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Reference for how Chem and Jest communicate/act (for writers)

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Flawed Logic.

~ By Sweetdeily.

~

“You know... I’m just in a bad mood today.” The excuse came unbidden from the boy’s lips as he leaned against the green, felt covered table, fingers digging into the groove of the wood, rubbing at the felt that stretched so taunt across the surface, there were no creases or dints. It was a quality billiard table.

But the man on the table didn’t really care that the child was in a bad mood. He was concerned with other things. Trivial things; like his continued survival. The boy knew it, could see it in the man’s large, desperate, watery eyes. Pathetic.

“I know, you’re thinking- it’s because I had to dress up like that to get in here. But that’s not even the half of it.” The boy’s fingers clenched and the corner of the table splintered under the force of his fingers. He winced and stood, bright baby pink eyes closing wistfully for a moment before the whimpering of the man on the table interrupted his calm reflections and he bent to pick up a discarded rabbit. The rabbit came with an extra weight and the boy straightened. “I hate today. Just... ever since I woke up. My head hurts, and I’ve got a runny nose. It’s hard to concentrate and I’m all hot and cold... you know, feverish? I think I might have something... but I couldn’t just reschedule this appointment, you understand? In my line of work—don’t look at me like that, I am old enough to work! And its better pay then minimum wage...”

The man’s helpless eyes rolled to one side as one of the tuxedo clad bodies on the ground made a wheezing moan. Absently the young boy turned back to the table. “Excuse me? Pay attention!”

His grip had turned sour on the rabbit, and the left ear came off, stuffing flowing out, and the round, steel barrel of something decidedly deadly. “It’s the weather too, you see. I hate the snow. I get this feeling inside... like... like- you wouldn’t understand, would you? No, I guess not.”

He retrieved the gun from the rabbit, tearing the head and most of its upper body away. The man on the table whimpered again, begging with his eyes because he couldn’t beg with words.

His watch began to beep at him, a signal that he was running out of time.

Jester’s shoulders tensed and he raised the gun, pressing the barrel to his victim’s temple. He spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “And working with this p***k, that’s really pissed me off too.”

A figure stepped through the doorway hesitantly, the sound of a second watch’s beep joining his own.
“Jester...” Another warning from the doorway. Apparently they were running short on time.

“But really, it’s not the drag, or the snow or the a*****e over there. Really, I think it’s all the ******** running we did. I don’t know how anyone does it; wearing a ******** corset, you made me run from one room to another; if you had of just stayed in the ******** dining room, we could have killed you there, but noooo someone had to play hide and go seek-“

BANG.

Jester frowned as the life left his victim’s eyes, the smell of gunpowder and the stillness of death settling around the room like a grim spectre left as an afterimage in the wake of the carnage that had followed them. A hole in his victim’s chest was already filling with blood. The teen looked up from the corpse to the man in the doorway with a less than pretty pout forming on his lips. The typical beginnings of a Jester-styled tantrum.

Chemical sighed and holstered his gun, flicking the safety on absently. “We need to leave. Now.”

“You killed him!” Jester’s tone was high, annoying and agitated. Chemical closed the door and lodged a chair under the handle smartly.

“And we are now a few thousand dollars richer for it. But we can’t blow that money on anything if we don’t leave.” He was already across the room as he spoke, opening the balcony doors and pulling a powder sachet from his waist-coat. He began sprinkling the powder in a circle.

The sound of a bullet clicking into a chamber was almost deafening from inside the room. Chemical sighed and turned to find Jester, as he knew the boy would be, aiming his weapon at the other man. “Emelen.”

Jester’s arm trembled and he had to drop the butchered bunny to steady himself. “Don’t! He was my kill, Chem!”

“Emelen, put the gun down. You’re not going to shoot me.” Chemical spoke calmly. The powder on the ground was beginning to take on a strange effect, shifting as though it had caught a breeze, but the night air was still.

