Sammy had come home later than usual that night. Jack wasn’t too concerned—well, he was. But it wasn’t uncommon for Sammy to stay after hours to keep up with Joey’s ridiculous deadlines.
Jack cooked dinner. When Sammy finally did come home, he offered him a plate and the two got comfortable on the couch, watching TV. Sammy cozied up to the lyricist’s side and the two were quiet aside from an occasional comment on what they were watching.
Finally, Jack spoke.
“Sammy, what are we exactly? Our relationship, I mean.”
“We’re friends… Are we not?”
“…Of course. Nothing more.”
“Nothing less.”
Was talking about Sammy and Jack’s relationship last night and figured I’d write some post-valentine’s day angst with ‘em. Maybe I’ll write some more soon, idk
Apologies to my dear batim moots, I’m usually so on top of Ink Demonth prompts but this year I just blinked and it’s already August aughh..
As the case for every year, I will probably not finish and do every day because it’s just a busy time for me, but I do want participate, so you can definitely expect some ink demonth stuff from me :D
…This year maybe I’ll actually include writing so I’m not crunching for a drawing while I’m already 3 days late…
Siiiigggghhhh…….. I haven’t posted this yet because I don’t really like it…..but I should post it….. It’s vampire Jack…….its Jack x Norman…… it’s cringey……
Note: This is based on a roleplay, so some things have been edited to fit a story-like format. With this in mind, it’s co-written; Jack is written by me and Hudson is written by @unnoticedunawarestillhere.
TW:
• Knives
• Emetophobia warning
• Brief mention of cigarettes
• Depiction of mania… kinda? Yeah.
• Unhealthy ink usage
• General dark themes
———
A loud crash could be heard. There, a broken and smashed typewriter lay while a young man with dishevelled hair breathed raggedly. His shoulders slumped and his head hung down.
Footsteps.
Jack appeared a moment later, peeking around the corner at the younger man. He looked confused, his eyebrows pinched together. “Hud…son…?”
In a fit of fury, Hudson stomped on the type writer, breaking it further as buttons crushed and metal bent. Papers were scattered everywhere and he kept muttering something with each crunch of the type writer.
“Hudson?” Jack repeated, a little louder. He didn’t want to get too close in case Hudson turned his anger towards him, but he was still concerned… Naturally.
Hudson stiffened, his whole body freezing before turning around. Black spilled from his lips and there were dark rings under his eyes. He smiled, tilting his head.
“Hi, Jack.”
Jack took a step back, concern flooding his face.
“…Hi, Hudson.”
Hudson took a step closer, grinning. "How ya doing?”
He tilted his head, his movements stiff and odd. Black stained his collared shirt as the ink from his lips trickled down his neck.
“I’m…Alright….” Jack took another step back. Everything about this screamed red flags. “Are you….o-ok?”
“I'm doing great!” Hudson chuckled, taking another step forward. “Tell me, you're not...scared of me, are you?” he added, his tone innocent.
“I’m not scared, I’m just a little worried. Y’feelin’ alright? You’re not lookin’ too good,” Jack answered, taking a step back once Hudson stepped forward.
Hudson chuckled, smiling.
“Better than I was before. Can't believe I waited for so long to answer its calls.” His eyes narrowed a little when he saw Jack take a step back.
“Its… Calls,” Jack repeated. This sounded familiar. He pushed that down for now.
“Whose calls?”
“The ink, of course! Who else?” Hudson laughed, black splattering on the floor now. “At first, I was startled and kept resisting! Oh, how I was such a fool then,” he chuckled, his erratic eyes darting everywhere as his hands gestures began to sped up.
Jack grimaced at the splattered ink. He couldn’t formulate a response. “The ink”… He could feel a sense of dread coming over him as he started to piece things together.
Hudson frowned at Jack's face. He took a step forward, his eyes glaring.
“Why the long face, Fain?” He hissed, oddly aggressive.
“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Jack replied softly. “What’re you doing down here, Hudson? Why is your typewriter smashed?”
“Why bother with it? What's the point of writing? Jack, this place is going down to hell and you still care about doing our jobs?” Hudson sneered.
“Uh—” Jack wasn’t expecting that response. “…Well the place isn’t going down today, nor tomorrow. So I guess I’m gonna work until all hell breaks loose.”
Hudson snickered before bursting into laughter.
“That's what you think! Little do you know this place is already rotting from the inside.” He was still laughing at Jack.
Jack decided to focus on Hudson’s words rather than the relatively manic laughter. “Yeah sure, but I’m gettin’ paid by the hour,” he said.
Hudson tilted his head again, his hand curling around something. A pocket knife. “Is that so?”
“Ha. Uhm. Yeah… I should go, y’know. I’ve got work to do—actually, ‘was just about to go talk to Sammy,” Jack said nervously, inching towards the stairway.
“I'm afraid Mister Lawrence is busy,” Hudson took a step closer, his eyes deranged, “but good thing you have my company, eh?" Ink trickled down his pale lips as his eyes narrowed.
Jack froze, rigid.
“What? What do you mean? How is Sammy busy? What is he doing?”
“Just having a chat with his lord and saviour,” Hudson chuckled. Ink stained his shirt now.
“I don’t understand,” Jack mumbled, taking a few more steps towards the staircase.
“No? Eh, fair enough. Though, I admit, I'm disappointed,” Hudson, gripping the knife tighter.
Without warning, he lunged towards Jack, pinning the knife against his throat.
“But it's okay! Luckily, there's a way that'll make you understand!”
Jack cried out, eyes widening in fear as the cold metal suddenly pressed into his throat.
“Hudson?! What’s gotten into you?? What are you doing?”
