outerfringe

Metal, then. Told Quentin I'd send him some vinyls if we make it out of here. I'll hook you up, too.

[Jeff is under no illusions about their likelihood of escape. It's a platitude for himself, a self-soothing balm, because he refuses to just give up entirely. He'll keep looking for that glimmer light through the fog as long as he's able to.

(Not that he's immune to despair. Not that things don't feel just a little more crushingly futile every single time he watches someone skewered by a hook. Dangerous, stupid thoughts-)

He shakes his head.]

You'd like moshing.

[ david breathes a soft laugh through his nose, another one that doesn't reach his eyes, and he shakes his head. ]

Nah, I'm not...

[ he swallows, takes another drink, and puts the bottle down between them. ]

Self-control isn't exactly my strong suit.

[ he's not like jeff, he's like the dickhead who almost blinded him. ]

[Jeff glances sideways at him for a moment, then down at the bottle David had offered to share with him.]

Dunno, man. Maybe you weren't before.

[But none of them are the people they used to be. He rolls his shoulder in a shrug, then starts to peel off his own jacket - it's warm enough by the fire already.]

But you'd know better than me.

I was a fighter for a reason, mate. I--

[ hm. no. he stares at the fire and shakes his head again. ]

Vinyls though. I'd like that.

You'd go back to it? We wake up at home tomorrow.

[Jeff folds his jacket in his lap just to have something to do with his hands. There's no judgment in his question, just sincere curiosity.]

Probably, yeah.

[ he's got years of pent-up violence and anger in him at this point. ]

Win every fight too, way this fuckin' place has pissed me off.

[Jeff exhales a breathless little laugh, and he has to admit now that the drink is getting to his head a little. He can't remember the last time he was drunk. It's a nice feeling to sink into.]

I'm telling you, man. Watercolors.

[ david laughs, a genuine one this time, still smiling when he looks aside at jeff. ]

Tell you what. You find some watercolours and I'll paint as many happy little trees or whatever as you want.

Don't tell me that. I'll start grinding up flowers. Let you design my next tattoo.

[Not that Jeff has any idea how to actually make paints of his own, but whatever, it's a fun threat to make - and privately, he's pleased that the smile seems more sincere than the ones before.]

Yeah? How much space've you got on your back?

[ he can picture it now, the ugliest landscape in this dimension or any other, just for jeff. ]

[He laughs out loud at the response, a surprised bark of sound.]

Plenty. But we'll all have to match, yeah? Solidarity in survival.

[ he doesn't think he's ever heard jeff laugh like that, and it makes the smile on david's face widen into a grin, part of him privately thrilled he managed to pull that out of him, as quiet and withdrawn as jeff is. ]

Sounds good to me. Ugly survivor tats designed by yours truly for the whole lot.

[He'd be a little embarrassed by it if it weren't for David's grin and the gentle hum of the liquor. He ties his hair back and has another swallow of it. Eyes focused on the fire, but the laugh has left a slight smile in its wake.]

I'll clean it up into something good, don't worry.

What about my artistic vision, Jeff?

[ he reaches over to take the bottle, managing for all of .3 seconds to act like he's in any way offended by jeff's hypothetical cleaning of his hypothetical art. maybe it's the booze or maybe he's just had his mood sufficiently lifted (it's both) but the whole idea just seems stupidly funny to him. ]

I'll keep it to constructive criticism, then. Want you to be the best artist you can be.

[But this is such an idiotic conversation and Jeff can't help but be amused by every bit of it. He watches David take the bottle and wonders if he's ever enjoyed drinking anything this utterly foul so much before.]

I'll be your mentor. Help you find your muse.

Lucky me. Got the best artist in the fog to annoy.

[ he definitely hasn't enjoyed a drink this horrible before, not so oddly genuinely at least, nor has he felt this good in... fuck, it's been a long time. since before he arrived, probably. warm and relaxed with that gentle haze settling in his head. ]

What about you?

[ hopping topics, he's sure jeff can follow what with how he gives no warning or indication of where his thoughts are going. ]

[Jeff is silent for a moment, considering, because he's definitely missed a jump here and he's not quite sure what David's asking. He gives him a sideways look, eyes narrowed.]

You want me to be your muse? I'm flattered, man.

[Who knew that dicking around and pretending like you weren't trapped in an eternal hellscape for a few minutes was so good for the soul?]

No-- [ he laughs ] I mean, sure.

[ he does actually get distracted by that for a second, thinking about it with his eyes narrowed. the word certainly brings to mind someone more feminine, but jeff's handsome and he's kind and he probably has a million better ideas than david could come up with. could be worse. ]

[ --wait. he shakes his head and sits up properly with a grunt, putting the bottle down after another deep pull. ]

I mean we get outta here, you wake up back home like none of this shit happened. Do you just go back to your old life or nah?

[The response leaves him chuckling, and Jeff considers what's left in the bottle, tries to gauge how much he should slow down. He hasn't drink to get drunk in a long time, but it's not like either of them are sharing this for the taste of it.]

I mean. Yeah. Mostly?

[He plucks a bit of scrubby grass from the ground, shreds it with his fingernail before tossing it into the fire.]

Might... get out more. Join a book club or something, I don't know. [People on the whole are less frightening after countless brutal deaths at the hands of serial killers.] But I was happy.

[ happy, huh. david envies that. he doesn't think he's ever known what that feels like outside of fleeting moments. ]

You should, when you get back.

[ 'when' he says. they all know there's no getting out of here, not in any way that's good, but it's nice to pretend. make believe that if they escape enough trials or come up with the right plan then they can go home. ]

A book club though? You and a bunch of middle-aged bints reading about fuckin'... I dunno. Some feel-good bullshit.

[Part of Jeff knows that they're probably never getting out, but the rest of him isn't ready to accept it. Isn't ready yet to give up that hope. He worries that there won't be any turning back when be does.]

I don't know. Where do people in their thirties meet other people?

[He's chuckling despite himself.]

I'm not a very interesting dude.

That's not true.

[ david says it instantly, zero thought or hesitation. ]

Fuckin'... Artist covered in ink who brews his own beer. Funny, listens to vinyls.

[ sounds interesting to him. jeff shouldn't be so down on himself. ]

And you're nice.

[It's probably just because he's approaching drunk, but Jeff flusters pleasantly under the compliment. He likes himself just fine, but he's never really considered himself fascinating.]

Only so long someone can talk about beer.

[Gentle ribbing, a callback to earlier.]

But thanks. Yeah, I'm alright. What about you? What would you change.

Change about what?

[ he goes back to his half-reclined position against the log. ]

You go back tomorrow. Back to fighting, sure, but you can't tell me you're changing nothing.

[Jeff mimics the position, stretching his back against the log as he does. Not as effective as a foam roller, but not bad.]

No book clubs?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject