And sometimes I write just because it makes me happy.
I was trolling through The 3 A.M. Epiphany looking for prompts and found one about writing something from the point of view of an eight-year-old. And then I was like "Oh hey! I have an eight-year-old character at one point in the One-Way Streets timeline!" And completely useless snippets of backstory are apparently like comfort food for my brain, so, uh.
*jazz hands*
Hurray for blatant self-indulgence! ~800 words, One-Way Streets backstory (2032). (And for those keeping score at home, these are the same folks from Orange-White-Grey and Fishsticks' Theory of Portable Sunshine. BECAUSE I AM WRITING THIS STORY IN REVERSE.)
The first thing that Baby Joe noticed about the new boy was his jacket.
Well, no, maybe not. He was bleeding pretty dire as K.R. led him into their underground hide-out, a long smear of red down the side of his mouth that made him look like he was frowning even though he wasn’t. So the first-first thing that Joe noticed was naturally the blood. But after that, it was the jacket.
“Oh, Jesus, K.R.,” Fisher sighed, “What followed you home this time?”
Fisher had been teaching Baby Joe how to hide an ace and kept dealing out onto the bare mattress, even when Joe put down his cards to stare properly.
“This is Reni,” K.R. announced, sweeping off his long jacket and dropping it on the mattress next to Fisher, sending up a puff of dust. “And he could probably teach you crass fucks some manners. Fisher, Baby Joe,” he concluded, pointing at each of them in turn.
K.R. seemed like he was in a good mood, so Baby Joe waved at Reni in hesitant greeting. Fisher smiled a not-happy smile and mouthed ‘crass fucks’ to himself, fanning his cards.
“Hi,” Reni said, scrubbing at his cheek with a sleeve of that too-blue jacket, his gaze darting around the place like he was looking for monsters. (Baby Joe could’ve told him that there were no monsters here. K.R. had taken care of that with one white strip of cloth nailed into the wooden beam over the door: Do Not Enter.)
Reni’s eyes were black like a rat’s, but his skin was paler than Baby Joe’s by miles. It made him weird to look at. Baby Joe, who had discovered that his skin was the exact shade of Caff with a half-splash of milk, wasn’t used to seeing many people with eyes darker than his own.
“What is he, like, ten?” Fisher said, finally putting the cards down with a snap and swinging his long legs around to face K.R.. (Baby Joe, eight years old, scowled at him with wounded pride.)
“I’m twelve,” Reni said, frowning to match the smudge of blood now, “The fuck kind of name is ‘Fisher’ anyway?”
K.R. was grinning wide enough that Baby Joe could see where that tooth on one side had cracked and turned jagged. “He’s as Patriae as the rest of us. Fisher just likes pretending he’s nice respectable city-bred with a real last name sometimes. Doesn’t he?” He leaned over to hook his arm around Fisher’s tense shoulders, kissing his cheek so hard that it looked like it hurt. “We’ve been running together since we were younger than Baby Joe,” he added looking at Reni with his arm still around Fisher, “So we’re all going to respect each other and get along just fine, aren’t we?”
Reni and his rat-black eyes gave nothing away. It was like looking at a newspaper picture until he blinked and said “Sure.”
“Good,” K.R. said, and climbed onto the mattress without taking off his boots. (Baby Joe would have to shake the blankets out before he slept, but he didn’t bother complaining. K.R.’s boots were tipped with metal and went up past his ankle, and Baby Joe had seen how long it took to unlace them.) Fisher budged over to make room for him.
“What are we playing?” K.R. asked. He beckoned for Reni, who joined them and tucked himself right up against K.R.’s side like a friendly cat.
“Whatever.” Fisher shrugged, picking up the deck, shuffling. “I just was teaching Joe some tricks. How about you, kid? Wanna learn how to cheat?”
Reni nodded, edging forward a bit.
“I like your jacket,” Baby Joe blurted. He’d been studying it since Reni sat down; the shining blue buttons looked just like candy and his eye was caught by the patch on the left side, a picture of hills and sky with some words that Joe couldn’t read stitched in golden thread. “I like that. What’s it say?”
“New Elysium Academy.” Reni reached up and got his fingernails under the patch, tearing it off with a rough yank, a couple of threads dangling loose from the front of his jacket now. “Here, you want it?”
Baby Joe promptly took it from him, running his fingers over the glittering letters with pleasure. He’d never had something so pretty in his life.
Fisher elbowed him in the side. “Say ‘thank you’. Don’t be a crass fuck.”
“Thank you,” Baby Joe echoed.
Reni shrugged, taking the cards that Fisher handed him. “Well, I don’t need it anymore.”
