Maybe I’ll go to an actual shrine next,” Ryou sighs again. “I really wanted to avoid that, they give me such a headache nowadays...”
Oh, you’re still trying to abandon me, The Demon’s flat tone drips thicker than the water in Ryou’s hair. Nevermind, I don’t want one anymore.
“I’m not abandoning you.” Ryou says. He takes slow, careful steps on his walk back to his things, both from the steepness of the area and his bare, wet feet. This is a common waterfall for purification, so there should be a shrine close by. “Marrying you will just be easier if we have separate bodies again.”
The Demon makes… some kind of noise. It’s an odd one.
What, The Demon starts, will be easier?
“Marrying you.” Ryou repeats. “Why else would I want you to have your own body?” It chokes. “Can you not actually read my thoughts, then?” Maybe it relies on emotions? Curious - he’ll need to ask about that later. “Here I thought you were just teasing-”
Are you insane? The Demon’s voice is pressed with strain. I’m a demon.
“Which means you have a body outside of mine, right?” Ryou asks as he dries off. “You don’t need to possess me, I just promised you my body and a life in exchange for Amane’s full resurrection. Both need to be an offering to you, not a meal. Now, I could give you my life-”
A life I could swallow whole right now, you’re deranged-
“-in the traditional sense, but, obviously, I don’t want to die. So, the easiest way to give you both would be marriage!” There’s no reply. Ryou can almost hear the bemused Demon try to solve that equation. “My life will be yours in that you’d control my livelihood. I’d be reliant on you, dutiful to you and I’d feed you, which means I’d be shared with no one else!” He feels a blush creeping over him, across his chest, cheeks, ears. “And as for my body-”
This is fucking asinine!
“What?!” The air’s caught in Ryou’s throat. “But I’ve been trying so hard!” he pleads. “I’m doing everything I can to make sure we’ll have a proper wedding. I even cleanse myself the mornings after you pleasure me so I’ll be pure for you on our wedding night!”
That’s not pure at all!!!
“It can be a private wedding, just us two, no one has to know you’re a demon or try to send you away! We’ll find a nice place to live, especially if no one - oh this could take care of - if ‘no one lives there anymore’-”
You’re cracked. The Demon stresses. I’m a demon. I have eaten your neighbors and your friends. I possess you to make you eat your neighbors and friends. I. Am. Evil.
That puts Ryou out a bit. After a moment's thought, he says “Well, that’s subjective, isn’t it?” He hears a strangled noise. “It’s limiting to see the world in black and white!”
This is the definition of black and white! Ryou flinches from the verbal jab. An odd, long grunt goes round in his head. No wonder your exorcism didn’t work… You can’t really expect the gods to cleanse someone for those reasons, can you? That’s essentially releasing and empowering a demon.
Ryou frowns, deflating with a sigh. He’ll need to rely on gratefulness, he supposes, that The Demon is here and desires him at all.
But at night, when the hand on him is his again, the room turns cold. The singing is in his head, not his ear, and his hair is untouched. Water is difficult to kiss.
Your ‘marriage’ proposal… The Demon asks slowly. It’s a human courtship practice, yes? Are you trying to court me?
“Demons ask for brides all the time.”
That’s different - A bride is a possession or a meal.
“...Oh.” Ryou stops, fiddling with the towel around his reddening neck. “So, did you not… mean it then?” Ryou asks. “That you want to ‘keep me back’?”
He’d thought it did. The way it smiled at him and worked for his attention back at the waterfall - it hadn’t wanted to leave Ryou’s body, true, but wording is important with demons. Double-talk is common, and that specific wording it had used, within the context of their time together, playing to the very reasons Ryou wanted to marry it at all. A myriad of interpretations are ripe for picking, but all come from the assumption that The Demon prefers Ryou alive.
I, The Demon drags it’s words like a corpse, would not say that I… didn’t mean it.
“Would marriage not suffice as a substitute?” Ryou asks. “It - seems like such an adjustment is perfectly within my rights to ask for, considering I’m a Contracting party and may have found you a better offer.”
The Demon makes a sound akin to sucking on teeth. It… would. Technically. Suffice.
“...Would you like to marry me, then?” Oh, it’s nerve-wracking to actually ask - his whole body feels his nervous pulse twelve-fold. “Or is ownership of me - or a meal - all you want?”
The Demon’s silence is ominous.
Ryou’s legs go cold and numb, claimed by the unholy thing in his body. He feels the shift in balance, but not the grit and rocks under his feet. Roughly, he drops to his knees at the base of the waterfall pool. His head hangs down to the water's surface - The Demon looks up from the other side.
Living in fear of your spouse isn’t what humans consider marriage, is it? The Demon asks.
