[SE] Lighten Up, Buttercup

Aurelia

as if you were on fire
from within

He makes it look great, all silvery and glittery. Like a sparkly fuckin fairy, if that's what he's into.

She catches her breath after her long-winded story and there's a small smile left afterward. Her eyes roll at his question. "It's amazing that I made it home in one piece." She doesn't remember much of what happened after, either. Just the debilitating hangover and a lecture from her mother to aggravate it.

It's right before he starts talking about his birthdays that Aurelia notices the craft he's working on. She stops dead, and has to fight the grin that works up. It's almost worth interrupting him but, probably best not to comment on it, so instead she raises her eyebrows at him and shakes her head in mock dismay.

It's a bit of a surprise, that he does actually celebrate his birthday. Ah, but then, it makes sense; he just gets shitfaced and laid. There's an unimpressed expression on her face then but, she can't really fault him for it. Part of being human, whatever rocks your socks, something something something. She takes note of the way his gaze drops back to the.. wooden penis, which she eyes for a moment. Okay, she has to say something. "Very nice, Jack. That'll look real charming next to all the other baubles."

Her clever smile falters at his question, though, and she lifts her gaze up to his. "Sure...I had a mom, my two little sisters," her brows thread together, she looks to the side and away, "but I didn't want to make a big deal of it. We were poor, and I was shit at making friends, so... never was much of a party anyway," she blows a breath out, stirring a strand of hair that's fallen into her face, trying to be callous and cool so as not to connect too much to her emotions about it. Trying not to think about the sad and melancholic darkness that lulled inside of her, created by the absence of family.

Trying not to think about how, after her father had been murdered, she didn't want to celebrate her birthdays without him. It had become a topic of contention, until, finally, her mother gave up. Even when Aurelia grew up, she didn't care about her own birthday that much. Her sisters, though, she'd always tried to do something for, tried to give them more than she'd ever had. For a while there, she succeeded. Then she got whisked away, to here.

And here she is thinking about it, in spite of herself. Ah well, at least there's festivities and fairy Jack to lift her spirits.

"What about you?" She eyes him, "Don't have family to celebrate it with, either?"

the moon lives
in the lining of your skin

JACK

Maybe one day Aurelia will find out what he's into. Right now, though, apparently it's whittling penises while covered in glitter and talking about birthdays. There's a fierce and smug grin on his face when she catches on to the decoration he's made, blue eyes not lifting from his creation as he carves a marvellous pair of balls to go along with it. "You like? Modelled it after my own. Not enough wood to make it to scale, though," he drawls, though the truth of that matter will depend on how hard she looked when he was getting dressed earlier.

The amusement fades somewhat as she embarks on her not thinking about things, and the memories reach for him with black and claggy fingers, like tar threatening to make sticky the gears of his mind. Jack chews on the inside of his cheek, paying particular attention to his creation during this time, though he can't help but snort at her self-deprecation, if that's what it is. "You? Not good at makin' friends? Lies," he mutters, before sitting back again.

"Only child," he explains. "Old man's still alive. Sends me a card every year." He's reaching out, jerking open one of the desk drawers to withdraw a wrinkled, stained slip of parchment folded in half. He unfolds it to show Aurelia, where a clumsy, drunken hand has scrawled murderer in block letters.

"My mother died bringin' me into this shithole world. I get the impression dear papa never forgave me for it." He shrugs. "Rest of Torchline's good enough when it comes to family - always has been."

Aurelia

as if you were on fire
from within

Aurelia's only making this joke to get back at him for having the audacity to make a penis bauble, not because she'd gotten herself an eyeful. "You sure? I think it's smaller, actually," she tilts her head at him with a sly smile.

She takes a moment to appreciate his quip, a little taken aback by it but, well... she glanced at the glitter on his eyebrows. He has a point. Not that she'll give that little victory to him so easily. "You may find it hard to believe but, not everyone can handle all of this," she makes a show of motioning to herself, straightening in her seat and and wiggling an eyebrow up at him.

