#fractalescrib

[fractale-circuit]

Hank always feels really, really awkward running missions alone with Sanford.

It's something they've accepted has to happen on occasion, with 2BDamned and Deimos being the smart computer men destined to remain at base cracking codes and doing whatever the fuck else, but that doesn't mean they're enjoying it. Not that they really enjoy much. The point still stands.

The missions themselves are nothing, per usual, they couldn't care less about what they're sent to do or who they're sent to kill. In truth, Sanford's behaviour is what sets them off. It doesn't take a lot to make Nevada's killing machine some degree of pissed off, no, yet making them uncomfortable takes some special kind of treatment.

Since having their prosthetic jaw attached, they've noticed some oddities. He keeps looking at them out of the corner of his eye, at that prosthetic jaw. When Hank makes eye contact, he looks away. Were it not for the shooting pain and difficulty speaking held, they'd have asked what the fuck he was looking at.

Fortunately for them, he tells them himself what the fuck he's looking at. It comes after a heavy exhale through his nose, as if getting the words out is difficult. "Ya ever think 'bout how messed up allat is? Ever?"

Assuming he means all the traditional carnage, Hank shakes their head. Strange thing to pose within the life they lead. Stranger still, Sanford's still looking at their jaw when he continues on, "I mean.. shit, Hank. Don't that hurt? Bad?"

Oh. So that's what he means. It does hurt. Severely. Hank doesn't usually have time to think about that, though. They just shrug.

Sanford doesn't seem to like that answer, judging by how deeply he's frowning. "Just so we're clear," he says in a stern tone, "I think he shouldn't have fuckin' done that to ya. I think it's scummy."

..What is Hank to do with that? How are you supposed to react to a moment being reframed as evil, when being in it made you feel unlike anything you ever had before? Was it bad, what he did? Was it inhumane? They don't really have concepts of either of those things.

All Hank does is blink at him. He takes that at face value and moves the mission along. They pause for a moment, watching after him, wondering just what could make him think that way.

[fractale-circuit]

Sanford has been nodding off at the wheel for the past twenty minutes.

Deimos noticed the first time the vehicle started drifting, giving his comrade a pointed nudge in the side. That had startled Sanford awake effectively enough, until it occurred again only a few moments later. It was a back and forth cycle that posed annoying at worst and deadly at best.

"Ford," Deimos calls, patting Sanford on the shoulder. "Pull over, let me drive. Ya keep conkin' out here."

"No way, Jose." it comes out as a groggy mumble that doesn't do much to plead his case.

"C'mon, in this kinda place, ya really want the coroner markin' your cause a death as sleep drivin'?"

"Do they even got coroners anymore?"

"I ain't wanna find out n' I can't imagine ya do neither."

Sanford yawns, "Do ya even know how to drive?"

"'Ey, I'm startin' to think your threshold for my intelligence gets lower by the day."

"It does.. chucklefuck.."

"You're the chucklefuck, chucklefuck-- will ya pull over already? You're dozin' again."

Sanford grumbles to himself indignantly about it, but he does do as Deimos says. The truck rattles to a stop, both of them exiting to swap seats. As they pass by each other, meeting at the hood, Sanford speaks just loudly enough to be heard over the continual rumble of the engine, "Be careful. Was my dad's truck."

Deimos doesn't really know what that means or how it relates to the way he drives. Sentimentality is a concept he's never felt, wanting anything of before to go straight up in flames with none left behind. Not to mention that the idea of family is so far from him he can barely grasp the word alone.. but Sanford looks even more tired when he says it, and if nothing else that makes the statement carry the weight it needs to for Deimos to take it seriously.

"Yeah, yeah.. I'm good on my word, y'know that. Just get your sleep, bud."

[fractale-circuit]

Deimos has never once met Sanford's mother.

The circumstantial timing of their first meeting kind of disallowed for that, what with the world already having been plunged into seemingly permanent apocalypse by then. It hadn't come to mind for him, in all honesty, until Sanford had begun to trust him more and be willing to entertain questions about what life was like before the nightmare began.

