route_1065 | Goddammit, Jack Gurdurr. You really are the man.

Entry tags:

Goddammit, Jack Gurdurr. You really are the man.

Who: Blake (

lieutenantantichrist) and Dietrich aka Schuldig (

aufsassig)
Where: Goldenrod City, Schuldig's place
When: 2/8, evening
Summary: Manly bonding over beer and 24
Rating: PG-13 for Blake's mouth
Log:

[It hasn't been a great couple weeks.

Blake has been wandering back and forth some, and found himself back in Goldenrod. Almost counts as his stomping grounds, now. Just enough to feel familiar without having too many memories. He's been quiet and moody, but you know what? He got a call from Dietrich, and he is gonna drink and watch cheesy action shows and forget all the old shit lurking in his head. Maybe that will get him thinking straight.

He checks the address one more time, and goes up to a pretty impressive looking place. Dietrich isn't doing too bad for himself. Blake shifts the six-pack in his other hand and rings the bell.]

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[Truth be told? Schuldig's happy for the distraction.

Life's been equal parts hectic and utter shit lately, between some internal Rocket politics that have had him on edge, kissing ass, and vaguely wary that one of these days he's going to open his lunch box at work and discover that somebody's put a bomb in there instead; the fact that one of his favorite hot messes just up and disappeared recently, having presumably returned to being fantastically dead back home; and the fact that after storming the Magma Base with delightful abandon, one of his other favorite people probably thinks he's out to get her and will be more inclined to snap at any overtures that get near her than hear him out and entertain him.

Also, the house is empty as hell, and he's bored.

Fortunately, there's still Blake. Blake is interesting, Blake would keep him from being bored, and like many of the other people in question, Blake is a fascinating little ball of paranoia and neuroses that was still relatively intact, and had not yet gone utterly to shit. Yet.

Not to mention, Blake's a guy who appreciates explosions and manly man movies and beer, and maybe Schuldig's just a little restless and rowdy at the moment but this is one time when "Dietrich" and Schuldig's interests align perfectly.

So the smile on his face is open and sly and actually entirely genuine as he pulls open the door, throwing a wink at his visitor as soon as there's eye contact.]

Hey. You found the place okay, I see.

[Blake's face breaks into a broad, rare smile. The world's an ugly and complicated thing, but Dietrich is nice and simple. He's a reliable, straightforward guy, and that is exactly what Blake needs.]

Hey.

[And maybe it's not so bad to have somebody happy to see him.]

Yeah, you got a pretty good set-up for yourself here.

[He steps in and takes a good look around.]

Got yourself a decent job besides the usual animal fight shit, huh?

Hey, come on, now. Honest guy like me? You better believe I work my ass off.

[He shrugs, closing the door behind Blake once he's inside, and motioning to be handed the beer like a good host ought to.]

Believe it or not, I've actually got this kid I'm looking out for, he's off doing that whole "personal spirit journey with your fuzzy animals" thing lately, but when he's around I feel like I gotta keep a roof over his head, you know?

[Blake hands it over and makes himself at home on the couch. Fuck, it's good to do something normal.]

Shit, a kid? I wouldn't've figured you for the type. Then again, I wouldn't figure me for it, either, and I had a kid following me around for a while there, too.

[See, all normal. Hazy memories of getting kissed as a drunk joke don't have to change anything.]

Oh, yeah? It's a pain in the ass, right?

[The nice thing is that with someone like Blake, who's so far removed from the situations that have prompted the vast majority of the upheavals in his life so far lately, he's free and clear to blow off steam about the stress of them so long as he's careful to edit out all the relevant identifying details.

Plus, it looks like he hit a jackpot with that one, anyway — now we're on a "happening dude who got saddled with a kid and was too much of a bro to get rid of them" wavelength.

Musing curiously over that, he unpacks the six-pack and arranges the bottles within easy reach on the coffee table before heading off to the kitchen to dispose of the box and retrieve a couple bags of chips.]

Okay, so are you a wavy-chip guy or a classic one? I got wavy chips, classic chips, microwave popcorn, and my personal secret stash of cheese balls, for worthy visitors only. Choose wisely.

Ahh, she wasn't so bad. She mostly took care of herself, and she was one of the only kids who didn't take one look at me and burst out crying. Then she wasn't around one day. Turned out she'd poofed into thin air, like people do.

[He leaves out the part where he went around hunting for her and hitting people. That's not important right now.

He shrugs.] It was a long time ago. How'd you end up with one?

[Then he focuses on the pressing issue.] Classic all the way.

I'm warning you, it's stupid as hell.

[Says the man returning with a giant-ass plastic bucket of cheese balls and the aforementioned bag of classic potato chips, the latter of which gets passed over to Blake before he flops down next to him on the couch himself.]

The kid tried to jump me for lunch money, and I ended up just buying him lunch instead. Next thing I know I'm looking out for his welfare and shit, who would've thought?

