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rainbowfic2015-07-18 07:43 am
starphotographs) wrote in rainbowfic2015-07-18 07:43 am
Fire Opal
Name: starphotographs
Story: Universe B
Characters: Sawyer (POV), Kit, Milo, assorted dropins.
Colors: Fire Opal
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Summer Carnival) Miniature Collection, Saturation.
Word Count: 1900ish
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Sawyer keeps his feet on the ground, in new adventures, in a faded past.
Note: The final installment of the set that includes Sleep Standing Up and Walk Under the Stars! (Thus drawing the two major cast chunks together.)
Heavy Labor: Life on Earth
Like a hurricane
My name is Sawyer. Just Sawyer; nothing else. I have to put my serial number as a surname on forms.
I was built for heavy labor, so I don't always know my own strength. I was built to never break, so I weigh twice what I look. I'm pretty crap at predicting outcomes and learning from mistakes. And yeah, I'm about as much of a disaster as all that implies. Which sounds like something to resent, but I could never quite bring myself to resent it.
Life, at least, is interesting.
Destroy what you love/want most
When I switched to beanbag chairs and set my mattress on the floor, and stopped having to pay to replace couches and bed frames, I could finally start saving money. And I saved a good deal
Then I took that money and bought a fantastic customized car. Frame sturdy enough to hold my own sturdy frame, convertible, shiny and blue.
And a whole hell of a lot better than another set of shitty furniture, destined for the curb.
Desire
"Hey, can I clean your car for a quarter?"
"...What?"
It was a kid. Maybe around twelve... Sixteen? I don't know kids. He was on the shorter, stockier side, his clothes were old, his hair was a mess, and he had a rag and a bucket. Oh, why the hell not? I flicked a coin at him.
"Sure, knock yourself out!"
He started scrubbing, talking about how much he appreciated my quarter, and also about trees. The kid really loved trees.
Honestly, there was something sad about the whole situation. But, I'd gotten myself into it now. Just like always.
Ravenous
Because I felt bad for him, and I wasn't sure what else to do, I brought the kid back to my house. His name was Kit, and it was a disaster. I have no real furniture. I don't even have food. So I offered him the beanbag in front of the television, and a can of beer. He was very hungry, so he drank the beer quickly. He was also very tired, so he fell asleep within the hour. So I guess everything worked out okay.
I didn't think I'd mind having him around.
Want it so bad, I can taste it
The third day after he moved in, Kit crashed into the apartment, carrying a laundry basket full of grocery bags. I didn't even ask for an explanation.
"I'm kinda sick of beer and those burgers from the place across the street, so I got food!"
"Alright. Cool. What'd you get?"
I looked in the basket. The contents were mostly unrecognizable, but then again, I didn't eat food myself, so it was probably just normal stuff. Kit looked, too, but seemed as stumped as I was.
"...I dunno. Just stuff that looked good."
Break down any wall
Even now that he was living with me and could buy his own food, Kit never stopped stealing supermarket doughnuts. They were perfectly good, he said. They threw out whole boxes of them, he said.
One night, he told me I should come along so I could hoist him over the fence. I did him one better and bent back the chainlink so he'd have a permanent entrance to crawl through whenever he wanted.
Hey, I already had a strange kid living in my house. Why not help him with a doughnut heist?
Insatiable
Friends always ask me why I keep putting myself in such weird situations, and keep doing such stupid things.
Couldn't I just be a little bit cautious, to make up for my crappy predictive ability?
Well, no. It doesn't quite work that way. Being incautious is one of the things I don't quite think through.
And anyway, I'm curious. Even when I get the whiff of an idea of how things are going to go, I still want to keep going. Just to see what happens.
I think of myself as someone who says yes to the world.
Adrenaline
Kit hung out in my house for an entire week before I finally thought to ask him what the heck he was doing there.
Androids can't really startle, at least not when we're in good repair, but ever since that day, I could almost guess how it felt.
He was from fucking Mars.
He'd been terribly poor. Most everyone way, just like all those cranks were always talking about.
Then he told me about his brother, and how he'd been trying to find him.
(As for my own story... It could wait.)
And got no peace
From what felt like the beginning of my life, which I eventually found out really wasn't, to not terribly long ago, I wondered why I was made. I knew my armature model was designed for heavy construction work, but was about it. Honestly, it seemed like I just popped into existence one day, with no duty, no purpose, no Taskmaster. Like a human does. And like a human, I've learned to live with that. There are worse things than being directionless.
Not existing at all is one of them.
I'm happy to be here.
Zealot/Zealous
When I decided I finally wanted my records released, I was told to go to a certain person. That if he couldn't help me, no one could. He lived in the middle of the woods. He introduced himself as Satchel of Lennox, because apparently, the government couldn't really boss him around, so long as he said his name just right.