“Trying to protect you,” Hudson hissed, a strand of hair trickling down his face.
“Don't worry, Jack. Once you see it, it'll protect you forever. As long…as you’re loyal,” he whispered, ink spilling down his mouth more fluidly.
“Nothing about this screams ‘protective’,” Jack choked out, constricted pupils flicking over Hudson’s face. “And I still don’t…. Know what you’re talking about.”
“The ink! Oh Jack, why are you so daft today?" Hudson rolled his eyes, before they narrowed at the other man. “Look, we're friends, yes? Don't you trust me?”
Jack shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before opening them to look up at the ceiling. “It’s kind of hard to trust someone who’s holding a knife to your throat,” he muttered. Somehow, he found the time to be wry in his position.
Hudson looked hurt, frowning. He lowered the knife, staring down at his stained inky hands.
“Oh.”
Jack blinked, lowering his head slightly and looking back at the younger man. He didn’t move. He didn’t say anything, either.
“Are we not friends?” Hudson whispered in a small voice, sounding hurt still.
“…No. We are friends,” Jack said slowly; quietly, “…But you’re acting strange. You just put a knife to my neck, Hudson.”
Tears suddenly bubbled up in Hudson's eyes. “I'm sorry, Jack. But it won't leave me alone, it won't stop whispering,” he muttered, wincing. He folded his pocket knife up, slipping it back under his belt, then rubbed his eyes, trying to block out everything, even the ink that spilled down. His lips were already stained black.
Now that the knife wasn’t out and open, Jack relaxed a bit, focusing on Hudson. He reached out, gently pulling him closer.
“It’s the ink?” he asked softly, “that’s what this is, right?”
Hudson was shaking. “Remember when we had that flood? That. I...lied. I accidentally drank the ink,” he muttered, feeling small. He looked up at Jack with wide pleading eyes.
“I didn't mean to lie, Jack! I swear! I just...I didn't want to worry you. I didn't want to let you down,” he cried.
Jack’s face fell. “Oh….. oh. Hudson….”
“Shsh, i-it’s okay… ugh, not you too…” He sighed, pulling Hudson in and wrapping his arms around him. “You haven’t let me down.”
Hudson's body shook violently. “I did! I did let you down! I almost killed you, Jack! And for what? A BLACK INKY MASS?!”
Hudson sobbed louder.
“Shhh, sh sh,” Jack whispered, tightening his hold. “You didn’t, though. You didn’t. I’m ok now. We can still fix this.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Hudson with the last sentence though.
Hudson was still trembling, clutching onto Jack. “But what if I hurt you?” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.
“You won’t. I don’t think you will, anyways,” Jack murmured, resting his hand on Hudson’s back.
Hudson blinked, looking weary. "Do you really believe that?" He asked flatly, the knife was visible under his belt, glinting from the light above.
Jack returned the weary expression. He suddenly looked much older than he actually was. “You tell me.”
“I don't think you do, Jack,” Hudson finally replied. He gave Jack a sad smile. “But that's okay. To me it is, at least.”
Jack sighed and dropped his arms to his sides. “Right…”
“Well, maybe you should… I dunno, take a break from work. You said it yourself, this place is goin’ doing the drain. You could afford it.”
Hudson rubbed his temples, shaking his head. “I'm already in trouble with the director. If I don't complete those scripts, I'm done for,” he muttered, ending in a sigh.
“Ah.”
Jack looked away before snapping back to Hudson, suddenly remembering something. “What were you saying about Sammy?”
Hudson blinked, looking confused as he tried to wipe the ink off his lips. "What'd I say about Mister Lawrence?"
“I dunno, you said he was… Busy. Praising his lord or something,” Jack said, his eyebrows furrowing.
Hudson rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head. “Oh right. That,” he muttered. He fixed his tie before speaking, “I saw Mister Lawrence actually drinking ink from a bottle. Not by accident, like me. One day, I stumbled upon him after hours. I kept hearing something about the ink, the machine and this...lord. I didn't think much, so I walked back to leave. But he heard me and then we got into an argument. I didn't know what he was rambling on about, but it ended in him forcing me to drink more ink. I spat most of it out, but the damage was already done. I left after that. ‘Threw up when I reached my house.”
Jack was silent. Mortified.
“Oh… Christ. Oh my god. I knew it had gotten bad, but I didn’t think….”
"You didn't think…?" Hudson raised a brow, still trying to wipe ink off his lips. He only smeared it though. “Argh, I'm still angry with him. This morning before I clocked in, I threw up again. I blame him.”
Jack grimaced. He didn’t know what to think, really. “That’s awful. I don’t know… Why he would do that. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation—he wouldn’t…” he trailed off.
Hudson winced, putting a hand over his mouth, feeling sick. “You know him better than me, Dad.”
Jack glanced back up at him, faltering.
“…Yeah.” He chuckled slightly. “I do. I think I do, anyway.”
“Maybe talk to him?” Hudson awkwardly muttered, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “Or don't, considering that he's crazy.”
Jack sighed and leaned back, bumping his head into the wall as he looked up.
“Maybe. Maybe tomorrow. It’s late. You should be headin’ home soon.”
Hudson rubbed his eyes. “I don't...like walking home in the dark...” he confessed in a strained voice, “Makes me too much on edge.”
Jack picked his head up off the wall and glanced down, sliding his sleeve up to check his watch.
“…I can drive you. It’s not that late yet.”
Hudson frowned slightly, still looking guilty. "You sure?" He shifted from side to side, his hands resting in his pockets.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Why don’t you pack up and come back to me when you’re ready to go? I’ll be here.” Jack nodded, dropping his hands to his sides.
Hudson nodded slowly, looking uneasy about himself as well as shameful.
Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Jack and embraced him. “Thank you, Dad,” he whispered.
Jack hugged him back, wrapping his arms around him tight and squeezing him gently. “Take care of yourself, Hudson,” he murmured after a moment. Hudson smiled weakly, before slipping off to pack up and clock out.
Where Hudson had once stood, was a puddle of ink. Bad omen, perhaps?
Jack’s eyes stayed on the puddle for a moment before pulling himself away, slowly returning to his “office” and starting to pack up for the day. Eventually, Hudson walked downstairs, clutching his briefcase.
He watched as a light above him flickered out, making him wince and his stomach tightened with unease. He knocked on Jack's door frame. “‘Got my things,” he mumbled.
Jack gave him a weary smile that sort of met his eyes and grabbed his satchel. He secured his hat on his head and flipped a desk lamp off before joined Hudson at the door.
“Let’s go then.”
Hudson was quiet on the way out, his eyes clouded and distant while his lips were pinched in a thin line. He rubbed his temples, his skin pale while even his freckles looked dull. The corner of his lips was smeared with black, but it was long forgotten about.
Jack sort of looked like he was in a similar state but masking it. He walked alongside Hudson, lingering at the dark projection booth before shaking his head and continuing on.
Outside was cold and damp and a light breeze accompanied the low temperatures. Jack led Hudson across the parking lot to a small reddish grey car.
Hudson opened the car's passenger door open carefully, climbing in. He settled down and closed the door with a click and set his briefcase next to him on the leather seat, then leaned back. He regretted not wearing a coat, shivering slightly, but had no complaints.
Jack slid into the driver’s seat and fished through his satchel for his keys before tossing it into the back seat and cranking the car. It jolted to life with a pained sound that Jack didn’t acknowledge.
The car was cold like it was outside, but it was slowly starting to warm, the radiator replacing the earthy smell of sandalwood and cigarettes with that odd smell that radiators give off.
Hudson sniffled quietly, drawing his knees up to his chest. He buried his nose in his knees while a strand of his hair trickled the bridge of it. His brown eyes avoided Jack’s figure in the driver's seat.
“Where to, kid?” Jack asked as he pulled out of his parking space and made his way to the edge of the lot. The radio had come on and was quietly playing some sort of jazz music.
Hudson rested his chin on his knee now, blinking. “Wall Street,” he muttered, distracted by the sudden staticy jazz playing faintly in the background.
“Really? Huh, you’re not too far,” Jack noted, taking a left turn out of the parking lot. The surrounding area was splattered in the bright lights of the city that contrasted the lack of natural light from the sky.
“Y’got dinner for tonight? I can run by somewhere,” he spoke up after a moment.
Hudson let out a bitter chuckle, his chin still resting on his knee. “‘Don't think I really deserve that, Jack. But thanks for offering anyway,” he murmured. He looked as the streets of New York came alive in the dark, like an ember sparkling. Street lamps turned on as the car drove on.
Jack side-eyed him, unamused.
“That didn’t even answer my question. ‘You sure?”
Hudson let his knees drop, legs draping over the leather seat, while his arms folded. He leaned against the fogged up car window, staring out as the world seemed to zoom past them. “I'm sure,” he muttered, his eyes distance as well as his tone.
…
“‘Still think that Sammy guy is a good guy?" He asked under his breath, not glancing at Jack.
Jack tensed beside him, keeping his eyes on the road and grimacing slightly.
“…I don’t know. I don’t know what to think, alright? It’s hard to throw away ten years with someone because they’re suddenly acting weird and yet that feels like exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“I suppose that's a valid point. I just hope whatever choice you make, you don't regret it,” Hudson said as he drew patterns on the fogged-up glass, his eyes still distant.
Jack was still tense, eyes narrowed in front of him. He didn’t respond.
After a moment he turned onto Wall Street, slowing down. “Where’s your house at?” he asked softly, turning to him now.
Hudson narrowed his eyes, looking at the buildings. “Just on the corner,” he muttered, clutching his brief case tightly.
Jack nodded and drove forward until they made it to the corner of the road, where he pulled off to the side. He sighed and took his hand off the wheel, turning to Hudson.
Hudson blinked, rubbing his tired eyes. He grabbed his brief case while his other hand latched onto the door's handle, pushing it open. He stepped out of the car, giving Jack a glance.
“Stay safe, Jack. Especially when you're with him.”
“You too, ‘son. Take care of yourself—eat something, alright?” Jack said, his expression soft as he looked back at him.
“…I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Hudson nodded, giving a little wave-. He turned away, his eyes narrowing at the shadows around him. He walked off, his figure straying away from Jack's car.
Jack watched him go, ensuring he actually got inside before sighing and leaning back in his seat. He checked himself in the rearview mirror before driving off to his own home.
Why did goodbyes have to sound like that now?
————————————————————————
Oh my. That was a lot. Thank you for getting this far!! Huge thanks to Untitled/Hudson for providing half of the text in this and also… Allowing me to post it lol.
A lil tedious to transcribe, but this was fun. Perhaps more acts will be made. Perhaps new acts are in the making.
Note: This is based on a roleplay and therefore is cowritten. Jack is played by me and Hudson is played by @unnoticedunawarestillhere. Reading the previous acts would probably do you some good.
TW:
• Violence
• Blood
• Uhm… Stereotypes??? For Canadians??
• Cursing
• Hudson Abuse
———
First Act ——— Previous Act ——— Next Act
———
Hudson scowled at the looming-in Gent worker. The Gent worker sneered at him, looking far too smug for Hudson's liking. "How's the view down there, pipsqueak?" The worker asked, venom in his voice.
