ninefox | Fine Zinc Teeth

Entry tags:

Fine Zinc Teeth

There was a time Jedao would have said that half a century was barely any time; less than a mortal life, not more than two generations. But the world has changed so much since he first put the Americans' uniform on. Even the uniform has changed - they don't call dance halls dance halls any more, for another thing. But the smell of the place - sweat, desire, alcohol - that much is the same.

He slinks in under a stranger's face, although he doesn't disguise his own scent when he smiles, glittering, at the bouncer: a flashed lure that Fives might not even notice or recognize, let alone pursue. It took a few months to get someone to handle all the things which apparently needed handling for his "retirement", and a few more to track down one particular squad of decommissioned weretroops, out of thousands, mostly paperless, in the busiest city this side of the Pacific. But Jedao did find them.

He dances without keeping track of the time, lets his face slowly slide back to its default arrangement, lets his spine relearn how to hold him up without being army rigid. He has several drinks - people buy them for him, which is nice; one or two of them he even dances with until they can't keep up with him any more. Fives rotates from the receiving line onto the floor as the night wears on and patrons get drunker, and he maneuvers himself into Fives' line of view, always moving, twisting, flashing glances that catch on Fives' eyes as the beat hits. Slowly, as if by the whim of the music, he draws closer.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Sounds delicious," Jedao says cheerfully.

Fives grins just about wide enough to split his face. "It does, doesn't it?" And he's maybe sitting a bit closer to the General than is strictly necessary as he cradles his paper cup in his hands... and then sighs, puts it down, and pulls his phone back out of his pocket. He's been diligently ignoring the way it's been vibrating away in his pocket since moments after he texted Rex, and now he rolls his eyes as he looks at the string of notifications.

"Told you Rex would have kittens," he tells the General, amused more than anything as he starts reading, and then laughing. "And that Cody would talk him down, at least a little. But they do want to know if you're all right with beef. And potatoes and carrots." He turns to grin at the General. "Rex and Cody have decided that roast beef is some kind of traditional dinner, so they roll it out for every special occasion." And fortunately always have plenty of beef on hand, given the calorie requirements of a small apartment full of way too many very large werewolves.

"I think there's a ballad about it, actually," Jedao muses. "So it must be tradition for somebody. And yes, that's just fine."

He types a quick answer in about the food, and ignores all the other questions other than to assure them that, yes, the General is actually here and is actually coming, no he's not just having them on, and to agree to keep him away for at least another hour so they can clean up as well as possible and make sure dinner preparations are well under way.

"A ballad? About roast beef? Huh." He tips his head a little and then grins. "There're definitely worse things to write songs about than good food." He shoves his phone away, ignoring how it starts vibrating again, and picks up his cup. "So, how do you want to kill an hour or so before we head over?" He's comfortable enough now, or at least making himself be, that he doesn't even have to strain not to tack a sir onto the end of every question or comment.

Jedao whistles a few jaunty bars, then raises an eyebrow.

"Am I boring you already?"

Fives laughs, eyes crinkling almost shut. "That's actually about roast beef?" He's positively charmed by the very idea.

"What? No. I just... I didn't think you'd want to just sit here for an hour." He assumes it'll take much less time than that for him to bore the general if all there is to do is talk to him.

"The young are always restless," Jedao says with a wistful and deeply hypocritical sigh. "We just got here." He makes a futile attempt to wriggle back into the couch cushions a little more.

"What's your favorite thing about the city so far?"

"Well, we didn't get much choice in that, we were designed to be, after all," he points out with a wry smile. A smile that turns into a grin at the question. "Do I have to pick just one thing?" he asks, turning to pull one knee up onto the couch between them so he can face the general more fully.

"There's so much. All the different kinds of food, and all the people. People like us, even." Many of whom don't have any interest in interacting with them because of their artificial origins, but it's still fascinating to him to see them. "And the way it's all lit up at night. And the children. They're everywhere, just... tiny people with no responsibilities but to be and to grow." And to sometimes play with eager 'dogs' who make an appearance at the playground.

Jedao smiles, a far softer expression that Fives has ever seen on him before.

"You can have as many favorites as you like, Fives."

