taxonomites | 06 | VISUAL | LOCKED TO WYATT CAIN | CRASH AND BURN, YOUNG AND LOADED

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06 | VISUAL | LOCKED TO WYATT CAIN | CRASH AND BURN, YOUNG AND LOADED

Party's been contemplating this for a while, and that's why he finally stabs at the tablet with an odd sense of conviction. He's not a coward so text isn't an option, but the thing that bothers him most is just how worried he is about this. The guy is a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, leastaways looks an awful lot like one, and that just spells no good for all parties involved. Especially if he apparently 'died' at the hands of one, wherever Kobra Kid came from. He'd normally be apprehensive about his own brother is really his own brother due to his origin story, but he thinks he just needs something or someone to believe in that's real. That's from his world that isn't a junked up car.

Which is probably why he's transmitting a visual to one Korse look alike, in a forest somewhere, back against a tree. It's night and he can't sleep, the rumbling in his stomach making it difficult.

"Hey." He pauses, staring intently at the tablet before sighing.

"Uh... We kinda need to talk. Yeah."

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Nighttime means one of two things to Cain: He either sleeps, or he doesn't. Tonight, he's wide awake and hovering by the kitchen window when his tablet's buzzing cuts through the silence of his apartment. He watches as the screen lights up the darkness, sees the pale face and the stark red hair that's muted by the absence of the sun.

Walking over, he takes a deep breath, and presses the screen to take the call. "Talk."

Party's smile is slight, and he's unsurprised to hear that tone. He's heard it in Jet Star, once, and a very long time ago his parents. But that's a distant memory, and he has to focus on the future.

He takes a quick glance at something beside him and focuses back on the tablet.

"The Kobra Kid, he uuuhh... he's not cycling on full pistons."

Finally, thinks Cain, a metaphor I can figure out. He shrugs, lifting a mug of coffee to his lips while mulling over what to say.

Maybe more importantly, what not to say. He's supposed to be wise enough for his annuals, no matter where he spent the last ten of them. In part thanks to where he spent them.

"Neither am I, kid. But that doesn't make it right waving guns in people's faces. Or setting the streets on fire."

Which, of course, wasn't all Kobra Kid's doing.

"That's..." let's conveniently ignore the part about the fire. "That's sorta what I'm calling ypu. Tableting you... look, I know you don't want the four and two ones that come with talkin' to an older brother but I'm trying to say that the whole zonerat territory, its... rocky. Kinda."

He shrugs, and a tongue darts out to lick dry lips pressing them thinly.

"You look like someone we've ben running from for a long time. And he apparently shot me. Dusted. I'm a regular dust angel, I bleed and die and.." he shrugs, struggling. "We just.. we got... we only got each other. That's why."

Cain's pale eyebrows quirk upward, his expression guarded but fully visible without the hat. He knows what Party's trying to do. He just isn't sure he's trying hard enough.

"Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me. I don't have any one of my family, so don't you try hiding behind the fact you're not alone. You're lucky.

"Fact of the matter is, he could've shot me dead in the street 'cause my face don't look right. Then what would you have done? Let him shoot anyone who dared object his opinion?"

Excuses?

Party's glare hardens and it's obvious he's trying to keep his own temper in check. The first sentence comes out as a snappish retort before he calms himself. "And you don't think I count myself as one of the lucky ones?! It's--it's fuckin' complicated, tumbleweed. It's not even about claps or dancing along to songs of the past, it's not What Was and What Always Will be..."

His voice softens as he blinks up at the pale skinned, light haired tin man. "Kobra and I, we're not from anywhere like this. Well, we both ran away from this stuff when we were younger. Rules. Society. Battery City and Better Living Industries. Again, I'll spare you the fairytale classic Disney shit, but he was 13." It's hard to get the words out, but he's trying.

"And all we've ever had was each other. So him wigging out on you.. it was 'cause he was flashbacking, backtracking, get it? To when 'you' killed the only thing that he's had stable." It's weird, talking about Kobra like he isn't there. It kind of hurts, like a bit of his trust is going to be lost. He licks his lips again, a nervous habit, and barely glances at the tablet.

"I guess what I'm trying to do is, uh... you know. Apologize. For him."

Finally, thinks Cain once more, a bit of sincerity.

More than that, some honesty, and honesty has always meant a lot in Cain's book. Truth, you can tamper with, twist to your own ends, whatever they may be, but honesty is different. You can fake it til the day you die, and it will still ring false, where false truth will seem perfectly plausible.

