[He laughs despite himself, if a little weakly, letting himself be pulled along.]
Bad idea, yo. Didn't I ever tell you what I did the last time somebody up in here gave me an extra toothbrush?
[That's a better story, though he knows he has to tell the one he's been avoiding sooner or later now. Maybe in the morning, if things really do look better then, if he feels a little less overfilled.]
If it involves bloodstains you're keeping it out of my cabin. I am so incredibly sick of laundry.
[He toothpastes two brushes, just like he frequently lights them two cigarettes, and leans his back up against the sink as he offers Omar the new one, and starts to brush.]
[So that's totally okay, right? Obviously. He brushes quickly, thinking, calming as he does, because for all the blood and guts and anger between them, the story of him and Ladd is one that's easy to talk about. Even oddly relaxing in the midst of all this turmoil. That had been simple.
His smile is a little more natural when he finishes up and turns back to Ricki.]
Anyone ever mention a wild man, old inmate, name of Ladd Russo?
[He shakes his head, solemnly, toothbrush still in his mouth, pausing in brushing to watch him for a moment. It's hard to smile like this, but it sort of shows in his eyes; that's better.
Ricki leans over the sink and spits, then moves to rinse his mouth, listening intently, as he guides him back towards the bed.]
[He comes easily now, toeing off his sneakers and sitting on the bed
with his knees propped up, wrists resting on top of them, the mark his nail
left behind on the one already fading rapidly. Not gone yet, maybe not gone
for a good while, and certainly not whatever wound lies beneath it either,
but... fading.]
Ol' Ladd was as bad as it gets, man. Worse than Arthas back then. I mean,
before Arthas tried out that hostile takeover, anyway -- back in the day,
he was what you might call dormant. Ladd, though... That man would
kill you soon as look at you, just for the fun of it. Had some nonsense in
him about people shouldn't be clinging to life, some Angel of Death
business or something, but really? Dude just got a kick outta the deed.
Truth be, I didn't take all that kindly to that, especially once he started
going after the wardens. The good ones, too.
[Ricki stays up a few seconds longer, stripping out of some of his stiffer clothes, getting into a t-shirt and cotton drawstring pants, and then crawls into bed after him, like that. He settles down next to him, head resting on the pillow, knees hitched up so their legs rest together.]
[He holds up his hand, points it like a gun, and mimes shooting both of Ricki's kneecaps and then his temple in quick succession.]
'Course, lacking in perspective as the wardens here be at times, they didn't think Omar oughta have a gun after that, so they confiscated the piece. So I got a little creative, 'cause we had a war on by then.
[The corner of his mouth twitches slyly.]
Started asking after extra toothbrushes. Spare parts. Got some rubber bands out the art room.
[He clucks disapprovingly at the language, but he can't help but look entirely pleased by the praise, the smirk turning into a bright, toothy grin.]
Well, you ain't got nothing to worry about, honey.
[He hooks his arm around Ricki's neck and tugs him in for a kiss. The other hand still lingers over his heart when he draws back again; Omar's smile softens, fades at the corners, voice dropping a little lower.]
[He returns the kiss, and shuts his eyes at the question. It's a terribly intimate thing to dwell on, when he still doesn't really have an answer from him, and doesn't expect one at least until morning.]
Of course.
[It's a bit of a strange thing to say a prayer for, but he does, privately, nonetheless.]
[He does dwell there, though, if silently. He shuts his eyes too and rests his head against Ricki's again, lips pressing briefly to his temple.
This is the only answer he has in him tonight, though it's already a lot to give. His mood is still mercurial: this is intimate enough to hurt a little, definitely enough to pull him back down from his reminiscent glee, but it's like the part of him that wants it to hurt won't let him stay too high for too long right now. Like he needs to remember that if he's deciding to stay, it's for more than joking and flirting and halfway mythical autobiography.
And he stays, and it does hurt, and it really should. He draws back, tracing his fingers down Ricki's cheek.]
[Ricki wants to know, apropos of nothing, except that he sits up enough to lean over him and turn off the bedside lamp, plunging them into darkness. He adjusts the pillows for them both, and rolls onto his side, taking Omar's arm and giving it a light tug, hoping to coax him to press up against his back, tangle an arm around his waist. He wants to be close, without necessarily facing all of it, right now.]
[That works for Omar -- maybe it's even a little bit of a relief at the moment. He spoons up behind Ricki at his urging and drapes his arm over his side, leaving it loose around his waist.]
[Omar doesn't dream, or if he does, it's in murky, fleeting snippets that are instantly forgotten. He sleeps restlessly anyway, more like catnapping than actual sleep, leaving him waking up haphazardly throughout what remains of the night and into the morning. He doesn't take Ricki's advice to get up and do something else. He'd chosen to stay, and he stays until Ricki wakes up again, and tries to keep the chaos quiet in his mind each time until he can doze off again.
