flyguy | [Recollé] Telenovela Ep1: Tony y Jack

"Well hell, can't expect a guy to give up everything fun." Jack taps the side of his nose, turns halfway in his seat to follow Tony's line of sight. "Looks like you have enough buzz in you anyway, kiddo."

And he says it so sweet, too. Like they're friends. Pals. Besties, even. It's condescending to the max and he's not trying to hide it in the least, capping the tequila and pushing it far enough back that he won't accidentally knock it down with his elbow or something.

Funny. The room is full of booze and warm, inviting bodies, but he doesn't want any of them.

"Hey - wanna go jump off a bridge with me?"

Casually Tony takes Jack's tequila bottle and undoes the cap. It's with a certain perfunctoriness he puts the opening to his mouth and tosses his head back. It's more than clear this isn't just one night of heavy drinking, but an habit, a skill. Finishing he sets it back on he counter, carefree as can be. "Depends. How scenic's the location?"

It's all Jack gets before Tony's hand is gripping the back of Jack's head and slamming his face into the countertop (or trying at least, whichever). He looks up at the bartender who's jumped back at the commotion. Something about it... Her frightened rabbit look maybe or maybe it's the violence itself, the alcohol, who knows, he's feeling good! So he laughs. Loud, a tone shy of a guffaw. Hell, if he had the free hand he'd wipe away a tear. "We're not that good friends, sorry. Say, Camilla. Would you happen to remember which eyecandy I came in with? This is probably going to involve the cops—" He laughs again, louder, even as his fingers tighten in Jack's hair. "—and I never got those digits."

If he's still got that hold on Jack he'll be jerking the other man back with a strength fueled by alcohol and throwing him backwards to the floor. Or, well, into a gaggle of hipsters. Look, it's crowded in here. Watch out for the pins on those messenger bags, Jack.

The impact blacks out his vision for a second, and all he really catches of that is Tony's bark of laughter - and Jack's laughing too, even as he lands in the arms, willing and unwilling, of a group of kids who barely look old enough to be here in the first place. It's hard to keep up with things second by second when his head's still fuzzy from impact, but he's been in enough fights to know to lever onto his feet and lunge; he'll probably hit something, and with any luck, that something will be Tony. Maybe? Who cares. It's been so long since he's been in a fight and he feels young and happy and stupid again, and it's so nice, so nice.

And, y'know, he's pretty happy to finally get a chance to duke it out with Tony [insertlastname]. Namely by grabbing someone's half-empty beer on the nearby bar and swinging it at Tony's face like a bludgeon. People are yelling, someone's probably calling the cops - it's fun, he's having fun.

Jack may be used to it, but Tony can't say he's been in many fights. No, that's wrong. He can count the amount of fights where he's fought back instead of standing there and taking it "like a man" on one hand. That's because it's 0, the number is 0. As such he has no concept of what to do when Jack slams into him, pinning him back against the bar with enough force to wind him. The bottle comes next, breaking over the side of his face in a shower of glass. The only thing that saves his eyes is the glasses he's wearing, but that doesn't do jack for everything else. There's blood and the pain would be insane if it weren't for the alcohol. People are screaming and scrambling back. Hands are pulling out phones, pictures are being taken, calls are placed. Tony just laughs harder. There's blood streaming down his face, glass stuck in it in a few places, beer all over him. Feels annoying. Feels good?

Who the hell cares. He doesn't know what to do, but he's been taking self-defense classes for a while now. As such his hand sloppily. grabs the shoulder of Jack's shirt to hold him in place and his other curls into a fist. The hook he throws into the side of Jack's rib cage is surprisingly brutal, no force held back. It's followed in quick succession by more, quick jabs that get more wild, stronger, turn into a frenzy. If Jack doesn't do something Tony's going to keep going until there's enough room he can knee Jack in the chest and drop him in the sudden open space around them.

But hey, least they both seem to be having a good time. Right? Even if Tony's face is taking on more and more of an animosity that's completely uncharacteristic to him.

