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why would i want to watch you disconnect and self-destruct
After two hours of wandering around downtown LA at night, it occurs to Brody that he has nowhere else to go.
He left his money and valuables -- a plastic shopping bag full of expensive leather wallets, watches, rings, cufflinks, and cash, some of it blood-stained -- in his room. He could hustle for the money for a place but he really doesn't feel like it, hasn't felt like it in a long time. He could kill for it, but he isn't hungry, there's no guarantee whoever he picks will be carrying cash, and anyway he doesn't feel like putting in enough effort to get rid of the body. There's no one he knows well enough in New York to crash with, not considering his situation. There's definitely no one in LA. He can't spend the night on the street and he doesn't want to go hang out in the sewers again. It's disgusting and it stinks.
He comes slinking back to the Room instead, relieved that Harvestman isn't there anymore. He doesn't want to talk to him right now. He knows he's being unreasonable, but it bothers him that all of a sudden he's treating him like a child when he's been expected to be an adult for the past year, and it upsets him that it's taken him a year to get around to caring enough to bring it up. Then why do you insist on doing it by yourself? He felt like screaming, still feels like screaming. Because I've fucking had to.
But talking makes it worse. He can scream it until he's blue in the face -- not that that can happen anymore -- and it won't change anything. It won't help. It won't make him feel any better.
It takes him a long time to knock on Lucas' door, clutching a jar full of dirt with his creepy dead dog sitting at his feet. He's been wearing the same clothes for weeks.
He left his money and valuables -- a plastic shopping bag full of expensive leather wallets, watches, rings, cufflinks, and cash, some of it blood-stained -- in his room. He could hustle for the money for a place but he really doesn't feel like it, hasn't felt like it in a long time. He could kill for it, but he isn't hungry, there's no guarantee whoever he picks will be carrying cash, and anyway he doesn't feel like putting in enough effort to get rid of the body. There's no one he knows well enough in New York to crash with, not considering his situation. There's definitely no one in LA. He can't spend the night on the street and he doesn't want to go hang out in the sewers again. It's disgusting and it stinks.
He comes slinking back to the Room instead, relieved that Harvestman isn't there anymore. He doesn't want to talk to him right now. He knows he's being unreasonable, but it bothers him that all of a sudden he's treating him like a child when he's been expected to be an adult for the past year, and it upsets him that it's taken him a year to get around to caring enough to bring it up. Then why do you insist on doing it by yourself? He felt like screaming, still feels like screaming. Because I've fucking had to.
But talking makes it worse. He can scream it until he's blue in the face -- not that that can happen anymore -- and it won't change anything. It won't help. It won't make him feel any better.
It takes him a long time to knock on Lucas' door, clutching a jar full of dirt with his creepy dead dog sitting at his feet. He's been wearing the same clothes for weeks.
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"Something has happened."
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Shoes are easier to fixate on.
He doesn't say anything for a few long moments. Then, "Can I stay here for a few days."
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"Yes."
Then he pauses and steps forward to smooth a hand over Brody's hair. "Yes. For as long as you wish."
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"If there is anything you need..."
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Apparently he decides not to comment on it, though.
"I'm fine." He glances at the dog instead. It's just sitting there, staring and very unnaturally still, like a statue. Probably he shouldn't have brought it, but he didn't want to leave it at home. He's pretty sure it's not going to try to eat Lucas as long as he's here, anyway.
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"May I hold you," he asks quietly.
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"Do you wish to talk?"
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Exhale. "No." This is not new.
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Even if not all of his concerns ended up voiced, their last conversation was tense enough for Lucas to want nothing more than a return to the norm, at least for some time. He pets the back of Brody's hair rhythmically as he thinks.
"I can speak, if you wish. There is also a television, and the bed is clean." This is deserving of mention since it usually isn't.
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It is easier for Lucas to speak when he doesn't try to also follow someone else's thoughts. He closes his eyes so that he can talk into that black vacuum, outside of uncertainty, restrictions, and language barriers.
"I have found books. I do not often read, but I have thought there may be books that will give me the words I lack for speaking of my position."
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Boring. He frowns and changes the subject, gingerly. "I spoke with Alexi."
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"It is strange, how people in these places forgive so much."
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"I have decided to acquire a phone. A smart one, if it is possible. I no longer wish to be confused by your references."