You think they roll out the red carpets when I show up? You do it for Angel.
[Because in Tony's world that's how it works. You just do it. No matter how unpleasant or horrible it is. But they've been down this road often enough before; he's not going to change Jack's mind now. Another swig and he starts patting his jacket looking for a writing utensil.]
And no worries. My lawyer's more married to my money than I am. And he likes to threaten to have me proclaimed legally incompetent. Give me your hand.
[ Why the fuck not. He's drunk and he doesn't even care anymore. If Tony started doodling dicks all over his hand, he probably wouldn't even stop the guy until he'd finished his drink. ]
How'd the thing go with your folks? You still talk to them, or... ?
[ "so did you make up with the people who tried to kill you" ]
[Wat. The question makes him jerk, mind trying to switch tracks and not doing too well. He hasn't thought of his parents in years. Hell, most people just assume they're dead. There's a definite pause.
And then he realizes what Jack's asking about and he starts moving again. Hand pulls a jerryrigged tiny sized marker he bought off some kids out of his pocket and he takes Jack's own, starting to write on the man's palm.]
It's a little hard to have a relationship with your parents when they disown you. The five hundred foot restraining orders might also play into it a bit.
[He finishes what he's writing. It's a city park, address and time. Back in his jacket the marker goes.]
Far as I care they're welcome to rot in a ditch and die miserable, pathetic little unknown deaths. That's the place and time we're watching Memorial Day fireworks. Not sure if Angel's coming you'd have to work that out with her player idkkk. If you show up you show up sober and you stay sober. ...And don't let Kate touch you, she's looking for husband number 5 and no one needs that mess.
[ He may still be the slightly feelingsier one between the two of them, but even drunken Jack knows that he's going to regret all of this hardcore pretty soon. So he knocks back the rest of his drink and sets it down nearby, sprawling at an awkward angle across Tony's plasticky little fake couch. ]
You only win this one because I forfeit. I'm too cold and tired to get full-on blitzed.
[SURPRISINGLY...... Tony is alright with how this turned out. Broken nose aside. Weirdly? He actually feels pretty okay with Jack right now.
Of course Jack will ruin that later. He always does. But Tony has some things to think about. How he's approached Jack. And maybe...a little of his own mental growing up to do. Nothing can bring Sofia back. Or, hell, he's five inches right now and he doesn't know if it's real or a mass mental breakdown. All laws of absolutes are out the window at this point. But for his own sanity Tony has to believe death will continue remaining permanent. If that changed...
Twenty years is a long time. He's not a dumb twenty something anymore. And even if he can't forgive, two decades is a long time to keep punishing one person ftr no claims here he was ever good at it. ...He'll think it over.
For now he just drains his own glass.]
Don't worry; I won't tell anyone I finally beat your ass in something. I like to keep them guessing which of us is the bigger trainwreck.
[Standing up he waves an hand vaguely.]
You can take whatever you want from the closet. Just don't be on my couch in the morning.
[Okay? Okay. He's going to carry on drinking in the kitchen with the nonfunctioning oven for company. At least the plastic muffins "baking" in it have smiley faces on top. ...He's just going to keep the oven door closed. Yep.]
I can't believe you actually moved your tiny clothes into the tiny closet.
[ Which is apparently his version of a goodbye, or at least a goodnight - because when Tony looks in the morning, Jack is still very much there, passed out on his crappy plastic couch. He's using one of Tony's shirts as a blanket, apparently midway through dressing when he crashed.
This is pretty much the only time I will get to use this icon ever. ]
[Dis face. Just all Tony's "what"s. NOT EVEN GOING TO WAKE JACK. Instead he's just going to dress in a clean suit and pour himself a morning bourbon. Jack can wake up when he hears the commotion of Tony trying to wrestle open a packet of poptarts in the kitchen. Mainly because the poptart kind of out-weight classes everything in the kitchen. Long story short the table gets knocked over and the referee's starting the count.
Being this size is some kind of living hell. And not the one he knows, goddamn.]