Jack cuts himself when he grabs Tony by the face, but he hardly feels it - there's no finesse to this fight, but that's okay, because Tony is waylaying on those ribs he broke all those years back and Jack can hardly breathe for it, and the wash of raw sensation wipes out everything else he's been dealing with for the past decade. The loneliness. The anger. All there is right now is him, and Tony, and the breathless gasp he lets out when he hits the floor.

Feels good, feels fucking great, feels better than he's felt in years and years, and Jack isn't letting go of it now, knotting his hands in Tony's clothes and trying to drag them both to the floor. Tony's face is colored with hate, and Jack is grinning mindlessly, hand dragging up to try and lock around Tony's throat.

It's been a long time since he's gotten to strangle someone.

Tony's knees hit the floor and the rest of him basically follows. Look, sense of balance was out the window hours before he ran into Jack. As such it's not hard for Jack to get a chokehold at all, Tony laid out kind of like a beached fish. His eyes widen as his brain registers the whole breathing isn't happening thing and his hand slaps the floor, blindly searching for Jack.

It's pathetic. It's...not him. This is not him. Does Jack even realize what they're doing? His hand finally finds the other man's face and his nails dig in, dragging at flesh and that old scar as he gasps and sputters trying to breathe. Everything's going dark, starting at the edges and creeping in. He can definitely feel himself slipping off to beddy-bye when strong hands rip Jack's grip from his throat. Someone helps him up and he drunkenly tries to wave them off. Stumbles, falls, gets caught again and held more securely this time. Other hands are rolling Jack over, forcibly pushing his face into the floor as they cuff him. Tonight on COPS...

"Tony. Are you going to let me have a quiet night any week this month?"

Oh. Hey. He knows this voice. Turning blindly towards it he lets his arm be slung around a shoulder clothed in the sensible blue of the Recollé PD. "Officer Jody." Except it's more of a garbled frog voice. He tries again, makes more of an effort. What he gets is a thin rasp. "My favorite Jody on the force."

"I'm the only Jody on the force."

"I know. That's why you're my favorite one." Something, something words. It's kind of all a slur, but he does distinctly feel the cold bite of metal as an handcuff is slapped around his wrist. "I'm glad you feel that way. Because I have eye witness accounts that you threw the first blow this time. You're coming down to the station."

Tony's mouth gaps open like he can't comprehend what's going on. Because, you know, he sort of can't. It takes a moment. Two. He holds up an hand in the international signal for wait. Three. "Okay, just first—"

He turns and hurls on the floor. It's a good thing he's drunk or the excruciating pain of vomiting with a throat someone was minutes ago just trying to collapse would have him screaming. "...Now we can go."

And that's how Jack and Tony end up in two separate cells in the district jail. Wild night.

Edited (Cleans this up) 2017-04-16 21:44 (UTC)

"You're lucky I lied about being here for work."

It's pretty much all Jack says between trying to throttle Tony and ending up in the good ol' PD, scoffing it as they lead the two of them off to their respective cells. It's good they pull him off when they do - it's not that he wants to seriously hurt Tony, it's just that he hits that violent high and doesn't ever want to come down again. Even when Tony grabs him and Jack vaguely registers nails raking down his face, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Not his face and not the feeling of it being crushed against the floor, someone digging their knee into his back as they yank his hands into place and cuff them.

Jack, a familiar voice says, and Jack rolls his eyes. Been a while.

"Suck a cock, Shaw."

But he's quiet otherwise, right up until that moment before they both split off to their respective cells. And from then on idk if people can actually talk to each other between cells or what/if we need to timeskip here gomen.

Depends on the station probs, but in my town they look like this. ...I've been on some weird Girl Scout trips. Anyway tl;dr going with yes laughs.

Two things happen when they get out in the cells: Tony throws up in the corner toilet and Tony flops down and splays out on the floor like a drunk. Because. You know. He is drunk. It's pathetic and...just pathetic really.