Jester’s arm lowered, almost of its own accord. He pouted and stormed right for the other man. “You shouldn’t have shot him.” He grabbed a fistful of Chem’s waist-coat, pulling himself hard against Chemical’s body. The gun caught between their chins as Jester pressed himself tightly against Chemical’s chest. It was an intimate movement, and one that caused the older man to suck in a sharp breathe.

“Emelen...”

“Don’t call me that, my name is Jester.” The boy hissed, he pulled the older man over him, like a cape, draping the human parts around his body to ward off the cold. Under the corset, Jester was shivering, ever so slightly his soft, wavy hair fell over one eye as he looked up, standing on tip-toes to Chemical’s bend, bringing their mouths close. “Got it?”

Chemical’s voice was almost drowned out by the hideous, insisted beeping of their watches, his grey eyes dark with a mixture of emotions, in the forefront of which was concern. He raised a hand to touch the teen’s forehead. “Jester, you’re burning up.”

The boy was about to recoil with a snide remark, but his words were swallowed as the sand circle they were standing inside began to really swirl. The soft hum of power generating around them swallowed Jester’s open comment as the sand glinted delicately golden in the moonlight, there was a hiss of sound before the pair of them simply popped out of existence. No more than a minute later, the door to the room opened, and several uniformed guards burst through, guns out and eyes sweeping across the carnage of the room. They didn’t see the dust that trickled silently off the balcony into the night. But they were looking for assassins, not dust.

The assassins in question reappeared in an entryway of a large mansion. They paused for a second as the cool caress of midnight air was replaced with a calm dong of a hallway clock. Punctuated only a second later by the shrill, demanding beeping from both their watches. Chemical lifted his arms around Jester’s body and hit the switch of his watch. Jester didn’t move, he was trying his best to get a better reaction from the stoic, calm man. But there was only so long you could hold a gun under Chemical’s chin before he figured you weren’t going to fire, and lost that ‘edge’ to his eyes. Jester had expired his chance. They were still standing like they had on the balcony, surrounded by a coat rack and a shoe repository. Chemical shifted against Jester’s body, as though he were about to break the precarious contact, but no, his hand moved toward the gun. Jester swallowed, his throat was raw, and it hurt to talk at the moment, but the swallow was more from tension than anything else. What would the poison master do?

Chemical’s hand wrapped over Jester’s wrist and hit the button to silence the boy’s watch. Silence flooded the corridor, as though the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock behind them was meaningless in their little world. Their faces were so close, and Jester felt hot now. He hadn’t wanted Chemical to come with him on this job. He’d been feeling ill for two days now, and he knew that the poison master would notice and... and come along? Well, that’s what had happened. Jester felt the urge to shove Chemical back into the clock, break the glass and tell him to... to give him all his tissues and a cup of soup? Well it wasn’t the best level of banditry in the world, but his foggy mind was toying with the idea with a quiet intensity.

“You’re blocking the walkway, boys.” Aconite’s cold voice cut in. Jester felt Chemical tense, his body seemed to take on a harder and sharper feeling as soon as the demon spoke. It was no surprise to the teen, he knew that Chemical didn’t like the other man, although he wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure as to why that was, the two seemed to have a long-standing dislike of one another. But Jester had never been standing so close to Chemical, had never felt the instant tension run through the green haired man’s frame before. It was... exciting to see the reactions that Chemical hid from everyone so well, so close.

“Excuse me.” Chemical spoke in a forced tone, one hand sliding around Jester’s waist and pulling the teen out of Aconite’s way as the demon pushed past them.

Jester opened his mouth to say something particularly venomous, wondering if he could get a similar rise out of Chemical, when he found the cold hands of death upon his forehead, or more particularly, Chemical was touching his forehead again. “What?” He demanded, trying not to croak on his words.

“You’re burning up. You have a fever. Come on, follow me.” Chemical released him and stepped away from the angry assassin, walking down the hallway with a sharp, quick step.

Jester glanced forlornly down at his gun and sighed. He clicked the safety on and slid it into the holster under his petticoats. He wanted to get out of the stupid blue dress and have a shower and curl up in his bed and sleep. Long and deeply. His head hurt, his vision was fuzzy and why the hell was he following Chemical anyway?