A few times, Deimos did ask directly about what Sanford's family was like. Sanford had answered him directly in turn, and it left Deimos a strange mix of befuddled and disheartened, as if something was missing from his own life perhaps. He wasn't all too sure, emotional intelligence was never his strongest point, but even he could deduce that it wasn't the greatest feeling in the world.

Over months of constant companionship, idle conversations, and heart-to-hearts, Deimos learns more about Sanford's folks (and has begun calling them that, his folks, because that's what Sanford says).

The truck they ride around in all day belonged to his dad, Sanford learned how to fix it from him. He has some fabric scraps under the driver's seat from his mother's clothes, they don't smell like her anymore but sometimes Sanford pretends they do. He describes what that scent used to be so vividly as if he last experienced it yesterday. She taught him to cook and he still knows some of her recipes by heart. When he passes that knowledge on to Deimos he says it feels like he's preserving the memory of them. Deimos has never questioned if Sanford knows with certainty if they are alive or not; he judges by how sometimes Sanford's voice wavers a little during the topic that he's better off not doing that.

"Ya think your ma would'a liked me?"

Sanford raises an eyebrow, "N' where's this comin' from, bud?"

Deimos shrugs a shoulder, "I dunno. Ya just talk 'bout her like she was so smart n' sweet, real well-mannered lady, n'.. I dunno. If we met 'fore, somehow.."

Sanford grunts at him in acknowledgement. A silence settles somewhere between comfortable and not. After what feels like a good few minutes, he exhales, only a little shaky. "Yeah.. yeah, y'know what, I think so. She'd definitely want ya outta them raggedy ass clothes, but.."

"N' no cursin' round ma, no cigs neither."

"Nope.." a beat of silence, "Ya remember allat? 'Bout my ma."

"Well yeah I do, ya told me it, didn't ya? She's a special gal.."

Sanford coughs, an attempt to cover up some other less casual noise. "Yeah.. course she is. Ya would do fine by her."

Deimos will never meet Sanford's mother. However, he will try his best to do right by her, offer respect and care to her as an extension of Sanford. Even if Sanford has dreams and desires for more than trading memories, the impossible reality of Deimos sharing space with his parents, he thinks the effort to come as close as he possibly can is plenty for what their lives are.

"You're aight, Dei."

"I get it from ya, Ford."

[fractale-circuit]

heehehehe waving waving :3!

for the uhh v-day drabble thing,,,, i think i would enjoy a 2bhank,, i think they deserve a little festiveness to distract them from their laundry list of mental health issues

Hank always appreciates being left to their own devices.

Days where 2BDamned didn't have a laundry list of things for them to do were few and far between. They'd taken it upon themselves to leave the base they shared with him and the others, traversing the Nevadean wasteland as if they were on some kind of mission after all. They weren't. (Unless buying a hot dog from the stand down the way and venturing into random abandoned buildings in search of nothing in particular was a mission, which it wasn't.)

They return to base a few hours later, however they don't immediately make their way indoors. Instead, they stalk the building's perimeter as if it isn't their own residence. Now that they think of it, they've never really looked at this place closely from the outside before. Drab, bulky, grey. Huh. It kind of looks like them.

They continue circling, like a shark that's picked up the scent of blood in the water. Hank stops when presented with a large set of windows. Leaning in only slightly, they peer inside, despite knowing for certain what they'd see within.

2BDamned sits at his office desk. He's got all of his attention at his computer, tapping away at the keyboard deftly. He doesn't appear to notice they're there.

For someone who touted so proudly that he knew everything before anyone else ever could, he's paying a risky lack of attention to the spot they currently occupy. The agency or worse could burst through this glass and gun him down, and he would be entirely unprepared for it. Unless his office is rigged so that glass breaking automatically deploys some kind of crazy arsenal onslaught that'd kill anybody responsible. Yeah, that sounds like Doc.

