acatalepsy_rpg | video | dated at the very end of week one

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video | dated at the very end of week one

[The video opens on a patch of dirt, a leg stretched out along one edge of the screen. Next to the leg a number of very small muddy spots map out a connect-the-dots picture that more creative minds - or just anyone who's ever been a bored teenager - might recognize as a sort-of accurate depiction of one particular x-rated body part. A voice, cracking and hoarse like it has to drag itself over gravel to get its words out, starts speaking immediately.]

Hey, you know what makes me-

[His coughing is harsh and wet but it's only a few seconds before it stops. Hank mutters a curse under his breath, just audible, and hacks up a loogie, spitting it so it lands just so off the end of the art in the dirt next to him. The dirt there goes wet and dark, and with this artistic rendering of a drop of splooge, his masterpiece is complete. When he leans back the camera's in a different position; in the opposite corner from the dirt the screen shows the massive head of a Saint Bernard, taking up a good part of the screen and the majority of Hank's lap.]

You know what makes me feel better when I'm feeling like shit? Bitching about it. Let's bitch, guys. Tell me how shitty you've got it right now. It's not like anyone's got anything else to do here, right? I mean, not unless someone can get this big furry boulder to unglue itself from my lap. I'd have something to do if he'd just play. Look, watch this, it's pathetic.

Hey, Sumo. Fetch.

[Anyone with motion sickness might want to look away; the screen jerks around wildly as the arm with the camera on it moves to grab a rock and hold it in the air like Hank's going to throw it. Then the screen goes still again as Hank has to lean forward to cough, his dog's big, placid face now taking up the whole view. Sumo gives a single low whuff, lifts his head, and apparently settles himself right over the camera because the screen goes dark. There's the muffled sound of Hank cursing, trying to say Sumo's name between coughs, and then nothing as Hank manages to work his other hand under Sumo's jaw and shut the recording off.]

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Then why did you say anything in the first-

[He stops, then leans back and nods to himself, his voice getting that enlightened tone again.]

Oh, I get it. You're just bitching. You decided to spill your guts to a cop after all, it's just, what you wanted to spill em about was me. Took me a minute but, you know, let it all out.

[He twirls his hand in front of the camera, encouragingly.]

It's not good to let all that stuff build up, you know. Twists you up on the inside. Makes you constipated.

Hell no--!

[And now it's Firo's turn to throw himself into a coughing fit, though this instead from the force of his outburst than laughter.

When he recovers with one final wheeze, he glares at the screen. Where was he?]

I'm not spilling my guts to you. I'm just talking about what you're doing!

Oh yeah, I see that. I mean it kinda looks like your body wants you to spill your guts a little bit but hey, don't let me tell you what to do. Us detectives, we heard it all, we're real good at listening to whatever, so if you wanna just talk to me in a real angry way, feel free.

If you're inviting me to do it, then that's the last thing I wanna do.

[Which may have been Hank's plan all along. God damn it.]

And you look just as sick as me. Haven't you ever heard of not throwing stones if you live in a glass house?

[Maybe the comment about spilling his guts wasn't making fun of him for coughing, but Firo's not usually a "give the benefit of the doubt" kind of guy.]

[Firo's maybe smart to reserve his doubt. Its benefit would absolutely have been wasted.]

Well if you want to listen to my problems all you gotta do is say the word. Maybe I don't know what we're throwing stones about, but that sounded like an invitation.

[He sighs, which results in a rasp, which then leads to him clearing his throat. ...Moving right along.]

All right, if you wanna give somebody dirt on you-- [Said wryly. He's joking! Probably!]--be my guest. Hit me with it.

[He's really more like Hank than he'd care to admit, at least in this respect. The problems of a stranger are an excellent distraction from his own--he can always tell himself someone has it worse.]

Welp.

[Hank folds his arms, staring up at the sky and gathering up his woes.]