[ And as soon as he hears the ruckus, Tony can listen to Jack slur something like fuckwhat and topple off the couch. This is pathetic. Later, Jack won't be able to decide which one of them was more embarrassing.
Anyway, he's mostly got the shirt on when he leans in the kitchen doorway, brows up, eyes bloodshot. ]
["Why're you still in my dollhouse" is the first reply that comes to mind, but Tony puts it on the back burner. For now. Instead he starts looking around for something sharp.]
I was kind of envisioning having breakfast. I'm booked solid till 8.
[So lunch isn't really a thing that's happening. Not today at least. He picks up a plastic knife. Puts it down. Nope.]
I see you're still alive.
[...Attempts made. He just doesn't have a nice setting.]
[And that's how they get the poptarts open. It's also how Tony gets crumbs and poptart pieces all over his kitchen floor. He almost throws his hands up and goes off on Jack about do you want ants, because that's how you get ants the extra inconvenience it is getting a maid up here when they're all candy bar sized. BUT....
He manages to hold it in. Somehow. He needs another bourbon.]
...I guess you do come in handy. Sometimes. Five second rule.
[Aka anything on the floor for less than five seconds is still edible. Just picking up a piece of poptart and sitting down (...after righting the table) with it and a glass, alcohol generously being poured into it. No offers for Jack because he assumes Jack has class. Or. Something. Whatever shady professors do.
You know he's realizing being not a complete asshole is verging on the impossible when he's (relatively) sober and Jack's whole presence just...kind of annoys him... Hmmm. 500 Days of Why Tony is the Problem in this CR right here.
Anyway he has a tiny sized newspaper because it really is just as easy as changing the font point in Word. Probably. First headline: April Showes Bring May Flowers, a look into Recollé's indigenous flora and a picture close-up of a glowing flower. What is this trite crap, gag him. Tony flips to sports. At least the score listings don't insult his higher thinking skills. This is a terrible tag. Semi-mercifully he does acknowledge he's an asshole and as such:]
So what are the plans for today? Meetings, classes, teacher...stuff? I have no idea what you do all day.
[He says it like this is completely normal. But deep down they both know it's awkward as hell. Probably. Amount of times Tony has ever shown an interest in Jack's life: 0 and going into the negatives.]
Class from noon to three, but other than that, nada. [ He leans back against the wall bodily, rubbing at his temple. ] Good thing, too. I can teach trashed, but actual... I dunno, important stuff? Jesus, I'm doing good not to throw up on myself right now.
[ Which probably makes him look like such a responsible adult figure and all, he knows. ]
Better question: what the hell do you do all day? [ A yawn. He goes to get water with a plastic cup before forgetting that this is a fucking dollhouse. God. ] Besides rubbing a few out to how rich you are, I mean.
[There's never any adverse effects if you never stop drinking, Jack... No, kidding. Don't follow Tony's example. God, no one follow Tony's example ever. He does watch Jack for a bit over the top of his paper. Kind of...nagging feeling...he should do something. Take care of the guy. The drinking had been his idea.
But also a bitchy petulance not wanting to dogging at his heels.]
I have to get my nose looked at, for one. —Which, by the way, thanks for that. Sit down.
[The last part comes out surprisingly adult-in-charge. He may be the crappy not-actually-uncle now, but he was pretty okay in helping with Angel in the beginning. He still remembers how to parent. ...All the fucking laughs over here okay. BUT ANYWAY. Getting up he'll go to a cupboard and take down a...container of potable water. Look I suck at borrowers shit I am out of mini-replacement ideas. He will pour Jack a glass and pass it over though.]
Legal meetings. Business meetings. Meeting with my editor. Interview. Studio recording for a television show. Art gallery closing. Rich people who don't do work with their hands type stuff.
[How much horrible can we fit in one thread, the saga. To his...vague credit...there's not the bite to his voice there could be. It's more just hazing Jack than tearing him down. Which is something. Not a lot. But more than Jack usually gets from him.
