Infinity Smashed: Life Choices II
Aug. 6th, 2018 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeLife Choices II
Series: Infinity Smashed
Word Count: ~600
Summary: Biff and M.D. talk about self-harm and suicide. As long as they give each other shit about it and act like they don't care, that makes it okay, right? Not canon.
Notes: This story is a total throwback, from 11/21/2010; I found it while looking for something else, having long since forgotten it. There's a bunch of random little plotless things like this scattered through our records. Considering the content, not to mention the context of our Biff and Mori that I was unaware of at the time... yeah, I'm not okay with posting this publicly. Reading this thing in 2018 is a very different experience to writing it in 2010.
“Are you sorry you didn’t kill yourself right?” I asked.
Biff raised an eyebrow at me. Not affronted or surprised, just curious.
“I mean, let’s face it, Biffy. You did a bang-up job. It’s only a wonder that hand still works.”
His fingers flexed, and I knew that under his armband under the wicked, blatant scarring, tendons were working and undulating in his wrist and forearm.
I could testify those tendons still worked. He’d held me up against a wall with that hand.
He shrugged. “Enh. Was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, but still. You almost died. I mean, I’ve done some pretty stupid things, I admit that… but the plan was never to die.”
“Congratulations,” he told me, “ya almost did anyway.”
“Well, yeah,” I said, “but it wasn’t the point. I’m the human cockroach, remember? I don’t die. I can’t die.”
There was that overly impressed, cheery face. “Aw, really now.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m quite killable, I assure you. But I can’t just… I can’t just go out and kick the bucket. I’m not done yet!”
“Done wi’ what?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Life? I mean, come on. Any houseplant can up and die. In fact, all of them do. But living, now. Living is hard. That takes effort. Motivation. Luck.” I plopped on the arm of his ratty couch and craned my neck to eye his left arm. I resisted the childish urge to poke it.
“What?” Biff’s voice was half-snap, half-whine.
I tried to sound polite. “Can I see it?”
He crossed his arms, rested one ankle on the opposite knee, and for a moment, I thought he’d ignored me. Then he turned to look at me and jerked his chin at my bike gloves.
“You show me yours.”
I chewed on my thumbnail and the challenge for a while. I tried not to show people my bare hands; realizing I was a Senyan had made that easier. Raige, Bobby, Houdini, and Biff himself I knew were familiar with what I had on my hands and why. Bogart likely knew; Thomas so far had proved pretty oblivious, and I preferred to keep him that way.
But Biff already knew. He was in no position to judge.
“All right,” I said. “Deal.” And I flopped down onto the couch proper to pop the Velcro on my gloves, making him scramble out of my way in a decidedly non-macho fashion to avoid physical contact.
I tugged off my gloves, he popped his armband’s snaps, and then we compared self-mutilative tendencies.
My palms (and to a lesser extent, my fingers) were crisscrossed with scars. Some people scar well; I wasn’t one of them. When I scarred, I scarred thick and rough. It gave my hands tread like a tire, or the sole of a boot.
Biff raised an eyebrow again.
“What?”
He gave me a look of disgust. In a whining falsetto that by all rights, his voice shouldn’t have been able to maintain, he shrilled, “It’s a wonder that hand still works.”
“Hey, shut up. I’m careful.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m methodical.”
“Sure.”
“I just scar; I never went that deep.”
“Yeah, right, gotcha.”
I rolled my eyes. “Unlike some people I could mention, I take care of myself.”
“I know. Peroxide and duck tape, right?”
I punched him in the shoulder. He elbowed me in the ribs.
“It was a rough time, all right? I’m doing better now.”
He shoved me again, but less roughly this time.
“All right,” I admitted finally. “Maybe I wasn’t as careful as I could’ve been.” My voice was quiet.
He put me in a headlock, but it was half-hearted. He knew how it went.
Series: Infinity Smashed
Word Count: ~600
Summary: Biff and M.D. talk about self-harm and suicide. As long as they give each other shit about it and act like they don't care, that makes it okay, right? Not canon.
