capeandcowllogs | and swoopy hair is a must

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and swoopy hair is a must

WHO: Trowa and Jaime
WHERE: Startin' around some hoity-toity museum and we'll roll from there
WHEN: How about May 11 while the woe is still fresh
WARNINGS: Baw
SUMMARY: Oh come on Jaime just because your mentor, your best friend who is a girl, and your girlfriend all ported out within two weeks of each other doesn't mean you're some special snowflake who should mope about it forever amirite.
FORMAT: No

The museum didn't open for another hour, so said the sign. 'OPEN MON 10-6, TUES 1-6, WED-FRI 10-6, SAT-SUN 9-6'. What the hell. What was so awesome about Tuesday that a guy can't get his history on before one? It annoyed him, and apparently only him; nobody else was standing on the top step staring blankly at the sign like it was written in Klingon. So much for killing time doing something educational.

Jaime stuffed his hands into his pockets and took a step backwards, turning lazily on his heel and stepping down steps heavily, three steps away from the sidewalk before deciding to sit down. The marble was warm from the sun, and he didn't run the risk of getting trampled by the business people scrambling to hail a cab or get across the street back to their offices after lunch hour. Everyone had plenty to do, and an aimless teenager would only get in the way.

He was trying really hard to keep his chin up, truth be told. He'd pushed a smile half-heartedly on his face when he bumped into Victor hours after Mark'd told him about Brenda. It was rough, but it was true what they say: pretend to be happy and you start to feel happy. He'd gotten through that with a helpful façade well enough, even if he did get rather transparent about it. Even my acquaintences know when I'm off. Jeez.

Friday, though...Well, since then, he'd not really bothered to try. Everyone seemed to be alright with that, and he only really gave the effort to joke it off when the support became so overwhelming. Everyone was trying their best to be there...But they shouldn't have to. Jaime had been there longer than any of them. Nonstop. No zapping back, no growing up or growing down...He should be used to it by now.

I should be used to it by now, he thought, staring at the shadows of the people bustling by. It shouldn't be this bad anymore.

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If there was in fact something so specifically rockin' occurring on Tuesdays that it was impossible for anyone participating to accept the existence of dinosaur bones the size of a human until after lunch, then at least one other person in the City had no idea what that something was. And he'd eaten a sandwich earlier, anyway, so even if he did know, he was by that point perfectly capable of acknowledging foreign bronze statues.

It bothered Trowa to no small degree that he didn't really know anything about the historic events of this era beyond a few vague details regarding both of the World Wars that had taken place in the previous century. Going by what he'd managed to gather from a few of Quatre's old textbooks--there had been some use in 01 and 04 going to school here for a while after all, apparently--he'd figured out that things had indeed rolled out in nearly the same fashion.

Hopefully, they would not do so forever. The prospect of this place experiencing the Third was a sobering thought.

Still, there was much that he'd never learned, not having been taught anything not absolutely essential to his life as a mercenary and suit pilot, and as time wore on he'd slowly come to the realization that his ongoing stay in the City would require additional information.

Especially if they were going to be forced to keep fighting--naturally, understanding the soldiers of this age would then become crucial.

...Besides which, he needed the mental escape from being forced to deal with certain unpleasant issues of his own.

Trowa turned from the sidewalk, starting up the staircase with the intention of hanging around by the doors and watching people go by on the street below; after getting seven steps up, he paused, then silently proceeded to walk in reverse back to the third and stare down at Jaime, who was sitting there like a lemon.

Well. That was certainly unexpected.

If the Scarab knew--and it did, it always knew--that someone familiar was approaching, it didn't so much as beep a warning. Despite all the things that had happened--the fight with the Reach, the hard reboot in the City, the influence of Desire...Khaji Da was still just as, if not more intuitive to Jaime's moods than ever. Whether it decided that alerting him was a good or bad idea, or perhaps it thought that a little company would cheer its mopey host body up, it stayed silent, observing in its own way as Jaime had to come to regard the pair of shoes next to him and the body hovering overhead. He squinted into the daylight as he looked up, not sure of who he was seeing right away until that rake of hair registered and--

Oh.

"Oh--" His throat was dry; he coughed to clear it, leaning back and tilting his head to get a better look. "Hey, man."

He could still remember the fight and how it had ended with the spiked shield; it surprised him to some degree that the... whatever-it-was that sourced Jaime's power didn't force some kind of reaction. That wasn't the sort of thing you were supposed to let register on your face in front of someone who probably continued to have guilt of one kind or another over it, though, and it wasn't as if he actually held that incident against the other teenager in any way, so he continued to maintain the outward appearance of feeling neutral about the meeting. No good making the other think he'd done something wrong. Again.

Doubly important when considering the downward spiral of Jaime's personal life as of late.

"Hey," Trowa replied, in no great hurry to bombard the other with useless niceties or pointless small talk.

Turning his attention from his friend to the steps underfoot, he 'hmm'ed thoughtfully and tapped the toe of his boot against the steps at a spot that was neither too close nor too far away from where Jaime presently happened to be.

"This staircase taken?"

Edited 2010-05-14 14:33 (UTC)

Jaime made an effort to be in good spirits, at least. He 'hmm'ed in return, lifting his shoulders high in a pseudo-nonchalant shrug. "I suppose I can allow one freeloader," he decided, his mouth twitching the trace of a smirk for a second. He needlessly drew his casually dangling leg up and propped his arm on the knee, like making space. "This is open to the 'people who don't think to check schedules online' crowd, though, so you kinda gotta try and look a bit disappointed or you'll get kicked off."

[OH PS YEAH THAT'S FINE you take care of that laptop gurl]

Edited 2010-05-14 14:42 (UTC)

The smirk felt a little more honest than any of the emotion propping up the joke; he'd lived long enough around Duo to recognize empty humor for the sake of other people's good spirits.