[Blake barks out a laugh in surprise.]

Well, look at you! A good fuckin' Samaritan. Most people who run into kids like that, they either call us on them or give them a smack upside the head.

[He glances at what Dietrich is carrying, and looks amused when he notices that he qualifies as cheese ball-worthy after all.]

Yeah, well. Normally I wouldn't have, but I dunno, I guess I just liked the look in his eyes, you know?

[He pops open his cheese balls without ado, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and motioning for Blake to feel free to do the same. Evidently in the Bro Zone we do not need to worry about things like not putting your feet on the furniture.

What a guy.]

I like people like that. Stand-up guys who aren't afraid to dig in and get the job done.

I know what you mean.

[Blake mirrors him. His feet clunk on the table. Grace isn't really in his skillset.

He also grabs a handful of cheese balls.]

Some guys, when they get caught, they get all hangdog and try to work for pity. Or they just lie their asses off. "I just lost my job, it's for my sick mama, I'm holding it for somebody else." It's almost refreshing when some asshole just says, "Yeah, I did it, what are you gonna do about it?"

[It's been a long time since he talked to anybody about old cases like this.]

Right?

[It's an enthusiastic agreement, the end of the word going slightly higher pitched with emphasis; without missing a beat, he moves to position the cheese balls between them and snags a handful of his own.]

I mean, regardless of what the fucker did, you almost gotta respect him for having the balls to look you in the eye and own it. If you think about it, the pity thing seems nicer on the surface but it's really just one big shot at manipulating you, right?

Exactly!

[Blake crunches a couple cheese balls. Fuck, this is a guy who just gets it.]

I've hear so much bullshit and so many excuses, it'd make you sick. Then, every once in a while, there's somebody who, let me tell you, they do not give a fuck.

[He relaxes into the couch as he warms to his story.]

Once, there was this lady who got brought in. I was talking to her, telling her, "All right, so what they tell me is you were offering to perform a sex act for seventy-five dollars." And you know what she says?

[He spreads his hands, scattering cheese dust.]

"Yeah! Sunnuvabitch tried to gyp me with fifty! I told him what I always tell 'em - if you got fifty, you got seventy-five!"

[He breaks out laughing at his own story.]

I bet you never run into shit like that here. Can you fuckin' imagine one of those clone ladies dealing with a smackhead?

[He laughs right along, equal parts legitimately amused and quietly intrigued with the way that Blake seems to be loosening up; maybe it's just that he's been stressed out lately and probably it has a fair amount to do with the fact that deep-down he's a terrible person, but the ease with which Blake has gotten rolling onto what appears to be a jolly and thorough round of complaining is...intriguing.

That's always how Blake has sort of been, oddly enough. Something fascinating and worth poking at, even if he's not always able to pin down a motive for that outside of just...liking to poke the guy and see what comes out.]

Maybe if someone decided to eat the mushrooms they pulled off one of their bug crabs. Doesn't mean I think they'd know what the fuck to do about it, but I bet it's happened before.

[A pause.]

You ever miss dealing with it?

[It's not often Blake gets to shoot the shit with an adult in actual person. Makes a difference, not being through a little screen. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the company. This is a guy with his head on straight, too, and that's a rare commodity on every planet there is.]

Hah, yeah, I've heard those mushrooms can get you seeing pink elephants. Besides the usual ones.

[He has heard that. Rumors. Second-hand.

Dietrich's question makes him pause as he reaches for more cheese balls.]

Huh. Do I miss it.

All the hassle, the threats, shoving drunks around, getting idiots screaming in your face, going on raids, kicking in doors, chasing people through filthy alleyways, never knowing if this is the day somebody's gonna get the drop on you...

[Contemplative, he opens his beer up and takes a long pull.]

You know what?

I really do.

Haha, it sounded like it. It's just not the same, doing all your dirty work through fuzzy little animals, is it?

[He steals a cheese ball of his own and flicks it into the air with practiced ease, completing a graceful arc that ends neatly between his teeth with a satisfying crunch.]

I dunno. I've heard some people say how great it is to be here because of how sweet and fluffy and accepting everybody is, you know? Like there's something wrong with you if you feel like it doesn't sit right, somehow. Or if you miss places where stakes ran a little higher than a slap on the wrist and two weeks pruning the community gardens.

[He pauses.]

Or if you miss having your fucking gun on your belt where it belongs.

[Blake's sigh comes from the very bottom of his gut, where it feels like it's been pent up for weeks.]

You too, huh.

[He'll always remember getting his first gun. A shiny, lethal, pretty thing that fit in his palm like it was made for him.]

Sure, we got these animals to protect ourselves, but telling a rat to bite something isn't the same as getting the job done with your fists. They do all the work, they have all the fun. You're just a damn bureaucrat.

[His lip quirks.] No matter how tough it is, you bring out a little flying squirrel, people want to pet it. You bring out a SIG Sauer, people pay attention.

