Jimmy Darmody (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trenchknives) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
poly_chromatic2013-09-14 10:34 pm
trenchknives) wrote in poly_chromatic2013-09-14 10:34 pm
Entry tags:
Audio
Just kinda noticed...
[He pauses, clears his throat, and tries again.]
I've been here a year now. I dunno if you're supposed to, y'know, do somethin' to celebrate that, but it's somethin', right? I mean, sure, I went home once in between, so it ain't a year straight, but it was a year ago I first showed up here.
[An awkward pause.]
So um. Does anyone wanna go grab a drink or somethin'? To... uh... acknowledge that? Celebrate it? Get pissed that we're all stuck here? Somethin' like that?
[He pauses, clears his throat, and tries again.]
I've been here a year now. I dunno if you're supposed to, y'know, do somethin' to celebrate that, but it's somethin', right? I mean, sure, I went home once in between, so it ain't a year straight, but it was a year ago I first showed up here.
[An awkward pause.]
So um. Does anyone wanna go grab a drink or somethin'? To... uh... acknowledge that? Celebrate it? Get pissed that we're all stuck here? Somethin' like that?
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[He's already gotten started on a glass of whiskey, himself.]
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[Don't mind the air quotes.]
[Truth be told, Xavier isn't much of a drinker, anyway. The effects are nice and all, but for all the calories, he'd be just as happy getting stoned.
[When he does drink, he prefers to keep it small, simple, not necessarily appetizing - straight shots of vodka, usually. So, he orders one of those.]
And when I get some money, I plan to do that.
[He glances over, raises his eyebrows, knocks back the shot.]
Okay?
[Sitting at a bar, tossing around "next time it's on me"s...He feels so...adult.
[He means it, though. He's only been here a week, and already Jimmy's helped him so much. It's the least he can do.]
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[He takes a slow sip of his drink and raises an eyebrow at Xavier.]
So. Tell me about yourself. Y'know, the life story. Or the abridged version, if you want.
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[He raises his eyebrows back at the man, not sure if he's got the clearance to order another shot yet or not.]
There's not much.
I'm...seventeen. Mexican. Mexican-American...
[He shrugs.]
I mean, I like to paint and stuff. Other than that, there's just...
[He wrinkles his nose.]
Highschool.
[And Gwen. Don't forget Gwen.
Not to mention a stint in rehab for anorexia and the impending relapse...]no subject
You paint? That's neat. Never was too good at artsy stuff myself, but my wife was.
[That's enough for him to drain his drink and call the bartender back for another one, and then he wrinkles his nose, too.]
Yeah, high school. Nobody I know ever enjoyed it much. You don't gotta do that here, at least.
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A little.
[A pause as he re-evaluates that statement.]
Or...a lot. It's kind of my...thing, I guess. My only thing, really...
[He wonders if the past tense in regards to the other's wife has to do with him being here, or with her being somewhere else...
[There's a pang of guilt when Gwen comes to mind, but he can't help it. A high school fling to some, but to him, it's real. And he'd just as soon call her his wife if he had the chance to...
[But speaking of high school...]
Yeah, it's...
[He snorts, knocking back the second shot and waiting for the bitterness to fade before continuing.
[But some of it sticks to his voice anyway.]
Great.
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[At least, in his home. He doesn't know how it is for Xavier, but nobody in his life had exactly been encouraging of artistic pursuits.]
Well, you never gotta go back to school again, if you don't want. At least, not here. Maybe if you end up back at home, but shit, you're seventeen, that means you'll be done soon enough, right?
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[Sick? Twisted? Naked?
[He shrugs it off there, not quite sure how to elaborate. It's not like he's too terribly shy about that kind of thing - he has managed to sell a painting or two in the past. But...to someone he has to see in person? Not so much...]
And yeah, I only have one more year left, unless I end up going to college.
[He snorts.]
But I mean, art's all I've ever really wanted to do, and...art classes?
I mean, they're okay for foundations and stuff, but I'm not about to drop 100 grand on that shit, you know?
Of course, that also means I'm never gonna have a job, but...you know.
[Another shrug.]