The brief moment of humor is lost, though, as he mentions a father. And she has to wonder about that, having assumed that Jack doesn't have much of anyone (he certainly acts like it) but, he doesn't leave her hanging for too long. A letter is presented out of the desk drawer. She's startled by its contents though, guiding a mixed expression towards him as he puts some context behind it. He might be able to sense her spike of anger after a few moments' deliberation, after the compassion fades into something defensive.

She sets down the knife and the half-finished craft. Kinda hard to make baubles in good conscience now. How could a father be so cruel to his only son?

"What kind of..." she scrutinizes the letter again, reaching up to take it from him, to look at the word again as if making sure it really just says that, "edgy bastard sends nothing but the word 'murderer'? The fuck? What a piece a shit," she snaps the words out, brows furrowing, and looks over at Jack with a nice, healthy dose of animosity in her gaze, "Why would you keep this, Jack?"

the moon lives
in the lining of your skin

JACK

"Oh?" Jack smirks, bouncing his eyebrows across at her as if to ask just what she's saying about his dick and whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, it doesn't change the effort and detail going into his bauble, and the smirk grows into a sharp grin as she motions to herself. "I can't imagine why," he drawls, sounding thoroughly amused. And if only that amusement could stay, they might actually confuse themselves into having a good time.

Alas.

He doesn't expect her anger, honestly, and he can barely stop the wince from the whipcrack of her thoughts. Though if his father is the kind of edgy sonovabitch to do such a thing, then his son is definitely the sort of sick bastard to make a joke about it. The paper slips from his fingers so she can inspect it, Jack slouching in his seat with his work abandoned.

"I always figured losin' my mother drove him mad. He didn't have anyone to blame, so I got it all." Made for a bumpy ride of a childhood, that was for sure. Still, of all of the reactions to their little heart to heart, he doesn't expect what she says next.

Why would you keep this, Jack?

The captain's expression grows puzzled, thoughtful even. Why would he keep it? As a reminder not to let anyone close? Not to trust anyone too much? Or as a reminder that it's true?

"Just somethin' I've always done," he mutters. "Get rid of it."

Aurelia

as if you were on fire
from within

She's not saying anything else about it, thanks very much. Also, no, it's not a good thing! Fucker. The amount of care he's taking to carve as much detail into his decoration is a little disturbing, though, but it's like watching a head-on collision. Can't look away. Her expression just grows more dead-inside than ever as he progresses, unperturbed by her jokes, and she thinks she can see veins.

Right, alas.

It's nothing short of a blessing that he stops working on it, honestly, but by then the nature of the conversation has taken a turn. And Aurelia's not impressed by Jack's excuses for his father, or his father's excuses for Jack. Whichever way it went didn't make it any better.

However, she can't really take it out on him, and his sudden change of expression makes her feel guilty for it, so she simmers down a bit. Her hand, the one with the letter in it, droops down to her lap.

She tips her head to look at him more directly, raising her gaze expectantly, questioningly. Silently asking, You really want me to get rid of it? She doesn't wait for anything, though, before she sets the letter down in the middle of the desk, the word 'murderer' on display for them to see. Reaching into one of her pockets, she holds out a box of matches toward him, which is a very pointed gesture. "As much as I'd like to, it's not mine to get rid of...and I wouldn't get anything out of it, except maybe... the fact I'd be doing it for you but, I still don't think it's for me to do," her tone is softer, like she's trying to prod him - but gently. It's his choice, of course, she won't force him to do it. But she won't do it for him, either. Her gaze examines his expression a little harder. "You don't actually... believe him... do you?"

the moon lives
in the lining of your skin

JACK

He almost responds to her thoughts, barely managing to stop the words before they slip through his lips. Giving himself a mental lashing, Jack is reminded once again why it is that people rarely get farther than a couple of steps into his cabin. People are dangerous, and his secrets are worth dying for. Not his death, of course. But does he want her to get rid of it? Or does he want to keep it, covet it? Aurelia sets the paper down between them, and Jack watches the word reflected back at him.

Humming out a non-commital sound, Jack takes one of the cigarettes from the pack she's brought him and finds a box of matches in his desk. He strikes one, lights the cigarette, and offers the pack across to Aurelia. "It doesn't matter whether I believe him or not anymore," he murmurs, setting the lit match down slowly onto the paper. Murderer starts to dissolve from the centre outwards, dropping ash onto the wood. "It might not have been true at the beginning, but it is now."

