OPEN | prompt one | RAIN

[wrens]

prompt one | R A I N I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain - and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.

 

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[ex_heedlessly_549]

[ There are times (often, but arthymc, coming and going with he uneven tides of his mood) when Jacob thinks it isn't really fair — the fact that he's survived while others haven't. It's not as though he hasn't earned the right to — his hands have seen as much bloodshed as Wes' and there's dirt and dead skin under his nails even now — but unlike his traveling companion, Jacob's not really wedded to the idea of whatever I have to do to survive. Again, it's like his moods, which tip and bend and sway much more frequently than his Devil-may-care attitude ever dares suggest. There are days when he'll fight tooth and nail for just another tank of gas, another drop to drink. Then there are other days when he just waits for the death to pass over him like a long-hoped for cloud promising rain. On those days it doesn't matter to Jacob; the hows and the whys and whomever else might go down with him.

On those days, the Devil doesn't care at all. (This is not one of those days.)

The passenger side window of the salvaged wreck of a truck that they're driving between Antioch and Alexandria doesn't work. It's been rolled down for the past three hours which is fine by Jacob (he doesn't care and it shows), and with the promise of rain he leans out of it with his head and shoulder and arm, fingers drumming idly on the side of the vehicle. ]

Looks like rain, [ he says with a kind of cheerfulness. Jacob likes saying useless things. His personal favorite is being obvious. ]

[detestable]

[ some days wes has no idea why he keeps jacob around. most days, actually. it's a tangled, messed up bundle of reasons that, like so many other things, wes doesn't want to touch, so he lets it alone, content with eye-rolling and "shut up, jacob," because at least it keeps wes here. it keeps him anchored, having another human around, someone to keep alive. jacob pulls him back from total self-destruction, from pushing himself to the breaking point and beyond, even if wes won't admit as much.

he glances back over his shoulder, expression unimpressed, before wiping a hand over his face. he'd pay good money for a working shower, but this is as close as he can get, these days. ]

Congratulations. You could be a damn weather man with predictions like that.

[ there are days when wes doesn't rise to the comments, when all jacob gets is a grunt and a drum of wes' fingers on the steering wheel. today is a good day all around. ]

[ex_heedlessly_549]

[ Jacob smiles beatifically, an arm extending now into the light rain, getting his hand and forearm wet, the sleeve of his shirt darkening in gathering spots. ] Anytime, boss.

It's not clear sometimes whether or not Jacob is honest-to-god as cheerful as that or whether or not he's insane or just a raving asshole. Quite possibly it's a combination of all three, though which sentiment is strongest at an given time depends on the day. Today (still good) he's just cheerful and it shows in the particular way his eyes crinkle at the edges. Somebody around here has to bring the levity to the situation otherwise, Jacob's certain, that Wes would just up and self-implode. Why he doesn't just let that happen — a man navigated the course of his own destiny, didn't he — Jacob doesn't think about it. Wes isn't a particularly good person but he figures that there aren't any good people left in the world. There are just the bad ones and the dead ones and that ratio is slipping a little more each day.

After a long moment he pulls his hand back and uses it to scrub through his hair. He can't remember the last time it felt clean. ]

Y'know what I miss? [ Hypothetical question; Jacob doesn't wait for an answer. ] I miss soap. The kind that came out in a little glob from a pump and didn't smell like anything real, just smelt clean.

[detestable]

I told you to quit calling me that.

[ his tone is half-hearted, the statement more out of habit than because wes expects it to be heeded. if wes had a dime for everytime he repeated that phrase, he'd be richer than sin. wes could tell jacob to knock that off until he was blue in the face, and it wouldn't get him anywhere.

but still, wes can't quite let it go. ]

There's none of that within twenty miles of here.

[ the tone is wistful. wes misses the trappings of his old life, that much is plain to anyone. but it's dead and buried and gone. he won't see any of that again in this life. ]