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31_days2005-09-22 11:49 pm
of-carabas.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-09-22 11:49 pm
[September 22] [Near Dark] A Thousand Miles (18/26)
Title: A Thousand Miles (18/26)
Day/Theme: September 22nd/The observed observer
Series: Near Dark
Characters: Severen, Homer/Mae
Rating: PG13
"What're you up to?"
"Shhh! Hunting, what's it look like?"
"It looks like you've been standing here gawking at some skirt ever since we split up. You always take this long to make a kill?"
"Would you keep your voice down? She's gonna see you! And she's not some skirt; her name's Mae."
"...uh-huh. Since when do you bother learning your food's name? Don't tell me our little Homer's got a hard on for the lovely Miss Mae."
"Fuck you."
Homer wasn't half as clever as he thought he was.
Not just about this doll - it was obvious to anyone that she'd be joining them that night. Severen wasn't sure that was a good idea, but hey, she was easy enough on the eyes; if Homer could manage her, more power to him. Nah, this was just one more addition to the list of less-than-clever things Homer'd been managing lately. The way Homer's eyes lit up at certain topics, the way he pressed conversations a little too hard - the way he'd started ignoring Diamondback most particularly, and stopped calling her 'mama' again - it was obvious the kid was itching to run things himself. Thought he could manage things better. Maybe he even wanted to get out on his own - all of them damn fool thoughts to be having. Oh, the kid was bright enough, Severen knew; wouldn't have survived this long, otherwise. No, Homer's problem was simply that for all his whining about being 'a big man on the inside,' he was a kid, still, after all these years.
How many years had it been, anyway? This was 1982 - no, 83; and Homer'd turned... eh... after the war, hadn't it been? After the war but before Nam (which hadn't registered on Severen's radar as a war so much as a bunch of late-night protesters making easy targets of themselves). So... eh, who cared; it'd been a few decades anyway, that was the point. Homer had a few years behind him by now.
But years didn't have nothing to do with maturity.
The kid thought he knew how to run things better than Jesse could. Easy thing to think, for someone who'd never actually had to run things before. The boy'd grown up with parents taking care of him, and then switched over to a whole pack taking care of him; he didn't know how to take care of himself, much less anyone else. Oh, he thought he did, sure enough. But soon as he got out into the world on his own, he'd find a hundred thousand tiny details he'd never thought of, just waiting to trip him up. Like this idea of his to set down roots, build up his own little fortress in Manhattan or the like. The kid didn't realize that setting down roots only tied you down, that owning things also meant that things owned you, that any fortress would eventually crumble. For someone like them, attachments were poison. Living forever meant keeping on the move.
But hey, couldn't blame Homer for having a bad idea - happened to everyone. You grow up, you move out, you make damn fool mistakes, and eventually you learn how to get along.
Trouble was, Homer couldn't just take off on his own and make the mistakes that he needed to make in order to really grow up. A mistake, for them, could get them dead or worse. Now, if it was just Homer's death to worry about then that'd be fine; far as Severen was concerned everyone had the right to risk their own neck. But risking his neck, and his family's necks, well, that was another matter altogether. And it would be risking all their necks to let Homer take off on his own. If Homer slipped up, if he let normal folks find out just how different he was, then they'd all suffer for it.
So Homer was just going to have to stay put and stew, a big man on the inside and little on the outside, stuck in an eternal state of teenage rebellion. Well, wasn't that just a powder keg waiting to burst. At least it ought to be fun to watch, provided it didn't get them all killed.
Day/Theme: September 22nd/The observed observer
Series: Near Dark
Characters: Severen, Homer/Mae
Rating: PG13
"What're you up to?"
"Shhh! Hunting, what's it look like?"
"It looks like you've been standing here gawking at some skirt ever since we split up. You always take this long to make a kill?"
"Would you keep your voice down? She's gonna see you! And she's not some skirt; her name's Mae."
"...uh-huh. Since when do you bother learning your food's name? Don't tell me our little Homer's got a hard on for the lovely Miss Mae."
"Fuck you."
Homer wasn't half as clever as he thought he was.
Not just about this doll - it was obvious to anyone that she'd be joining them that night. Severen wasn't sure that was a good idea, but hey, she was easy enough on the eyes; if Homer could manage her, more power to him. Nah, this was just one more addition to the list of less-than-clever things Homer'd been managing lately. The way Homer's eyes lit up at certain topics, the way he pressed conversations a little too hard - the way he'd started ignoring Diamondback most particularly, and stopped calling her 'mama' again - it was obvious the kid was itching to run things himself. Thought he could manage things better. Maybe he even wanted to get out on his own - all of them damn fool thoughts to be having. Oh, the kid was bright enough, Severen knew; wouldn't have survived this long, otherwise. No, Homer's problem was simply that for all his whining about being 'a big man on the inside,' he was a kid, still, after all these years.
How many years had it been, anyway? This was 1982 - no, 83; and Homer'd turned... eh... after the war, hadn't it been? After the war but before Nam (which hadn't registered on Severen's radar as a war so much as a bunch of late-night protesters making easy targets of themselves). So... eh, who cared; it'd been a few decades anyway, that was the point. Homer had a few years behind him by now.
But years didn't have nothing to do with maturity.
The kid thought he knew how to run things better than Jesse could. Easy thing to think, for someone who'd never actually had to run things before. The boy'd grown up with parents taking care of him, and then switched over to a whole pack taking care of him; he didn't know how to take care of himself, much less anyone else. Oh, he thought he did, sure enough. But soon as he got out into the world on his own, he'd find a hundred thousand tiny details he'd never thought of, just waiting to trip him up. Like this idea of his to set down roots, build up his own little fortress in Manhattan or the like. The kid didn't realize that setting down roots only tied you down, that owning things also meant that things owned you, that any fortress would eventually crumble. For someone like them, attachments were poison. Living forever meant keeping on the move.
But hey, couldn't blame Homer for having a bad idea - happened to everyone. You grow up, you move out, you make damn fool mistakes, and eventually you learn how to get along.
Trouble was, Homer couldn't just take off on his own and make the mistakes that he needed to make in order to really grow up. A mistake, for them, could get them dead or worse. Now, if it was just Homer's death to worry about then that'd be fine; far as Severen was concerned everyone had the right to risk their own neck. But risking his neck, and his family's necks, well, that was another matter altogether. And it would be risking all their necks to let Homer take off on his own. If Homer slipped up, if he let normal folks find out just how different he was, then they'd all suffer for it.
So Homer was just going to have to stay put and stew, a big man on the inside and little on the outside, stuck in an eternal state of teenage rebellion. Well, wasn't that just a powder keg waiting to burst. At least it ought to be fun to watch, provided it didn't get them all killed.