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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.
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.
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He lets Fives steer him after that, and when everyone is seated, says "Thank you all for welcoming me into your home." It's the most formal thing he's said since he quit, but hospitality is old magic, older than his bones, and despite his trickster's voice it comes out warm and soft and very sincere.
He helps himself to the potatoes before he has to say anything else.
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Dogma, and even DB, have plates at the table, and Tup and Echo take care of filling them for them, almost entirely with meat for DB. The wolfdog is a little awkward in his seat, but well enough behaved in his way, though he leaves the table to go chew on a massive bone of some kind on a blanket in the corner as soon as he's wolfed down is portion and licked the plate clean. Dogma's much more reserved, even about eating, and delicately picks up each item from his plate individually, and though he keeps his eyes mostly cast down he seems to be paying attention to the conversation around him... which is mostly his brothers competing (unusually politely) for the opportunity to tell the General about their lives since their discharge. Jobs and hobbies and friends, the wonder and strangeness of living in a city, and poor Cutup's never-ending quest to get a date with a girl. (Cutup blushes and mutters imprecations under his breath at his brothers' teasing.)
Rex finally managed to glare Hardcase into stopping talking about NASCAR standings and turns his attention back to the General. "How long have you been out, sir?" he asks, because he knows the General had been in long before they'd been created and commissioned and he'd assumed he'd simply remain long after as well.
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"Mm. A fortnight?" he answers, because he's bad at keeping track but moon cycles help. Just two weeks, and most of it spent finding his way to exactly where he is right now.
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"Have you settled in the city, sir?" Rex asks. "Any of us would be honored to be of service to you if you need anything at all."
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"Mostly I think I'm in need of friends. It's been a long time since I had much besides work. I'd love to see more of you all."
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"You should come to movie night," Fives interjects cheerfully into the sudden quiet, and the clatter of knives and forks resumes as if that was a cue, followed by a chorus of agreement. "It's Thursday this week, since that's the night most of us will actually be home.
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"I'd love to come. If I wouldn't be imposing?" But before any of them can fall over themselves offering reassurances he's off a tangent through the intersection of imposition and cinema.
"Did you know, Hollywood is out in California because when the first video cameras were being invented, Thomas Edison was trying to sue every single person using one, whether it was really based on his designs or not. And he was in New Jersey, so the entire industry packed up and set up shop on the other side of the continent just to get away from him."
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"Nerd," Fives accuses fondly, but there's no missing his smile as he slaps his brother lightly on the back of the head, getting a stuck out tongue in response. "He and Tup are both taking college classes, they're doing great." He's ridiculously proud of how smart his brothers are, and how well they're doing.
"I heard California's all beaches covered with hot girls in bikinis!" Cutup interjects, in time with a collective groan from his brothers. "Have you ever been there, sir?"
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"Down around Los Angeles, the beaches are covered in hot everything. Everyone is stupid gorgeous in California. Something about all the sunshine, just makes people glow. Although I was mostly in San Francisco before I followed work inland, and the water's too cold there for much casual beachgoing. Strong waves, lots of surfsr, but dangerous rip tides. The Pacific is its own beast," he muses.
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"I like it here just fine," Fives answers, and maybe he's watching the General sidelong as he adds, "The city's amazing, the ocean is close, and there are more than enough hot people." His statement elicits another chorus of groans and then Rex clears his throat and the noise tapers off.
"Do you need any help getting settled into the city, General? I'm sure-"
"I could help you with anything you need!" Fives interjects before Rex can finish his sentence, and just smirks at his captain when he glares at him. "I'm available almost every day and a few nights a week."
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As though this is an ordinary reaction to the existence of subways. He'll have to stalk out their line, make sure the rat mobs know their place and the deeper things are sleeping well.
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"Our sleeping arrangements are a little... non-traditional, sir," Cody supplies blandly. "But it'll only take a few minutes for the boys to set you up a bed of your own in one of the rooms."
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"Of course he's sure!" Fives chimes in cheerfully, and grins at Cody and then at the General. "Have you ever known the General to say anything he wasn't sure of?
Besides, who'd want to sleep alone on a cheap mattress in a cold apartment when they could pile up with all the mattresses and pillows and body heat?"
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The conversation from there is casual and easy, accounts of their days, their plans, a brief argument over whose turn it was to clean up after the meal--Fives and Echo's, with Fives less than pleased about the timing of his turn at KP coming up. At least everyone helps clear the table, though, and then Hardcase and Hevy have to run off to work and Kix drags in from a twelve hour paramedic shift followed by one of his nursing classes, and heads straight for the kitchen and the smell of leftovers with such single-minded focus the doesn't even notice that the General's there.
"Tup, why don't you get one of your sketchbooks to show the General," Rex suggests as the rest of them adjourn to the less than spacious living room, almost completely filled by a massive sectional that's clearly seen better days, but at least smells sanitary.
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"Would you?"Jedao asks, not a command or even please, I'd like that, but still a clearly hopeful expression that he would like that, that he doesn't think it's unimportant or silly.