Hank feels daring. They rap the back of their knuckles on the glass, then immediately slip out of sight. There's no hearing what happens inside of the base, seeing as it's as soundly secure as anywhere in this environment can be. It leaves them wondering what he could be up to in retaliation, hands shaking in excitement as the options run through their mind. They lay in wait for a few minutes. No sign of 2BDamned is seen or heard.

Trembling fingers rest gently against the glass. 2BDamned almost looks as though he hasn't moved. He seems a bit more alert, sitting up straighter, yet he might not have even taken attention away from his screen.

They tap again, then lower themselves down. They crouch beneath the window and press their back tight to the wall. Immediately showing up guns blazing isn't like him, but neither is doing nothing at all. Maybe something is wrong with him? If it is, he shouldn't be unguarded. How dare he not be as alert as he should be at a moment like this? Hank thumps their head against the concrete so hard it makes them dizzy for a moment, and this time it isn't in plea for his attention, it's in frustration. They'll show him what'll happen if he slacks while they aren't home, they'll break into his office themselves just to show how easy it is to do it and teach him a lesson--

Their communication device vibrates in their pocket. It snaps them out of their spiral, if only for a moment. Reading the message they've received makes all tension drop.

2BDAMNED: WILL YOU STOP SCREWING AROUND? I CAN SEE YOU ON THE CAMERAS. GET YOUR ASS INSIDE ALREADY.

Right.. the cameras. That's why he wasn't responding. Of course.

Seeing back in, 2BDamned is looking at them now. He waves his hand in a circle as if telling them to get on with it.

They press their hands against the glass harder than they had previous, threatening. His hands, in turn, rush to type them another message.

2BDAMNED: IF YOU BREAK THAT GODDAMN WINDOW I WILL STITCH YOU TOGETHER BACKWARDS.

Hank wonders if that's a promise. They watch him closely, squinting, desperate to catch a glimpse of his eyes widening beneath his goggles.

The realization that they can play a better witness up close is what finally gets them inside. They don't break his window this time.

[fractale-circuit]

"Jeb, what does Gonne call you?"

Hofnarr had a tendency to speak strangely on their lunch breaks, Jebediah would easily admit that, and yet somehow she always found ways to be stranger than he imagined.

His brow furrows in an odd mix of intrigue and confusion. "Beg pardon?"

"Dr. Gonne." she says it so matter-of-factly, as if she's certain that's the perplexing part.

"Yes, I've gathered that." he rolls his eyes, "What do you mean, "what does she call me"? My name?"

"Exactly!"

..This is absurdly stupid.

Jebediah exhales through his nose, trying to calculate how to put the two of them on the same page. Sometimes he wonders if Hofnarr has even read the rest of the book they're in, despite her brilliance in the lab.

Thankfully, she does the explaining for him, albeit after he's already hit a few walls doing the mental legwork. "She's professional, right? Dr. Christoff, is that what she says?" Jebediah makes an affirming noise, and that seems to satisfy her. Himself, not so much.

"And.. why is this pertinent information to you?" Hofnarr opens her mouth to respond and promptly closes it.

She thinks back to earlier in the day when she'd visited Gonne's office, bringing them some pre-packaged snacks and a water bottle (anything to keep them from consuming nothing but a cup of coffee, on a good day). Gonne never spoke much unless they were asked about work, and even then responses were left scarce at times. Their aloof nature notwithstanding, Hofnarr did try to be friendly to them and offer invitations to stop holing up in their lab. They would never accept those offers, but it's the thought that counts.

As Hofnarr talked, Gonne didn't really respond, per usual, tinkering with one of their machines and not even pretending they're listening. "Jeb and I are going out to lunch now if you'd like to come with us," was one of the things she'd said amidst longer rambles about how some fresh air and daylight would be good for Gonne and so on. She'd continued speaking for a good while beyond that point, too, in spite of how Gonne felt about those concepts.

Suddenly, while she was mid-sentence, Gonne whipped around and responded for once, in the most peculiar way possible. "Wait, who is Jeb?" Hofnarr paused speaking at that, blinking at them incredulously. "Is that-- Dr. Christoff, yes?"