When Party's agitation comes to a halt, and he starts to really tell Cain how it is, some of the tension bleeds away. Finally, he nods; the only acknowledgment he's ready to give just yet.

"You're sleeping outdoors, aren't you?" He used to do that too, in the beginning, when no room seemed big enough or stable enough or safe enough. When he needed the fake stars in the fake sky more than he needed a bed.

"I love my brother," And there's no hesitation, he's unsure why this is just plain spilling out as he leans up against the oak, hair dangling in his face for a few moments. "But doesn't matter how fuckin' old he'll get, he's still that 13 year old I helped hop the fence to get to the zones. I--"

He really is tired if he's talking to Cain like a friend. Not quite a friend, but..something. Something that reminds him of before things got bad, and he yawns loudly, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes.

"M'outside," He managed. "Car's parked. No gas, so I can't sleep there... But I'm used to it." And, as excited as a tired killjoy can muster: "There's trees here."

Jaded though he may be, world weary and tired of fighting the good fight, Cain's expression softens bit by bit as he listens to the young man talk about family. He's suddenly struck by the same sense of standing on common ground like that first time they spoke, and Party set off into a rambling spiel full of idealism. He reminded Cain of himself then, and now...

Now he can't help but think of the cold night, and what sleeping outdoors can do to a pair of kids with messed up lungs.

"The trees are kind of nice," he agrees. "Listen, if you need anything-- Blankets, or something warm to drink...

"Not trusting anything, no offense, cityrat." He really doesn't mean it cityrat as a bad slur, either. If anything, there's a tinge of worry. "Need to keep a clear head to fight the good fight. Laced beverages aren't on my list, and I'm not saying you're going to give me a nice little roofie colada, but you never know."

And he leans forward, scratching at his cast. "Between you and me? The fact that they're always watching is enough to give me the heebie-jeebies. That everyone has a four and two ones on us... Not right." Though blankets? Blankets sounded okay.

Dryly, "Thanks for the vote of confidence." Which isn't Cain saying he doesn't agree with not trusting the aliens one bit. "I barely ate anything for nine months, kid. At least now, things taste like they should. Like you expect them to. When I came here, nothing did."

He sips the last of his coffee, moving out of frame to rinse it out in the sink. Kid didn't say anything about blankets being a bad thing, so he figures he's got to get moving.

Ducking back to pick up the tablet. "I'll get your position from the tablet. Be with you shortly."

"It's all poisoned. Sometimes if we're lucky we get lizard meat. Sometimes." That's irradiated, but that's besides the point. It's when Cain says he'll get his position that Party perks up and--yup, that's pure confusion. With a bit of suspicion mixed in as well, of course.

"Why? You don't gotta do nothin' for me, zonerat. You're forgetting the part where you're still a suspicious S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W."

"Word to the wise, redhead, I'm no more a city dwelling rat than an actual scarecrow, so cut the nickname. I'm a farmer, for goodness' sake."

He switches the feed to spare Party a lot of darkness as he pockets the tablet and goes about digging out a few spare blankets from his closet. "And you're forgetting the part where I'm from a completely different world from yours. No zones, no blind industries, just magic and darkness for a long, long time."

"S'not a bad thing." Well, it kind of was. "I mean, I'm a regular zonerat. Flat-out motorbaby, dust angel, you know? It's just... Kinda how I'm used to talking." He's moving, now, because if Kobra wakes up and finds Cain there he's going to flip and that's something Party just plain doesn't want to deal with.

He's curious, though, and he has to ask: "What did you farm? That job doesn't really exist in the desert."

"I'm a tin man. Capital T and M, back in the day. It's Central City slang for cop, but something we all embraced."

Blankets, a hot water bottle, yes, that'll do nicely. A couple of pillows... He gathers everything in a duffel bag and sets out, making small talk with someone outside his social comfort zone for the first time in who knows how long.

"Depended on the season. We had a patch right close to the house, with herbs and stuff. Potatoes, carrots, all kinds of cabbage. The kinds of things that would see us through the year. It wasn't my main occupation, mind, but it's how I was raised. I've always loved working the land."

He sets out into the night, looking for the Killjoys.

Party's chosen a good bit away from Kobra, a fair ways away, and he starts a coughing fit that lasts for a few moments before he talks, hunkering down against a tree once more. It's dim but that's the way Party likes it at night--pitch black.

"Tin Man," He repeats it a few times, as if comitting it to memory. "Well, where I come from, I don't talk to Pigs--uuh, cops. They're either Draculoids or S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/Ws and..." He trails off, before singing a few bars of something.