“No, you don’t,” K.R. agreed, pulling his own jacket onto his lap to rummage through the inner pockets. He brought his hand out dusted with silvery powder that he held out for Fisher to lick from his fingertips. “You’ve got us now, Reni Patriae. Welcome home.”
*jazz hands*
Hurray for blatant self-indulgence! ~800 words, One-Way Streets backstory (2032). (And for those keeping score at home, these are the same folks from Orange-White-Grey and Fishsticks' Theory of Portable Sunshine. BECAUSE I AM WRITING THIS STORY IN REVERSE.)
The first thing that Baby Joe noticed about the new boy was his jacket.
Well, no, maybe not. He was bleeding pretty dire as K.R. led him into their underground hide-out, a long smear of red down the side of his mouth that made him look like he was frowning even though he wasn’t. So the first-first thing that Joe noticed was naturally the blood. But after that, it was the jacket.
“Oh, Jesus, K.R.,” Fisher sighed, “What followed you home this time?”
Fisher had been teaching Baby Joe how to hide an ace and kept dealing out onto the bare mattress, even when Joe put down his cards to stare properly.
“This is Reni,” K.R. announced, sweeping off his long jacket and dropping it on the mattress next to Fisher, sending up a puff of dust. “And he could probably teach you crass fucks some manners. Fisher, Baby Joe,” he concluded, pointing at each of them in turn.
K.R. seemed like he was in a good mood, so Baby Joe waved at Reni in hesitant greeting. Fisher smiled a not-happy smile and mouthed ‘crass fucks’ to himself, fanning his cards.
“Hi,” Reni said, scrubbing at his cheek with a sleeve of that too-blue jacket, his gaze darting around the place like he was looking for monsters. (Baby Joe could’ve told him that there were no monsters here. K.R. had taken care of that with one white strip of cloth nailed into the wooden beam over the door: Do Not Enter.)
Reni’s eyes were black like a rat’s, but his skin was paler than Baby Joe’s by miles. It made him weird to look at. Baby Joe, who had discovered that his skin was the exact shade of Caff with a half-splash of milk, wasn’t used to seeing many people with eyes darker than his own.
“What is he, like, ten?” Fisher said, finally putting the cards down with a snap and swinging his long legs around to face K.R.. (Baby Joe, eight years old, scowled at him with wounded pride.)
“I’m twelve,” Reni said, frowning to match the smudge of blood now, “The fuck kind of name is ‘Fisher’ anyway?”
K.R. was grinning wide enough that Baby Joe could see where that tooth on one side had cracked and turned jagged. “He’s as Patriae as the rest of us. Fisher just likes pretending he’s nice respectable city-bred with a real last name sometimes. Doesn’t he?” He leaned over to hook his arm around Fisher’s tense shoulders, kissing his cheek so hard that it looked like it hurt. “We’ve been running together since we were younger than Baby Joe,” he added looking at Reni with his arm still around Fisher, “So we’re all going to respect each other and get along just fine, aren’t we?”
Reni and his rat-black eyes gave nothing away. It was like looking at a newspaper picture until he blinked and said “Sure.”
“Good,” K.R. said, and climbed onto the mattress without taking off his boots. (Baby Joe would have to shake the blankets out before he slept, but he didn’t bother complaining. K.R.’s boots were tipped with metal and went up past his ankle, and Baby Joe had seen how long it took to unlace them.) Fisher budged over to make room for him.
“What are we playing?” K.R. asked. He beckoned for Reni, who joined them and tucked himself right up against K.R.’s side like a friendly cat.
“Whatever.” Fisher shrugged, picking up the deck, shuffling. “I just was teaching Joe some tricks. How about you, kid? Wanna learn how to cheat?”
Reni nodded, edging forward a bit.
“I like your jacket,” Baby Joe blurted. He’d been studying it since Reni sat down; the shining blue buttons looked just like candy and his eye was caught by the patch on the left side, a picture of hills and sky with some words that Joe couldn’t read stitched in golden thread. “I like that. What’s it say?”
“New Elysium Academy.” Reni reached up and got his fingernails under the patch, tearing it off with a rough yank, a couple of threads dangling loose from the front of his jacket now. “Here, you want it?”
Baby Joe promptly took it from him, running his fingers over the glittering letters with pleasure. He’d never had something so pretty in his life.
Fisher elbowed him in the side. “Say ‘thank you’. Don’t be a crass fuck.”
“Thank you,” Baby Joe echoed.
Reni shrugged, taking the cards that Fisher handed him. “Well, I don’t need it anymore.”
“No, you don’t,” K.R. agreed, pulling his own jacket onto his lap to rummage through the inner pockets. He brought his hand out dusted with silvery powder that he held out for Fisher to lick from his fingertips. “You’ve got us now, Reni Patriae. Welcome home.”