Hudson's nails dug deep in the palms of his hands. He gritted his teeth, the anger simmering just under his skin.
And then it just felt like his mind broke again.
He kicked the worker’s shins, making the man howl in pain. The man clutched his shin and threw a scowl at Hudson. But he wasn't done. This man was now at his level. He threw his fist, knuckles colliding with the man's nose. Kneeing him into the chest, his rage spilling over. Hudson swore he heard a "crack".
The man hissed again, blood spilling from his nose, staining his lips. Blood was now pooling the floorboards and it made Hudson let out a breathy laugh.
Before Hudson could take a step back and handle his bruised knuckles, the man grabbed him by the collar and threw in his own jab. At Hudson's jaw. Pain shot through Hudson's mind, but before he could even process where it was coming from, the man threw him against the locker.
Bruises. Blood. Ink. Yelling. Can't get up.
Another voice joined in on the layered voices—of which there were several now, probably from other GENT employees. A hand wrapped around Hudson’s shoulder, an arm wrapping around his chest.
More yelling.
He cracked his eyes open slightly, half of his face feeling like hell as blood ran down hard. What's going on? Who's hugging me?, he thought, but couldn't talk. His jaw hurt, his face, his lungs and his back. He could still hear the worker yelling, as well as others. More blood, more bruises, and so much hate.
“My god, I don’t understand how you stay alive on a daily basis,” Jack’s voice filtered in. Hudson was hefted it up against his chest. He snapped something at the GENT worker again before turning back to Hudson. “‘You still with me, bud?”
The worker, Paul, was being held back by his fellow workers who were trying to restrain him. "That freak deserved it! He should've known better than to mess with me!" he screamed in fury. Hudson blinked, his right vision a little blurry, his right eye bruised from hitting the side of the locker. He didn't answer, he didn't even know if he could right now.
“Get the hell outta here!” Jack retorted, shooting a glare at the man. He brushed Hudson’s hair out of his face and murmured to him, “I’m gonna get you to the infirmary, alright? Just hang tight.”
Hudson murmured something incoherent, already staggering to his feet. He wiped his bleeding nose, the action doing little for him. He could still hear the Gent worker in his restraint.
Everything still hurts.
Jack wrapped an arm around Hudson and pulled him closer to stabilize him. “Careful there. Y’sure you can hold yourself?” he asked as he glanced over at the Gent employee.
Hudson murmured again, dragging a hand down his face. He nodded curtly, staring at his feet. He swayed slightly, but was moving.
"Fine.." he managed to rasp.
Jack sighed and pulled Hudson down the hallway, leading him towards the music department. “…When you’re properly conscious, I plan to have a word with you,” he muttered as they walked.
Blood trickled from his nose, Hudson smeared it in his attempt to wipe it off. He let out a grunt, his eyes not meeting Jack's. His collar and tie was dishevelled and stained.
Jack led Hudson to the infirmary, where he handed him off to the nurses with little description of what happened. He stayed close by, but was never really in direct view.
Nurse Lopez motioned Hudson to sit in the cot, already fetching him a cloth. She handed it to him with curious eyes. Hudson grunted, snatching the cloth and tilting his head back, pressing the cloth to his nose.
Nurse Lopez was already working on finding an ice pack or two for his multiple bruises. Right face and back and right shoulder blade. She sighed, shaking her head, then glanced at Jack.
"Oh! You're still here? Hm, could you be so much of a deary and pass me one of those Popsicle sticks? I have to make sure he hasn't lost any wisdom teeth." The British madam pointed to the cabinet.
“Of course, ma’am,” Jack murmured, opening the cabinet, picking up one of said popsicle sticks, and handing it to the nurse. “He’s, uh.. not doin’ too bad, I’d hope?”
Nurse Lopez gave him a weary look, taking the stick from him gently. "He's fine, but I'm worried about his jaw and back. His back, especially. It will be bruised greatly so I'm wondering if he'll have to go into a proper clinic," she informed, walking towards Hudson.
She motioned him to lower the cloth. As he obeyed, she checked his teeth, the stick carefully tracing for any broken teeth or impacted gums. "Seems like this darling has all his pearls. Bruised a little on his gums, but it should heal in a week or two."
“That’s good,” Jack replied to the last comment, his arms crossed. “…I can give him a ride to the urgent clinic if he needs it,” he added with a sigh. “‘Hope he can afford the bill.”
Lopez grabbed a little light and shined it on Hudson's bruised eye, Hudson reacted and recoiled back slightly. "Seems that no one can afford the bill these days," she sighed, adjusting her glasses, "the Great Depression, my it takes a toll on us all.” She glanced back at Jack.
“Oh don't listen to silly old me! Anyway, where's this darling from? If he's an immigrant the process of getting help at the clinic may be a little more complicated."
“Uh…..huh, I didn’t think of it, but yeah, I guess he is? He’s Canadian,” Jack mused, drumming his fingers against his forearm. “I s’pose that might complicate things, huh?”
Lopez smiled sympathetically. "It's odd, isn't it? If we got hurt up north, they would take care of us right away. But if they came down here, they would have to pay up. Tch, greed these days." She shook her head.
"Thank you for bringing him here though, Mister Fain. It's nice to see the older employees care for their younger ones."
“…I try,” Jack replied wearily; he decided not to pitch in to the former topic. “I’m gonna step out for a bit. ‘Just to get some fresh air. Call for me if you need me, alright? Anythin’,” he said after a beat, giving her a little wave as he stepped back.
Lopez nodded, her grey hair springing up a bit. She wrapped an ice pack in cloth and gave it to Hudson. She perked her head up, "Oh yes! I forgot, but all incidents that involve serious matters like violence, must be reported to Mister Drew. Were you a witness, sir?" She asked, her grey eyes glancing back at him.
