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 Posted: Sun Jul 05, 2015 12:20 am
After a full day of festivities, Dawson should have been exhausted. Strangely, he still felt lingering amounts of energy, in the manner of a kitten never quite sitting still. One moment feeling ready to sit down, the next remembering something else to do, someone new to greet. Over-exaggerating his enthusiasm on Twitter for comedic effect seemed to have an actual effect on his morale; that and, well, some key amounts of caffeine from the soda he kept chugging throughout the day.
Still, no amount of pep would allow him to get near Jan's room, since he was pretty sure even the risk of seeing the guy right now would kill his buzz, and well <******** that on America's birthday, right? So after procuring some sparklers (bought wisely a good month before July 4th), he texted her and let her know he was milling about just outside the dorms.
And he looked American as hell. But at least his sandals didn't include socks.
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Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2015 6:16 pm
She approached from the town, a pack full of supplies over one shoulder. With a subdued grin and salute, the girl kept her distance as she began to lead him toward the lighthouse, body language standoffish and more than a little bowed under some invisible weight. "I see you've been celebratin' right, Dawson Grace."
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Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2015 6:53 pm
The most appropriate and only response was, of course, a rendition of an eagle screech, followed by a wide, dimpled, completely unashamed grin. "Caw caw, ********, hehe! Cain' disappoint the motherland now, yeah?"
Dawson drew closer, obviously ready to go in for his usual bear hug greetings, but Americlone's posture gave him pause. Had someone harassed her again, or...Well. It was America's birthday (and he had to be very careful about that thought lest it really sink in and fester and ruin the day). He wondered if something existential was going on again.
"How 'bout you?" he asked instead. "Ain' tuckered out yet are ya?"
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Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2015 7:13 pm
"Naw," she answered easily, "haven't done much today." There were memories of the previous year, sorting through those moments like old cards and photos, reliving the happy life of someone whose life she felt somehow...cheated out of. The girl was quietly tense at the portals, as if waiting for something awful to happen at any second. But they were through and the ocean breeze they were treated to held the fine perfume of civilized pollution. "It's down here." The docks were well populated for the holiday, but she moved with surety toward a specific slip. It was always here for the Fourth. Petey would be out to sea in a couple days, but the Fourth was Big Business and he'd be passed on some beautiful and expensive lady an hour or two away and stay there for awhile to get his energy back in the form of counting profits. Ball cap pulled low over her face and hair tucked up, it didn't occur to the girl that this habit might have changed with her death.
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Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2015 7:30 pm
He beamed in spite of the twist inside. She didn't have to invite him to this after all in a way, Dawson felt honored. Better-ish from the mild catastrophe about staying over. "Let's go fix that right up, then." Giving the portal attendant a loud celebratory cuh-caw and laughing at the befuddled expression on her face, he followed after Americlone.
Syn had the audacity to spook him with warnings that she could be leading him to some Merlin infested place just as he stepped onto the dock. Now wasn't the time to be distrustful, whatever itching remained in his chest.
< And The Boat? >
This ain't The Boat. I'll be okay.
< For someone who doesn't enjoy lying to others, you seem too happy to employ it on yourself. >
Perseverance n' hope, Centipede. Don' mistake 'em.
Dawson took a deep breath of air and sighed happily as he tailed her, shifting the sparklers and fireworks around so they didn't slip out of his arms. "Gawd, haven't gone sailin' fer....s**t, years now," he mused aloud. "You got yerself a boat here? Man, I need t'get one..."
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Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2015 7:48 pm
"An uncle, he smuggles fireworks n'such." The code was the same. The spare keys in their gross little fake wasp nest hidey-hole. Boarding The Peachtree should've felt like coming home. "Haven't since I left." She was quiet as they worked, giving short answers and involuntary smiles between instructing him on the. The sloop itself was well cared for and it fortunately didn't take long for them to actually get out on the water. Late as it was, the sky was still being lit by colorful blooms and cascades. The first thing she said since they'd left without some sort of prompting was the flat statement: "It's not my birthday and you damn well know it, Dawson Grace."
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Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2015 8:03 pm
"Hehe, always the uncle that's weird, ain' it..."