Knocking back the rest of his drink he sets the glass on the fake plastic tiled counter.]
Let's go. You're not staying in my house while I'm not here. The things you'd do would be...questionable at best.
[SLIGHT FROWN AT THE POPTART MESS, but he will step over it and head for the door, clearly expecting Jack to follow. Kind of a toss up which one of them is more fit to drive. Enh, they'll be fine. Probably.]
You know, you're gonna get ants. [ Said exactly like this is Tony's fault for making the poptart mess in the first place. Jack follows, stretching idly. ] I'm driving. Being that I'm the marginally less sauced one here and all.
[ Also he wants to drive the sparkly Barbie car?? When else will he get to drive a sparkly Barbie car. ]
You start seeing in double instead of triple and you can drive again.
[He is mentally flipping tables right about now. It takes a lot of willpower not to turn around and give Jack a "what the hell have you been smoking" look. Instead he settles for tersely checking his cuff links and straightening his sleeves to something a bit more immaculate. Takes a few breaths and...]
That's what hired help is for. $25 an hour and I'd expect not having to fight any ants when I get back. By the way you crash it you buy it.
[But yeah sure Jack can have the driver's seat and the remote control when they get out there. Because...
Actually what the hell is he doing. There's not even seatbelts in this thing. Not to mention the last time Jack drove him anywhere he had a gun in the glove compartment. ...Damn it, he settles for gripping the passenger door real tight after he's settled. And maybe praying. Just a little.]
[ Said once they're in the car, Jack giving the controls a few little test jerks this way and that. Forward, reverse, hairpin turn, donut, fun stuff like that. He's obviously enjoying himself. ]
You act like we're gonna die in a flaming wreck or something. Trust me, with the way you and I live, that is not how we're gonna go out.
[After a bit of looking abso-fucking-green he manages to force it down. Jack. That is just, everything. It's not a name. It's a pejorative. An embodiment of everything that is wrong in his life. Like a curse or Billy Mays ad.]
You know what, this one's my fault. I admit it. I let you in the house, I drove you here in my car— I should have just left you in those woods. Lesson learned. Next time I'm not stopping ghosts from eating your face.
See what happens when you pick up strays? [ He's got his feet up on the plastic dash, handling all the sloshing and swaying surprisingly well for a guy as plastered as he is. ] Next time you'll know better.
[ What is gratitude. AND THEY'RE OFF in the right direction now, hovering around top speed, drifting corners. Every single corner. How Tony should be rn. Might want to take the controls away before he gets them killed. ]
Where're you going first? I'll stop whenever we're as close to my place as we'll get.
[That gif made me laugh way too much jfc. BUT ANYWAY...
Yeah. He really regrets trying to be nice to Jack now. He'd say this is the reason they have a bad relationship, but you know there's other things. This is just kind of the cherry on top of the shit frosting.
But you know what? He's not playing this game. Jack doesn't get to bully him anymore. Not at this stage in his life. Crossing his arms he sits back in his chair and braces himself with his feet, stonefacing it out.]
Hm. That's an idea. But how about we do something else. I think I'm going to call your grandmother. Right now. Sounds like a plan, right?
[He is pulling out his phone. Jack wants to screw around? Here's a game: how rich do you have to be to get anyone you want on speakerphone in twenty seconds or less?]
Edited (I fall into verbal patterns way too easy) 2017-05-16 16:25 (UTC)
[ SKREEETCH. That is the sound of them stopping on a dime, probably nearly toppling over in the process. It's like flipping a switch, because suddenly, he doesn't feel like himself anymore. Jack, normal Jack, sane Jack - he'd cow down, bitch a little, and let it go Frozen style. It's not a big deal. He can take a little razzing. But this time, he remembers how ridiculously good it felt to shoot all those people; how amazing it was to see the way they were afraid of him when they were dying. Like he was some kind of god.