Jack paused at the door. “…Sure. I showed up a bit late to pull him away. I’ll make the report, Mr. Drew trusts my word,” he answered, looking back at her.
She smiled, nodding her head. "Oh, you are such a life saver, dearie! Thank you! Usually I have to fill out the form, so the last section of the print out is for me, m'kay?" She then turned around to replace the ice pack.
Hudson was hunched over, his hands clasped together. His nose had stopped bleeding, but his expression was now blank.
“Will do,” Jack said before giving her a final, halfhearted wave and stepping out of the room.
Lopez nodded, giving Hudson the new ice pack. "You're so lucky you have people looking out for you Mister Hendriks," she smiled.
Hudson took it and pressed it against his swollen bruised face. He let out a grunt, finding it tricky to find his words.
Jack, meanwhile, went a little ways down the hallway to a window, which he pulled open, leaning against the edge as he searched through his pockets for something.
Lopez put a cold pack to Hudson's back and held it there, causing shivers to run down Hudson's back. She spoke softly, "Mister Hendriks, you do understand that you might get fired or sued for this attack, yes?"
Hudson sighed, his eyes looking to the floor as he pressed the first ice pack closer to his face. "I understand, Miss Lopez."
Jack lit a cigarette as he waited, taking a drag and blowing the smoke into the cold air outside. He wasn’t looking forward to the meeting with the boss.
ဗဗဗ
"Sit down, Mister Hendriks! Don't be such a stranger!" Joey smiled, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. He leaned in, his elbows resting on the desk.
Hudson swallowed, still pressing the ice pack to his face. He nodded, sitting down without protest.
"Look, you're young and thick in the head. Scuffles like these will happen!" Joey assured him, glancing at his watch. His eyes suddenly darkened. "However, it's expected to not be brought into my studio. I've been made clear of what happened and I must say, I'm disappointed in you, Mister Hendriks. When I hired you, I saw a young man full of talent and an eagerness to learn!"
Hudson nodded silently, his eyes looking down at his resting hand in his lap.
"I've been informed that you're leaving my studio in a month and or so due to your enlistment. It's quite admirable of you, don't get me wrong and the Joey Drew family will miss you."
Hudson crossed his leg over and tapped his foot on the ground. He was too unnerved to speak.
"I've talked to Mister Covens and he won't be pressing charges. I've also had a chat with your director."
. . .
"It's come to my decision that you will not be fired. This incident will be marked permanently in your files, and perhaps with the police, BUT you will remain as an employee here until you leave. You are a valuable asset to the Writing department and still show great promise. IF, you can get your temper under control."
Outside, Jack leaned against the wall, waiting for Hudson’s exit. Without a cigarette (which he really shouldn’t have to begin with) he took his anxiety out on his hair, curling a strand around his finger over and over again. He could faintly hear Joey’s voice…. Bits and pieces of a conversation. Or, more like a lecture, since he only heard his voice.
"Now, let's take a look at this little report Mister Fain slipped in, shall we?" Joey asked with a smirk, holding a crisp yellow file.
Hudson said nothing.
Joey's eyes glossed over the words that belonged to Coven, Miss Lopez and Jack. Reading what the three had to say. "Alright, so...you did give Mister Coven a broken nose and that *is* a serious thing, but compare that to your injuries and well...!" Joey laughed, slamming his hand down on the table. "Let's just say you're lucky that Mister Fain saved you and pulled you outta there in the nick of time.”
“Speaking of our beloved lyricist, he paints you in a better light than Mister Covens does. Care to explain?"
Silence.
…Well, Jack heard that bit. He stepped closer. Not so he was against the door, just so he was…incredibly close to it. So maybe he twisted his words slightly, he wasn’t necessarily lying, was he? He was a lyricist, his job was to write wordplay.
Hudson opened his mouth, but hesitated. His eyes avoided Joey's as that made Joey speak again.
"Mister Hendriks, I may be your boss, but I promise I'm a fair one. When everyone looks up at you in fear, it can be a little...disheartening, y'know?"
Hudson cleared his throat, coughing a bit. "I'm sure it is, Mister Drew," he said, his mouth dry as it sounded raspy. "Mister Fain isn't painting me in a better light. It's just his honesty, that's all. He's an honest hard working man, Mister Drew. He's just telling the truth. Whatever he wrote...well, I trust his words. That's all."
Joey looked at Hudson, not saying anything at first, but then he laughed, cackling, "You Canadians really are overly polite, aren't you? I feel that most of the time, you can't tell a point because you all put manners first!" He cackled again.
Hudson said nothing. The hand on his lap was now curling into a fist.
Jack rolled his eyes at that. Really now? Was bringing that up necessary? Why’d Mr. Drew have to act like that anyway? Like Jack spun some tale to save Hudson’s ass. Did he really come off as the kind of person to do that? Lie to save face?
"I'm just saying that Mister Fain is reliable, Mister Drew," Hudson said smoothly, though his eyes narrowed. "This has nothing to do with my nationality."
Joey waved a dismissive hand in the air, "Of course, of course! Yes, you're right, Mister Hendriks. Mister Fain is no liar. But do tell me, are *you* a liar?"
Hudson stiffened, his eyes widening a little at the question. He then smiled innocently, "I'm a person, Mister Drew." Saying that as if it was an answer in itself.
Joey chuckled at that, nodding. He took the file and threw it in his desk casually. "In that case, you're free to head back to..." he trailed off, squinting his eyes.
Hudson blinked, confused. "Work?" He finished for him.