"Hold your breath when a black bird flies
Count to seventeen and close your eyes...

Move your body when the sunlight dies
Everybody hide your body from the scarecrow
Everybody hide.

"Y'know." He shrugs. "They're in a bad way. I still don't know about you it's hard to see people like doctors and pig--errr, Tin Mans on our side." There's a pause, and then, in a small voice:

"I don't remember liking cabbage."

Cain moves through the city with determination, listening to the younger man as he goes - talking and singing, singing of all things - and when his voice quiets down, Cain finds himself at a loss.

He's reminded of another time and place, when Paul made some sort of nature boy comment and he responded by humming the first few bars of that Otherside song by the same name.

This is no less significant.

While his voice is a bit rusty, like the rest of him, it's pleasant enough, ranged somewhere between a barytone and a tenor.

"Twenty-five years of my life and still
Trying to get up that great big hill of hope
For a destination.
I realized quickly when I knew I should
That the world was made for this
Brotherhood of man
For whatever that means..."

Doesn't matter if he's closer to 45, that's one of few Otherside songs that's stuck with him since he first heard it, almost a full annual ago.

Party knows the song--he knows it from Show Pony singing it in a rather campy fashion, normally to make Dr. Death-Defying laugh. It works, and Party clearly remembers their little girl singing it at the top of her lungs, hanging her curly haired head out the window of the trans-am. Simpler days.

Still, Party joins in because he just plain likes singing. It's relaxing, it's part of who he is: he's an artist. A musician. A rebel.

"What's goin' on, huh? I like that song," He admits. "I mean, the thing about music in the zones? If it's before the Wars, then you really gotta dig. BL\ind. censors a lot of stuff. Oh, but yeah. 4 Non Blondes are way cool. I always wondered what they look like. There's this scratched up CD but Dr. D keeps it. Or maybe it's vinyl.. He plays it sometimes, though. Grace--uuh.. My little girl," there's no better way of putting it. "She likes it best. Sings her tiny heart out everytime." He isn't sure why he's telling Cain this. Is there a level of trust, if tiny? Surely, there's no harm in telling him about Grace, the missle kid, is there?

Cain nods though there's no visual link between them, stepping onto the Orbis tram line that will take him to the forest in Wilde. He knows more about government censorship than he ever wanted to, and slippery though it may be it would seem they have found common ground. He sits down, listening to the young man prattle on, interjecting "Probably not blonde," here, a hum there, clearing his throat as Party talks about his little girl.

It's like a gun shot wound to the heart. Pain flares in all direction, and suddenly you can't breathe. Suddenly your heart just grinds to a halt.

For a moment he doesn't say anything, not even the slightest sound escapes him. Then he takes off his hat, sets it on top of the duffel at his side and wipes his face.

"Girl got pipes, huh?"

"Girl god pipes," Party echoes. There's a proud sentiment behind that. "She's only 9 years old but she can belt 'em out like the best of them." His back is to a large tree. His back against things make him feel safer, make him feel like he can handle things again. Sometimes Party feels like a rapid dog, all strained and scared, and if he could just have that brief peaceful moment in between the world trying to get him, that would be the happiest moment of his life. He wants to say that this discussion, this potential visit, is something damn close, and that Cain might be someone he can reach out to, but he knows if he gets his hopes up it's going to hell. So many things could happen.

The forest sounds nothing like the desert, and that creeps him out, but Kobra likes trees so they're camping out here, plain and simple, and his mind goes back to Grace and how it just felt better with the tiny body curled up against him and Ghoul when they all crashed for the night.

"Everyone thinks she's related to Jet," Party says softly. He knows Cain doesn't care but he's lost in his own thoughts. "She's not, but we all take care of her. It's the least we can do, I... Sometimes, even when she's not with me, I go to the Mailbox for her. Write everything down I want to tell her brother, her mom. I know they'll never get it, and that Grace already writes to them, but it's too different things. She's writing because she misses them, I..."

He closes his eyes, sighing.

"I'm tired, Cain."

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06 | VISUAL | LOCKED TO WYATT CAIN | CRASH AND BURN, YOUNG AND LOADED

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[visual] Apologizes for the shoddiness of my last post, cell phones suck to RP on.

[visual] no need! it's all good

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[visual -> audio]

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[audio] Location: Taxon Forest

[audio] Location: Taxon Forest

[audio] Location: Taxon Forest

[audio] Location: Taxon Forest

[audio] Location: Taxon Forest