He's not really feeling any better at the end of it, but the long night has given him a little more clarity, and he knows this much: he has to tell him something. Maybe everything, maybe not, but at least something to explain why this isn't just a power struggle. He owes him that much.
So when he feels Ricki stir, when he opens his eyes to see all the little signs of wakefulness, he tells him before he can start to get up:]
[Ricki rolls onto his back to look up at him, reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He's soft in the mornings, and a little groggy, but senses right away that this is going to be important.
Worth sitting up, then, and giving him a soft kiss on the mouth, deciding;]
[Omar was kind of really hoping to get this out before Ricki could get up or, say, look at him, and he seems a little more reticent right away. Ricki goes to get his tea and Omar sits up to watch him, then bites his lip and looks away, trying to reframe the little speech he'd prepared during all those wakeful hours. He's no coward, but when it comes to things like this... Well, even for him, there are things that are easier to say to a man's face than others.
He chafes his hands over his wrists, thinking for a moment, then starts again, like he's taking a new tack:]
Got this thing we say back home when we get locked up: "You only really ever do two days -- the day you go in and the day you get out." Except we all know that second day come sooner for some people, right? And it be a foolish man that get too attached to somebody got a lot less time in between the two than he do.
[A prison fling is one thing, he means. Something to help pass the time, to make doing the time a little easier. Something both people let go when the first one gets out. Tricky and complex as things with Ricki have always been, that had been Omar's main thought when he'd kissed him that first time: finally, a little fun.]
[Ricki gets out two of his ridiculous sunshine mugs, and two teabags, and a little sugar for Omar's. None for his own. The electric kettle heats up quickly, but not so quick that he isn't still waiting for it, leaning against the desk where it lives while Omar talks.
He nods, and listens, and tries to just hear and not fast forward to the dire things that might mean, holding himself very still.]
[He gives it a pause there anyway, waiting to see if he will interject; when he doesn't, Omar looks back over at him, still reluctant but sincere. The implication here is dire, but it's one of the things that needs to be said.]
I dunno how much time either of us got left, but we both know you likely to have a lot less than me. And I...
[The corner of his mouth tics ruefully. He didn't bother to take off his jewelry last night, and he twists absently at the ring he likes to wear on the middle finger of his left hand.]
Dunno why I thought it'd be safe, hooking up with Ricki Tarr. I think that was just me being impulsive. But I wasn't planning on nobody having they heart stopped, anyway. It's been a good while since I really...
[He admits, as he finally pours the tea. Carefully filling both cups with hot water.]
I wondered, 'if I become a warden, will Omar forgive me?' I wondered, would you forgive me for doing it to save Irina's brains being spattered all over a Moscow wall, just for the crime of falling for me? Would you forgive me if you suspected the real reason was just taking another year or two to stay near to you?
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Bad idea, yo. Didn't I ever tell you what I did the last time somebody up in here gave me an extra toothbrush?
[That's a better story, though he knows he has to tell the one he's been avoiding sooner or later now. Maybe in the morning, if things really do look better then, if he feels a little less overfilled.]
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[He toothpastes two brushes, just like he frequently lights them two cigarettes, and leans his back up against the sink as he offers Omar the new one, and starts to brush.]
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[So that's totally okay, right? Obviously. He brushes quickly, thinking, calming as he does, because for all the blood and guts and anger between them, the story of him and Ladd is one that's easy to talk about. Even oddly relaxing in the midst of all this turmoil. That had been simple.
His smile is a little more natural when he finishes up and turns back to Ricki.]
Anyone ever mention a wild man, old inmate, name of Ladd Russo?
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Ricki leans over the sink and spits, then moves to rinse his mouth, listening intently, as he guides him back towards the bed.]
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[He comes easily now, toeing off his sneakers and sitting on the bed with his knees propped up, wrists resting on top of them, the mark his nail left behind on the one already fading rapidly. Not gone yet, maybe not gone for a good while, and certainly not whatever wound lies beneath it either, but... fading.]
Ol' Ladd was as bad as it gets, man. Worse than Arthas back then. I mean, before Arthas tried out that hostile takeover, anyway -- back in the day, he was what you might call dormant. Ladd, though... That man would kill you soon as look at you, just for the fun of it. Had some nonsense in him about people shouldn't be clinging to life, some Angel of Death business or something, but really? Dude just got a kick outta the deed.
Truth be, I didn't take all that kindly to that, especially once he started going after the wardens. The good ones, too.
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What'd you do, darling?
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[He holds up his hand, points it like a gun, and mimes shooting both of Ricki's kneecaps and then his temple in quick succession.]