Joey's smile widened. "Well if it isn't Mister Fain right outside!" He stood up from his desk and opened the door. "Looking for something, Jack?" He smiled wider, if possible.
Jack jolted from his position against the wall and straightened up. “Heya, Mr. Drew. Not lookin’ for anythin’, though if Hudson’s done with you maybe we can have a quick word? If you’re not too busy of course, I’ll be fast,” he said, giving him a polite smile.
Okay, maybe he did lie to save face.
Hudson spun his head around, his eyes wide with disbelief. He was bewildered on why Jack was here and dumbfounded how easy he had gotten off.
Joey gave Jack a quick scan with his eyes, before nodding, looking pleased. "Of course! How could I not spare time for our beloved lyricist?" He then glanced at Hudson.
"Alrighty, Mister Hendriks, I'd say you've had quite the day! Check in with Miss Lopez and head back to work, kid."
Hudson stood up, his grip on the ice pack faltering as it was melting. He nodded his head and walked past the two men, giving Jack a questioning and curious glances. Perhaps seeking reassurance? He walked off.
Joey chuckled, "Cute kid. Shame for his temper." Joey motioned for Jack to sit, opening the door for him. "You wanted to talk, Mister Fain?"
“Riight, I was just wonderin’ about, uh…” he sighed, removing a folded piece of paper from his pocket. It looked like it had been crumpled before being folded.
“My latest lyrics. They were…cut? Sammy didn’t have anythin’ to say about that—he just said it wasn’t his choice, so I was wonderin’….?” He unfolded the paper to show his draft, a few paragraphs of lyrics written in pencil with bright red writing in ink at the top.
Joey took the sheet from him and scanned it. His smiled faltering into a blank expression. "Ah yes, Mister Lawrence didn't cut this out, I did. No hard feelings, honestly." He placed the sheet down and slid it back to Jack as he settled back into his seat.
"It just wasn't speaking to me, y'know? Amazing bounce, but the lyrics are supposed to be catchy, y'know? Something that's iconic for Bendy and his friends! Our devil darlin' deserves the best
Jack bit his lip as he stared down at the paper, his bouncing his leg under the desk. This was the first time in a while his lyrics “weren’t good enough.”
“…Huh,” he said quietly. “And I guess it’s too late to remake ‘em, huh? What’s that mean for me?”
"Oh, Jack! Don't look so glum, old chap. Just means you gotta go back to the drawing board! It means you just got to think next time you write. Because what you wrote here," he tapped at the paper, "looks like you weren't thinking at all!"
“Uh,” Jack’s eyes blankly followed where Joey’s finger tapped on the paper. He chuckled dryly and shook his head, as if to snap himself back to reality. “I guess I’ve been sort of spacey recently. Just… y’know, busy. I’ll do better next time. ‘Focus more.”
Joey gave Jack a slap on the back, "That's what I like to hear! Now, is there anything else you'd like to discuss?" He smiled, tilting his head.
“Uhm… Nah, that’s alright, Mr. Drew. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Have a nice day,” Jack replied, offering Joey a smile as he picked up his lyrics, shoving them halfheartedly in his pocket.
Joey turned around in his chair, the back of his chair facing Jack. "Oh...and by the way, I'd hate for Mister Henrdiks to...leave early, but the future for him is uncertain. You know that kid fairly well, hm?" He lit a cigar, drawing in a deep inhale.
“…You could say.” Jack said, staring uneasily at the back of Joey’s chair, “Why do you mention it?”
"His director has been telling me he's been rather...disruptive, that's all. I'm curious why. Figured you could explain since it's become clear that Mister Hendriks..isn't quite vocal when I'm around," he blew smoke in the air.
“Right,” Jack said softly. “…I don’t know any specific reasons, but I know he sort of gets violent when emotional. If I didn’t know better…” he paused, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue before he spat them out, “I’d say that GENT employee was tryin’ to start trouble.”
Joey said nothing at first, still smoking. "...I see. I'll let Tommy know about that. If this happens again though, I'm afraid I'd have to fire him due to protocol. You understand, right? I always did wonder if this job really was for Mister Hendriks," he muttered darkly.
Jack didn’t respond for a while, rubbing his eyes. “…Yeah, I understand. I don’t know what got into him,” he muttered, his gaze drifting over to the bendy clock mounted on the wall.
Ticking. Ticking. Repeatedly ticking.
Joey flashed his usual smile, turning around. "Something the matter, Mister Fain? Don't tell me something's bitten you too."
“Nothing, sir. I should… be goin’. Gettin’ back to work and all,” Jack replied, making a vague hand gesture as he dropped his other hand to his side.
Joey's eyes darkened slightly, still smiling. "Good! I suggest you get to it. I just *hope* you remember our..talk," he said, setting the cigar on his ashtray.
“What, about Hudson? I’ll talk to ‘im, but I can’t take responsibility for what he does,” Jack said as he turned to leave. “…I can only hope he listens to me.”
Joey let out a laugh, "I don't expect you to be responsible for what Hendriks does, but I wouldn't mind if you kept an eye on him. He respects you more than he does with his director, I can tell."
“Yeah, I’ll watch him, Drew.” Jack sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “…Have a nice day.”
Joey's smile turned into something serious, his eyes distant. "See that you do, Fain," he muttered turning around. "You know where the door is."
Jack gave a small wave and with that, left Joey’s office, closing the door behind him. He was left in the empty hallway.
With nothing else to do, Jack started off back to his office. He’d gone about ten feet before he heard a creaking above him and looked up just in time to see a pipe burst, splattering ink across his front. He cursed and took a few steps back. Well, that gave him somewhere else to go. Jack rerouted and headed to the nearest bathroom, stepping inside.