And he wants it again. So Tony gets Jack twisting in his seat like a snake, lunging - he means to put himself mostly in Tony's lap, the fingers of his right hand locked around the man's windpipe. ]
Nope. [ He tuts. ] Why do you keep making me hurt you, Tony?
[ They're not Jack's words. They're Jack's words. ]
CW parental abuse ig I should add fuck I'm still bad at this
[As much as he should have seen this coming, should have expected it, been prepared for it, had the police on speed dial—
Tony didn't see this coming at all. And that says something worse. How comfortable he's become with Jack. How much he trusted him. He can't breathe and it's been years since he threw his parental hang-ups in the trash, but hell if those words don't bring back flashes of his mom screaming at him in a drunken rage. Why is he such a screw up, why does he make her do these things, does he like her yelling —His hand is scrabbling at Jack's arm, panic setting in and making him weak, leaving him to fall back against the passenger door as Jack climbs over him, overbearing, in his face, trapping him— it would have been better if she had an abortion, how could one kid be so worthless, did he enjoy spiting his parents like this, who raised this selfish brat
Ah, Tony. When I ordered the hit on you—
He doesn't know the croon in his ear, but something about it fits in like a lost puzzle piece here. The feeling of not just being unable to breathe, but paralyzed, body going limp and tense, muscles locking up, sets in. His eyes widen and Tony stares up at Jack, face draining of color.]
[ Jesus, he'll need a smoke after this. It's just too good.
And then it isn't. Then he jumps back like he's been burned, hand snatched against his chest like it's going to bite. Whatever just happened-- ]
I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't - I don't know what the hell that was, just - Tony--
[ He's off Tony in an instant, putting as much distance between them as possible without tumbling out of the little car entirely. Tony looks rough, so they're heading right back to his ritzy little dollhouse so they can... he doesn't know. Jack can do a lot with words, but he's hit a button in Tony that never needed to be pushed again, and there's probably no way to fix that. ]
That wasn't me. [ They're still swaying a little - he's still kind of drunk - but Jack takes it much easier than before, face buried in his controls so he doesn't have to look over. ] I didn't do that, it was - it's his fault. C'mon, you know I could never move that fast when I'm drunk. It was him.
[ Maybe he can convince himself of that, anyway. The other Jack did it. The other Jack is the psychopath, not him, he would never. And if he tries really hard, Jack can ignore the fact that he still got one hell of a rush off that reaction. And that he's still enjoying it, on some level. ]
Jesus, just don't die on me. Then you can tell me to fuck off. Just hang on.
[They don't get very far. The moment Tony can resume some semblance of motor function on his own he's shoving open the car door, tumbling out and staggering away. Not that he does much better on his own, stumbling into a trash can and knocking it over, going down with it. There's garbage all over the sidewalk now and he feels sick, so sick.
Jack just tried to kill him —it was just fate you survived that— his hand claws at his chest, tearing the expensive cotton and ripping off buttons to get at the skin beneath, nails digging into flesh. He's going to be sick. No, not going. He is. Hurls once. Twice. Nothing, but alcohol. It burns coming up.
He barely registers what Jack's been saying. Something about a him... Some other guy. He doesn't understand it right now. Maybe he won't even understand it later. All he knows is something is not right and he needs to get away from Jack. Now.
It's kind of the most pathetic attempt at a fleeing crawl, but he does manage to at least get to his hands and knees and barrel roll into an alley.]
[ Jesus, Jack spits under his breath, and now they're making a scene. Much more attention and someone's going to call the cops, and hell if Jack wants to explain why he, drunk, and a friend, even drunker, were driving around the city, or why Tony is on the fritz, or why people watched a terrified man scrabble into an alley pursued by a different one. ]
Will you stop? [ He has to remember that he has no right to get annoyed, hand curling briefly into a tight fist at his side as he rides it out. ] I didn't want to hurt you, Tony. I wasn't gonna hurt you.