I knew I was in good hands. That he wouldn't let anyone keep anything from me, because that flew in the face of everything he stood for.
He helped me. I knew he'd help Kit, too.
Obsession
Satchel of Lennox was stumped, so he sent us to Barclay Maximov.
Barclay Maximov did not make me feel like I was in good hands. He was pale, and stony-faced, and answered the door in his bathrobe. His tattoos covered his arms all the way up, like he's been born with them, and he looked like he was about to bite one of us like a shark. Then I saw how quickly he got stuck into his work, shutting out all distraction, eyes darting back and forth behind grey lenses.
I thought; kid, we're gonna get your brother home.
It consumed…
Kit got his brother loaded into my car, and I finally saw the famous Milo.
He was a young guy, tallish, pale, pitch-black eyes, weird blue sheen on the hair. Run-down and sickly, but pleasant enough.
I find out that, in addition to being a friggin' actual-factual Martian, he has tuberculosis. Which is the same thing as consumption, one of those ominously-named diseases that people got when doctors weren't really doctors yet, and would take people apart in an arena while everyone watched like they were at the circus.
God, how do these things keep happening to me?
Lusting after
Kit fell asleep on the beanbag, just like always. His brother and I were alone.
"So... What brings you all the way over here?"
Milo coughed a little, then stretched enough to crack his neck.
"I just heard it was better. And I was getting pretty desperate."
"Well, is it better?"
"Yeah. I mean, my body's still pretty fucked, so there's that, but just not wanting it so much is a load off, you know?"
I couldn't know. I hadn't seen what he'd seen.
"Not really"
"Alright"
We stared out the window, watching the red taillights go by.
Own personal war
Now that I apparently had two roommates, I decided to give up my bed. After all, I only needed it to charge, and I could just as easily do that on the floor. Milo needed it to sleep for most of the day, which would probably get pretty uncomfortable on a beanbag.
Then again, he's only really sleeping most of the day.
Most of the night, he's sitting up and shivering, surrounded by bloody paper towels, apologizing to his brother.
And most of the night, Kit sits next to him, telling him that no one should apologize for being sick.
Impassioned
When Satchel ducked into the bathroom to call his brother, I didn't think he was ever coming out. But I guess he did, because a few days later, he swung by my apartment to check on us.
He brought a friend of his. The guy's name was Scissors. I'm not sure if that's his real name, or if he even has one.
Both of them are so obsessed with certain things that it's almost exhausting to listen to them. Pseudolaw. Ghost hunting. Chainmail. UFOs.
It was the weirdest conversation I'd ever heard in my life. And that's saying something.
Fiery speech/sermon
Milo turned out to be pretty laid-back for someone in his situation, but there were some things he took a little too seriously. It kept things interesting.
"Oh, come on! That's bullshit! And why is the guy who makes a living removing alien microchips or whatever always a goddamn foot doctor!?"
By now, Kit was hardly paying any attention.
"I know, Milo."
"Fuck, this show is stupid. I hate it. Hate."
"You can change the channel, Milo."
"I will, but I just had to say, it's bullshit. Why do people watch this crud!?"
Kit shrugged. Milo never did change the channel.
Fury
I finally met Satchel's brother, and became immediately convinced that their parents had to have won at least one of them in a poker game or something. Different builds, different coloring, more than a whole head of height between them.
Then Frankie, for that was his name, started ranting about how he was right all along, and no one ever listened to him, and now he needed to figure out a way to go public with this.
He whipped himself into a coughing fit, then sat down in my kitchen and had several loud phone conversations.
Yep, they're related.
Hell or high water
Kit knew Milo was sick.
I knew Milo was dying.
Milo knew he was invincible.
What none of us knew was whether he was in denial, or uninformed, or just stubborn.
I've never had a human body, but it was obvious to me that he was really chewed-up inside. He never looked like he wasn't in pain. There were always fresh streaks of blood in my bathroom sink. He'd cough, and I'd hear him ripping himself apart.
But, Milo wanted to live. So he would. That was his logic, and there was no telling him otherwise.
We each only have to kill 1,000 men
I was commissioned to help with the construction of a new Lunar dome. A new town.
I fucked something up, we lost pressure, and everyone who needed to breathe (everyone but me) wound up dead. I was alone when they found me. Someone decided that I should have my memory wiped and start over. But, you can't just pick and choose what you pluck out of a brain. So the way I used and accessed memories was never quite the same again.
I knew where I came from.
And I knew why I act like such a fucking idiot sometimes.
Ardent
Scissors knew about a doctor who could help them, and a closer place they could stay while he tried. So he pulled up in front of the apartment complex and lead the Martians to his van.
I was glad they'd be alright, but I would miss them. My home already felt empty.
