Sometimes You Just Have To Let Yourself Be Bitter About Your Co-workers
Welp, now that Remix is over, and I've finished up my assignment for Multifandom Tropefest, and before I start figuring out what to do with my Yuletide assignment, it's time to go back to that languishing Gen Prompt Bingo card again! I wrote a couple more Disco Elysium ficlets today while I was supposed to be working, because, hey, why not. Here's one now!
Title: Funerals Are for the Living
Fandom: Disco Elysium
Characters/Pairings: Jean Vicquemare, Harry Du Bois & Jean Vicquemare
Summary: Harry Du Bois is dead. Long live Harry Fucking Du Bois.
Rating/Warnings: Rated Teen for canon-typical references to substance abuse and massive amounts of profanity.
Length: ~500 words
Author's Note: This was written for Gen Prompt Bingo, for the prompt "Hello again: Resurrection." I decided to go a little bit metaphorical with this one. But maybe only a little.
Funerals Are for the Living
It's been hard to accept it, to really, truly believe it, down in the depths of Jean's infinitely-fucking-put-upon soul, but it's true. Shitkid finally fried all his neurons with the right combination of molecules, or hit his skull and literally knocked himself out of his mind driving his MC into the sea, or magically wished himself into oblivion, or, who knows, maybe stuck his head in the Pale and left it there until it ate him. However the fuck he did it, the man Jean Vicquemare knew is gone, replaced by some half-assed collection of reassembled pieces, like that idiotic statue of King Filippe in Martinaise.
It might be easier, if it weren't for those pieces. If it weren't sometimes possible to forget it all when the asshole makes a familiar joke, when he shoots those goddamned finger guns or starts blubbering on about Guillaume le Million. When he says something only Harry Du Bois would ever say, in Harry Du Bois' voice, out of Harry Du Bois' familiar fucking face.
And the kicker of it, the real gut-twisting irony, is that he can't deny this reanimated patchwork version is better. Weirder, maybe, which considering what he was like before is frankly fucking impressive. But he's clean. Clean and sober, and if that isn't a miracle worthy of a fucking Innocence, Jean doesn't know what is. He's less self-destructive, less other-people-destructive, and despite all his old tedious ranting about how he couldn't work without chemical assistance, still a really good fucking cop. A better one, even, because no matter how much natural copping skill you have, the work does not get done unless you show up instead of lying passed out in an alley in a pool of your own vomit all day.
Jean should be happy about it. Unlike in those stupid Vespertine horror movies, Du Bois managed to die and come back right. To come back less of a monster. And, yeah, all right, on some of his darker days, Jean may actually have thought the fucker would be better off dead, but he never expected it to happen like this. He just thought... Shit. That one day, probably one day soon, he'd be able to mourn the man, to pour every precious fucked-up thing between them out in an angry, tear-stained eulogy, and go on with his life. Maybe find a partner saner than he is for once.
And instead, here they are. Harry Du Bois' happier, healthier corpse, and the same old Jean Vicquemare, still as fucked as ever, still walking around with a million scars that asshole doesn't even remember inflicting.
Yeah, he should be dancing in the streets. But, god help him, he might just give it all up for a Harry who'd look at him with recognition in his miserable, bloodshot eyes.
He really fucking might.
This entry was originally posted at https://astrogirl.dreamwidth.org/1014369.html. Comment here or there, whichever you like.
Title: Funerals Are for the Living
Fandom: Disco Elysium
Characters/Pairings: Jean Vicquemare, Harry Du Bois & Jean Vicquemare
Summary: Harry Du Bois is dead. Long live Harry Fucking Du Bois.
Rating/Warnings: Rated Teen for canon-typical references to substance abuse and massive amounts of profanity.
Length: ~500 words
Author's Note: This was written for Gen Prompt Bingo, for the prompt "Hello again: Resurrection." I decided to go a little bit metaphorical with this one. But maybe only a little.
Funerals Are for the Living
It's been hard to accept it, to really, truly believe it, down in the depths of Jean's infinitely-fucking-put-upon soul, but it's true. Shitkid finally fried all his neurons with the right combination of molecules, or hit his skull and literally knocked himself out of his mind driving his MC into the sea, or magically wished himself into oblivion, or, who knows, maybe stuck his head in the Pale and left it there until it ate him. However the fuck he did it, the man Jean Vicquemare knew is gone, replaced by some half-assed collection of reassembled pieces, like that idiotic statue of King Filippe in Martinaise.
It might be easier, if it weren't for those pieces. If it weren't sometimes possible to forget it all when the asshole makes a familiar joke, when he shoots those goddamned finger guns or starts blubbering on about Guillaume le Million. When he says something only Harry Du Bois would ever say, in Harry Du Bois' voice, out of Harry Du Bois' familiar fucking face.
And the kicker of it, the real gut-twisting irony, is that he can't deny this reanimated patchwork version is better. Weirder, maybe, which considering what he was like before is frankly fucking impressive. But he's clean. Clean and sober, and if that isn't a miracle worthy of a fucking Innocence, Jean doesn't know what is. He's less self-destructive, less other-people-destructive, and despite all his old tedious ranting about how he couldn't work without chemical assistance, still a really good fucking cop. A better one, even, because no matter how much natural copping skill you have, the work does not get done unless you show up instead of lying passed out in an alley in a pool of your own vomit all day.
Jean should be happy about it. Unlike in those stupid Vespertine horror movies, Du Bois managed to die and come back right. To come back less of a monster. And, yeah, all right, on some of his darker days, Jean may actually have thought the fucker would be better off dead, but he never expected it to happen like this. He just thought... Shit. That one day, probably one day soon, he'd be able to mourn the man, to pour every precious fucked-up thing between them out in an angry, tear-stained eulogy, and go on with his life. Maybe find a partner saner than he is for once.
And instead, here they are. Harry Du Bois' happier, healthier corpse, and the same old Jean Vicquemare, still as fucked as ever, still walking around with a million scars that asshole doesn't even remember inflicting.
Yeah, he should be dancing in the streets. But, god help him, he might just give it all up for a Harry who'd look at him with recognition in his miserable, bloodshot eyes.
He really fucking might.
This entry was originally posted at https://astrogirl.dreamwidth.org/1014369.html. Comment here or there, whichever you like.