4'10" OF RAW, CONCENTRATED ANXIETY (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darkov) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2019-10-04 11:41 pm
darkov) wrote in maskormenacelogs2019-10-04 11:41 pm
Entry tags:
a mighty chop
WHO: andy, marty
WHERE: mf4
WHEN: baaackdate to a summer evening
WHAT: haircuttins
WARNINGS: NO !
It's a common thing, apparently, that all the uncommon things Martin can be up to are things he's up to in the later hours of the night. He's obediently adhering to a diurnal schedule, of course, but that can't change predisposition, and with summer being so...summer, it does nothing to help him comfortably rest through a night. It's why his common things tend to be sprawling out downstairs with his knitting and a dull TV program on nearly-mute while hours whittle away to the daytime.
Tonight, though, he's so absolutely done with the feeling of hair sticking to his face and the back of his neck, no relief from a cool pillow in sight, that he lets himself actually act on his frustrations for a change.
It's why when Andy, also not very prone to keeping a proper human schedule, may find in her downstairs wanderings a boy with his head over the garbage can, a handful of hair in one fist, a kitchen knife in the other. He's, of course, unmoving by the time she's there, because he heard the stairs creak in a particular way, and he's not quite sure what to do about that.
He just hopes she doesn't turn on the kitchen light and burn his retinas out.
WHERE: mf4
WHEN: baaackdate to a summer evening
WHAT: haircuttins
WARNINGS: NO !
It's a common thing, apparently, that all the uncommon things Martin can be up to are things he's up to in the later hours of the night. He's obediently adhering to a diurnal schedule, of course, but that can't change predisposition, and with summer being so...summer, it does nothing to help him comfortably rest through a night. It's why his common things tend to be sprawling out downstairs with his knitting and a dull TV program on nearly-mute while hours whittle away to the daytime.
Tonight, though, he's so absolutely done with the feeling of hair sticking to his face and the back of his neck, no relief from a cool pillow in sight, that he lets himself actually act on his frustrations for a change.
It's why when Andy, also not very prone to keeping a proper human schedule, may find in her downstairs wanderings a boy with his head over the garbage can, a handful of hair in one fist, a kitchen knife in the other. He's, of course, unmoving by the time she's there, because he heard the stairs creak in a particular way, and he's not quite sure what to do about that.
He just hopes she doesn't turn on the kitchen light and burn his retinas out.
no subject
She thinks maybe she'll grab a beer from the fridge first. Sometimes a little alcohol helps the sleep return. Sometimes not. Sometimes you're just an alcoholic and you want to drink while you think about your life alone in the backyard at ass o'clock in the middle of the night.
Then again, sometimes you think you'll grab a beer from the fridge and instead, you see your son there holding a knife near his face in the dark. ]
...What the hell, Martin.
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Martin blinks back at her, his face gradually reddening.]
H-hi. Um. Sorry, I was just...cutting. Cutting my hair.
[that makes it better, right?]
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Cutting his hair.
Gods.
Andy exhales with her hands falling to her hips, relieved despite the slightly pinched look still lingering on her face. There are, honestly, a dozen worse reasons to be holding a knife in the dark. And, truth be told, Martin's hair has gotten a little wild. A little out of hand. She probably should've done something about it a while ago.
Well. Better late than never. ]
Come here. [ She waves him over. ] Leave the knife. There's some scissors in the bathroom. I'll fix it.
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it's why he sets the knife down on the counter and follows her back upstairs, still mulling over how better to explain himself.
along the way:] I, um. I was trying to be quiet. Sorry if I...wasn't...
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[ It's easier than it was before, with Rex there in the dark beside her. But the memories, jumbled and jagged, they're always there, just underneath the surface of her conscious ability to recall — waiting. So if it wasn't for this, she'd still be up, probably out on the back porch having a smoke and a beer, listening to the night sounds in the neighborhood.
She grabs an old newspaper from the living room on their way upstairs, pausing in the threshold to the bathroom before reluctantly flipping the light on. It hurts for a moment, her eyes squinting as she adjusts to the gleam. ]
Bring the desk chair from your room, will you?
[ Andy bends over tiredly to start spreading the newspaper out around on the floor. It'll save them a bit of a mess later. ]
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...Were the dreams bad?
[back to her comments, perhaps later than would warrant, but...he still felt a nagging to ask, as he'd chewed on her words most of the way back in here.]
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She rinses it under the faucet for a few moments, water dripping as she starts to comb Martin's hair back from his face, taming it a little as the strands become damp.
Finally, an answer to his question: ]
Sometimes. [ She's a liar, but she rarely lies to Martin. And she doesn't spare him so much from the ugly truth as maybe she should, considering his tender age. ] I fought in a lot of wars. Watched a lot of people die. Killed a lot of them too. And there are nights when it all blurs together when I sleep.
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harder, too, when trying to quietly absorb the information she gives him. getting too lost in the thought means he doesn't brace for a tangle and makes him jolt that much more.]
Ss-sorry-- [both for the squirming, and for her dreams.] I wish there was a way to...make it not so bad...
