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rainbowfic2015-06-25 03:44 am
starphotographs) wrote in rainbowfic2015-06-25 03:44 am
Dragon Scale Green 3, Milk Bottle 14, Folly 4
Name: starphotographs
Story: Universe B
Characters: Scissors (POV), Satchel, Frankie is physically present but sleeps through the whole thing.
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Dragon Scale Green, Milk Bottle, Summer Carnival)
Colors: Dragon Scale Green 3 ("I'm not so much a dragon slayer, more a dragon annoyer... I'm a dragon irritater." ― Craig Ferguson), Milk Bottle 14 (Ring Toss), Folly 4 (Wanna bet?)
Word Count: 1382
Rating: PG-13 (but only really for the effer)
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Satchel’s way of fighting the power.
Note: If this event seems familiar, that’s because it was mentioned in this story. All commentary acceptable and enjoyed!
Winner Every Time
“…You ruined everything.”
We hadn’t left the courthouse fifteen minutes ago, and already, Satchel was halfway out of his suit. Shirt untucked, sleeves rolled, Frankie wearing the jacket while he slept in the back seat, tie discarded on the floor by the pedals, getting trampled by his size fifteen hiking boots. Which he wore to court. Because he doesn’t own any other shoes. Then again, I’m not one to talk. I showed up in jeans and a t-shirt because I never thought I’d have cause to wear anything else and thus didn‘t have anything else. I also never thought I’d have cause to show a room full of people a picture of my friend’s mangled feet so we could extort a bunch of money-grubbing hippies, but life is pretty unpredictable like that. As Satchel well proved. Not that he cared, or even took responsibility for it.
“Nah, they ruined everything.”
I suspected he was mostly going with this story because he really, really wanted pizza. He’d promised to take us out afterwards if we won the case, but we didn’t, so now it was on someone else’s head, just so we could stay deserving. That, and there’s something about anything even vaguely law or governance related that gets him believing he can do no wrong and any failings are the fault of a Byzantine bureaucracy put in place for the express purpose of making sure people like him never get their way.
“Satch… You decided they had the wrong kind of flag and started acting like we were on a boat.”
I probably shouldn’t have brought it up again. Once Satchel gets started about different kinds of flags, it’s hard to get him to stop.
“Well, they did have the wrong kind of flag! Unless someone declared martial law while we were on the way to the trial, but I think I of all people would have known.”
…And there he goes.
“I kept telling you! That fringe doesn’t mean anything! It’s tacky, but it’s not some kind of trials-on-boats flag or whatever you think it is.”
“Hey, that’s legit as fuck. I can’t help this country doesn’t actually train its legal professionals.”
Along with being pedantic about flag decorations, Satchel has a number of other unfortunate traits, including thinking he’s a better lawyer than lawyers are. Ironically, he hates lawyers, and probably wouldn’t like to be told he’s actually some kind of demented lawyer-wannabe.
“They don’t teach that flag crud in law school because it’s bullshit! It‘s something that got made up and twisted over the years by people even crazier than you!”
“…Siz, you’re entitled to your opinion, but I don’t know what you’re even bitching about. I thought everything went pretty well!”
“I’m bitching because you and your brother lost the case and you almost got your ass arrested!”
He took one hand off the wheel and started wriggling out of his dress shirt. Pulling it over his head left him stone blind for a little bit, which practically gave me a heart attack. I didn’t much want to die because some douchebag couldn’t stand to be in his church-clothes for a few more mintues.
“…Sorry ’bout that. Anyway, I didn’t get arrested, did I?”
“No… But you still lost the case.”
Satchel tossed the offending shirt behind him. If it landed on Frankie, he must have slept through it.
“Yeah, well… I made everyone’s job pretty hard, didn’t I? That’s a win in my book!”
“It isn’t a win in mine! And I don’t even have a book! You’re, like, the only person I know who actually has a book, Satch.”
He shook his head, like I’d disappointed him somehow.
“Scissors… You just don’t get it.”
“…Get what? That you’re a big lummox who doesn’t know what he’s talking about? And then talks anyway because it‘s fun for him or something?”
“No, you don’t get the point of doing this shit.”
“…Can’t argue with that.”
Satchel grunted slightly, started rifling through the console, pulled out cigarettes and a matchbook, almost gave me another heart attack when he put his feet on the wheel so he could strike a match, lit up, inhaled, stuck his head out the window to exhale, then, having finally thought of what he was going to say, settled into his seat.
“The point is… Okay. The point, yeah, is to actually get something accomplished. But you can’t just go picking your battles. You have to try everything, even the shit that you probably won’t win, because that’s how you win. It’s how you call them on their bluff. At least they know you know they’re lying, even if you’re not quite sure what about until you test it a few more times. And you know what? If the Powers that Be are going to treat people like crap, then fine. Just make them suffer the whole damn time. Even if you don’t get what you wanted out of it, you at least made governing you that much more of a godawful chore. I mean, imagine if everyone woke up and started doing what I do?”