God of Death? Tch. God of Deflection, more like it.

...Although he suspected he'd get 'scythed if he ever mentioned that.

"Disappointed, huh? All right."

Hi, Jaime. You've just been unceremoniously booted off your own step by your own rules.

Talking with Trowa was tricky from Jaime's end. The naturally-quieter-and-in-the-background thing was enough, but then there was the whole and-then-I-killed-him thing that always resurfaced each time they made contact. Forgiveness or not, Jaime still couldn't forgive himself for that, nor could he shake the notion that he ducked some serious punishment he deserved for it. Maybe all this stuff now is karma paying me back.

Karma or no karma, it was up to him to talk, wasn't it? The shoulders that'd be shrugged up were rolled slowly until they cracked, and he felt less tensed up. It was a start, but he wasn't sure how much of a mind either of them had for stupid chit-chat. It made for a very pregnant pause before anything else was said.

"You've been okay?"

If he'd been able to read Jaime's thoughts, he would have offered the point that he didn't believe in karma up as some kind of comfort; as it was, the only advice he might have had on tap just then was that sometimes life was just a bitch for bitchdom's sake. But this wasn't the lecture-the-friend power hour. Just two people sitting and watching the lady across the street walking a beribboned, fuzzy white puff of something that Trowa suspected might once have been descended from dogs.

"Mm," he offered, purposely avoiding either acknowledging or denying his own emotional status. "I've been around."

A glance in Jaime's direction, thinking of the oddly-named music that had been mentioned in their last conversation; it was both an actual question by someone severely lacking in pop culture references and a general nudge about how he was doing after Abby's disappearance.

"Linkin Park?"

His expression read "Bzuh?" at the remark, slow on the uptake. Jaime made to vocalize bzuh just as his brain caught on and it clicked. "Oh--Oh, pff--" He cracked a smile, bringing a hand to his forehead, a facepalm for his own facepalm-worthy notions coming back to haunt him. He gave a laugh--Doesn't Brenda have a rule against making these kinds of things into verbs?

"Ah, well...Maybe a little," he admitted. "But now that you mention it, I better hurry up and get over it, because..." A shake of the head. "It'd be pretty sucky to be defined by that."

The comment made him frown, the notion that being defined by music would be bad going right over his head; the way he saw it, whether or not he liked a specific piece, people made the stuff--all of it--because it would mean something to someone, somewhere. If these 'Linkin Park' people had written songs that were appropriate for others in low moods, then why would there be shame in listening to their work if you fit that category at the time?

There were a number of nuances to normal life he would likely never quite get.

"You don't have to hurry," he said, straightening up a bit to look at his friend properly, and not from under a curtain of hair. "It's your right not to."

Jaime had every intention of diffusing the sincere, serious nature of the talk with some kind of almost-witty remark--his knee-jerk response when things got less than casual. He probably would have if the retort came to mind faster and it was someone else he was talking to. As it stood, the best he could respond with was a dubious sound as he tilted his head away, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. It's an unsaid rule that dudes don't talk to other dudes about their feelings--he was sure about that.

"Maybe," he offered lamely, not even sure if that was the right thing to reply with. "I mean--sure. I guess. But I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get my ass kicked for zoning out during the next pizza night if I keep that kinda thing up." A half-hearted smirk. "And it's not like I enjoy feeling like shit--" Crap.

There were a lot of unsaid rules that Trowa had gotten confused on; after talks with Heero in which he was told to act on his emotions, and constantly being around someone who couldn't help doing anything but register other people's feelings, it had become something of a habit to discuss them. If there was anything unusual about doing so, he'd forgotten it.

(Besides which he also disliked other people hiding themselves and pretending to be something they weren't--amusing, given his own personality, but nobody ever said the boy wasn't a walking pile of contradictions.)

"You shouldn't worry that way. They'd probably understand, if you let them."

He didn't make any remarks to the tone of 'aha, caught you', no matter how tempting it might have been to be smug about it; this was neither the time nor the place, and in any case he actually liked Jaime too much to be catty.

The smirk had watered off pretty fast for lack of heart to keep it there. Jaime's gaze fell back down to the steps and the occaisional passing shadows that were starting to shrink away as the sun creeped. Nothing substantial or noticeable-- not unless you've got an alien bug that can ticker off those kinds of things for...seemingly no reason. Khaji Da doesn't like me like this, that's all. Even if I'm more likely to want to blow something up. He knows better, too.

He wasn't sure about the letting. Or rather, the they. Everyone had their plate full enough or...well, he wasn't lacking in friends, but not all of them were the Sit Down and Talk About Our Feelings type. Most of those type're gone anyway, he thought dryly, exhaling a laugh to match.

"I guess..." he started, already trailing off. "I guess it's just a little too heavy right now. It's never not, even if I keep watching everyone disappear and pop back in, but I guess...I kind of got used to that part. Like, I decided I wasn't going to really panic about it for a week. Because sometimes it's just a small thing, you know?"

He paused, shrugging up his shoulders and scratching his cheek, still talking to the steps. "But now everything's just, like, piling on. Graduating and the DC thing and all this insane political stuff I can't even begin to figure out, and..." Another pause, swallowing. "It's like. I don't know. All my supports are getting knocked out from under me while all this stuff goes down. Nick and Brenda..." Pause. "Abby." His hand drew away and laced fingers with the other, propped up on his knees. Jaime's head sank, forehead resting heavy on top of them. Can't even say the names without...

Edited 2010-05-22 13:25 (UTC)

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and swoopy hair is a must

And the one person in the City who will let him mope if he so pleases

my sparkly shonen bff tears let me show you them

and we're not even in outer space! :O

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