That was the only thing I didn't like about all these stupid adventures. They always end. I never see it coming.
I have to remind myself that saying goodbye is just another way to say yes to the world.
This is the heavy labor I was built for.
starphotographsStory: Universe B
Characters: Sawyer (POV), Kit, Milo, assorted dropins.
Colors: Fire Opal
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Summer Carnival) Miniature Collection, Saturation.
Word Count: 1900ish
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Sawyer keeps his feet on the ground, in new adventures, in a faded past.
Note: The final installment of the set that includes Sleep Standing Up and Walk Under the Stars! (Thus drawing the two major cast chunks together.)
My name is Sawyer. Just Sawyer; nothing else. I have to put my serial number as a surname on forms.
I was built for heavy labor, so I don't always know my own strength. I was built to never break, so I weigh twice what I look. I'm pretty crap at predicting outcomes and learning from mistakes. And yeah, I'm about as much of a disaster as all that implies. Which sounds like something to resent, but I could never quite bring myself to resent it.
Life, at least, is interesting.
When I switched to beanbag chairs and set my mattress on the floor, and stopped having to pay to replace couches and bed frames, I could finally start saving money. And I saved a good deal
Then I took that money and bought a fantastic customized car. Frame sturdy enough to hold my own sturdy frame, convertible, shiny and blue.
And a whole hell of a lot better than another set of shitty furniture, destined for the curb.
"Hey, can I clean your car for a quarter?"
"...What?"
It was a kid. Maybe around twelve... Sixteen? I don't know kids. He was on the shorter, stockier side, his clothes were old, his hair was a mess, and he had a rag and a bucket. Oh, why the hell not? I flicked a coin at him.
"Sure, knock yourself out!"
He started scrubbing, talking about how much he appreciated my quarter, and also about trees. The kid really loved trees.
Honestly, there was something sad about the whole situation. But, I'd gotten myself into it now. Just like always.
Because I felt bad for him, and I wasn't sure what else to do, I brought the kid back to my house. His name was Kit, and it was a disaster. I have no real furniture. I don't even have food. So I offered him the beanbag in front of the television, and a can of beer. He was very hungry, so he drank the beer quickly. He was also very tired, so he fell asleep within the hour. So I guess everything worked out okay.
I didn't think I'd mind having him around.
The third day after he moved in, Kit crashed into the apartment, carrying a laundry basket full of grocery bags. I didn't even ask for an explanation.
"I'm kinda sick of beer and those burgers from the place across the street, so I got food!"
"Alright. Cool. What'd you get?"
I looked in the basket. The contents were mostly unrecognizable, but then again, I didn't eat food myself, so it was probably just normal stuff. Kit looked, too, but seemed as stumped as I was.
"...I dunno. Just stuff that looked good."
Even now that he was living with me and could buy his own food, Kit never stopped stealing supermarket doughnuts. They were perfectly good, he said. They threw out whole boxes of them, he said.
One night, he told me I should come along so I could hoist him over the fence. I did him one better and bent back the chainlink so he'd have a permanent entrance to crawl through whenever he wanted.
Hey, I already had a strange kid living in my house. Why not help him with a doughnut heist?
Friends always ask me why I keep putting myself in such weird situations, and keep doing such stupid things.
Couldn't I just be a little bit cautious, to make up for my crappy predictive ability?
Well, no. It doesn't quite work that way. Being incautious is one of the things I don't quite think through.
And anyway, I'm curious. Even when I get the whiff of an idea of how things are going to go, I still want to keep going. Just to see what happens.
I think of myself as someone who says yes to the world.
Kit hung out in my house for an entire week before I finally thought to ask him what the heck he was doing there.
Androids can't really startle, at least not when we're in good repair, but ever since that day, I could almost guess how it felt.
He was from fucking Mars.
He'd been terribly poor. Most everyone way, just like all those cranks were always talking about.
Then he told me about his brother, and how he'd been trying to find him.
(As for my own story... It could wait.)
From what felt like the beginning of my life, which I eventually found out really wasn't, to not terribly long ago, I wondered why I was made. I knew my armature model was designed for heavy construction work, but was about it. Honestly, it seemed like I just popped into existence one day, with no duty, no purpose, no Taskmaster. Like a human does. And like a human, I've learned to live with that. There are worse things than being directionless.
Not existing at all is one of them.
I'm happy to be here.
When I decided I finally wanted my records released, I was told to go to a certain person. That if he couldn't help me, no one could. He lived in the middle of the woods. He introduced himself as Satchel of Lennox, because apparently, the government couldn't really boss him around, so long as he said his name just right.
I knew I was in good hands. That he wouldn't let anyone keep anything from me, because that flew in the face of everything he stood for.
He helped me. I knew he'd help Kit, too.