He took another drag. I studied his face, and wondered why anyone would take his advice, even if it made a molecule of sense. Satchel looks, well, pretty much like what he is. He shaves about once every week and a half. His hair always looks a little sweaty. Not in a “haven’t washed” way, more in an “I was just crashing through the woods ten minutes ago” way. The only shoes he owns are those goddamn hiking boots.
“…They’d chain smoke in a pickup truck for hours at a time because they think only smoking in the car means they’ve quit?”
“No! Big government would collapse in on itself because it couldn’t chase us around all day. And even if no one else was doing it… Well, I’d do it anyway. Just one stubborn sonuvabitch makes things harder than none at all. You gotta be the frustrating rigmarole you want to see in the world, I guess.”
“So… You do futile horseshit for no reason, basically?”
“It’s not futile! It’s pretty much the opposite of futile, dude.”
No, it’s the definition of futile. Actually, I’m thinking of insanity, but same difference in this case.
“…How do you figure?”
“Well… It’s kind of like those crappy kiddie games at the carnival. You may not get the ring around the pole and win the really big prize, but you’ll always get a shitty toy for at least trying. And after a while, you have a whole haul of shitty toys and feel pretty damn good about yourself.”
“Why would you want shitty toys, though?”
Satchel started laughing.
“…Because they’re fuckin’ hilarious, man! I mean, dinosaurs like that never existed. Those finger puppets’ eyes aren’t even going in the same direction. That spider ring’s fucked-up legs actually look more realistic. I mean, I don’t think I should even have to explain the analogy.”
“Um, you kind of do.”
He flicked his spent cigarette onto the filthy floor of the truck, and ground it under his boot before it could set fire to all those leaves he was always tracking in from his property and never bothering to sweep up. But again, I’m not one to talk. Some of the energy drink cans rattling around in my own car are probably collector’s items by now.
“Okay, see… Trying at least gets you a funny story. I mean, did you get a load of that judge? Fucker looked like he was gonna crap his pants right there in his little judge-throne! I’m going to remember that for the rest of my life, and I wouldn’t even have it to remember if I hadn’t started harping on the flag.”
Without knowing it, he’d just left himself wide open.
“…Hm. I might get it now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah… I mean, you acting like we were on a fuckin’ boat? That was pretty priceless.”
“…Hey, don’t get it too well!”
“I think I get it just enough!”
Satchel pulled into the parking lot, a giant glowing pizza casting a fiery glow over everything. I thought it made him look like the fucking Devil.
“Oh, whatever… Anyway, were at pizza now. Go back there and kick my brother.”
starphotographsStory: Universe B
Characters: Scissors (POV), Satchel, Frankie is physically present but sleeps through the whole thing.
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Dragon Scale Green, Milk Bottle, Summer Carnival)
Colors: Dragon Scale Green 3 ("I'm not so much a dragon slayer, more a dragon annoyer... I'm a dragon irritater." ― Craig Ferguson), Milk Bottle 14 (Ring Toss), Folly 4 (Wanna bet?)
Word Count: 1382
Rating: PG-13 (but only really for the effer)
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Satchel’s way of fighting the power.
Note: If this event seems familiar, that’s because it was mentioned in this story. All commentary acceptable and enjoyed!
“…You ruined everything.”
We hadn’t left the courthouse fifteen minutes ago, and already, Satchel was halfway out of his suit. Shirt untucked, sleeves rolled, Frankie wearing the jacket while he slept in the back seat, tie discarded on the floor by the pedals, getting trampled by his size fifteen hiking boots. Which he wore to court. Because he doesn’t own any other shoes. Then again, I’m not one to talk. I showed up in jeans and a t-shirt because I never thought I’d have cause to wear anything else and thus didn‘t have anything else. I also never thought I’d have cause to show a room full of people a picture of my friend’s mangled feet so we could extort a bunch of money-grubbing hippies, but life is pretty unpredictable like that. As Satchel well proved. Not that he cared, or even took responsibility for it.
“Nah, they ruined everything.”
I suspected he was mostly going with this story because he really, really wanted pizza. He’d promised to take us out afterwards if we won the case, but we didn’t, so now it was on someone else’s head, just so we could stay deserving. That, and there’s something about anything even vaguely law or governance related that gets him believing he can do no wrong and any failings are the fault of a Byzantine bureaucracy put in place for the express purpose of making sure people like him never get their way.
“Satch… You decided they had the wrong kind of flag and started acting like we were on a boat.”
I probably shouldn’t have brought it up again. Once Satchel gets started about different kinds of flags, it’s hard to get him to stop.
“Well, they did have the wrong kind of flag! Unless someone declared martial law while we were on the way to the trial, but I think I of all people would have known.”
…And there he goes.
“I kept telling you! That fringe doesn’t mean anything! It’s tacky, but it’s not some kind of trials-on-boats flag or whatever you think it is.”
“Hey, that’s legit as fuck. I can’t help this country doesn’t actually train its legal professionals.”