Aurelia

as if you were on fire
from within

Aurelia doesn't know the goings-ons of Jack's mind. Not like he knows hers. But she can only imagine the difficult choice he faces when confronted about the letter. Well, she imagines it's hard, so she leaves things the way she's said them. There isn't much else to say, after all. All there is is for Jack to make the decision.

With a bit of underlying interest, Aurelia takes the pack in order to peel a cigarette from it. It has a nice flavor, so she's somewhat content to oblige his offer - even if she isn't one to smoke... all the time. There's a bit of amusement at this thought, at the joke she'd made to Milo the night they met, the tease he'd retorted back at her bald-faced lie. It soon disappears though. Her attention is snapped back to the letter as he says something and sets the match upon it.

She supposes this should be a big reveal, and.. it is. Of course it is. Even if life is hard and sacrifices have to be made, survival ensured, or what-have-you... taking a life is never something light or breezy. But even if what Jack says is true, as the letter burns away, Aurelia will seem very unfazed.

So unfazed, in fact, that she leans over the desk with the cigarette pressed between her lips. Using the small flame cast by the word 'murderer', she lights her cigarette. There's some sort of weird, poetic irony in this.

Straightening back up, Aurelia drags in a lengthy inhale from the smoke, her gaze peering over it at him. When she finally releases it from her poor lungs, she says, "Life's rough." Her gaze lingers on him before it drops down to the smoldered, black bits of paper that now lie dormant on the desk. "I've killed people, too..." she admits, very plainly, "Whatever you've done doesn't really matter to me. So long as you don't judge me for what I've done. S'all about..." she lets out a heavy sigh before perching the cigarette back into her mouth, "where we go from here-" her brows lift "-isn't it?"

the moon lives
in the lining of your skin

JACK

Jack raises an eyebrow and inhales deeply on his cigarette, exhaling a whorl of smoke that drifts lazily above their heads. He supposes it is a big reveal for both of them, but violence and crime and all the prices for living that sort of life have made them both unfazed, in different ways. So they merely regard each other from across the desk in that moment, smoking and giving their pithy platitudes. Jack, at least, flashes Aurelia a grin for her trouble.

"It is fuckin' rough," he agrees, flicking ash from the cigarette into the now smouldering 'birthday card' before them. "I ain't in the habit of judgin' people unless their choices cause me problems. Besides bargin' into my cabin at unholy hours of the mornin', you're doin' alright." As for where they go from here, he tilts his head and examines the weird decorations they have so far; the glitterball, the bottle with its offensive message, the half carved penis.

"Want to go show me this tree we're meant to hang this shit on?"

Aurelia

as if you were on fire
from within

Jack's ash flicks onto the desk and falls apart among the other ashes, his agreement raising a small quirk of her brows. Well, even if they both have blood on their hands, at least they've survived. Or else what was it all for? 'Nothing' would be far worse than... something.

But it's important to appreciate the little things in life. So she offers a small smile at his declaration that she's doin' alright. At present, she's inclined to agree with him. "Yeah, maybe. As for causing you problems, well, that's not on the agenda - for today," she drops her own ash onto the pile with a clever look, "Just ruffling a few of your feathers to remind you that I'm here." Here, if he ever needs someone to be. Well, someone like her.

She imagines there might come a day and she's not sure if she dreads that or readily awaits it.

Anyway, a small part of her enjoys seeing him get all huffy-puffy-blow-your-arse-down. It's almost endearing. Almost, if it weren't for the fact that she did believe him when he said he'd fucking kill her.

What a charming promise, from one murderer to another.

When Jack asks if she wants to take him to the tree, she stands up, pleasant surprise written all over.

"I figured I'd have to do that by myself but, hey, if you insist," she shrugs her hands with a grin, "let's go. Uh-" her gaze slides down to his penis. His wooden, whittled penis, obviously. Pervert. "-you sure that's what you're gonna hang up?"

Her arms cross and she takes another puff of her cigarette while staring at him expectantly. Think of the children, Jack. Not that she'd be able to stop him, if he's so inclined.

---

fin~.

the moon lives
in the lining of your skin