Ryou blinks. “I don’t fear you.”
It’s lips wring into a tight knot, unfurling only to reveal a grinding jaw. You would fear my real body.
“Then I’ll learn not to.” He lifts his tone, trying to bury his sudden burst of nerves. “Give me a week with you, then. Or a month, a year, I don’t care. You’ll outlive me whether you devour me or live in me or neither. And I don’t mind being one of many brides. Amane will have her life back and I’ll be with you.” Ryou says. “Do you want to marry me?”
The Demon sighs through its teeth. If you find it preferable to our current arrangement, I will allow a re-drawing of our terms.
“But that’s not what I’m asking.” Ryou cuts him off. “I’m asking what you want, do you want to marry me?”
The Demon snarls again, Ryou watches the corner of its mouth rise as it does. It’s eyes seem to search Ryou, then divert harshly, as though it’s found the answer written somewhere on the trees.
I am willing to acquiesce to marrying-
“If you don’t want to marry me, then say you don’t.”
Suddenly, his body tenses. He breathes in and Ryou’s lungs fill with air - more and more, his lungs swelling to the point of bursting. With equal force, the air inside him is pulled out of him, like a hair from the back of the throat. Through his eyes, ears, nose, mouth, seemingly through fingertips and toes, from his skin and the muscle and veins underneath him. His body is seized, focused on the herculean effort to expel The Demon from his body.
I do nothing that I don’t want. It says, while Ryou is still weary. His body begins to pitch forward in exhaustion.
We wed under full moon.
In the brief moment before he hits the water, his reflection is his own.
It will be quick.
Splash.
The cold shocks him, so he gasps and takes in water. His hands and feet scramble backwards, ripping him from the pool and onto the ground. Ryou smiles around fits of coughs and spits, his lungs and throat trembling each time and in between.
He hopes he’s a good spouse.
Otherwise, he hopes he's delicious.
Tendershipping Week Day 1 - Re:Memory
@tendershippingweek Todays Prompt was Memory. AO3 link here.
45 words - the Spirit of the Ring needs no more than that.
---
Do you remember watching from behind the wall?
The night both of your lives went up in flames?
“I don’t want to relive that memory.”
Of course you don’t, no one would.
But some of us didn’t get that choice.
You’re welcome, by the way.
Every time you think of a one-shot fanfic to write with a cool premise that you think you can contain in a big one-shot
Hall of the Mountain King just
Yknow
Starts.
Pantsless? In MY Chili’s?
It’s more likely than you think
- - - -
On the night shift as a janitor, Rhys finds himself babysitting a pantless, drunk Jack.
A/N: Joined a Rhack server. Wrote a thing. I’ve been off my mood sabilizers for a week and I churned iout 3600 words that I turned into 1945 words trhanks to the help for @tepperz, love of my life, salt of my earth, please enjoy the thinge
“Do you know who I am?”
Rhys doesn’t want to.
He never wanted this. He’s here because he needs a job through college while his parents pay tuition but not his rent. He’s here to ‘build character’. He’s here because he didn’t get any job call-backs in his field, but Chilli’s did call him. He’s here at midnight because some asshat eavesdropped on his phone call to Vaughn after the interview while Rhys waited for his Lyft (because it’s bad taste to drive a Lexus to a low-level job interview).
And he’s a janitor instead of a waiter because his nosey manager sucks.
And he’s here, right now, at midnight, two nights before his midterms, answering the door for a crazy, pantless drunk person asking Rhys why he’s not being served his food (because they’re closed) and if he knows who this crazy pantless drunk person is.
“No, I don’t,” Rhys answers because he has a personal policy of not knowing crazy, pantless drunk people. “Sir, we close at 11.”
“I know what time we close,” the crazy person sneers, “and I also know I told you to get me a seat.”
“We’re closed,” Rhys insists.
“Well, you’re not closed for me,” the wasted maniac in front of him rambles, fishing in his wallet (which he drops with an “ah, shit”) for what Rhys thinks is gonna be a bribe until the drunkard suddenly smacks the closed glass door with a small piece of paper.
It is not a bribe that Rhys sees pressed against the glass, under the palm keeping the man upright. It is a business card.
Jack Clarke
President of Brinker International
Maggianos, On The Border, Chili’s
Fifteen minutes later, Jack Clarke, boss to end all bosses, orders the Texas dry-rub ribs and demands the honey-chipotle sauce on top. He also orders a slice of paradise pie, loaded mashed potatoes mixed into a cup of chili, the Carribean seared shrimp salad ‘with none of the salad crap’, and a party platter of roasted street corn.
Oh - and a pitcher of water. Because he’s ‘trying to sober up’.