'Course, lacking in perspective as the wardens here be at times, they didn't think Omar oughta have a gun after that, so they confiscated the piece. So I got a little creative, 'cause we had a war on by then.
[The corner of his mouth twitches slyly.]
Started asking after extra toothbrushes. Spare parts. Got some rubber bands out the art room.
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Everyone keeps saying, 'don't you know you might start a war.' Do none of them see you're practically trembling for one?
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Am not.
[Is too, is too, is too.]
You a smart man, though, Mister Tarr. 'Chu think I did with all them bits?
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[Fingertip rubbing a circle on the spot he'd go for.]
Am I close?
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Yeah, you close.
[But the truth is so much better, and he's feeling up to showing off again -- it doesn't exactly take much for that. He smirks.]
Rigged up a little crossbow. One bolt, right across the deck.
[He taps Ricki's chest.]
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Fuck, Omar.
[That's-]
I'm not even going to let you use paperclips in here.
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Well, you ain't got nothing to worry about, honey.
[He hooks his arm around Ricki's neck and tugs him in for a kiss. The other hand still lingers over his heart when he draws back again; Omar's smile softens, fades at the corners, voice dropping a little lower.]
Enough to stop your heart, huh?
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Of course.
[It's a bit of a strange thing to say a prayer for, but he does, privately, nonetheless.]
cw: self-harm ideation
This is the only answer he has in him tonight, though it's already a lot to give. His mood is still mercurial: this is intimate enough to hurt a little, definitely enough to pull him back down from his reminiscent glee, but it's like the part of him that wants it to hurt won't let him stay too high for too long right now. Like he needs to remember that if he's deciding to stay, it's for more than joking and flirting and halfway mythical autobiography.
And he stays, and it does hurt, and it really should. He draws back, tracing his fingers down Ricki's cheek.]
You're right, man -- it's late.
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[Ricki wants to know, apropos of nothing, except that he sits up enough to lean over him and turn off the bedside lamp, plunging them into darkness. He adjusts the pillows for them both, and rolls onto his side, taking Omar's arm and giving it a light tug, hoping to coax him to press up against his back, tangle an arm around his waist. He wants to be close, without necessarily facing all of it, right now.]
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Don't know-- so I guess not, really. Why, do you?
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For the first few minutes.
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Good dreams, then.
[Omar doesn't dream, or if he does, it's in murky, fleeting snippets that are instantly forgotten. He sleeps restlessly anyway, more like catnapping than actual sleep, leaving him waking up haphazardly throughout what remains of the night and into the morning. He doesn't take Ricki's advice to get up and do something else. He'd chosen to stay, and he stays until Ricki wakes up again, and tries to keep the chaos quiet in his mind each time until he can doze off again.
He's not really feeling any better at the end of it, but the long night has given him a little more clarity, and he knows this much: he has to tell him something. Maybe everything, maybe not, but at least something to explain why this isn't just a power struggle. He owes him that much.
So when he feels Ricki stir, when he opens his eyes to see all the little signs of wakefulness, he tells him before he can start to get up:]
The thing of it is, I wasn't planning on this.
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Worth sitting up, then, and giving him a soft kiss on the mouth, deciding;]
'm put tea on.
[He'll hear better once he has.]
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He chafes his hands over his wrists, thinking for a moment, then starts again, like he's taking a new tack:]
Got this thing we say back home when we get locked up: "You only really ever do two days -- the day you go in and the day you get out." Except we all know that second day come sooner for some people, right? And it be a foolish man that get too attached to somebody got a lot less time in between the two than he do.
[A prison fling is one thing, he means. Something to help pass the time, to make doing the time a little easier. Something both people let go when the first one gets out. Tricky and complex as things with Ricki have always been, that had been Omar's main thought when he'd kissed him that first time: finally, a little fun.]
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He nods, and listens, and tries to just hear and not fast forward to the dire things that might mean, holding himself very still.]
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I dunno how much time either of us got left, but we both know you likely to have a lot less than me. And I...
[The corner of his mouth tics ruefully. He didn't bother to take off his jewelry last night, and he twists absently at the ring he likes to wear on the middle finger of his left hand.]
Dunno why I thought it'd be safe, hooking up with Ricki Tarr. I think that was just me being impulsive. But I wasn't planning on nobody having they heart stopped, anyway. It's been a good while since I really...
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[He admits, as he finally pours the tea. Carefully filling both cups with hot water.]
I wondered, 'if I become a warden, will Omar forgive me?' I wondered, would you forgive me for doing it to save Irina's brains being spattered all over a Moscow wall, just for the crime of falling for me? Would you forgive me if you suspected the real reason was just taking another year or two to stay near to you?
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You got me all mixed up, Ricki.
[It's pulled out of him like a confession. It sounds like it hurts.]
You got me so mixed up I don't even know what to do no more.
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