05-07-2024, 10:09 PM
Even Guthrie, who is standing there actively trying to stir up shit to vindicate his (incorrect) assumption that Near must be finding the excitement he needs to survive with somebody else, seems taken aback by the sheer abundance of shit contained in Jude’s brief, ridiculous non-answer. Double whammy! Near tells him to fuck off, and then Jude doesn’t even attempt to downplay the “something” of what is happening here. His nose wrinkles like there’s a bad smell drifting through the air; his eyes narrow a little as he runs it through various mechanisms in his head.
Cherry, cherry, cherry. Vindication: complete.
So figures Near. Near who hears the baldfaced, tasteless provocation Jude has opted for, when all he ever had to do, if he was going to insist on sitting there and staring bug-eyed at other people’s business, was say “no,” (no, which is true). He takes it in with an odd sensation of his nerves being deadened, like when the dentist drills an anesthetized tooth. He should probably be livid. Maybe it’ll wear off and he’ll be livid later. For now he’s just done.
He fixes a glare previously reserved for Jude on Guthrie, and proceeds in a tone resembling a flat rock wall, “Okay, what’s going on is that Jude’s a sideshow freak who ran off from some doomsday cult and ended up at my asshole dad’s house a couple of years ago. I let him in, which I guess makes this my fault. He abandoned me in the woods so I could watch a woman die, and now he’s back to fuck up my life some more, apparently, because he didn’t get enough the first time. I thought that all sounded kind of crazy, but I swear to god I would rather you leave thinking I’m crazy than thinking I’m over here reaming him because I’m tired of you, so.” It feels like something should follow the so, but he hasn’t thought that far. Didn’t figure he would get out as much as he did, really.
“What?” That’s Guthrie suddenly looking more baffled than self-righteous. Good.
“Are you leaving?” Near asks. A dare. He’s not sure if it counts as a win or lose that Guthrie hands him the Subway bag, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I am,” is all he says, looking back over to Jude. Near thinks he might say more if Jude weren’t still playing furniture tumor within spitting distance, but he doesn’t want to hear more, so he lets him go.
“Happy?” he asks flatly, once he’s closed the door.
Cherry, cherry, cherry. Vindication: complete.
So figures Near. Near who hears the baldfaced, tasteless provocation Jude has opted for, when all he ever had to do, if he was going to insist on sitting there and staring bug-eyed at other people’s business, was say “no,” (no, which is true). He takes it in with an odd sensation of his nerves being deadened, like when the dentist drills an anesthetized tooth. He should probably be livid. Maybe it’ll wear off and he’ll be livid later. For now he’s just done.
He fixes a glare previously reserved for Jude on Guthrie, and proceeds in a tone resembling a flat rock wall, “Okay, what’s going on is that Jude’s a sideshow freak who ran off from some doomsday cult and ended up at my asshole dad’s house a couple of years ago. I let him in, which I guess makes this my fault. He abandoned me in the woods so I could watch a woman die, and now he’s back to fuck up my life some more, apparently, because he didn’t get enough the first time. I thought that all sounded kind of crazy, but I swear to god I would rather you leave thinking I’m crazy than thinking I’m over here reaming him because I’m tired of you, so.” It feels like something should follow the so, but he hasn’t thought that far. Didn’t figure he would get out as much as he did, really.
“What?” That’s Guthrie suddenly looking more baffled than self-righteous. Good.
“Are you leaving?” Near asks. A dare. He’s not sure if it counts as a win or lose that Guthrie hands him the Subway bag, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I am,” is all he says, looking back over to Jude. Near thinks he might say more if Jude weren’t still playing furniture tumor within spitting distance, but he doesn’t want to hear more, so he lets him go.
“Happy?” he asks flatly, once he’s closed the door.