"You know that all our chefs are gone, right? And that I’m a janitor?" Rhys asks as neutral as he can manage. “I can maybe get you our appetizers,” he offers as an alternative, because everything else needs to be made by-hand and it’s midnight and all the chefs are gone and he's not even a waiter and he is not getting paid enough for this and also doesn't know how to cook.
“That’s right,” Jack says, after a bit of thought, “you can," and adds Texas cheese fries to his order.
It takes a while. Rhys needs to turn the lights back on, get the stove going, get the ingredients together which involves unwrapping everything he needs, defrosting things, and checking over whatever recipes are on hand because he was not trained to cook. Jack complains about it, loudly, from his seat the entire time when he’s not complaining about the plastic booth seating sticking to his bare, hairy legs that Rhys is trying to ignore.
Rhys gets the feeling Jack won’t mind the paradise pie and cheese fries coming out together, a feeling confirmed when Jack spears a fry with his fork, cuts a bite off the pie, and sticks both of them in his mouth at once.There’s a hum, but Jack pauses suddenly. He takes another fry, chews a bit more thoughtfully.
“The fries are supposed to have ranch sauce on them,” says the drunken dictator.
It’s one in the morning and Rhys has been in this building for ten hours already so it’s understandable that he takes a second to process this statement. He then takes ten more to swallow his reaction to the negging. And another ten to think of something inoffensive to say in the face of a piss-drunk, pantless president.
“I’m a janitor,” Rhys repeats, patting himself on the back for his restraint. Jack doesn’t even look up. He’s slumped onto his one elbow while his opposite hand forklifts more food into his mouth. “I didn’t find any ranch, I didn’t make any ranch, it--”
“Doesn’t change the facts,” Jack says around a bite of solid jalapeno slices. Rhys focuses on the wall to ignore the bits of food that came out when he spoke. “Texture’s gross.” With that, he picks up the paradise pie slice, ignores the ice cream he’s smeared on his hand as a result, and bites into it. “And the pie’s cold.”
Rhys’ thinks about how his business degree couldn't come fast enough.
“It’s supposed to be cold.” Rhys measures his words as carefully as the sauce in the kitchen. “That’s why the fudge is hot--”
“Not this cold.” Jack cuts him off again and shuts down Rhys’ retort with “Where’re my ribs?”
Commendably, Rhys does not say that the only ribs Jack was getting tonight were the ones already in his chest, and Rhys could put those on a plate if Jack wanted ribs so goddamn bad. He doesn’t say this for two reasons: one, he needs this job. And two, Jack has hands thick enough to wrap all the way around Rhys’ neck if Rhys even tried to lunge for him.
Two appetizers, an entree and a party platter served later, Jack tells Rhys to “Pop a squat, kiddo.”
Rhys isn’t sure he heard that right, and decides to pretend he heard nothing at all.
“Enjoy your meal.” That’s what waiters say, right? “I’ll be back to check on--” “I said,” Jack says around his rib, “sit.”
So, Rhys sits. Rhys watches Jack pull the meat off the bone in his hand, surrounded on all sides by a wall of food.
“This’s better,” Jack says, wagging the rib in the air.
“Thank you, sir,” is all Rhys can think to say.
“Worked those stoves before?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s against policy,” Jack’s leaning on both elbows now, dropping the empty rib to grab another. “Could make you a cook.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Rhys blurts. Realizing what he said, he adds, “I mean, I’m fine where I am. Sir.”
“I can call. Vouch for you.” “Don't do that.”
Jack shrugs and buries his teeth into the meat again. “If you say so.”
Rhys shifts uncomfortably and dares to ask, “Are you sure you don’t want a to-go bag?”
“Do I need to smack you with my business card?” Jack asks, snapping a thick, focused stare at Rhys who jumps with a “no.”
“‘S’what I thought,” and resumes eating.
Rhys grinds his teeth in lieu of biting his tongue - if his irritation gets that far, he’s in trouble. But at least I wouldn’t be feeding some plastered narcisists ego, Rhys thinks, bitterly, calm down, you own fucking Chili’s.
The quiet keeps on for a few minutes, until Rhys decides he needs something to keep him awake. “What…” he starts, but trails off.
Jack looks up at him, having switched to the potato-chili slush-cup he’d demanded.
“What.. happened to your pants? Sir.”
Jack swallows his bite. “They came off.”
“...Of course,” Rhys closes the question, “Why didn’t I guess?”
“We can’t all be me, kiddo--”
“Thank go-” Rhys coughs and fumbles to finish with, “...Odd. Odd nickname. Could you not... call me that?”