Hudson settled the ice pack on the counter top/ Since he was used to people coming in and out, be didn't bother looking up. He ran the facet and splashed water on his face. The water trickles down his features, cleaning out the remaining blood. Through the corner of his bruised eye, he saw a figure coming in.
“Hudson.” Jack sort of sighed his name as he went up to the sinks, turning on the tap. His vest was totally stained… just one more thing to his ever growing list.
Hudson spun around, startled. His shoulders then relaxed slightly when he saw Jack, water still dripping off his face. "U-uh, hey! How's it...going?" He asked, looking uncomfortable for a moment. He stared at the ink on Jack's vest and repressed the urge to point it out.
“Fine,” Jack replied as he stuck his hands under the water. “I heard you got off easy, that’s good. ‘Drew’s still not happy though. He managed to bring up you in a conversation about my work.”
Hudson froze, his whole body pausing. "Oh....that's...great," he croaked, his throat still dry. He cleared it, shaking his head. "What's his deal with you? I mean, he was bound to talk about me being....me, but what's his problem with you?"
Jack groaned, rolling his eyes. “I dunno. I think he always preferred Sam over me. Probably thought he could get someone better but we came as a packaged deal, so I was what he got.”
Hudson looked at Jack in mild surprise, a brow raising. "You pulling my leg? You're the best of the best! Tch, rich folks wouldn't know talent when it's wearing a neon sign. All they see is someone's skills that can be bought and used," Hudson scowled in the mirror, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, Jack, what a load of bull. He's just a keener pretending to know his shit."
“Aw, no need to flatter me,” Jack chuckled, grabbing a paper towel to remove the excess ink from his vest, “I’m just some guy. I think Mr. Drew wanted someone with a background, y’know? I don’t have that.”
“…Not that it’s everythin’, but… It does count for somethin’,” he added softly, glancing up at himself in the mirror.
Hudson wanted to grab Jack and spit out compliments, but repressed it. He was trying to have a "filter". He splashed more water on his face, trying to wash away the aching on his face he still felt.
"Aren't we all some guys? Look, without us background Joes, the main ‘actors’ like…let's say Mister Drew, would be less interesting. I don't know if I'm making sense, but I'll just say that," he muttered, rubbing his face and glaring at the mirror.
“…Right. That’s true. We all contribute to the bigger products,” Jack replied as he discarded the stained paper towel for a new one. He left out the part that maybe sometimes background actors don’t like to be background actors—that oftentimes those smaller roles want the bigger ones.
“Regardless, that’s the answer to your question. I was the bonus that came with hiring Sammy Lawrence.”
Hudson scoffed, "Uh, yeah, A BIG BONUS." He furiously scrubbed his hands, glaring down. He knew he should've punched Drew. And now that Drew had made Jack question his place, well...it definitely ticked something inside of him. "Should've showed him my other 'manners' from back home," he growled.
“No,” Jack snapped, “you shouldn’t have. Being respectful with him was the smartest thing you’ve done today, Hudson, don’t say you regret it.”
He huffed and threw away the paper towel again and glared at his reflection. He really liked this stupid vest…
Hudson winced at Jack's tone, but nodded slowly. He stared at his bruised face, taking in Jack's words. "Okay..." he said quietly.
“I’m sorry,” Jack amended wearily, his voice quieter now, “I’m just upset, I guess. I liked this vest and now it’s ruined.”
“…And just. Everythin’ I guess. Please don’t get in any more fights… they’re dumb and not worth it.”
Hudson sheepishly looked away, his chest feeling heavy. He rubbed his face, looking a little...ashamed? He splashed more water on his face. "I'll try not to..."
He glanced at Jack's vest. "Maybe try cold soaking it, wrangling it, before adding more soap flakes and into copper for boiling."
“Huh… Alright. You’re speakin’ from experience, I’d imagine?” Jack replied with a small smile. He unbuttoned his vest and laid it out on the counter.
“…I’ll see. It’s not a cheap vest, so I don’t wanna ruin it. Though…” he vaguely motioned towards the splatter of into across it, “…I suppose there’s not much more damage it can take.”
Hudson shrugged. "This is why we can't have nice things to wear at work. Hell, the last time I wore anything costly was at my sister's funeral last month," he pointed out. "Maybe this is a lesson? I don't know, just saying."
Jack hummed in thought, staring down at the vest. “God forbid I wear somethin’ bland. I’ll keep the expensive clothes at home, but I’m still dressin’ nice—this isn’t stopping me.”
Hudson slicked his damp hair back, trying to even out his clothes and scrub blood off with water. He cursed under his breath, explaining, "my Mère is coming over to visit me. It'll be her first time in New York and I look like hell."
He kept scrubbing the blood off his collar. "Whatever, I'll tell her I ran into a fence post or something..."
“Today, huh?” Jack pushed his vest aside and started washing his hands. “I’m sure her impression will be tainted as soon as she steps outside. I think the downsides outweigh the positive aspects of the city,” he added, rolling his eyes.
“…and yet here we are.”
Hudson shook his head. "Tch, should've stayed in Toronto. Oh well, too late, I suppose," he sighed, looking guilty. He turned off the facet and laid against one of the stalls.
Jack just gave a small shrug and turned his faucet off as well. “I wish you luck with your mother. I’m sure it’ll go fine,” he said as he picked his vest back up. “You don’t look that bad, really.”
"Jack. My entire right face is bruised. I look like I got into a bar fight, before getting kicked to the curb," he muttered, rubbing his sore eye. "She's going to ask so many questions…”
“Ehhhh,” Jack made a vague hand motion to Hudson’s face, “makeup? Maybe? Or, y’know, just blame the guy that gave you those and leave out the part where you started it.”