He's just waiting for his lawyer to show up. At 2am. He's definitely going to be in the shit. So he's content to just lay around and feel —not sorry for himself, he refuses to throw a pity party— emotionally exhausted. So at some point there's a raspy: "...Do you even have a real job?"

The fact this ends on a giggle probably helps nothing. But look. It's right out of the script of a romcom that Jack felt the need to lie to him. For reasons he honestly doesn't even understand; it was settled a long time ago between them which one was better. Since, you know, Sofia obviously.

Edited 2017-04-16 22:43 (UTC)

"Oh, yeah. Didn't lie about any of that. Codemonkey and proud, baby."

Jack, significantly less drunk, is sprawled out on his little cot in a way that says he's really comfortable sitting in jail cells. Hell, he's probably spent a weekend or two in this exact one before. So he's got his arms folded behind his head to make up for the cardboard pillow, watching the lights flicker.

"I actually came back to town to kill myself." He says it casually - could be a ploy for attention, or pity, but this exact tone is leaning more towards a 'Night, Mother type situation. The cop on watch duty looks up, but Jack waves him off. "Slow your roll, Porky, I changed my mind. You put me on watch and I might actually do it out of boredom."

...Drunk Tony is probably not the best guy to say to this. Sober he'd have a lot to say, maybe a straight up lecture like the old days. Except sober Tony is never around anymore. Not these days. There's a pause as if he's taking that in, respecting it. And then he's throwing his hand over his eyes —and it hurts, glass in his face and all, shit— and laughing without restraint. It's genuine, unabashed. This situation could not get more insane even if aliens invaded right now.

"You turn, —what? Straight? Legit?— get a good job, probably have some kind of degree. And you come back into to town to end it all." A pause. "And crash my party."

Why was that on the list, Jack? He wants to know. Really. But aah... Hah. Haha. "They're never going to bury you next to her." He lets his hand slip to the floor with a soft smack, eyes closed behind his glasses. If he leaves a bloody streak on the floor it'll be something for the janitor to remember him by. "Won't see her headstone."

Jack's probably visited her grave before. Tony would assume so. There's something about the way he says it though. Like Jack's going to miss the ice cream truck if he passes the opportunity. ...Then again he's probably one drink away from alcohol poisoning so do you really want to listen to this hot mess Jack.

And Jack takes the laughter serenely, which is probably the clearest sign that he's serious - was serious, whatever, there's no telling with him. He just taps his fingers on his chest in an uneven staccato until Tony says that last bit.

"Yeah, probably not. Bet I get the plywood coffin in a shallow hole treatment." He sounds regretful - inasmuch as he sounds particularly anything right now, anyway, there's not a whole lot of emotion happening on his end right now. "Y'know, I was supposed to have a drink and go kiss a pistol before you decided to show up and shit all over my night, so... thanks, I guess? I dunno."

S h r u g. There's a long moment of quiet before he starts again.

"Why haven't you done it yet, anyway? Honest question. And don't gimme that duuuuh, whatcha mean Jack? treatment either, because I know a hot miserable fucking mess when I see one."

Why hasn't he done it? Ughhhh he lets his head roll to the side, cheek pressing against the cold floor as his mind drifts back twenty years.

"She said I looked like a jackass." Welp. He's remembering now though. Standing on that bridge. It was a long drop with a busy highway below. he'd brought wire cutters and cut through the fencing to prevent exactly that sort of thing idiots standing on the edge was. "Told me it was the uncoolest thing I could ever do."

A pause. "So peer pressure basically." Ayup. That's what he's going with. He raises his voice— "Which shoe do I have to give to get a drink in here? They're Salvatore Ferragamo!"

...He is really not helping his case here.

"Good to know, but I meant lately." Yep, taking that soulful confession and totally ignoring it, this is why they're not friends. Probably. Are they? Jack has no idea, because honestly, he doesn't have a whole lot of experience with having friends. "I mean, Christ, look at you. You're stone cold friggin' wasted, and not in that I'm having a good day way. People happy to be alive don't fight like that."