Along with being pedantic about flag decorations, Satchel has a number of other unfortunate traits, including thinking he’s a better lawyer than lawyers are. Ironically, he hates lawyers, and probably wouldn’t like to be told he’s actually some kind of demented lawyer-wannabe.
“They don’t teach that flag crud in law school because it’s bullshit! It‘s something that got made up and twisted over the years by people even crazier than you!”
“…Siz, you’re entitled to your opinion, but I don’t know what you’re even bitching about. I thought everything went pretty well!”
“I’m bitching because you and your brother lost the case and you almost got your ass arrested!”
He took one hand off the wheel and started wriggling out of his dress shirt. Pulling it over his head left him stone blind for a little bit, which practically gave me a heart attack. I didn’t much want to die because some douchebag couldn’t stand to be in his church-clothes for a few more mintues.
“…Sorry ’bout that. Anyway, I didn’t get arrested, did I?”
“No… But you still lost the case.”
Satchel tossed the offending shirt behind him. If it landed on Frankie, he must have slept through it.
“Yeah, well… I made everyone’s job pretty hard, didn’t I? That’s a win in my book!”
“It isn’t a win in mine! And I don’t even have a book! You’re, like, the only person I know who actually has a book, Satch.”
He shook his head, like I’d disappointed him somehow.
“Scissors… You just don’t get it.”
“…Get what? That you’re a big lummox who doesn’t know what he’s talking about? And then talks anyway because it‘s fun for him or something?”
“No, you don’t get the point of doing this shit.”
“…Can’t argue with that.”
Satchel grunted slightly, started rifling through the console, pulled out cigarettes and a matchbook, almost gave me another heart attack when he put his feet on the wheel so he could strike a match, lit up, inhaled, stuck his head out the window to exhale, then, having finally thought of what he was going to say, settled into his seat.
“The point is… Okay. The point, yeah, is to actually get something accomplished. But you can’t just go picking your battles. You have to try everything, even the shit that you probably won’t win, because that’s how you win. It’s how you call them on their bluff. At least they know you know they’re lying, even if you’re not quite sure what about until you test it a few more times. And you know what? If the Powers that Be are going to treat people like crap, then fine. Just make them suffer the whole damn time. Even if you don’t get what you wanted out of it, you at least made governing you that much more of a godawful chore. I mean, imagine if everyone woke up and started doing what I do?”
He took another drag. I studied his face, and wondered why anyone would take his advice, even if it made a molecule of sense. Satchel looks, well, pretty much like what he is. He shaves about once every week and a half. His hair always looks a little sweaty. Not in a “haven’t washed” way, more in an “I was just crashing through the woods ten minutes ago” way. The only shoes he owns are those goddamn hiking boots.
“…They’d chain smoke in a pickup truck for hours at a time because they think only smoking in the car means they’ve quit?”
“No! Big government would collapse in on itself because it couldn’t chase us around all day. And even if no one else was doing it… Well, I’d do it anyway. Just one stubborn sonuvabitch makes things harder than none at all. You gotta be the frustrating rigmarole you want to see in the world, I guess.”
“So… You do futile horseshit for no reason, basically?”
“It’s not futile! It’s pretty much the opposite of futile, dude.”
No, it’s the definition of futile. Actually, I’m thinking of insanity, but same difference in this case.
“…How do you figure?”
“Well… It’s kind of like those crappy kiddie games at the carnival. You may not get the ring around the pole and win the really big prize, but you’ll always get a shitty toy for at least trying. And after a while, you have a whole haul of shitty toys and feel pretty damn good about yourself.”
“Why would you want shitty toys, though?”
Satchel started laughing.
“…Because they’re fuckin’ hilarious, man! I mean, dinosaurs like that never existed. Those finger puppets’ eyes aren’t even going in the same direction. That spider ring’s fucked-up legs actually look more realistic. I mean, I don’t think I should even have to explain the analogy.”
“Um, you kind of do.”
He flicked his spent cigarette onto the filthy floor of the truck, and ground it under his boot before it could set fire to all those leaves he was always tracking in from his property and never bothering to sweep up. But again, I’m not one to talk. Some of the energy drink cans rattling around in my own car are probably collector’s items by now.
“Okay, see… Trying at least gets you a funny story. I mean, did you get a load of that judge? Fucker looked like he was gonna crap his pants right there in his little judge-throne! I’m going to remember that for the rest of my life, and I wouldn’t even have it to remember if I hadn’t started harping on the flag.”
Without knowing it, he’d just left himself wide open.
“…Hm. I might get it now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah… I mean, you acting like we were on a fuckin’ boat? That was pretty priceless.”
“…Hey, don’t get it too well!”
“I think I get it just enough!”
Satchel pulled into the parking lot, a giant glowing pizza casting a fiery glow over everything. I thought it made him look like the fucking Devil.
“Oh, whatever… Anyway, were at pizza now. Go back there and kick my brother.”
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Scissors acts as a voice of reason in a lot of situations, but he's just as weird as everyone else. He's the best they've got, I guess. XD (For now.)
Thanks for reading!
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no subject
Thank you for reading!
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