[He inclines his head toward Dietrich.]

I bet you know something about that. Dogfighting must be a hell of a step down from watching the head honcho's back and keeping them from taking a bullet.

[It's a relief to hear these feelings put into words. It makes him feel more sane. He taps his thumb against the cool metal of the beer can.]

I bet you've done some shit that mattered.

[And that's what you want, he finishes in his own mind as he listens attentively to Blake's remarks. You want people to pay attention.

Which...is kind of interesting, really. It's not as though Blake has ever been a particularly difficult nut to crack, issues-wise — insecure, probably covering over it with bluster and authority and the need for everyone to recognize how manly a gun in hand makes him...

And you know, he'd been drunk as hell on New Year's, sure, but he also hadn't thrown any punches when his buddy Dietrich had kissed him at midnight, either.

Hmmmmm.]

I used to, anyway.

[There, that's an appropriate amount of thinly-veiled bitterness to hold up his end of the conversation.]

Sometimes you just look at your life and realize that you're good at being the flying squirrel, you know? Some of the politicians and bigwigs I used to know, I look at how they spend a day and it's just...wake up, shower, suit, meeting after meeting, shaking everybody's hand, smiling when you really want to call a guy an asshole because everybody in the room knows he is. Maybe the world needs guys like that but it doesn't need me being one of them. I know what I'm good at, so let me do it — and back there, I used to be able to, but around here? Hah.

[He shrugs, then tosses his head a little and flashes Blake a cheeky grin.]

Makes me miss the hell out of my partner, too, but I'm sure as hell not sentimental enough to name a flying squirrel after him, either.

My partner's one thing I don't miss. The asshole was here when I got here, then he vanished. Good fuckin' riddance. He just blended right into all this shit, like he didn't give a damn. No help at all.

[Blake hears a clear echo of his own frustration in Dietrich's voice. Blake nods along more and more sharply.]

Fuck, yeah. It's all a million miles away, but damn it, I was good at it.

Who's even in charge around here? The clone cops who just waltz around and don't get anything done? Nobody calls the shots, everybody just runs around like a little kid on summer break. It almost makes me miss the fuckin' politicians.

[He grabs a handful of cheese balls and thinks that over.]

Nah. Maybe not that far.

Hell, it really is anarchy if you think about it. Did you know the clones don't have any concept of bail around here? Don't ask how I know, I just fucking asked 'em once. Turns out if they throw you in the can and your buddy comes to try and get you out on bail? They'll see it as a bribe and threaten to lock him up, too. What a world.

[He shakes his head.]

Almost makes you want to do something about it, doesn't it?

[Blake snorts.] You bet your ass it does. Makes you want to smack all these idiots out of the way and put somebody real in charge.

[He snorts in disgust.] Of course they don't even know what bail is. You're just a fuckin' police officer, why would you've ever heard of little things like the basic shit that makes the system work?

So maybe somebody oughta, you know? Bring some fucking law and order back to this place, set everybody straight and all that shit.

[As if for emphasis, he reaches for a beer of his own and finally cracks it open, but the deep swig that follows is practiced and carefully deceptive — one that makes it look as though he's downing more than he actually is.]

Maybe it's about time this place had a stand-up guy running the show.

[Blake shoots an approving glance at Dietrich. The man doesn't do any dainty little sips. That means Carter has to match him, naturally.

He lets out a sigh.]

Wouldn't that be nice. But you'd have a long search ahead of you before you'd find somebody with the balls to kick this place into shape.

Haha, you think so?

[He glances over at Blake, raising his eyebrows in a knowing look.]

Funny, I wasn't thinking I'd have to look very far at all.

[He waves the beer in circles in the air.] You'd need somebody who's got experience with leadership shit, who's tough, knows how to handle the real world and not let anybody push them around...

[He pauses with the beer halfway to his mouth, looking at Dietrich. His brow furrows as he tries to figure out if he's hearing him right.

Something in him finds the notion very, very interesting.

A sardonic smile tugs the corner of his lips.]

C'mon.

Edited 2015-02-19 11:49 (UTC)

[As if on cue, his eyebrows go even higher, now accompanied by a smile of his own.]

Yeah, what? Go on. A tough, down-to-earth guy who's got the know-how to whip this place into shape...

[Now isn't that a flattering idea. Blake's ego hears it like a hungry man hearing the sizzle of a steak.

He tests the footing.]

You think I could do it.

So what if I do?

[His smile widens — and to some extent, sharpens — into a cheeky grin.]

You saying I'm wrong?

[some old, creaky wheels in Blake's head start turning. It feels like testing a muscle he's let get lazy and unused.

Feels good.]

You know what?

Why the hell not?

[A healthy belligerence enters his eye.] Somebody has to take responsibility around here sooner or later. I can't just keep sitting around waiting for somebody else to make things happen.

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Goddammit, Jack Gurdurr. You really are the man.

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