[ Feels like he's talking to a cat. Jack even hunches down (away from the vomit, gross) and leans up against the alley wall, grinding dirt and grime into his borrowed clothes. ]
I just wanted to scare you. [ He makes himself sound pathetic, just a little pleading. ] Just wanted you to stop. Gimme a number. Who do I call to pick you up, T? Somebody that can take you home and get you away from me.
[Tony just barely props himself up against some boxes of moldy produce thrown out for collection, wary eyes on Jack. Unfortunately for Jack Tony is no cat. After a pause of silence he croaks out a number. A familiar one.
It's Sofia's. Long defunct and passed on to a new owner with her passing. Jack can fucking chew on that. He knows the things he's done. All of them.]
[ It's impossible not to recognize that number - shit, she wrote it on his hand in gel pen once. Jack's eyes squint, widen with realization, narrow again.
What he wants to do is stroll over there and kick the living hell out of Tony. Like he might have done in the old, old days if they'd ran into each other without Sofia in play. And he just imagines it for a second, eyes shutting. Takes a deep breath in, lets it out in a hard rush. The anger he can handle - has always handled. It's the stark pleasure he gets from punishing people that fucks him up.
What he actually does is simple. Jack sneers for a moment before heading back to the car and retrieving Tony's phone, returning slow and purposeful. Could be a stalk, but it isn't. Jack hurls Tony's phone at him and turns to go. If Tony lets him, that's it; Jack slips around the corner and disappears.
[Tony watches the phone clatter to the ground beside him, cracks spreading over the screen as it makes contact, but doesn't pick it up. Neither does he stop Jack. Instead, once he's alone, he leans back against the boxes behind him and lets his head rest on them, eyes closed. Too many images in his mind. His mom. Jack. An older man he doesn't even know.
His chest hurts in an hell of a lot of ways it shouldn't and he has to keep touching it to make sure there is in fact no horrible wounds in it.
So much for a full schedule. He needs a drink. And more after that one. ...He's not going to forget this. There's really no one he can depend on.
He won't make the mistake of trusting again. Not anyone.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
JACK: May event log
You think they roll out the red carpets when I show up? You do it for Angel.
[Because in Tony's world that's how it works. You just do it. No matter how unpleasant or horrible it is. But they've been down this road often enough before; he's not going to change Jack's mind now. Another swig and he starts patting his jacket looking for a writing utensil.]
And no worries. My lawyer's more married to my money than I am. And he likes to threaten to have me proclaimed legally incompetent. Give me your hand.
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[ Why the fuck not. He's drunk and he doesn't even care anymore. If Tony started doodling dicks all over his hand, he probably wouldn't even stop the guy until he'd finished his drink. ]
How'd the thing go with your folks? You still talk to them, or... ?
[ "so did you make up with the people who tried to kill you" ]
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And then he realizes what Jack's asking about and he starts moving again. Hand pulls a jerryrigged tiny sized marker he bought off some kids out of his pocket and he takes Jack's own, starting to write on the man's palm.]
It's a little hard to have a relationship with your parents when they disown you. The five hundred foot restraining orders might also play into it a bit.
[He finishes what he's writing. It's a city park, address and time. Back in his jacket the marker goes.]
Far as I care they're welcome to rot in a ditch and die miserable, pathetic little unknown deaths. That's the place and time we're watching Memorial Day fireworks. Not sure if Angel's coming
you'd have to work that out with her player idkkk. If you show up you show up sober and you stay sober. ...And don't let Kate touch you, she's looking for husband number 5 and no one needs that mess.no subject
[ He sounds thrilled. Jack pulls a face at the letters - it's like Tony sneezed in his hand or something. ]
Sober fireworks.
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But also a lot of in-laws. That I hate.
[ so there??? ]
You'll be there?
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[So....]
Yeah.
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[ He may still be the slightly feelingsier one between the two of them, but even drunken Jack knows that he's going to regret all of this hardcore pretty soon. So he knocks back the rest of his drink and sets it down nearby, sprawling at an awkward angle across Tony's plasticky little fake couch. ]
You only win this one because I forfeit. I'm too cold and tired to get full-on blitzed.