Let's see. There's not a single thing to do in this stupid goddamn place except sit here and cough my lungs up while everyone tells me what great, wonderful shit we're supposed to be out there doing, I can't fuckin sleep, the no-lunch thing is fucking me up, who the hell doesn't eat lunch? I can't ever remember to get to the stupid kitchen at the right time. And wine? What the fuck is that shit, a glass of wine with every meal, I feel like I should be holding my fuckin pinky out every time I drink it. And like, look, have you ever had a big dog lay on you for a long time? Do you know the places I'm sweating? Sumo has no idea how warm he is, and he doesn't have a couch so he's been trying to sleep with me, and it is not warm enough for that. Or maybe that's the fuckin fever, but like, kid, I need so many showers.

[He can go on. He might go on, if somebody doesn't stop him.]

[A small smile flickers onto his face at the wine complaint; he hears you, pal.]

Setting aside that some of that was way more information than you should ever tell anybody--

[He doesn't need to know about your shower habits.]

--I'm working on a way to fix the wine thing, as long as you're not too picky about how it looks or tastes.

Me? Nah. I can learn not to be. I mean, we do what we must, right?

[Hank leans toward the camera, looking distinctly interested.]

So you're making some kinda still?

[He has no idea what goes into that, how hard or easy it might be with what they have around here. Honestly, he's never given a shit about how all that's done. Suddenly, for some mysterious reason, he finds himself really invested.]

...I've still gotta figure that out. That's phase 2. I might have to wait until we go to another place that's got the equipment to make something like that.

[It's the delicate glassware and tubing he's worried about--he'd have to dig into Barnes's memories to make sure he's doing it right, and he's not so sure he could find that stuff lying around at the temple.]

What I've got now's more of the pruno kind. You know, stick it all in a jar and let it ferment. My first batch's already done.

Huh. Well, what're you taking for payment? I mean, I'm assuming money's not worth shit here.

What've you got? Did you come here with anything?

[Hank raises his eyebrows.]

You met me when I got here, man. You saw what I came here with. I came here with my boxers, my dog, and my hangover. The first two aren't for sale, and it kinda feels like we're all feeling the last one. And you said you're not an animal guy, so I can't even bribe you with Sumo's company.

[He gives a 'what can you do' sort of grimace, shrugging.]

I don't know, is there anything you want done? Within reason?

Point.

[Hank was pretty much letting it all hang out when he first showed up.]

What're your skills?

[Hank huffs, incredulous.]

Kid - Firo - I haven't done a job interview in about three decades, I'm not about to break that streak now. You tell me what you want, and we'll talk from there. Okay?

One question's a job interview?

[He hasn't done one ever, so he genuinely has no clue.]

I don't have anything I need now, so... you'll owe me a favor for when I do. Sound good?

Long as you let me say no without goin all gangster on me, yeah. That sounds good. How's the exchange rate on those favors? Is your shitty jar booze worth one favor per bottle?

Hold on. Are you just gonna say no to anything I'd ask you to do?

[The thought makes him laugh - and then cough, but he's maybe getting used to that, and is still grinning a little once it stops.]

No, I'm good for it. I just don't know you well enough to promise anything, that's all. And you don't know me well enough to trust my word. Maybe what you and me need is some good old fashioned trust exercises.

Trust exercises? [He doesn't know what those are, and from his tone he's not interested in learning.] All right, fair enough. You know, I wouldn't ask you to kill somebody or anything.

[Just in case he was worried about that.]

Well I wasn't even thinking that but thanks for reassuring me.

[He'll just take a second here, looking vaguely amused and a little less vaguely creeped out, then raises his eyebrows and pulls a doubtful face.]

I really doubt you make good enough stuff to kill for, anyway.

[SIGH. It is true, though; even Firo has to admit that his first batch wasn't amazing.]

Do you wanna try some or not? We can go and get it now--one favor a glass.

[High? Of course. He expects some negotiation.]

Bullshit one per glass. If that stuff's what it sounds like, you'll be lucky if it's worth one for every two bottles.

[He could go taste it to see, but. Dog. And also he kind of doesn't want to move. That shouldn't be enough to fuck with his negotiating, though.]

Two for a bottle. This is the only game in town, unless you wanna be stuck sticking your pinky out with whatever Astoria decides to give us.

Being the only game in town doesn’t make a shitty drink taste any better. One per bottle is all you’re getting - unless you want something smaller, anyway. Are we talking ‘hey mow my lawn’ sized favors or are we talking ‘hey let this guy hide out in your basement for a while’?

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