"Uh.. yes."

"Ohhh," Gonne nodded and turned their attention right back to their work. "Well, have fun with that, Dr. Hofnarr!"

Hofnarr, having been still utterly flummoxed by that question, had forgotten anything she was even trying to say. "Yeah.. right.. you too, Dr. Gonne."

Following that she'd gone out for said lunch with Jebediah, who is still looking at her expectantly waiting on a response. "I was just.." she stammers under the weight of his gaze, "Just curious. She talks kind of funny sometimes."

Jebediah is silent for what feels like hours, before eventually he makes another small affirmative sound. "She is.. definitely bizarre."

"You don't know the half of it.."

[fractale-circuit]

you SHOULD scribble im always very encouraging - sillydeimos

In hindsight, Deimos probably should listen to people who choose the courtesy of warning him about frightening appearances. He doesn't consider himself someone easily scared by any means, not with everything he's been through, but that doesn't mean seeing a guy with eyes like that isn't.. jarring, to say the least.

Jebediah Christoff has a thousand yard stare. His eyes look less like eyes and more like holes that were blown into his face, red as the sky and deeply unsettling. What Deimos feels isn't exactly fear, moreso plain discomfort, and despite wearing that on his face where Jebediah can (assumingly, at least) see it clearly, he still tries his best to salvage this conversation and not make himself look like a prick. Jebediah overhearing his surprised cursing and meeting him with a completely serious correction doesn't set that mission off on the right foot at all.

"No, man, uh," Deimos stammers, still unable to wipe that look of unease off himself, "You're.. you're good, dude, it ain't that bad."

Jebediah's brow furrows. Deimos momentarily frets if he's been found out. When Jebediah speaks, it's uncharacteristically soft. "Is that so?" Deimos immediately nods at him, movement overloaded with enthusiasm to compensate.

"No, yeah— no big deal bud, don't even sweat it. You're fine, but, uhh.. don't it hurt to look 'round without your shades? I mean, ya always got 'em on from what I seen, ain't it bright out here without 'em?"

Pauses in conversation with Jebediah feel like they last hours every time, even if in reality they are mere seconds. Eventually, he makes a little "hmph" noise and slides his sunglasses back on. "Yes. It does cause some strain." Deimos relaxes at that, relief washing over.

"Hey, they make ya look cool n' secretive n' allat shit. No harm no foul."

Jebediah scoffs, "I care not for if they make me look any certain way.."

Clearly he does, if he was worried about being unsightly. Deimos doesn't say that to him, though, he'll let the man hold some dignity.

In turn, Jebediah doesn't say anything about the peculiar feeling that spreads through him after what he finds vile within himself isn't met with horror. It's uncomfortable and sits in his stomach, heavy as a rock. He does momentarily wonder what that is supposed to mean, not entirely disliking the sensation yet not welcoming it either. He listens as Deimos continues to chatter about other things, taking in his words quietly as the warmth settles into his bones.

Frighteningly human, Jebediah Christoff is. He meets that knowledge with silence as well. It is all he's ever been able to say to it.

[fractale-circuit]

haii prompt thing maybee something about that one doc line talking about how he revived and stitched up jeb one time ? Old man beef.

Jebediah Christoff awakens in the company of one of his most hated acquaintances. He's disoriented, uncomfortable, and vaguely pissed off. Vaguely shifts to moderately at best when the first sound he registers is the incessant clattering of a keyboard, immediately making his pounding headache shoot from a 3 to a 7 on the pain scale. He doesn't recognize this place, and it's near impossible to with how dark it is-- seriously, was 2BDamned lying when he talked about being so wealthy? Can he not afford overhead lighting?

Sitting up to survey his surroundings better causes a searing ache to rip through his abdomen. He grits his teeth and chokes down a noise, exhaling deeply and glaring daggers down into.. what should be his clothes, but isn't. The concept of 2BDamned using him like a dress-up doll is vomit-inducing, and he's sure he will throw up about it later. He's got half a mind to keep thinking about it until he does, just so 2BDamned has to deal with more inconvenience.

"Good morning to you, too."

Jebediah does not want to look at him, not ever, but especially not now. Against his better judgment he does twist to do so, making him splutter out another strained sound. 2BDamned isn't even bothering to return the sentiment, still boring holes into his computer screen.

"Doc." hissed with as much vitriol as he can muster in this state, "What.. absolutely foolish excuse for a situation is this? What have you wrought now?"

That catches 2BDamned's attention enough for him to spare Jebediah a glance. "You looked like you needed a hand."

"Oh, is that so? Did I ask that of you? Did I ask you to take me to your hovel that you call a base and lay those filthy hands upon me on your underground operation table, you boorish son of a--"

"You were dead." 2BDamned says it so plainly, as if he were talking about the weather. "You were dead, and now you're not. Congratulations."

A tidal wave of emotion hits Jebediah so hard he nearly falls off of the table. 2BDamned is nothing if not calculating, his actions are nothing if not evil. Being revived by him surely registers as some sort of debt in his mind, a move that deserves repayment. Anything he would want from Jebediah, Jebediah would rather die than give to him.

He moves to sit up, and then to stand. His body roars in agony and he refuses to listen, planting his feet firmly on the ground and turning his back to the medic that saved his life without permission.

"You will never lay hand on me again, Doc."

"Are you saying you'd rather I left you to die?"

"Yes."

2BDamned shrugs, eyes moving back to his monitor. "Okey-dokey. Next time I see you collapsed unmoving in a puddle of your own blood, I'll keep walking."

Jebediah refuses to dignify that possibility with a response. Somewhere he desires to come to his own defense, ensuring that such a circumstance would never and could never happen again, not to him, but an awareness of how little that'd do to plead his case keeps his mouth closed.

Part of him almost feels as though he should thank 2BDamned for his efforts (heavy on the "almost" of course, he's nowhere near a good enough man to express gratitude in that way). Even with deep dark intentions, him being alive is sort of pertinent to his goals. Inadvertently, it did serve to assist him.

Doc doesn't deserve credit for anything he's ever done, he reminds himself as he trudges towards the exit with staggered heavy steps.

"You're welcome, Jebediah."

Jebediah groans. The door slams closed behind him.

[fractale-circuit]

trick or treat!! (only if you would like to, of course! you’re welcome to write something you more personally enjoy as well ^v^)

Jebediah Christoff is not one who knows how to handle his mistakes. He's made an unhealthy habit of walking away from them, ignoring the elephant in the room when he does have to come face to face with anyone he's wronged.

It's unfortunate for him when the elephant escapes its enclosure and becomes not only capable, but deft when it comes to picking him out of a crowd.

"Christoff! Christoff!" he tries to ignore the noise to the best of his ability, stomach already forming tight knots as it always did upon hearing the clown speak. If he listens hard enough he knows he can still hear his old companion through the mangled vocals. He doesn't dare to try. "Aww, c'mon, Christoff, this is a good one!"

Against his better judgment, Jebediah stops in place. He looks up at said clown, Tricky perched atop some nearby ruins with its trusty stopsign clutched in its hand.

"You know what rhymes with "savior", but suits you way better?"

Jebediah gives it a tired look, frowning deeply. "This is a piss-poor setup, Hofnarr." the name burns as it leaves his tongue, as it tends to when ascribed to a metal hockey mask and large unkempt tufts of orange.

"Traitor!" Tricky laughs uproariously at its own joke, at Jebediah's expense. Jebediah's hands curl into fists at his sides, the halo atop his head crackles. "Did that make you angry? You wanna play, Christoff?!" Tricky holds tighter to its signpost, still laughing between words.

No. I want you to go away, and come closer, and stop talking nonsense and talk until my ears bleed. You make me sick. I miss you.

"I don't have time for this." Jebediah Christoff does what he does best. He leaves, disallowing anything further.