Hudson folded his arms, his shoulders tensing. "Probably just say that, yeah. Anyways, thanks...y'know for not letting my ass get finished off by him. My back hurts like hell and my face is sore, but it could've been worse."
“I wasn’t just gonna leave you there,” Jack huffed, rolling his eyes. “That guy looked like he could kill you if he wanted to, and to hell if I was gonna let him.”
“You scared me though..”
Hudson gave him a surprised glance. "I scared you?" He asked, his tone stunned a little.
“Of course! You were all bruised and bloody and you wouldn’t say anythin’ to me, I thought you were unconscious, and that would be a look other issue—” Jack broke off with a sigh, looking him over. “It was worrying, ‘s’all.”
Hudson shifted uncomfortably.
"Ah… right....I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget that some folks still care about me," he let out a dry chuckle. "I'd do the same thing for you though. That or punch anyone you want me to."
“I know you would,” Jack replied softly. “Just, uh… Don’t forget, alright?” He straightened up, “I’m here. I’ll be here for a while.”
Hudson was quiet for a moment, his wistful grin faltering into something softened. "I won't. No matter how crazy I am," he murmured.
“Right. That’s what I thought.” Jack looked back at himself in the mirror, grimacing slightly.
Ugh. He would have to stick with the plain white button-up and tie for now… He wasn’t going to wear a vest stained in wet ink.
Hudson straightened his posture and walked off the stall, closing in towards the bathroom door. "I'm sorry how Drew treated you," he said quietly. No snarky comments, no tempered demands, no bravado. Just...honesty.
“Pfft. No, no. It’s fine. It’s nothin’ new, and honestly, he treats me better than those in the past have. At least he puts up a front and acts polite. He doesn’t have to,” Jack replied as he turned and followed Hudson out.
The writer stared at the floorboards, still feeling uneasy about the whole scuffle.
"What now? Oh shit, what do I tell Bill....." he muttered, more to himself than to Jack.
“The truth?” Jack offered, even though it wasn’t really a question for him, “or a version of the truth, perhaps. A vague one, where you leave out the part where you started the fight…and also maybe the part where the guy totally beat you…”
Hudson's face heated up as he swung his head to look at Jack. He scowled, "He didn't beat me! I was gonna get up *eventually*." He hissed, folding his arms.
“…Right,” Jack said, unimpressed. “Then tell him you beat the guy. It’s close to the truth, of course. Like I said, keep it vague. Either that, or come clean and just tell him what happened.”
Hudson shifted uncomfortably, "Fine…anyways, what the heck did you write on that report that didn't get my ass fired?" He stared at Jack, looking confused.
“Ohh, y’know…” Jack replied, smiling sheepishly, “I just recounted the events from my perspective. That’s all.”
Hudson raised a brow, his gaze staring right at Jack. "Oh really? Jack, you do realize that Drew might figure out you're playing favourites, right?"
“What’s he gonna do? You’re leavin’ in a month and I’ve been here since the beginning. He doesn’t want to fire either of us. I’ve just given him a little extra push,” Jack said, still smiling. “Besides, he plays favorites too.”
Hudson sighed, looking uneasy. "From my experiences, you never mess with the boss unless you're asking for the boot," he muttered.
“Well, I didn’t get the boot,” Jack offered, looking over at Hudson. “And neither did you. So we’re alright for now.”
Hudson snorted, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we still have our heads. Whatever, my warning still stands."
“Of course. I’ll stay in my lane. But, y’know, don’t pick fights with your boss’ favorite company and I won’t have to get out of it,” Jack chided.
Hudson scowled, his eyes narrowing. "That guy had it coming, Jack! He's been bothering me for days. HE ASKED FOR IT!" he barked, still feeling unnerved from the fight.
“Right….They usually do,” Jack murmured, slowing down to a stop. “Just... That guy could’ve done so much worse.”
Hudson eyes darkened. "Yeah, well, so could I," he hissed. His shoulders tensed as he rubbed his face. "Bastard won't hear the last of me," he muttered.
“It didn’t look like it,” Jack retorted with a sigh. “If I recall you were slipping out of consciousness by the time I showed up.”
"Oh come on! I was just processing,after that I was gonna give Covens a piece of my mind," Hudson scoffed, folding his arms. He hated being weak.
“Right, right,” Jack murmured, moving forward again. “…Maybe keep the fightin’ for the war though, huh? Keep it out of….Joey Drew’s animation studio.”
"Hmph, no promises," Hudson scoffed, walking. He still rubbed his face, the bruises feeling sore and stubborn.
Jack just rolled his eyes and shook his head.
This kid really would be the death of someone… Most likely himself.
————————————————————————
Ugh this took way too long to post and I apologize for that, it’s been completed for weeks the editing process is just so long I’ve been putting it off. But! In news!
This local moth got an AO3 account, so at some recent time, you guys can read this stuff on a platform that isn’t Tumblr. Yay! I’ll make a separate post when that time comes…later….
Originally this was just gonna be some throw-out to quickly get started on what today’s is actually supposed to be, but…I really like this…I’ll add more info under the cut!
Or: “Drinking ink… Like some sort of freak. They should put me in an exhibit.”
Once again featuring my Envy!AU Jack!! It’s ok to be confused, I would be concerned if you’re not, since I’ve literally never explained it on here-! I’ll go into a more in-depth post about it that’s not for ink demonth, but for now, the basics are that Jack also drank ink and became addicted to it, much like Sammy (who’s still drinking it in this au). The ink obviously drives him insane but sort of in different ways than Sammy? He doesn’t really lock himself up like Sam does—he’s just a lil’ more manic now. And has a shorter temper. Scintillating.
