milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

fire,
jack frost

(no subject)

'Ouch' pretty much describes Fire's entire state of being right now. Clothing covered in ash and dirt, blood dripping from wounds in her throat that look disturbingly like they've been inflicted by teeth. Her neck is burnt, burnt from cold and stained with handprint-bruises. She breathes painfully.

But she didn't technically lose, so that's alright, then.

She was only on Earth for a few moments, long enough to realize that she didn't have a place to sleep, long enough to realize that the bar was warm and friendly and had rooms she could sleep in, sleep and heal and wait for Frost's marks to fade from her body. And so it is that she returns, wincing as she half-walks, half-stumbles to the fireplace, curling up in an armchair in front of it.

Family, she thinks vaguely to herself, rubbing her neck, suck.

Ouch.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Hello."

It's a long time later, for Jack, he's showered and got most of the dirt off.

He smells like burnt wood, though. Can't shake that.

"Are you alright? I was taken care of," though he's walking with a limp, "but you left."

It's a hard scent to be rid of. There's no time where Fire doesn't smell like it, although there's undercurrents of ice to her right now.

"I'm fine."

Tilting her head back, closing one eye and surveying him through the other, "Frost's still sulking?"

"I have not checked."

He flags a rat down, asks for a wet cloth, a glass of tequila and a few bandages.

"Seen as he's not," a faint, bitter grin, "tearing my throat out right now, I would think that he is."

Rolling her eeys, "That'll teach me to go through doors before him."

"He likes blood."

He takes the tray from the rat, sets it on a coffee table and hands her the tequila then picks up the cloth.

"Let me?"

She's hurt, after all.

"He oughtn't to like mine."

Fire hesitates, then nods, taking the tequila. "Sure."

He touches two fingers, warm, out of courtesy, to her cheek and tilts her head to the side.

"It is who he is. You know that."

The cloth is gentle on her skin, edging around the cut. He can still taste the blood.

She stares off into space, into the flames crackling in the fireplace.

"Sometimes I wish he wasn't."

"It was cruel of you, to say things about her. She is the one things he cares for."

He's too modest (nervous) to count himself.

Fire snorts. "He'll tire of her soon enough."

If he doesn't, well...her opinion of him will grudgingly go up a notch.

"Shh."

He pushes her hair out of the way, and wipes where the blood has trickled.

"Leave them be."

"How do you live with him, Jack?"

It's an honest question. She half-closes her eyes, trusting him enough to relax.

"I have never lived any other way."

Brushing his fingers through her hair. She's safe, he doesn't have a treacherous bone in his body.

"He can be kind."

"You should try being your own person sometime."

She's almost falling asleep, here, glass of tequila held loosely in her fingers.

"It's scary and wonderful and strange and it takes too many thoughts."

"When I am in my home, he cannot come there."

That's the closest he has. That's where he goes when he needs space.

"I think I do alright, as I am. I would not throw him over if I had the choice."

"That's good."

Fire grins rather crookedly. "I would not mind so much if you overthrew him."

She most decidedly likes Jack better (or so she says).

"I like him," he chides. "And I like Styx. You could do better than to be so snide."

Soothing his fingers through her hair again.

"Hush, silly thing."

"I don't mind the hell-woman," Fire admits, "and Frost is not so bad."

"But," she adds, leaning into his touch, "I would like him better if did not prefer my blood."

"I know."

He sets about, gingerly, applying the bandage.

"It is what he was made for."

She hisses, flinching away from him, then forces herself to sit still.

"Yes, it was."

Which means that, really...Jack's more her brother then Frost is.

"Family should not try to kill one another."

"What happens between you and your brother is your own affair."

He shakes his head. He doesn't count. He doesn't want connection to any of this, any of the fighting. Any of the games. A firmer hand on her shoulder as he sorts out the bandage.

"Paying- paying special attention to my tattoo was. Was horribe. Of you. I am only here, I am just what's collateral, alright?"

There's a long, awkward pause, and Fire shrugs one shoulder.

"I am sorry, for that. I did not think of you, only of him."

"Thank you."

Apology accepted, he won't say another word about it.

"I cannot imagine having a sibling like him. He is just my- my safety."

"You're welcome."

She shrugs again, glancing at the fire.

"It's been an interesting ride."

"Do you regret it?"

He's still playing absently with her hair. Which he starts braiding, because it's long and everywhere.

Fire likes it long and everywhere. But she keeps her head still, lets him braid it.

"Sometimes, perhaps."

"I suppose one must at some point."

His fingers are nimble and quick, and tuck all the strands away neatly, looping into an elegant trail.

"There. Now it will not catch on the stickiness."

"That's what life's all about."

Fire smiles, catching the braid between her finger and thumb, tugging it lightly.

"It's pretty."

Belatedly, "Did someone help you?"

"When I first came in? Yes. They took me home, and I slept a few hours and had a shower."

It did him a world of good.

"My room means privacy. I do love it dearly."

"Does it have any decorations?"

She's curious as to what Jack's room would look like.

"It has things."

He can't explain it.

"Bits and pieces. Most of it is white. It is my life thus far."

Fire thinks about it for a moment.

"You should add some color."

"Not like that."

He shakes his head.

"I don't know the words. And I am not sure if showing you- you would be cut off from your power. You would just be a person there."

That's - interesting. Very interesting. So Fire shakes her head quietly.

"No. It's your room, not mine. Privacy, remember?"

A lopsided grin, tugging lightly on the end of her braid.

"No, I bring people there. Parker, and Mercutio, and Lethe and Johnny."

He drops his hands to his lap.

"I mean."

There's a very long pause.

"Your lovers."

There's a grin on her face, one that she's trying very hard to hide.

"Not Lethe nor Johnny," he says, defensively.

Because.

"They're. Lethe is innocent and Johnny would kill me."

"But," says Fire, "you bring your lovers there."

And oh, oh, Jack, "You would ask me there too?"

She won't accept, but it would be interesting to find out if he would.

"That is another unkindness."

He stands, and takes a step away from her.

"You sound like you're toying. I thought I had earned better at your hand. Forgive me, but I will leave you now."

Fire frowns, sighs. "I'm sorry, Jack. You have earned better."

Nods, "Thank you for your help."

"It amuses and frightens me," he says quietly, with vehemence, "that everyone I know tells me I deserve better from them, and not a single one has cared to treat me that way."

Turning, over his shoulder, as he walks off.

"I suppose that says something, about me, or about people, or maybe both."

Well.

Shit.

Fire curls up a little farther, and begins to slowly unravel the braid, staring into the fire.

Shit.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only