no grey (closed)

[refactor]

Who: Handsome Jack + Fenris
Where: Jack's home
When: W4D3
Summary: Sometimes if you're a friendless loser, you have to hire people to make sure you don't drop dead.
Restrictions/Warnings: Jack might get a little crazy but hey at least not as bad as the last few logs I posted

[ This wasn't exactly the ideal situation.

He'd been okay (at least so much as one could be) with his body double playing nurse, because there was a certain amount of weakness that he was okay with showing his mirror image. Handsome Jack was meant to be the image of some kind of cocky, untouchable figure, and he did a hell of a lot to keep that image going. It helped him hold onto his part of Intake with an iron fist, because no matter what the scumbags threw at him, he could throw it right back tenfold. So, being this ill? Definitely against that image. But more than that, there was the part that had caused Jack to send Tim away on a mission to find a cure or something to alleviate the symptoms as soon as possible and at any cost. Jack had seen how this progressed in the facility when it first appeared. He knew where it went. And Handsome Jack definitely wasn't going to die from some illness.

But, there was something to be said for not being alone with his own thoughts. Having someone else with him was a distraction from the visions of fire, the way he saw cracked rock underneath his feet, lava pouring from his sink, and just out of the corner of his eye sometimes, he swear he saw a purple glow that was familiar in a way he couldn't place. He knew the color, but whatever it was associated with in his mind he could never pull forth. The longer he sat alone, the hotter that lava (no, he reminds himself, the fever) felt, and the more a manic energy started to take over as he would try to explore what he was seeing, looking for that purple tinted glow.

Finally, desperately, he picks up the phone and makes a call. ]

Yo— [ His voice sounds shaky, even to his own ears, but he laughs it off as he tries to regain his composure. ]

Yeah, this is Handsome Jack. Send an Enforcer over to my place pronto, and- Ah, ah— [ They start to interrupt, but he interrupts right back ] Don't worry about it, sweetcheeks. I'll take care of the paperwork, so just. I dunno, pick someone who looks bored. That's your half, I'll do the other later.

[ Which is all he feels he needs to say, and it seems like the person on the other side of the line either agrees or just wants to be done with him. Regardless, it's a short conversation, and Jack just sits back on his couch and waits. Part of him realizes that having to call an Enforcer of all people is- Well, that's gotta be bottom of the barrel desperate. But, hey. At least he can count on them to be at least decently committed to the idea of looking out for him. They don't exactly take well to disobedience in their ranks.

Though as he waits, he's stuck in that loop again. It's fire, lava, and a monster emerging from it. It's so bizarrely vivid that he can't get it out of his head, but— He has to. Because, seriously. Even in this state, he knows this is crazy.

So he tries to push that idea out of his head, and he's hoping that they'll at least send over an Enforcer with at least half of a brain. He definitely wouldn't be complaining for the distraction. ]

Comments

[eleutheron]

[ He's not completely sure what Jack's on about, but 'power thing' rings true enough. That's the driving philosophy of the Company and the Nine, so far as he understands it. Power and control. Keeping the lower classes exhausted and starving, keeping rivals complacent. Taking as much as they can and giving nothing back. Jack has always struck Fenris as perfectly of a piece with this mindset.

He watches, keeping still, as Jack pulls off his false face. The sight of it triggers something in him, a blurry memory that sharpens as Jack sits up. A different face, just as deformed, red and pale and half-melted. A stentorian voice, screaming for a dead god.

A slight tremor runs through his arm, but other than that, Fenris betrays no reaction, neither to what's in front of him nor to what's whispering behind his eyes. ]

Who would I tell, and why would I tell them?

[ It's not like his social calendar blows up every weekend. Or any weekend. ]

[refactor]

[ There's relief in the sarcasm that's enough of a balm to Jack's natural paranoia to calm him, at least in part. He'll never be relaxed so long as his real face is on view. It's both his vanity and a fear of vulnerability, but they're both powerful enough that this is an exceedingly rare sight. Even those Jack would call friends (though there are very few of them) hadn't seen this, and he had no plans to show them. Now, it was only prompted by fever and the lingering, burning ghost in his mind of what had truly caused it at all.