Notes: This story is a total throwback, from 11/21/2010; I found it while looking for something else, having long since forgotten it. There's a bunch of random little plotless things like this scattered through our records. Considering the content, not to mention the context of our Biff and Mori that I was unaware of at the time... yeah, I'm not okay with posting this publicly. Reading this thing in 2018 is a very different experience to writing it in 2010.
“Are you sorry you didn’t kill yourself right?” I asked.
Biff raised an eyebrow at me. Not affronted or surprised, just curious.
“I mean, let’s face it, Biffy. You did a bang-up job. It’s only a wonder that hand still works.”
His fingers flexed, and I knew that under his armband under the wicked, blatant scarring, tendons were working and undulating in his wrist and forearm.
I could testify those tendons still worked. He’d held me up against a wall with that hand.
He shrugged. “Enh. Was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, but still. You almost died. I mean, I’ve done some pretty stupid things, I admit that… but the plan was never to die.”
“Congratulations,” he told me, “ya almost did anyway.”
“Well, yeah,” I said, “but it wasn’t the point. I’m the human cockroach, remember? I don’t die. I can’t die.”
There was that overly impressed, cheery face. “Aw, really now.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m quite killable, I assure you. But I can’t just… I can’t just go out and kick the bucket. I’m not done yet!”
“Done wi’ what?”
I shrugged. “I dunno. Life? I mean, come on. Any houseplant can up and die. In fact, all of them do. But living, now. Living is hard. That takes effort. Motivation. Luck.” I plopped on the arm of his ratty couch and craned my neck to eye his left arm. I resisted the childish urge to poke it.
“What?” Biff’s voice was half-snap, half-whine.
I tried to sound polite. “Can I see it?”
He crossed his arms, rested one ankle on the opposite knee, and for a moment, I thought he’d ignored me. Then he turned to look at me and jerked his chin at my bike gloves.
“You show me yours.”
I chewed on my thumbnail and the challenge for a while. I tried not to show people my bare hands; realizing I was a Senyan had made that easier. Raige, Bobby, Houdini, and Biff himself I knew were familiar with what I had on my hands and why. Bogart likely knew; Thomas so far had proved pretty oblivious, and I preferred to keep him that way.
But Biff already knew. He was in no position to judge.
“All right,” I said. “Deal.” And I flopped down onto the couch proper to pop the Velcro on my gloves, making him scramble out of my way in a decidedly non-macho fashion to avoid physical contact.
I tugged off my gloves, he popped his armband’s snaps, and then we compared self-mutilative tendencies.
My palms (and to a lesser extent, my fingers) were crisscrossed with scars. Some people scar well; I wasn’t one of them. When I scarred, I scarred thick and rough. It gave my hands tread like a tire, or the sole of a boot.
Biff raised an eyebrow again.
“What?”
He gave me a look of disgust. In a whining falsetto that by all rights, his voice shouldn’t have been able to maintain, he shrilled, “It’s a wonder that hand still works.”
“Hey, shut up. I’m careful.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m methodical.”
“Sure.”
“I just scar; I never went that deep.”
“Yeah, right, gotcha.”
I rolled my eyes. “Unlike some people I could mention, I take care of myself.”
“I know. Peroxide and duck tape, right?”
I punched him in the shoulder. He elbowed me in the ribs.
“It was a rough time, all right? I’m doing better now.”
He shoved me again, but less roughly this time.
“All right,” I admitted finally. “Maybe I wasn’t as careful as I could’ve been.” My voice was quiet.
He put me in a headlock, but it was half-hearted. He knew how it went.
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Date: 2018-08-07 03:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-08-07 03:04 am (UTC)--Rogan
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Date: 2018-08-07 12:41 pm (UTC)--Janusz
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Date: 2018-08-07 07:38 pm (UTC)--Rogan
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Date: 2018-08-07 08:34 pm (UTC)--Hikaru