Fives takes that as permission to keep going. "There's a restaurant three blocks down from here that makes food spicier than I ever imagined food could be, and they made fun of me and Hevy when we asked them to give us the spiciest thing on the menu. I don't think they expected us to be able to eat it?" He's grinning still, leaving forward a little, eager and happy. "It was amazing. They're nice to us when we come in now, and I'm learning some of the language.

"And hot dogs. They're not spicy, but have you seen all the different things you can put on them? I'm not sure there's anything you can't put on a hot dog. And sometimes the kids at the park have them." And feed them to aforementioned eager dog when he comes wiggling and squirming around to play with them. "They usually just have them plain or with ketchup or mustard, though.

"Oh, and music. There are so many different kinds of music, and a lot of what they play at the club doesn't make any sense if you actually listen to what they're saying, but it feels good, you know?"

And he realizes he's been babbling for entirely too long and winces a little. "What do you like best here, General?" he asks sheepishly.

He laughs at the bewildered restauranteurs, and nods along with the rest of it, licking danish crumbs off his fingers in little pensive flicks as he considers the question.

"America is a land of people who have no idea who they are, and every confidence that they are who they want to be. I think there's something deeply lovely about that."

His mouth quirks into something bright and toothy. "And we both love overkill and going very fast."

"We can't afford a car," he confesses. Or motorcycles. Definitely not a plane, though they all know how to fly them. "But Hevy and Hardcase like watching Nascar."

"Men of taste and refinement," Jedao says, very dryly, eyes sparkling. "Just as I always suspected."

He finally picks up his cup - fox now regrettably dropping, mostly melted back into the drink, and runs a fingertip around the rim.

"When I first came here, it was the railroad." He gets a slightly dreamy look. "Hell to build, backbreaking, but the thing itself - like an iron dragon with one great eye, always billowing smoke, roaring relentless across the curve of the earth."

He slips back out of his reverie, fixes Fives with a look somewhere between stern teacher and the sort of bitter man who writes letters to the editor about the lax morals of teenagers. A this is an important pronouncement on the State of Things sort of look. "The fall of the railroad is a modern tragedy."

Edited 2018-05-19 08:27 (UTC)

Fives listens, rapt. He has an insatiable thirst for information and experience, to learn all the things that were denied them before they were decommissioned and set loose in the real world with few resources and almost no skills beyond war.

"Yes sir," he intones solemnly, eyes wide and more than a little enraptured.

Jedao takes a sip of the latte, makes an odd expression, then drinks a larger gulp.

"I'm a savage thing. But sometimes even I get tired of killing. I suppose it's no wonder I'm thinking of those days. I got out of China in '64, and America felt just as ruined as I did. But it was all new, brash and square and utterly foreign, and that helped. And building something helped. I learned the language in time to be a boss for a crew of a dozen, who didn't know ten words of English between them. They'd all been in the Taiping rebellion too, of course, although I'd never met them before."

Some part of his mind can't help comparing the Dominos and the brothers who've thrown in with them to his old railway boys; it's a bad habit of his, getting attached after losing too much. He talks about the work instead, since Fives is fascinated, all the digging for flat stable trenches, blasting with raw black powder and then nitroglycerin through the Sierras, running the flatcar up the to the railhead and kicking the heavy rails off two by two and laying them on the ties. He uses a pair of straws and a sugar packet to demonstrate the proper method of bolting a fishplate.

Fives hardly blinks, he's so caught up in the General's story, trying to imagine the places and people and things he describes, picturing mountains and metal and men instead of the mundane surroundings of the little cafe they're sitting in. It makes him wish he could have been there: the magnificent vistas, the harsh conditions, the camaraderie of men doing any truly dangerous work, be they soldiers or laborers. He wonders what it would be like to build something with his brothers, something solidly tangible and important, rather than kill and destroy, or scatter their separate ways trying to earn a living in this alien world they've been thrown into unprepared.

"You don't mean nineteen sixty-four, do you?" he asks at the end, brows furrowed slightly as he looks back up at the General. He has little sense of history and knows almost no details of it, not even of this country he ostensibly served and now lives in, let alone anyplace else. "And what was the Taiping rebellion?" Even if he had the time to devote to trying to learn all the things he and his brothers missed in their brutal and single-minded upbringing he wouldn't know where to start, but the tidbits the General drops, casually, just a part of his life, are irresistible glimpses into a fascinating, wider world.

