allthenoise
[ i found a list of prompts in an old folder that i must've printed before a vacation one time or something. and decided to try and write them all about jeran to fill in backstory holes. but only managed one. HERE IS THAT ONE. ]
14. funeral
It shouldn't have been her.
That's all Jeran can think, stiff collar rubbing his neck raw and nails digging into his palms. It takes all of his self-control not to punch his father, and he only manages because he knows, somewhere deep down, it isn't his fault and she'd be upset if they fought.
But he really, really wants to.
He can feel the bastard's gaze on him but he doesn't look, doesn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement just yet. He simply stares straight ahead, not listening as the priest rambles some crap (like he even knows anything, it's not like any of them ever went to church), and thinks.
(Sometimes, he wishes he could stop thinking without needing to get wasted for it.)
I'm sorry for your loss, someone is mumbling -- they're filing out now; when did that happen? -- and he's still thinking.
A few quick calculations.
A grimace, which he turns into a sad smile as Sunny shakes his hand (and back to a grimace when she pulls him into a hug).
And the satisfying realisation that he probably could, in fact, beat his father in a fight now, if it came down to it.
"We should talk," says the old man gruffly as the last distant relative disappears through the door.
"Yeah," replies Jeran, giving the ceiling a small smile. "We probably should."
"I want you to know--"
"Hold up, pops. I'll go first," and another smile as he watches his father not quite stifle his indignation. "I'll keep it short; I've got a shuttle to catch."
"But the next shuttle to Carida--"
"Mm, yeah, not going to Carida. Actually, never been. No, shut up, I'm not done. What, you didn't wonder why I wasn't wearing some dorky Academy uniform? It's not 'cause I've got a thing for this designer. Anyway--"
He feels drunk, high, something snapping inside of him as he says everything he's always wanted to say and knowing his father can do nothing, nothing that will ever matter anymore.
"--I just want you to know that your precious credits, for the past three years, have been funding those gods-damned stinkin' Rebels. Beautiful feeling, right? Hey, don't worry, I didn't give it all to them. I spent plenty on lum and spice. Some of which was for all the men I've slept with. Wait, hold on, I know there was something else..."
He taps his chin with a finger, mocking rather than thoughtful, and is almost disappointed that his father hasn't tried to hit him yet.
"Ohhh yeah. I remember. Go kriff yourself."
A bright smile.
"So, what did you want to say?"
"If you think for a second I even believe--"
Jeran yawns, glances at his wrist-chrono, and holds up a hand in a stop gesture. "You know what? Not actually interested. Gotta run. Great seeing you. Hope you fall out an airlock."
Sunny frowns at him as he runs past towards the walkway, his father shouting after him, and he turns to give her a cocky salute.
He is so done with this planet.
14. funeral
It shouldn't have been her.
That's all Jeran can think, stiff collar rubbing his neck raw and nails digging into his palms. It takes all of his self-control not to punch his father, and he only manages because he knows, somewhere deep down, it isn't his fault and she'd be upset if they fought.
But he really, really wants to.
He can feel the bastard's gaze on him but he doesn't look, doesn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement just yet. He simply stares straight ahead, not listening as the priest rambles some crap (like he even knows anything, it's not like any of them ever went to church), and thinks.
(Sometimes, he wishes he could stop thinking without needing to get wasted for it.)
I'm sorry for your loss, someone is mumbling -- they're filing out now; when did that happen? -- and he's still thinking.
A few quick calculations.
A grimace, which he turns into a sad smile as Sunny shakes his hand (and back to a grimace when she pulls him into a hug).
And the satisfying realisation that he probably could, in fact, beat his father in a fight now, if it came down to it.
"We should talk," says the old man gruffly as the last distant relative disappears through the door.
"Yeah," replies Jeran, giving the ceiling a small smile. "We probably should."
"I want you to know--"
"Hold up, pops. I'll go first," and another smile as he watches his father not quite stifle his indignation. "I'll keep it short; I've got a shuttle to catch."
"But the next shuttle to Carida--"
"Mm, yeah, not going to Carida. Actually, never been. No, shut up, I'm not done. What, you didn't wonder why I wasn't wearing some dorky Academy uniform? It's not 'cause I've got a thing for this designer. Anyway--"
He feels drunk, high, something snapping inside of him as he says everything he's always wanted to say and knowing his father can do nothing, nothing that will ever matter anymore.
"--I just want you to know that your precious credits, for the past three years, have been funding those gods-damned stinkin' Rebels. Beautiful feeling, right? Hey, don't worry, I didn't give it all to them. I spent plenty on lum and spice. Some of which was for all the men I've slept with. Wait, hold on, I know there was something else..."
He taps his chin with a finger, mocking rather than thoughtful, and is almost disappointed that his father hasn't tried to hit him yet.
"Ohhh yeah. I remember. Go kriff yourself."
A bright smile.
"So, what did you want to say?"
"If you think for a second I even believe--"
Jeran yawns, glances at his wrist-chrono, and holds up a hand in a stop gesture. "You know what? Not actually interested. Gotta run. Great seeing you. Hope you fall out an airlock."
Sunny frowns at him as he runs past towards the walkway, his father shouting after him, and he turns to give her a cocky salute.
He is so done with this planet.