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[A shrug.]
Well, I'd've probably kept goin', if I hadn't've joined the military, but I know what you mean. It's expensive, 'n there ain't any guarantees after you get done with it. I'd've probably studied literature, 'n that ain't exactly the kinda degree that gets you a good job, either.
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[He glances up, somewhat self-consciously signaling for another shot from the bartender. He figures Jimmy won't mind. It'll probably be his last one, anyway.]
You were in the military, though? That's...
[How can even put this...]
...Way more than I could ever do...
[He gives a weak laugh.]
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[He breaks off the talking and orders a shot for himself, too, as soon as the bartender comes over. May as well keep up with the pace, here.]
-- was in the war. Uh, I mean, what you modern people call the First World War, I guess. Believe me, you could do it if you had to, but it ain't somethin' I'd recommend.
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[I mean, he did say he was from the 1920s...what other war would it have been?]
That's...awesome!
I mean-- You know, maybe not awesome...It probably kind of sucked, or...I don't know, maybe it did...
But it's still-- I mean--
[He takes a moment to sort out his thoughts, trying to keep the vodka out of his head until he can finish.]
You know...thank you...
That's...really cool...of you...
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Yeah, it wasn't exactly what I'd call a great time. It's why I've got this goddamned limp, for one thing.
[He gestures to his leg. It's not like he's shy about it. People can see that he limps, and they usually wonder what it's from. He might as well get it out there that it's a war wound -- hell, sometimes it even impresses people, like he's some kind of hero.]
Unfortunately, bein' in the military apparently also doesn't guarantee you a job, once you're done. So, y'know...
[He raises his shot-glass in a mock cheers before downing it.]
Guess we're all fucked no matter what we do, right?
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[It definitely impresses him. World War I? How fucking cool is that, seriously? He still seems pretty fixated on it.]
Still more than I've ever done. Than I'll ever do!
I mean that's World War I, dude, like...
I don't know if you know this, but we're still fucking talking about that shit today.
Today in...my day...I mean...
You know, it's a big fuckin' deal!
[Maybe he will take one more...]
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[If the kid wants another drink, he might as well have one. Life's short, and the alcohol's plentiful.]
You talk about it in school, or somethin'? Believe me, kid, it ain't more than you'll ever do. It ain't what you think it is, whatever you think it is.
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[He frowns, lifting one shoulder up in a half-assed shrug. Must be tired of doing it so much.]
I don't know much. We talk about it in school, yeah, but...
[Ehh...His hand goes back to the base of his head, scratching.]
I don't know. I'm not the...best at school, as it is.
[Not since Gwen, anyway. When as the last time he even made it to US History?]
But it's still big, I know that.
I mean, I'm just gonna be some...bummy artist living off of Spaghetti-O's for the rest of my life and--
[Wait a minute. Wait a goddamn minute here.]
Hey...have you ever even had Spaghetti-O's before?
[Okay, so he's getting to be a little drunk here, but Spaghetti-O's are serious fucking business. Like WWI serious. And he has to know.]
I don't even know if they were invented yet. Fuck!
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[There's probably Spaghetti-O's somewhere in the City. He hasn't stumbled across them yet.]
Hey, nothin' wrong with bein' an artist, even if you do gotta live off of a food I've never heard of. Like I said, my wife was an artist, 'n I wish she coulda just focused on that instead of havin' to take other jobs to get by, y'know?
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Not should - got.
[His speech is starting to run together a little bit now, but the booze aren't really effecting his level of enthusiasm. Skettios are serious business, Jimmy.]
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[He laughs a little at the kid's enthusiasm.]
But, uh, what are they?
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They're...they're...
They're fucking Spaghetti-O's, I--
[A rather exasperated sigh.]
Okay, okay, just...Hear me out, okay?
They're these things, okay? These O's-- You following?
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1/2
O's. Made out. Of Spaghetti.
[He leans in, eyebrows raised high, and whispers.]
They will change your life.
[Yeah, he's getting a little drunk now.]
2/2
Re: 2/2
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Good! You shouldn't.
[Another life spared from their vacancy.]
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