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Of course Jack will ruin that later. He always does. But Tony has some things to think about. How he's approached Jack. And maybe...a little of his own mental growing up to do. Nothing can bring Sofia back. Or, hell, he's five inches right now and he doesn't know if it's real or a mass mental breakdown. All laws of absolutes are out the window at this point. But for his own sanity Tony has to believe death will continue remaining permanent. If that changed...
Twenty years is a long time. He's not a dumb twenty something anymore. And even if he can't forgive, two decades is a long time to keep punishing one person
ftr no claims here he was ever good at it. ...He'll think it over.For now he just drains his own glass.]
Don't worry; I won't tell anyone I finally beat your ass in something. I like to keep them guessing which of us is the bigger trainwreck.
[Standing up he waves an hand vaguely.]
You can take whatever you want from the closet. Just don't be on my couch in the morning.
[Okay? Okay. He's going to carry on drinking in the kitchen with the nonfunctioning oven for company. At least the plastic muffins "baking" in it have smiley faces on top. ...He's just going to keep the oven door closed. Yep.]
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[ Which is apparently his version of a goodbye, or at least a goodnight - because when Tony looks in the morning, Jack is still very much there, passed out on his crappy plastic couch. He's using one of Tony's shirts as a blanket, apparently midway through dressing when he crashed.
This is pretty much the only time I will get to use this icon ever. ]
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Being this size is some kind of living hell. And not the one he knows, goddamn.]
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Anyway, he's mostly got the shirt on when he leans in the kitchen doorway, brows up, eyes bloodshot. ]
Why're you - wrestling a poptart.
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I was kind of envisioning having breakfast. I'm booked solid till 8.
[So lunch isn't really a thing that's happening. Not today at least. He picks up a plastic knife. Puts it down. Nope.]
I see you're still alive.
[...Attempts made. He just doesn't have a nice setting.]
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[ Speaking of kicking, it's exactly what Jack does - half-walks, half-staggers over to drop-kick the pop tart in an effort to snap it in half.
#adults. ]
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do you want ants, because that's how you get antsthe extra inconvenience it is getting a maid up here when they're all candy bar sized. BUT....He manages to hold it in. Somehow. He needs another bourbon.]
...I guess you do come in handy. Sometimes. Five second rule.
[Aka anything on the floor for less than five seconds is still edible. Just picking up a piece of poptart and sitting down (...after righting the table) with it and a glass, alcohol generously being poured into it. No offers for Jack because he assumes Jack has class. Or. Something. Whatever shady professors do.
You know he's realizing being not a complete asshole is verging on the impossible when he's (relatively) sober and Jack's whole presence just...kind of annoys him... Hmmm. 500 Days of Why Tony is the Problem in this CR right here.
Anyway he has a tiny sized newspaper because it really is just as easy as changing the font point in Word. Probably. First headline: April Showes Bring May Flowers, a look into Recollé's indigenous flora and a picture close-up of a glowing flower. What is this trite crap, gag him. Tony flips to sports. At least the score listings don't insult his higher thinking skills. This is a terrible tag. Semi-mercifully he does acknowledge he's an asshole and as such:]
So what are the plans for today? Meetings, classes, teacher...stuff? I have no idea what you do all day.
[He says it like this is completely normal. But deep down they both know it's awkward as hell. Probably. Amount of times Tony has ever shown an interest in Jack's life: 0 and going into the negatives.]
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[ Which probably makes him look like such a responsible adult figure and all, he knows. ]
Better question: what the hell do you do all day? [ A yawn. He goes to get water with a plastic cup before forgetting that this is a fucking dollhouse. God. ] Besides rubbing a few out to how rich you are, I mean.
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But also a bitchy petulance not wanting to dogging at his heels.]
I have to get my nose looked at, for one. —Which, by the way, thanks for that. Sit down.
