originaljackass | Ch. 16 - Abandonment is part of life with Jack of Fables.

[And so, today, Jack goes to check in on Clementine because what the hell she didn't come to get breakfast or anything. But when he stepped into her room, it was empty. All except for Mr. Revise, who looked at a bed that was far too neatly made for a seven year old to have fixed up.

Well well, it seems your morality pet has finally vanished. I wonder, how ever shall you become better man now?

"You shut your goddamn mouth, old man." Jack was upset. Mildly. He decided he was already over it. He shrugged and paid no mind to the ox that trotted in after him, hopped up on the bed, and proceeded to fall asleep. Whatever! "Clem's gone? Then fine. That means I'm free. No responsibilities. Back to parties all night and fucking any woman I please! And the best part is, I don't have to listen to whatshisname go on and on about how great he is."

Yes. You'll be a regular pillar of society. I wonder what horrible fate will befall you, then? Perhaps your promiscuity will turn you into a goat. Or your tongue shall make you a snake. Ahh, or perhaps you'll spend another decade in solitude as a pitiful, greedy dragon. I recall you enjoyed that enough to do it twice.

Jack glared at the old man, who he knew good and well as imaginary. And yet he responded anyway. After all, the ox was oblivious and Clem wasn't here to give him strange looks. "I know what you're trying to do. Just drive me crazy by whining all the time. Well it won't work! I'm perfectly sane. I'm just talking to a little bug the Malnosso put in my head. That's completely normal. They're evil scientists. I bet they do that to a lot of people."

Oh, you poor stupid little man. Is that what you think this is? I'm real, Mr. Horner. All of this, isn't. This is the Memory Hole. It was not a little girl that tempted you to reform. It was because I have censored you. You have been neutered and stripped clean of less than desirable traits, but you have created this world to pretend you have some element of control. I assure you that you do not. I will continue to pick you clean, bit by bit, and you will never escape.

And then, at some point in the day, an entire bed went flying out of wall of Jack's apartment. But he ignored it, because the building would fix itself and he had decided that he was officially out of fucks to give. He would go to the bar, do his normal shift, and that night before he put himself to bed with a tall bottle of whiskey, he offered the journal a brief statement.]

[Voice]

Clementine is back to her zombie paradise. She knows how to use a gun, so she might last a few more years. Maybe even ten or twenty. That's a normal lifespan, right? Anyway, she's gone. Just in case anybody gives a damn.

[He considers answering any responses, but eh. What's the point? She's gone, thus she's irrelevant. Only an idiot would get sappy at this point.]

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He was doing his best to ignore her and the six cream-topped shots. He looked at Revise and then the DVD and then the whiskey and then at Babe, who was uselessly sitting in the corner and having a grand daydream about being Leonidas. But Jack was unaware of that dream. He was, instead, stuck with Buffy. And this time, he wasn't happy about that.

"I didn't ask for your company. I don't want shots, I don't want poker. I want to put those two bottles inside me so that in a few hours, I can vomit them back into the toilet. See? The whole evening is booked."

"This isn't a favour; of course you didn't ask for it. It's a freaking intervention."

"I don't do interventions." At that, he stood up and walked to the door and opened it. He stood to the side, making room for her to walk out of it. "And I don't do pick-me-ups or friendly card games."

Her cheeks flushed with indignation -- unhappy at being brave enough to walk this path, but deficient enough to be refused. Had she the cogent critical skills, she would have known enough to warn him that she was the one honest ally it looked as though he possessed in this place. But as she couldn't see herself for what she was, she merely remained miffed.

"You'd actually really rather be alone, wouldn't you?"

"Do you want to have sex?"

"Do I what?"

Oh, she'd heard. She'd heard and the indignation sank deeper. Rooted in with a primal disgust for any and all threats to her pride. Her authority. Her sense of self. Buffy felt control over her own philanthropy slip and escape her grasp. Although it had never really been about Jack to begin with, the moment now tipped wholly into selfish territory.

...She closed the gap in a moment. Drinks, treats, and cards all forgotten on the table. Buffy was still bundled up in her wool jacket when she raised an arm and tried -- mostly without thinking -- to strike Jack Horner full across his jaw. The fact that it was an open-palmed slap and not a slugging punch was only the barest indication that some distant sensibility of hers actually didn't want to hurt him.

Not much, at least.

Lucky him he was made of sturdier stuff than most. This was the typical reaction he got from women when it came to that question and he took it in stride. He rubbed slightly at his jaw and noted that he hadn't had enough booze to completely deaden the pain. He'd work on that.

"So that's a no, then." He tilted his head, still sore, towards the hallway. "Then alone it is."

In the end, no matter what the circumstance, she only ever managed to hurt herself. She paused where she stood, palm still stinging. In a moment of childish panic, she wondered if palms bruised. Would hers? Was that the sort of smack that would leave a mark on her own skin? Jeez, it'd been years since she'd had to live to completely without her ability to heal -- it was as if she expected every little gust and bump to leave her black and blue. It made her feel weak.

And he made her feel...what? Angry. Rejected -- but not in a way at all common to her past experience. He made her feel clumsy. Most of all, he made her feel unfulfilled. No matter the selfish roots of the action, she did want to help. Still did, in a twisted and masochistic sort of way.

"You want alone? We can do alone. Take the week off work," she commanded through gritted teeth. "Stupor yourself. Find some buxom bandaid to ride off into the sunset if that's what heals what ails you. I don't care. Just don't you dare step into my bar for a damn good and full seven days. Got that, Horner?"

She didn't move. Not yet. Not while the conditions rang in the air -- a desperate bid not to see him until her hurt feelings had healed, all under the guise of trying to offer some paltry form of vacation.

Well, that worked as well as he hoped it would. She was still standing there. All indignant and angry. Maybe he ought to feel bad. But he didn't. He never felt bad. Not for Buffy. Not for Effie. Not for Clementine.

"Seven days, got it. Don't call me Horner. My name is Jack. Anything else you need to get off your chest or are you done? I'm missing my favorite scene."

"One step forward. Two steps back."

And as if to illustrate how opposed she was to his lack of progress, she took two wide steps through the door. But Buffy tucked a hand against the wooden surface, propping it open for a moment or two longer. "Don't forget that you're not the only one who lost her, today."

"I'll have someone send flowers."

He nudged the door to close it.

She braced it against his nudge -- trying to bury the slight wince at the notion of a battle.

"That's just it, Horner. You're running out of someones."

And then he rounded around the door and assumed his most crooked and vile of smiles, those he reserved only for his most heinous of cons and crimes. It was as easy to put on as an old pair of jeans.

"That's the beauty of Luceti, pumpkin. There's always New Feathers."

And then he put his strength into closing it.

...That was going to leave a bit of a sprain in her wrist. She felt the slight barely-care-about-it twinge along the tendons, and normally she would have shrugged it off as nothing more than a momentary ache. But her recent worries had her cursing -- loud and vehemently -- at the closing door. To anyone else, it might seem as though she was cursing out Jack Horner. How dare he; how could he; what an asshole-pig-jackass-loser.

But she stood outside his door for three or four more seconds, angry at the door but lost and drifting on the topic of the man himself. After her pause, she breathed deep. She turned around. And she walked out -- all while trying to remind herself that he wasn't worth her time.

So why did she end up feeling as if the truth was that she wasn't worth his?

Ch. 16 - Abandonment is part of life with Jack of Fables.

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