Satchel of Lennox was stumped, so he sent us to Barclay Maximov.
Barclay Maximov did not make me feel like I was in good hands. He was pale, and stony-faced, and answered the door in his bathrobe. His tattoos covered his arms all the way up, like he's been born with them, and he looked like he was about to bite one of us like a shark. Then I saw how quickly he got stuck into his work, shutting out all distraction, eyes darting back and forth behind grey lenses.
I thought; kid, we're gonna get your brother home.
Kit got his brother loaded into my car, and I finally saw the famous Milo.
He was a young guy, tallish, pale, pitch-black eyes, weird blue sheen on the hair. Run-down and sickly, but pleasant enough.
I find out that, in addition to being a friggin' actual-factual Martian, he has tuberculosis. Which is the same thing as consumption, one of those ominously-named diseases that people got when doctors weren't really doctors yet, and would take people apart in an arena while everyone watched like they were at the circus.
God, how do these things keep happening to me?
Kit fell asleep on the beanbag, just like always. His brother and I were alone.
"So... What brings you all the way over here?"
Milo coughed a little, then stretched enough to crack his neck.
"I just heard it was better. And I was getting pretty desperate."
"Well, is it better?"
"Yeah. I mean, my body's still pretty fucked, so there's that, but just not wanting it so much is a load off, you know?"
I couldn't know. I hadn't seen what he'd seen.
"Not really"
"Alright"
We stared out the window, watching the red taillights go by.
Now that I apparently had two roommates, I decided to give up my bed. After all, I only needed it to charge, and I could just as easily do that on the floor. Milo needed it to sleep for most of the day, which would probably get pretty uncomfortable on a beanbag.
Then again, he's only really sleeping most of the day.
Most of the night, he's sitting up and shivering, surrounded by bloody paper towels, apologizing to his brother.
And most of the night, Kit sits next to him, telling him that no one should apologize for being sick.
When Satchel ducked into the bathroom to call his brother, I didn't think he was ever coming out. But I guess he did, because a few days later, he swung by my apartment to check on us.
He brought a friend of his. The guy's name was Scissors. I'm not sure if that's his real name, or if he even has one.
Both of them are so obsessed with certain things that it's almost exhausting to listen to them. Pseudolaw. Ghost hunting. Chainmail. UFOs.
It was the weirdest conversation I'd ever heard in my life. And that's saying something.
Milo turned out to be pretty laid-back for someone in his situation, but there were some things he took a little too seriously. It kept things interesting.
"Oh, come on! That's bullshit! And why is the guy who makes a living removing alien microchips or whatever always a goddamn foot doctor!?"
By now, Kit was hardly paying any attention.
"I know, Milo."
"Fuck, this show is stupid. I hate it. Hate."
"You can change the channel, Milo."
"I will, but I just had to say, it's bullshit. Why do people watch this crud!?"
Kit shrugged. Milo never did change the channel.
I finally met Satchel's brother, and became immediately convinced that their parents had to have won at least one of them in a poker game or something. Different builds, different coloring, more than a whole head of height between them.
Then Frankie, for that was his name, started ranting about how he was right all along, and no one ever listened to him, and now he needed to figure out a way to go public with this.
He whipped himself into a coughing fit, then sat down in my kitchen and had several loud phone conversations.
Yep, they're related.
Kit knew Milo was sick.
I knew Milo was dying.
Milo knew he was invincible.
What none of us knew was whether he was in denial, or uninformed, or just stubborn.
I've never had a human body, but it was obvious to me that he was really chewed-up inside. He never looked like he wasn't in pain. There were always fresh streaks of blood in my bathroom sink. He'd cough, and I'd hear him ripping himself apart.
But, Milo wanted to live. So he would. That was his logic, and there was no telling him otherwise.
I was commissioned to help with the construction of a new Lunar dome. A new town.
I fucked something up, we lost pressure, and everyone who needed to breathe (everyone but me) wound up dead. I was alone when they found me. Someone decided that I should have my memory wiped and start over. But, you can't just pick and choose what you pluck out of a brain. So the way I used and accessed memories was never quite the same again.
I knew where I came from.
And I knew why I act like such a fucking idiot sometimes.
Scissors knew about a doctor who could help them, and a closer place they could stay while he tried. So he pulled up in front of the apartment complex and lead the Martians to his van.
I was glad they'd be alright, but I would miss them. My home already felt empty.
That was the only thing I didn't like about all these stupid adventures. They always end. I never see it coming.
I have to remind myself that saying goodbye is just another way to say yes to the world.
This is the heavy labor I was built for.
no subject
no subject
And thanks! I just thought it fit him, because I imagine falling into stuff the way I imagine him doing can take a toll, and hey, that's a thing.
Thank you! :D
no subject
Also Hell or high water was my favorite.
no subject