They don't bounce between smiling and chatting up the bartender and then have that look of rage when they beat someone up, and they don't enjoy hurting and being hurt quite that much. Jack recognizes his own desperate lashing out, but to see it in Tony? It's new.

"I wasn't kidding when I asked if you wanted to go jump off a bridge with me." A beat. "I just don't get why you don't, I guess. What's your secret, T?"

What's his secret? Jack sounds like those talk show hosts who want to know his rags to riches story. He was a man living in a rundown apartment taking care of his landlady's cat just to afford rent. Tell us Tony— how did you get from there to an acceptable member of society? He can practically hear it and takes a moment to say, "Well Joan..." in his head before he answers.

"A little sarsaparilla in the morning. Nails. In my oatmeal. Latin chanting when I take my showers. —Christ. If it was uncool when I was in highschool it won't be any cooler now that I'm in my...thirties."

Dragging himself up he crawls over to the toilet though he doesn't throw up. Just rests his head on it. Probably the most unsanitory pillow in the house, but hell if he doesn't feel like a truck hit him. Followed by several deer and a little old grandma in a Volkswagon.

"If you're looking for a reason to stay alive visit her grave when you get out of here. Or buy a burger. Buy me a burger." Actually that sounds terrible and now he really is throwing up again. Everything is awful. Jailed. Next to Jack. Drunk as a skunk. Pretty sure Coor's Light is becoming one with his face. And this isn't even his rock bottom. Ughhhhh.

Edited (Dw the fuck aren't you showing my icons for) 2017-04-17 01:12 (UTC)

Jack's quiet for a few moments after Tony finishes - well, starts, but finishes talking at least - and sits there, thoughtful. Gives Tony some time to horf his guts out before he tries to fill the silence.

"...Come with me." He sits up, looking over to Tony for the first time. "Visit her with me."

Tony looks over his shoulder in Jack's direction. Jack's clearly feeling something, but Tony— "If you're trying to have a Hallmark Channel moment you sure picked an hell of a time. Why?"

Edited 2017-04-17 01:30 (UTC)

"Because you loved her too, dumbass."

Could be Hallmark, but that's not really how either of them functions, is it? Particularly - no, especially when it comes to one another. So Jack drawls his answer like it should be obvious, sitting up entirely.

"Just - I dunno, I don't know what I want to do yet, and I'm not gonna take Angel and risk the last time she ever sees me being at her mom's grave. Just gimme some goddamn company, alright? Then we'll get burgers and I'll buy one of your dumb books."

"Ughhhhhhhhhh. Fine. Fine! Give me an hour to sober up. And my lawyer to get here." Fucking Jack. Comes back into town. Crashes his award after-after-party. Gets him thrown in jail. Now they're going out grave visiting at roughly...a glance at his fancy expensive watch— 3am. Hell by the time they get there maybe they can watch the sun rise and sing with the birds.

These had better be the best burgers he's ever damn had. They'd better do more than knock his socks off. They'd better win a Nobel Prize.

But okay grumpy, drunk Tony aside it's roughly thirty minutes before his lawyer shows up. There's some banter of which I will give you the man in the street version: "You dumbass." "Love you too mwah mwah." Anywho the door to Tony's cell is opened and he's let out. His lawyer starts to lead him away because obviously they are going to leave Jack there to rot or whatever happens to thirty something degenerates. But Tony puts an halt on the Society Loves Rich People train.

"Him too. Pay his bail."

"What? But Tony, why? He tried to kill you."

Tony looks back at Jack. Yeah. That did kind of happen. Shrugging he looks back at his lawyer. "Old business. Gotta bury the hatchet. I'll be okay. And I promise I'll call about that bodyguard. First thing on my docket in the morning. We cool?"

"...First thing."

And that's how Tony and Jack end up outside, rumpled and worse for wear. Also ig Tony still has a bloody face they should probably stop at a convenience store or something on the way lmao. Anywho. "So. What's the ride like? Another motorcycle? Car? You doing the responsible thirty-something van thing?"