"Oh - no, eighteen sixty-four. The rebellion was..." he frowns, and takes another gulp of latte. "A man named Hong Xiuquan thought he was the younger brother of god. He had a power base in the southern capital, and the surrounding provinces - perhaps thirty million people - and the Qing Emperor wanted the cult put down. It was total warfare, fields and cities burned everywhere you marched. Anything that could be used by the enemy was an acceptable target. We'd seen guns in the opium wars with the British but never in a major conflict on the mainland before. New wars for a new world."

He shakes his head. "The American civil war over African slavery was the same time, but a decade shorter. North against south, brother against brother, just like us. That was the one thing that stayed familiar, the raggedness of grief.

It's so much new information he doesn't know where to start with the questions he wants to ask. "Guns were new?" That's a strange idea to him, when they'd been such a central and constant part of his life before being decommissioned. One of his first memories is of being handed a gun and given his first lesson in how to shoot it.

The General's last words hit much harder home, though, and his brows furrow in something like distress. "They made brothers fight each other?" The thought makes him feel more than slightly ill, the memory of Krell and his atrocities skimming to the surface when he generally works so hard to forget any part of that campaign and the myriad horrors of it.

"Oh, nobody made us, exactly. We just....thought it was worth it, somehow." He slips a flask out of his pocket, spikes his latte, and then downs half of it.

"... oh." Fives' shoulders hunch and his expression twists a little, and he tries to hide it by gulping down some of his own drink. Tries not to remember his brothers' haunted faces after Krell, or the empty places in their ranks and the knowledge that it hadn't been the enemy who'd made them. That he hadn't done enough. Hadn't done it soon enough.

His hands start to shake and he has to put his cup down abruptly before he ends up wearing half the contents, though he tries to cover quickly by tucking them into his armpits.

Jedao nods, and stares into the coffee, turning the cup around and around in his hands.

"So you can see why I wanted to be on a completely different continent and dig ditches until I fell over without a spare second to think in," he murmurs. It's not the kind of tone that really requires a response.

He leans over a little on the couch, the weight of him pressing against Fives' side, quiet and present and warm.

Fives leans gratefully into the warmth and pressure, too caught in the spiral for the moment to be embarrassed by it, though he probably will be soon enough. It wouldn't bother him at all if it were one of his brothers, they all have these moments, all help each other through them as best they can. Enough that right now, the way the General's pressed against him is a familiar sort of comfort.

Echo's casting concerned glances their way, but for once Fives isn't focused on checking in on his brother and doesn't even notice. "I'd like to see your railroad someday," is what he finally says when he finds his voice, though it's low and a little strained. It's also true, though he doubts it'll ever happen. One more dream to add to a long list... and maybe someday some of them will happen, when they reach the point where they're doing better than just scraping by.

"Most of it isn't in service anymore. But there's a few hundred miles that run in our original trackbeds - mostly in the Sierras, where blasting new ones would be a pain even with modern equipment. There's even one passenger train that takes our route about a hundred miles, from central Nevada to Sacramento - gorgeous stretch, all desert and mountains. The actual equipment's been replaced, of course, but there are abandoned parts where you can see the old work. Perfectly preserved in the dry air." His mouth quirks into a small smile.

"You boys would be something else on a road trip, I bet. I'd love to show you."

The General's voice settles him, lets him ease back into the easy part of the story he'd been telling. Away from the memories of blood and death and the shell-shocked, betrayed faces of his brothers. Back to thoughts of mountain vistas and a different group of brothers helping to carve out a new world.

"Echo and Tup love road trip movies." He smiles a little and glances over to where his littermate is taking someone's order, smiles a little wider when he catches him looking their way at hearing his name. "They'd probably love the real thing... and Rex would probably want to micromanage everything," he adds, unmistakably fond despite the ostensible criticism.

"And Hevy and Hardcase would probably leave a path of destruction behind us despite all Rex's planning." He's obviously more amused than bothered by that thought. He also hasn't stopped leaning into the General.

"Get a gutted old tour bus, maybe. Something covered in horrible eighties rhinestones." Jedao also doesn't sound at all disapproving. "I've never even had a car of my own, actually. I learned to drive on army jeeps, same as you. But it does look fun in the movies."

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