[The last part comes out surprisingly adult-in-charge. He may be the crappy not-actually-uncle now, but he was pretty okay in helping with Angel in the beginning. He still remembers how to parent. ...All the fucking laughs over here okay. BUT ANYWAY. Getting up he'll go to a cupboard and take down a...container of potable water. Look I suck at borrowers shit I am out of mini-replacement ideas. He will pour Jack a glass and pass it over though.]
Legal meetings. Business meetings. Meeting with my editor. Interview. Studio recording for a television show. Art gallery closing. Rich people who don't do work with their hands type stuff.
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[ There's your thank-you for that water, Tony, but Jack smiles when he says it and knocks the water back. ]
Or how people love that stuff you write so damn much that they want a TV show out of it.
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[How much horrible can we fit in one thread, the saga. To his...vague credit...there's not the bite to his voice there could be. It's more just hazing Jack than tearing him down. Which is something. Not a lot. But more than Jack usually gets from him.
Knocking back the rest of his drink he sets the glass on the fake plastic tiled counter.]
Let's go. You're not staying in my house while I'm not here. The things you'd do would be...questionable at best.
[SLIGHT FROWN AT THE POPTART MESS, but he will step over it and head for the door, clearly expecting Jack to follow. Kind of a toss up which one of them is more fit to drive. Enh, they'll be fine. Probably.]
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[ Also he wants to drive the sparkly Barbie car?? When else will he get to drive a sparkly Barbie car. ]
You start seeing in double instead of triple and you can drive again.
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That's what hired help is for. $25 an hour and I'd expect not having to fight any ants when I get back. By the way you crash it you buy it.
[But yeah sure Jack can have the driver's seat and the remote control when they get out there. Because...
Actually what the hell is he doing. There's not even seatbelts in this thing. Not to mention the last time Jack drove him anywhere he had a gun in the glove compartment. ...Damn it, he settles for gripping the passenger door real tight after he's settled. And maybe praying. Just a little.]
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[ Said once they're in the car, Jack giving the controls a few little test jerks this way and that. Forward, reverse, hairpin turn, donut, fun stuff like that. He's obviously enjoying himself. ]
You act like we're gonna die in a flaming wreck or something. Trust me, with the way you and I live, that is not how we're gonna go out.
Hey, you think this thing has airbags?
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You know what, this one's my fault. I admit it. I let you in the house, I drove you here in my car— I should have just left you in those woods. Lesson learned. Next time I'm not stopping ghosts from eating your face.
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[ What is gratitude. AND THEY'RE OFF in the right direction now, hovering around top speed, drifting corners. Every single corner. How Tony should be rn. Might want to take the controls away before he gets them killed. ]
Where're you going first? I'll stop whenever we're as close to my place as we'll get.
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Yeah. He really regrets trying to be nice to Jack now. He'd say this is the reason they have a bad relationship, but you know there's other things. This is just kind of the cherry on top of the shit frosting.
But you know what? He's not playing this game. Jack doesn't get to bully him anymore. Not at this stage in his life. Crossing his arms he sits back in his chair and braces himself with his feet, stonefacing it out.]
Hm. That's an idea. But how about we do something else. I think I'm going to call your grandmother. Right now. Sounds like a plan, right?
[He is pulling out his phone. Jack wants to screw around? Here's a game: how rich do you have to be to get anyone you want on speakerphone in twenty seconds or less?]
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And he wants it again. So Tony gets Jack twisting in his seat like a snake, lunging - he means to put himself mostly in Tony's lap, the fingers of his right hand locked around the man's windpipe. ]
Nope. [ He tuts. ] Why do you keep making me hurt you, Tony?