Lay it on him Jack.

Edited 2017-04-17 02:40 (UTC)

"I wasn't gonna kill him!" Frank gets Jack yelling at him from his cell, leaned up against the bars. "I was just gonna choke him a little!"

Not. Helping. But Tony bails him out of trouble - probably not for the first time, either - and Jack is the one to stop in at the convenience store nearby for what he'll need to put Tony back together. He also buys a pack of smokes, because you know, possibly the last night of his entire life and all. Might as well get all his favorite vices in.

"Rented a car for the trip, but I got a bike back home." He jerks his head once they're outside, indicating for Tony to follow him. "C'mon. Memory's kinda fuzzy, you'll have to give me directions anyway."

It's not that he's never visited her grave before, just that last time he did, he was blackout drunk and woke up... at the PD, coincidentally. He leads them to a pretty little current year model, where he insists Tony sit down and let him pick the glass out of his face with tweezers. If Tony doesn't squirm, it should be a pretty quick affair; it isn't like he's never done this before, after all, and it's not like he cares about Tony's comfort too terribly much when he follows it up with a cotton ball soaked in peroxide. He himself has a split lip and the beginnings of an angry bruise building on his cheekbone, and if his nose is broken, he certainly wouldn't be surprised.

It's fun. They've had fun tonight.

"How're the folks?" Jack says casually, dabbing at a particularly nasty cut near Tony's hairline. "I remember them being total jackasses. That ever get any better or what?"

Tony does what he's told for the most part. He might be a little stumbley, but he's a trooper and keeps up with Jack regardless. As such he's pretty docile when Jack sits him down. There's a few flinches, an hiss at a particularly sharp piece of glass. But otherwise he acts good. Might be surprising. Or might not. He's had worse. Can't forget the time he did the ironing wrong. Had an aversion to irons ever since. He doesn't even like tea kettles.

The question though... Yeah, that's right. Sofia did bring Jack around a few times. To pick him up for this or that as their third wheel tagalong since his parents would have paid for a car when Hell opened a water park. Or, God, those awful double dates where she tried to hook him up with her friends, and Jack's friends. Random women they met in Starbucks or wherever bikers got their coffee. Look it's the end of my shift I can ramble if I want laughs. Anyway his face is pretty nonplussed. Kind of helps they already got all the trying to murder eachother out of the way (really helps).

"Well they tried to place an hit on me. And we're currently in court over them using my social security to embezzle a large portion of my earnings. They bought a very nice boat. First rule: no Anthonys onboard." It sounds like he's joking, but then he adds: "They had it gilded in gold plate. So... Yeah." His hands turn palm up in a semi-shrug. It is what it is. Horrible and shitty and a real fucking kick to his self-worth. But he's not going to cry about it. Just act incredibly self-destructive and try not to have a single sober moment until this whole mess is behind him. Preferrably years behind him.

"When's the last time you saw Angel?"

Edited 2017-04-17 03:52 (UTC)

"No shit?" He could sound more sympathetic, but that probably isn't what Tony wants from Jack, is it? They've never been that fake with each other, and it's not like Jack is jumping at the idea of starting now. "Pfff, gold plate. Bet it's tacky as hell."

But he knows where Tony must be right now (kind of knows?), so he gives the man a shrug of his own. He's never shared much of where he comes from - even Sofia had a hard time getting anything out of him, much less Tony hearing any of it. Feels right to share it now, though.

"Grams probably wishes I'm dead. Just like your good-for-fucking-nothing biker daddy and all. I was waiting to off myself until she died first, but at this rate that bitch'll be around when the goddamn sun dies." They're done cleaning, so now Jack moves to the gauze. It won't be a particularly pretty patch job, but hey, it'll work until he can see a real doctor. If he even bothers. "Used to beat me with a chain. A chain! Like, who even does that? I'm an asshole, buddy, but I get it honest."