“Jester?”

“What?” His voice was louder now, more annoyed and showing his true emotion; or so he thought as a pill and a glass of water appeared in his hand. “Wait.... what?”

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying, have you?” Chemical turned to the teen, cocking his head to one side in a curious manner.

Jester frowned at the pill. What the hell? He didn’t want to trust Chemical, but he also knew that the man wasn’t the sort to do an experiment on him, or give him some sort of drugs that would mess him up, but then, Chemical had never given him a pill before, or at least Jester didn’t think he had. And how had they gotten to Chemical’s room so fast? Jester hadn’t been paying attention at all.

“It’s an ibuprofen. For the fever.” Chemical explained to the confused youth as he eyed the pill off like it might eat him. Finally the teen put it in his mouth and downed it with the water. Chemical pulled off his boots and went to the bedroom, grabbing his thick winter blanket and pulling it right off the bed. He turned, finding Jester was still following him with a mixture of suspiciousness and curiosity on his face. Chemical swallowed a sigh and marched the blanket out into his longue room, setting it down on the end of the old couch, being careful not to knock off a tentative climbing vine that had run along one end of the couch. “Sit down and get comfortable.”

Strangely, Jester did as instructed. He began taking off his dress and bodice, leaving himself in nothing but a white tunic-shirt and the flash of tighty-whities that gave Chemical a little guilty thrill right from his toes to his waist. It didn’t make it much higher than that, his crotch swallowed the emotion as it did such things, and thought about using the energy to grow something not very plant-like. Chemical turned and went into the kitchen, digging out a packet of instant soup from his cupboard and turning his jug on. He used the mundane tasks to distract himself. The jug began to boil and he pulled out a large mug for the cup.

They lived in an alternate dimension, a realm of demons and death and magic; and they still had Foxtel and electric kettles. The modern age was mysterious and wonderful. Chemical had always wondered how Aconite got the television’s hooked up. The thought was like the cherry on the cake of mystery that made up the whole situation he and Jester were in. Now there was a sobering thought for Chemical. At least... he thought to himself, there were fewer people to interfere in his gardening. Ignoring the damn demon who couldn’t keep his paws off the deadly plants...

“I can’t reach the remote.” Jester whined from the couch. Chemical glanced over the kitchen bench to see that the teen had burrowed into the blanket like a cocoon and spread out so that he was lying across the couch, his head and left arm the only visible part of him. The vine had dipped under the blanket as well and a moving lump that was probably Jester’s left hand seemed to be petting it.

Chemical bit back a smile as he retrieved the remote and passed it to Jester’s waiting fingers. He turned to go back to the kitchen but Jester’s hand stopped him, the teen grabbed Chemical’s wrist and held on. The green haired man looked down, meeting Jester’s bright eyes with his own. The boy’s mouth trembled to say something and then he turned his head, dropping Chemical’s hand and hitting the foxtel button on the television. Chemical rubbed his neck and went back to the kitchen, sorting out a spoon to go with that soup.

Meanwhile, Jester realized that the blanket had been hand-stitched by angels, and it warmed up to his feverish body pretty quickly. It was soft and cozy, scrambled inside the folds of cloth as he was. He set the remote down once he had found the world-poker series and his arm disappeared into his cocoon. The only visible part left were his eyes. But the television didn’t hold his attention long enough, pink orbs cut across to the kitchen, where the jug wailed and Chemical puttered. Jester frowned, his head hurt, his body was sore and he wanted to curl up and sleep. So why the hell was he sitting in Chemical’s room, watching television and being waited on hand and foot like a prince? He bit into his bottom lip. This was so like Chemical; just when Jester thought he had the poison maker figured out, he went to all these lengths to... to... to make Jester feel better? What kind of stupid, soft-hearted sentiment was that? Jester scrunched his hands in the blanket, wanting to tear at it. The vine that had been creeping along the couch rubbed at his leg and Jester was distracted by gently stroking the stalk as it curled over his right leg.

