03-02-2025, 09:42 PM
Near opens his mouth, locked and loaded with yet another rebuttal, how he absolutely did not do “that.” How he did not do anything at all. But he snaps his jaw shut before the words discharge.
A vision: those toy plastic boxing robots awkwardly flailing at each other until one connects and a head pops off. That’s this. They will keep sparring until one of them finally explodes, and as certain as Near is that he has a few more rounds in him at least, he’s also certain that an exploding Jude comes with the extra risk of more asshat reality-breaking displays. Can he wrench himself out of concrete? Can Jude do anything worse? Would he? So, a decision. He knows he’s in the right, but Jude’s commitment to the crackpot theory of Near’s having done something can have the win. Near can still be the reasonable one. Fine.
He throws the fight, announcing surrender with the white flag of a “No!” stitched-together from half a shout and half an exasperated sigh, both ragged. Again, “No,” firmer, settling toward resignation to whatever the consequences of a loss might be. Follow-up questions, gloating ... “I didn’t know I could do that. I didn’t know I was doing that. So sorry I fucked up your plan to starve me to death in my own kitchen.” See, an apology. How hard is that?
“I don’t know if you overheard while you were creeping around the place I work, but I’m moving. You don’t need to worry about me doing it again. You can have this whole coast and all its important people to yourself. We good?”
A vision: those toy plastic boxing robots awkwardly flailing at each other until one connects and a head pops off. That’s this. They will keep sparring until one of them finally explodes, and as certain as Near is that he has a few more rounds in him at least, he’s also certain that an exploding Jude comes with the extra risk of more asshat reality-breaking displays. Can he wrench himself out of concrete? Can Jude do anything worse? Would he? So, a decision. He knows he’s in the right, but Jude’s commitment to the crackpot theory of Near’s having done something can have the win. Near can still be the reasonable one. Fine.
He throws the fight, announcing surrender with the white flag of a “No!” stitched-together from half a shout and half an exasperated sigh, both ragged. Again, “No,” firmer, settling toward resignation to whatever the consequences of a loss might be. Follow-up questions, gloating ... “I didn’t know I could do that. I didn’t know I was doing that. So sorry I fucked up your plan to starve me to death in my own kitchen.” See, an apology. How hard is that?
“I don’t know if you overheard while you were creeping around the place I work, but I’m moving. You don’t need to worry about me doing it again. You can have this whole coast and all its important people to yourself. We good?”