So he understands the shit guardians thing, kind of. It's just idle talk to fill the silence, something to listen to while he tears another strip of medical tape off with his teeth.

"Saw her today." Should they be worried about a concussion? Probably. "Had her the whole day. Got ice cream, saw a movie, went to her favorite restaurant, all that crap. Wanted to make it a good memory." A shrug. "Pretty sure she doesn't love me anymore. Don't really blame her. Only so many times you can tell a kid I'm sorry sweetie, daddy can't make it before they get sick of hearing it, y'know?"

It's true Tony's never heard much about Jack's past. Sofia told him the odd thing or two ("No, Tony, he didn't rise from a swamp" "I'm pretty sure he's human." "For the love of God don't tell him the Sith are his spirit animal."). But it wasn't much of anything. That he's hearing it now...? He's pretty hard put not to roll his eyes. He settles for looking up at the sky and keeping still. He's not really sure where "my parents tried to have me killed" is an open invitation for swapping abuse stories like some kind of Care Bear Power Hour, but whatever. He doesn't want to get into it.

"It's called a telephone, Jack. Invented 1876. You should look into it some time." Okay, okay. Enough of this touchy-feely powwow. Waving Jack off he stands up. "If we're going to do this let's do it."

"Ya try and reach out to a guy..." Jack shakes his head, standing, and clucks his tongue in mock-disappointment before tossing what's left of their hacked-together medkit. "Fine. Passenger's seat, drunky. Try not to barf on the way."

Jack is... fucked up, but he's also got above average tolerance and way too much experience driving drunk, so the drive isn't long and they get to where they're going in roughly one piece. Rather than fill the silence himself, Jack cranks the radio and lets classic rock do the job. They're both drunk, and bloody, and miserable, and now they're pulling up to the graveyard. Jack leans over and taps the glovebox, pulling the pistol inside into his lap to check that it's loaded.

"Ya know, just in case," he explains as he shuts the door, tucking it into the back of his pants. Then he's gesturing for Tony to lead them. "Take it away, T."

They're driving and they're going to the graveyard. Outside of visiting hours, by the way. Just great. Probably weird for Jack. How often does he even come? Tony... He's been. A lot. More so in the beginning. Less so recently. He does the flowers. Holidays, specific anniversaries, that sort of thing. Again— not so much of late. Been busy. Life.

When they get there though it's just as familiar as ever, even in the middle of the night. He starts getting out of the car when Jack opens the glovebox and pulls out a gun. They were driving around with a gun? A loaded gun? In the glovebox? "In case of what? The zombie apocalypse? Why do you even have a gun? You said you went straight."

Okay, now he's kind of pissed. Actually very pissed. It's exactly this kind of reckless behavior that got Sofia killed. Getting out of the car he slams the door shut. God damn it. He knew better than to get in a car with Jack and yet he did it anyway. Every time. "Come on."

He just wants to get this over with.

Edited 2017-04-18 04:07 (UTC)

Jack doesn't answer - just holds two fingers up to his temple and mimes a gun going off, little gunshot noise included. Then he's catching up, brushing shoulders with Tony as they head in, either oblivious or just uncaring of the fact that he's pissed. He's too busy squinting at passing headstones, occasionally reaching up to rub absently at his scar. Tony tore into it, and even if the alcohol numbs things considerably, just the slightest edge of a sting still makes its way through.

"Y'know, I kinda missed this." Jack is talking to nobody and nothing but it's the silence that's starting to fray his nerves, getting him lagging just a step or two behind Tony. "Pissing you off, I mean. Had fun tonight. Haven't been hit like that in years."

[Recollé] Telenovela Ep1: Tony y Jack

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Why do I tag you I have like five more things to PM Angel's player now SMH

dammit tony don't tell his daughter abt all his business!!!

Okay fine he won't tell her to send you an Easter peep and guilt you forever. BEC mmk

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This is officially the most horrible thread jsyk

you could not get more dysfunctional if you tried

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