But even so, he laughs. It's partially just a sound to fill the space and deflect from his own hesitation, but the tooth, twisted smile still turns towards Fenris. ]

Oh— Yeah, you- You don't seem like much of a socialite, guess you're right. [ Jack chuckles again, then rubs his temple in irritation. Even the couch feels hot to the touch, but he'll ignore that. ] Then don't worry about it. You- are exactly the kinda guy I was hopin' they'd send, apparently.

[eleutheron]

Yes. The soul of discretion.

[ Fenris's voice is bone-dry. He's here because he's a ghost, and always has been. A terrifying shadow, bound completely to the Company's will--or so they presume. He watches Jack laugh and twitch, observes the cut and glint of his sharp, white teeth. Notices the beads of sweat on his throat, on the ruined landscape of his burned face. ]

Perhaps you'd like a cool washcloth.

[ He stops just short of saying 'sir', because while he might agree to play caretaker, he's not going to outright cross the line into 'butler'. ]

[refactor]

Yeah, that- That'd be good.

[ Jack agrees easily, though he wonders if it would really help. He hopes so, but at the same time, the heat of the volcano—no, fever—might be too much for just that. But as he waits, Jack at least closes his eyes and settles back as he tries to will away those odd visions. Like, it's not the weirdest association, but a volcano? Where the hell even is a volcano, exactly? ]

Yo, Fenris— Curious, you heard of anyone else getting this crap?

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris finds what he needs--the cloth, the sink--and takes little time in returning. He wraps the damp rag in ice cubes, then presses the bundle gently to Jack's boiling forehead. ]

Quite a few. It's rampaging through Old Town at present. The people are restless for a cure.

[ He applies just a little more pressure. ]

I expect they will have to wait in line behind the likes of you, though.

[ Maybe a risky thing to say, but Jack's more out of his mind than usual. Also, probably super weak from fever. ]

[refactor]

[ In the haze of fever, the image of Fenris reaching out towards him (or more importantly, to his face) wavers. For a moment, he doesn't see Fenris at all, but a woman with fiery red hair. Her fist is closed, coming to his face, and Jack seizes up for the impact, but reaches out to grab Fenris's wrist. His grip is uncomfortably tight, and his expression is briefly drawn in some kind of hard to place but definitely negative emotion. It's almost dangerous, but-- Just like that, the image fades away.

Fenris comes back into view, and Jack's hand wavers, but he lets go of Fenris's wrist with a frustrated sound. It's not at Fenris, but at this sickness, or even at himself. This isn't like him. He feels incredibly vulnerable, and he despises that, but the awkwardness of that moment gets him to not speak to it. He proceeds as if it hadn't happened, because whatever that was, he definitely doesn't want to acknowledge it. Even so, his response is distracted. ]

That— I mean, yeah, obviously. That's the deal with Company-owned cures. Company gets 'em first.

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris stiffens when he's grabbed. His circuitry flashes, and he winces, mostly from the pain of controlling his own instincts. He wants to shove Jack down, brace his arm against the other man's throat--neutralize the threat. That's his unconscious response, violent and primal. Swallowing it down hurts. But he manages to keep still until Jack lets him go. He keeps his expression bland. Perhaps mildly, reasonably curious.

He murmurs. ]

What doesn't the Company own?

[ It owns him, to be sure. Does it own Jack, too? He wonders. He wonders about a lot of things, looking at Jack's scarred face. Jack might be delirious enough to tell him. He might be unstable enough to attack him for it, too. Fenris is not afraid, but he doesn't want to deal with the mess.

He shakes his head. He's done all he can, he thinks. ]

But, in any case, if you are comfortable ...

[ He's ready to go. ]