“Here, eat this.” Chemical was talking to him again. Jester blinked and found that a cup of soup and a spoon had magically appeared in front of him. He cautiously grabbed the mug and stirred it, eyeing off Chemical as the older man sat down on the edge of the couch. Well, it wasn’t like Jester cared if Chemical wanted to waste his time taking care of Jester or not...

~.~

Three cups of soup, a cold and flu night-time tablet and a few hands of poker later, Jester was comatose on the longue with a vine wrapped sternly around most of his body. Chemical hit the television remote and stood with a sore stretch. His neck popped in a few places as he stood and went to his bedroom, pulling out a spare blanket from the closet as he went. He crashed pretty quickly as he tumbled out of his shirt and pants, pulling the blanket over his head for some rest.

There had been a lot of guards on this target, and when Chemical had found out that Aconite intended to send Jester in alone, of course he’d volunteered. Just as well, Emelen hadn’t been in the best of condition to carry out such a mission. Not that the damn demon would have cared. Exhausted from the day’s labour and then looking after Jester, Chemical drifted off to sleep.

Jester woke at about three in the morning. His senses snapping awake as he was greeted with an unfamiliar ceiling. His head was fuzzy as he sat up, frowning when he found that the vine had wrapped around him to the point that it was hard to get free. He tapped the leaves as he struggled to dislodge himself from the cocoon of plant and blankets across the couch that he had made. He was hot and sweaty and his brain felt like slush rocking inside his skull. He tripped as he tried to get up, spilling a cup across the ground. The last remnants of soup dripped onto the carpet and Jester hissed. That’s right, he was in Chemical’s room. He fell asleep watching the television. Suddenly cold because he had escaped his warm blankets he moved forward, looking for the bathroom. If this room was anything like his room, the toilet would be inside the bathroom, and that was through the bedroom.

Jester opened the bedroom door quietly, noticing that Chemical was sound asleep on his bed. The boy paused for a moment, wondering if he should risk disturbing Chemical’s sleep as he walked through to the toilet, but then he frowned. Screw that. He tip-toed through the room and found the bathroom door partially ajar. Stepping inside like a cat, he closed the door and did his business. The water in the tap was really cold, but it felt good when he ran his wet fingers across his burning forehead. Drying his hands on the towel Jester found himself smiling to himself. There he was, wearing only a shirt and walking about in Chemical’s room. No wonder all the demons thought they were ********.

He opened the door with a dizzy, cocky swagger.

“Jest?” Chemical’s voice was sleepy and gravelly.

“Go back to sleep.” Jester commanded, surprised to find his own voice was equally as broken in its delivery.
Chemical grunted and rolled over, his chest and face out of the blanket. Jester paused in the doorway, watching the soft rise and fall of Chemical’s exposed chest. He looked cold. The boy turned and moved to stand over the bed. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at Chemical from where he stood. Stupid Chemical. Jester shifted, leaning his thighs up against the smooth, rounded edge of the bed. The cotton rubbed at his legs as he put his weight against the side. Chemical’s face looked so innocent and peaceful. Jester frowned more. While Jester felt sick, this one was sleeping peacefully. He grinned. Not if he gave the flu to Chemical too. His fingers trembled as he reached forward and grabbed a fistful of Chemical’s shirt, using it to half-pull the other man up. Chemical’s face contorted a bit as the rough motion brought his sleepy mind back to the surface, only for Jester’s amusement as the teen closed the gap between them and stole Chemical’s mouth in a hard, furious kiss. He stuck his tongue into Chemical’s surprised mouth, twisting his neck to get a better angle. Chemical’s body shuddered to life under the blankets just in time for Jester to pull back, his lips glistening with saliva.

The teen snorted at Chemical’s surprised look and stomped back into the living-room. Well everyone thought they were doing it anyway. Jester reminded himself, no need to feel embarrassed by a kiss. Besides, now Chemical would get this terrible flu. And then he’d need someone to look after HIM. A cunning plan indeed. It just had one little flaw.

~ Owari.