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It isn't so bad. [ Her voice is a low murmur, reassuring in its way. ] When the dreams wake me up, I'm not alone. I have your father there next to me, every night. Just feeling him breathe reminds me that I'm home and safe, with both of you.
[ The scissors glint in the bathroom light as she trades them for the comb. Wryly then: ]
Look down and hold still, or it'll be crooked as all hell.
no subject
Martin feels a little tremble in his stomach at that, his face warming. to call Rex his father still feels new, even if it really has been many, many days since. part of him, that rotten, sad part of him that likes to tear down all the goodness in him, thinks it's too much to ask for. that only bad things will come of it.
Cassandra's leaving has nothing to do with calling Rex "father," yet still sometimes Martin's head likes to try to convince him it's so. a balancing of some awful set of scales, perhaps.
he tilts his head down, his hands on his knees, fingers slowly curling into the fabric of his pajama bottoms.
when Andy wakes up from a bad mind, she has Rex right there...he's a little jealous. he sleeps alone, and has since he got here, but he spent his entire life feeling the presence of a cousin nearby that made him feel safe and...somehow more solid in his own existence. there are nights where it's too scary to lay idle in the dark, wide awake...and those are the times when the TV gets turned on downstairs, or, if he's too groggy, he takes sentry on the floor outside their room.]
...I hope...we can stay like this.
[he doesn't mean to sound so bleak and small, but the position his head is tilted at makes it so, and the little cracking in his voice does him no favors, either. that's been happening more and more of late, that vocal nonsense, that part of growing up he's starting to pass through.]
no subject
The snipping stops when Martin finally speaks. His voice is so small, breaking slightly in the way it does with teenage boys — and she can't answer him right away, caught off guard by the sentiment. For a long moment, she can only stand there with the scissors still in her hand, silence settling in between her and her son.
Oh, Martin. ]
...Me too, kiddo. [ Her voice is small like his, her answer too honest for comfort — a secret wish that seems so fragile that even speaking too loudly could make her hope break into a thousand pieces. She should be too old for want shit like that. She should know better by now. She does. And yet... ] You and Rex are the best thing that's happened to me in an era. I'd do anything to keep you with me.
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for now, he just gulps and lets the warm feeling those words give him settle as she snips away, his skin prickling from the feeling of stray hairs falling on his neck.
there's a lot more on the ground now...]
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So she doesn't think. She just lets the quiet settle in as her hands move automatically, cutting away Martin's hair to a more manageable length. The scissors snip, then she ruffles away the severed pieces, letting them fall to the floor.
Finally, after a little while: ]
How come you couldn't sleep?
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between snips, he shrugs.]
My hair was bothering me more than normal. On my neck... I couldn't sleep. So I wanted to get up and cut it.
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Mildly, as she snips away a little more at the nape of his neck: ]
You should have told me. I would have fixed it for you.
[ Snip, snip. ]
Were you worried about bothering me?
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[yes. of course he was.]
You were asleep. And...you work. A lot. So I didn't want to bother you.
[yet with how she's speaking, was he wrong in that? he thought it sensible...]
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At length: ]
None of that is more important to me than you.
[ She glances up, looking at him through his reflection in the bathroom mirror. ]
I started living here so I could be around when you need me.
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he doesn't contest her statement beyond a faint, mumbly sound, as he stills while she sets the scissors down. when she's straightened, so does he, blinking at the faces in the mirror.
first of all, his vision is no longer framed by his bangs, and his neck tickles a little, free to the open air.
he looks almost a stranger to himself; he rarely chanced a look at his own face in Olvoski, and here he'd gotten used to the scraggly mop as it grew and grew.
his mouth twitches faintly, a little waver in his voice:] I look different now...
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Turn out there was a boy underneath all that hair.
[ She ruffles out some more clippings with her hand, leaving him even more tousled-looking than before. It's her giving him a little bit of shit when she goes on mildly: ]
Rex might not even recognize you in the morning.
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[as always, even mild teasing floats over his head. in any case, he's more mystified by looking the way he does.]
Thanks...
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[ Absently, she plucks a few stray hairs from his shirt collar, not noticing how easy it's become for her to initiate small, unimportant and yet affectionate gestures like that with him. She probably should have put a towel around his shoulders. He'll itch, the poor thing. ]
Maybe next time we can shave it all the way down. [ Apparently she doesn't mind that her teasing goes over his head. She might even be more amused by it because of that. ] Then you'd really look like a father and son.
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[to look like him? resembling him at all beyond having hands and feet seems...too much already, considering what he is under the skin.]
But if you want me to, then. I, I guess I don't mind. I guess...
[he says that, but there's obvious reluctance in his tone. there might be some spine in him yet, but that doesn't mean he's entirely ready to let go of his subservient mannerisms.]
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It'd probably be terrible. [ She eases off the joke, just brushing his shoulders off one last time before she lets her hands fall away. ] We better not.
[ A sigh then, her hands falling to her hips. ]
You better change before it starts to itch. I'll clean this up.
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[old habits.
he gets up, rubbing the back of his neck, still marveling at the feeling of so little hair.
turning, he offers Andy a small smile.]
...Thank you. This...looks better than...whatever I could do by myself.
no subject
Go on.