Jack pulls his finger out of his mouth, having sucked it clean. “Well whadda want me to call ya then, hm?” Before Rhys can answer, said fingers come up and reach for Rhys’ name-tag, pulling it closer to Jack. Still buzzed, he leans forward even more to read it. Rhys smells alcohol, but also sugar and a hint of salt.
Margarita man? Rhys wonders, never judge a book, I guess.
“Rays,” Jack reads.
“It’s Rhys,” says Rhys, pulled forward by Jacks gesture as much as his tag.
“Listen, Rhyz-its,” Jack waves him off, letting go and settling back, “I’m not an unattractive man.”
This conversation took a turn.
“Y’know what they call me?” Jack picks up another rib. “At clubs? Back in college? At fuckinnnn...” Jack’s snapping as he thinks, “Everywhere?!”
“A nudist?” Rhys says, slowly realizing he is, indeed, trapped with a nudist.
Jack sneers, like an asshole. “They call me Handsome Jack… see that? Well, don’t judge it. It’s cold in here. I’m chilly.”
Rhys pauses to recover from the conversational whiplash. “Yeah. You don’t have pants on,” he says, slowly.
“Oh, yeah,” Jack agrees, mouth full, “I needed a new belt. But that’s besides the point. The point is, Rhysie, I could get anyone I wanted on this dick. Any time I wanted, I could have a person there. The power is having people want your dick in the first place. That,” he leans back proudly, “...that is the beauty. Of having power.”
“Power equals laid. Got it.” Rhys says. Jack groans and his hand hits the table.
“Options, Rhysie, options! Choices, alternatives, possibilities.” Jack jerks closer, jumping on his own words, “Do you really wanna spend your life being a janitor in my goddamn food chain?”
“Yes. Every day,” Rhys says flatly.
“You’re not here for your winning personality.” Jack rips the last of the rib meat off with his teeth and throws the bone on the floor. He grabs the pitcher and over-fills his glass. “If I could make a list,” he sets the pitcher down, “of all the absolute babes I’ve had riding me cowgirl--”
He cuts himself off at that, no longer chewing. He looks pensive.
Rhys follows his empty stare, confused. “...Jack?”
He snaps up, “Huh?” Jack swallows before Rhys can reply, reaching for the shrimp. “Point is, you can hitch up with anybody when you have enough power.”
“Why do I get the feeling that didn’t go so well for you tonight?” Rhys aks.
Jack pauses mid-bite, eyes directed on Rhys.
“...I’m just noticing a… possible outcome here,” Rhys smiles.
Jack sighs, slumping back into his seat. “Even power has its’ low point. Rhysus, raggy.” “Just Rhys--”
“And sometimes that low-point is getting dumped by your girlfriend who decides she doesn’t hate your ex-girlfriend anymore,” Jack tosses the water back (Rhys thinks he’s pretending it’s another margarita) and gulps a breath of air. “In fact,” he slams the cup down, “she’s decided your ex isn’t so bad, really not so bad.” Pours another glass. “In fact, your ex is so not-so-bad that your girlfriend's gonna just - saddle up with her while you’re drinking at her bar , right after the breakup.”
Rhys keeps to himself. Jack glances to him and continues, “No, you’re fucking right, I can get free drinks in any country on the fuckin planet or I could take a fucking private jet to get a decent Mai Tai, and it’ll taste even better now.”
“What does that mean?” Rhys asks himself softly.
“‘Just not working out’ my ass,” Jack grumbles on, “Must’ve been such a fuckin’ bore having some goddamn luxury for once.”
Rhys struggles to find common ground and says, “...Power can’t make people love you, I guess.” Is that the moral here? Is that what Jack’s getting at?
Probably not, because when Rhys says that, Jack stops again. He eyes Rhys, chewing the thought as slowly as the fruit he slips between his lips. “...No,” Jack says finally, surprisingly calm, “it can’t do that.”
A quiet moment passes.
“It can’t do that.” Jack repeats.
The buzzing stress in Rhys’ tired skull dies down, the kinetic energy of Jack’s personality slowing to a lull.
If nothing else, that seemed to sober him at last.
Jack looks him over one more time before distracting himself with his utensils. “You’re a good listener.”
“I’m more of a hostage right now than a listener,” Rhys chuckles into his hand.
Jack scoffs, almost affectionate. “You’re a good hostage, then.”
Rhys watches the corner of his lips tug, for the corners of his eyes to crinkle, and understands why he’s called Handsome Jack.
Hm.
"ARCHITECTURAL THEORETICAL EXAMINATIONS OF TYPICAL JAPANESE SPATIAL CHARACTERISTICS IN INTERIOR SPACES OF KYO-MACHIYA TOWNHOUSES", you say.
Go on.
Wip Wednesday except it's a day late