Something was up, and there was more to it than his fragment of uneasiness and Syn's quiet, constant watchfulness. The aura around her seemed to feel heavied by the same burden she seemed to be carrying, and while Dawson continued to keep his pep up, he couldn't ignore the reflected smiles in return--the plastic feeling of pulling the mouth up but not meaning it. It was easier to swallow in the interim of getting the boat going; it had been a while, but between moving about and her giving instructions, he began to remember little things. What was the sheet, the jib, how to trim the sail, how to knot. (He fumbled the first few times, thick fingers clumsy and sweaty with a small, irrefutable nervousness each time the boat tilted.)
It was a good day to go out on the water, if nothing else.
Her ringing statement made him pause as he moved his things out of the way. He turned to her, losing the smile but not the characteristic warmth. "Maybe not," he conceded, soft yet still conversational. "I dunno. Lines're kinda blurry here, y'gotta admit." Maybe he should have been afraid; maybe she'd think it was him lying again somehow. But nothing he had ever said or done for her had been for some facetious gain, and he hoped maybe she could see that.
< At least then there would have been a point to all this, though. >
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Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2015 8:11 pm
"Why do you keep trying with me, Dawson, when you know? What are you trying to do?" Her gaze finally fixed on him, bearing both misery and hope in equal measure.
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Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2015 8:36 pm
Dawson gazed at her thoughtfully, lips pursed. And then he set the fireworks down.
"Know what exactly? That some baddie or whoever made ya? Yeah. S'true." He hummed. "But y'know what? You was made in the image a'someone who's just...good people, y'know? Not perfect n' maybe not good all the time, but still good people. So fer all the stuff yer strugglin' with, hun--n' you came at a right shitty time," he added with a sympathetic knit to his brows, "alla it don' make you bad. I think you got the same goodness in ya too, even f'it's harder t'reach. Even f'it's just fragments a'good people. Sometimes ya jus' need someone there t'help ya along s'all."
He tried at a smile. "That's what friends're for."
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Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2015 9:46 pm
"I'm turning into someone else, Dawson," her expression collapsed. "I can feel the things that made her her and made me kinda her just...buckling under the weight of my every day." She tried to measure her breathing, and find some kind of comfort in her pulse and the idea that she'd always have herself even if no one else stuck by her in the end...but she didn't love herself the way America had. She could only find vaguely comforting nothings in repeating the right words and attitudes. "I wake up, and more n'more and the world doesn't change but the way I see it does. The way I walk through it does and today is her birthday and it hurts so bad." She grimaced against the tears, "I want a birthday of my own. I want friends that are my friends and not just...seeing part of someone else." And here she had to pause and laugh a bit at herself. because wasn't that what America hated for so long, and here she was...even this experience...even this feeling is somehow some ******** tangent off America Jones.
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Posted: Tue Jul 07, 2015 10:05 pm
He wasn't the least bit prepared to react to this. Dawson grounded himself in answers and statements and jokes because they were sturdy, but these lamentations seemed beyond his grasp to fix; he might as well tried grasping the air for something solid. His expression fell with hers, and for a moment he felt that twinge of despair. Maybe he wasn't a tool, but it wasn't ever pleasant to feel useless--like bringing the wrong socket wrench to a job.
Dawson hazarded a step forward, wanting to reach out and touch her but keeping his hands to himself for now. "You don' think I'm friends with ya just 'cause a'the real thing, do ya?" he asked. "Yeah, yer changin' inta someone else. That's 'cuz you ain't her, not completely. You got a different perspective. Yer formin' yer own opinion on things. N' that's okay, 'cuz you should be yer own person, yeah?"
His hand trembled. Words and words and words, but he wondered if they would ever have the same power actions had. If he could ever clearly define his thoughts in a better manner than this pisspoor communication.
"M'sawry it hurts, honey," he continued mournfully. "I wish I could stop it from doin' that to ya. Gawd, I wish..." He wished for too many things. More than anything, he just wished the real one was there. He touched his hat, the sweeping motion almost like he was pushing hair behind his ear. Dawson's mouth fixed itself in several frustrated ways. "Is this helpin' any? Me talkin', us here? 'Cuz I feel like a dumbass who should know how t'make it better by now, 'cept I have a shitty habit a'makin' stupid mistakes."
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