milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Before moonrise, long before, just pretend this was posted earlier if you're into that kind of thing, Spoon was in the bar with a small supper, a pot of tea, and a book.

He's finding it hard to concentrate on the book, but he's giving it his best shot.

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"... just what the hell kind of person do you think I am?"

Now Sam's getting angry.

"A vigilante monster hunter." Spoon says in an even voice, "Who I want to be utterly certain understands that I am not a monster. If my own government could do this to me, why should I trust someone who has no laws to follow other than what he creates? I know you even less than you know me."

"'No laws to follow other than what he creates,'" he repeats, flatly.

A beat.

"Kinda like you, right?"

"No." Spoon says, "I follow the laws of my country when I am there, my God at all times, my culture, and my alpha. I function within whatever society I am in according to the rules of that society. I have laws and rules from every fuckin' direction, and I follow them religiously."

He waves one hand at the room, but his gaze doesn't waver. Sam looks even more pissed off than before, if possible.

"Welcome to Milliways. 'No business in the bar,' or didn't you get that news? I sure did."

"So if I'm supposed to be giving you credit for living by some sort of moral code, you can damn well do the same for me."

Spoon takes a deep breath, then rubs his hands over his face around his fag, "I'm not saying you are a monster. I believe I started out by saying that I don't know you more than you know me. I fear what you are out there, and I'm fuckin' trying to deal with it by giving you enough information to understand me, instead of just following the fuckin' rules. So fuckin' sorry if not expecting you to deal with your ignorance through more ignorance is offensive."

"No, actually, you got into this by pointing out you've got no reason to trust me because of what I do," Sam grits out. "Which, okay-- you've been through hell. I remember you mentioning that before, even. So yeah, I get it. Fine."

"But you've got a hell of a lot of nerve preaching at me when you just got finished telling me how you tried to eat some guy here and then beat the shit out of him after that, rules or no."

Spoon holds up one finger (the index, thank you), stands, and walks to the Bar. There is some spirited discussion on his part and he returns with a file. It's at least two inches thick, discounting the box of videos which were even harder to talk her out of. The lot is dropped on the table in front of Sam.

"I'm trying to trust you enough to be honest." the werewolf says, very quietly. Then he lights another fag.

Silence. Sam stares at him, then at the file, then back at him.

"Are you for real?"

"Philosophical question I've been fuckin' trying to figure out since January or so." Spoon says, blowing a stream of smoke up into the air above his face, "What defines a person? What is real? Fuckin' reduced to less than an animal, clawing me way back up to sommat that speaks, laughs, and loves. Am I real? Dunno. Dunno if I'm Ronald Witherspoon anymore, even, or if I'm sommat new with old memories."

He points at the file and box, "That? That I'm fuckin' sure about. That's real. Up to you if what came out of it is real or not. I'm not fuckin' good at human society. I've got fragmented memory from before, and I've got about half a year of practical experience. I'm trying, and I'm not saying I'm doing it well, but it's the best I've fuckin' got. Now sit and read."

He raises his eyebrows.

"If it's all the same to you, I'll take it with me."

"Fair enough." Spoon says, shrugging and leaning back, "Me doctor is Kim Ford, she's from here. Don't eat before watching the videos." The advise is given in the same even tone as the information of who Spoon's doctor is.

He doesn't say we've met, or my brother knows her. Instead, Sam just nods.

"I'll keep it in mind."

A beat.

"Thanks."

And then he's gone, and the files with him.

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