[ They're not Jack's words. They're Jack's words. ]
CW parental abuse ig I should add fuck I'm still bad at this
Tony didn't see this coming at all. And that says something worse. How comfortable he's become with Jack. How much he trusted him. He can't breathe and it's been years since he threw his parental hang-ups in the trash, but hell if those words don't bring back flashes of his mom screaming at him in a drunken rage. Why is he such a screw up, why does he make her do these things, does he like her yelling —His hand is scrabbling at Jack's arm, panic setting in and making him weak, leaving him to fall back against the passenger door as Jack climbs over him, overbearing, in his face, trapping him— it would have been better if she had an abortion, how could one kid be so worthless, did he enjoy spiting his parents like this, who raised this selfish brat
He doesn't know the croon in his ear, but something about it fits in like a lost puzzle piece here. The feeling of not just being unable to breathe, but paralyzed, body going limp and tense, muscles locking up, sets in. His eyes widen and Tony stares up at Jack, face draining of color.]
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And then it isn't. Then he jumps back like he's been burned, hand snatched against his chest like it's going to bite. Whatever just happened-- ]
I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't - I don't know what the hell that was, just - Tony--
[ He's off Tony in an instant, putting as much distance between them as possible without tumbling out of the little car entirely. Tony looks rough, so they're heading right back to his ritzy little dollhouse so they can... he doesn't know. Jack can do a lot with words, but he's hit a button in Tony that never needed to be pushed again, and there's probably no way to fix that. ]
That wasn't me. [ They're still swaying a little - he's still kind of drunk - but Jack takes it much easier than before, face buried in his controls so he doesn't have to look over. ] I didn't do that, it was - it's his fault. C'mon, you know I could never move that fast when I'm drunk. It was him.
[ Maybe he can convince himself of that, anyway. The other Jack did it. The other Jack is the psychopath, not him, he would never. And if he tries really hard, Jack can ignore the fact that he still got one hell of a rush off that reaction. And that he's still enjoying it, on some level. ]
Jesus, just don't die on me. Then you can tell me to fuck off. Just hang on.
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Jack just tried to kill him —it was just fate you survived that— his hand claws at his chest, tearing the expensive cotton and ripping off buttons to get at the skin beneath, nails digging into flesh. He's going to be sick. No, not going. He is. Hurls once. Twice. Nothing, but alcohol. It burns coming up.
He barely registers what Jack's been saying. Something about a him... Some other guy. He doesn't understand it right now. Maybe he won't even understand it later. All he knows is something is not right and he needs to get away from Jack. Now.
It's kind of the most pathetic attempt at a fleeing crawl, but he does manage to at least get to his hands and knees and barrel roll into an alley.]
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Will you stop? [ He has to remember that he has no right to get annoyed, hand curling briefly into a tight fist at his side as he rides it out. ] I didn't want to hurt you, Tony. I wasn't gonna hurt you.
[ Feels like he's talking to a cat. Jack even hunches down (away from the vomit, gross) and leans up against the alley wall, grinding dirt and grime into his borrowed clothes. ]
I just wanted to scare you. [ He makes himself sound pathetic, just a little pleading. ] Just wanted you to stop. Gimme a number. Who do I call to pick you up, T? Somebody that can take you home and get you away from me.
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It's Sofia's. Long defunct and passed on to a new owner with her passing. Jack can fucking chew on that. He knows the things he's done. All of them.]
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What he wants to do is stroll over there and kick the living hell out of Tony. Like he might have done in the old, old days if they'd ran into each other without Sofia in play. And he just imagines it for a second, eyes shutting. Takes a deep breath in, lets it out in a hard rush. The anger he can handle - has always handled. It's the stark pleasure he gets from punishing people that fucks him up.
What he actually does is simple. Jack sneers for a moment before heading back to the car and retrieving Tony's phone, returning slow and purposeful. Could be a stalk, but it isn't. Jack hurls Tony's phone at him and turns to go. If Tony lets him, that's it; Jack slips around the corner and disappears.
Fuck it. He'll walk. ]
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His chest hurts in an hell of a lot of ways it shouldn't and he has to keep touching it to make sure there is in fact no horrible wounds in it.
So much for a full schedule. He needs a drink. And more after that one. ...He's not going to forget this. There's really no one he can depend on.
He won't make the mistake of trusting again. Not anyone.]