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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Oct 31, 2013 17:53:11 GMT -8
For the first time in his life, Moose felt happy. It was a strange feeling for him, one almost entirely foreign. It was true though. It had been three days, and he'd spent every single one of those days with a place to sleep. He didn't own the place, and technically he had no right to be sleep there, but Oskenonton and Rhiannon had still let him do so. He'd lived a life that was alarmingly normal in many respects. He'd woken in the early hours, showered and changed (having picked up a single change of clothes, just to have something to change into). He'd actually washed his suit for the first time since he'd gotten it, which had been a blessing in itself.
He'd eaten a muffin on the way out the door to work, which was amazing. In the past three days he'd managed to eat at least two meals every day, something he hadn't managed since he'd gotten out of prison. He'd worked a job a day, each one paying a reasonable amount of money, and his boss had seemed pleased with both his work and his newly improved hygiene. He was getting more work, simply because he was far more presentable, and his boss could trust him enough to show up on time.
Earlier that day he'd returned to his old stomping grounds, and he'd helped a girl. Even if he supposed that it didn't matter in the long run, it had still made him feel nice. He'd helped. If he'd still been in prison, something very bad could have happened to her. Hell, something very bad would have happened to her. Even so, it had been worrisome. He'd gone out of his way to take her home, and it had put him several hours late getting back compared to when he had the past two days.
He'd been afraid the door would be locked, and it wasn't. If it had been, he probably would have slept a bit off in a nearby park, and shown up the next day, unsure of if he was really wanted. It wasn't locked though, and he'd opened it silently, sneaking in to find his bed all set up on the couch, waiting for him to arrive. He'd locked the door and curled up under the blankets, letting himself sleep, filled with relief.
The relief had melted away in his sleep though. He had never been so happy before, and it was inevitable that it would haunt him. Things simply didn't get so good so quickly without some kind of backfire. For him it was dreams--the worst kind of nightmares. In his nightmares there were no monsters, no demons coming to plague him. In his nightmares he simply woke up and was back in prison, as if he'd never left. The life sentence he'd been supposed to serve, doomed to stay there until the day he died, repeating the same routine endlessly.
He woke with a cry that wasn't quite a scream, fingers digging into the couch so hard they nearly ripped it. It took him several minutes to remember enough--to calm himself down enough to bury his face in his hands, sobbing quietly as he'd learned to over all those years in prison.
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Post by OSKENÓN:TON on Oct 31, 2013 18:41:00 GMT -8
tagged: Moose + Rhiannon time: May 11, 1PM. speech: Oskenón:ton. notes: - - -. Things had sort of fallen into a slow but carefully laid out routine by now. All three occupants of the small apartment had something to do during the day hours; working or school or whatever it happened to be. Oskenon:ton liked that, in a way, but found it displeasing to his nomadic lifestyle. He was used to going wherever, but now he had other obligations and he felt like he’d remained in LA for far too long as it was. Part of him wanted to just go already, but he had work here, and he wanted to give Rhiannon some fair warning before he just up and left. Things were getting complicated here.
He’d come home that night as usual, heading straight towards his room. He spent the vast majority of his time in there, anyways. Despite being home, he worked anyways. He was a busy sort of person, and very little caused him to stay still. Working with his hands put him at ease, so even when he wasn’t making something for people in particular, he always had little side projects.
One of them was sitting on his bedside table at the moment. It was a little piece of wood, the bottom bit of a branch about as thick as his wrist that he was whittling down. He’d actually begun to make it about as small as three fingers, carving beaks and claws and various other designs into it. A miniature totem pole, but not one he really had much plan for.
Oskenon:ton didn’t hear Moose come home that evening, but he wasn’t particularly worried. He could care for himself, and he made himself some dinner, wrapping up any extras and sticking it on the counter just in case before heading back to his room.
He slept soundly that night. There was really not much to worry about on his end, and he’d undone his hair before curling up in bed. It was dreamless, as usual, when he was suddenly startled awake by a noise.
It wasn’t a scream. No, he would’ve jumped right the hell out of bed and grabbed his tomahawk if it had been a real scream. Instead, there was this sort of yelping noise, something bordering on a gasp, before things fell silent. Oskenon:ton listened, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.
When nothing else came, he decided it would be best to check anyways. He reached over, grabbing his tomahawk from the cupboard before moving out of his room and over to the living room. There was a split second pause as he saw a figure on the couch, is eyes adjusting to the dark, before he almost breathed a sigh of relief.
”Moose? You awake?”
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Oct 31, 2013 18:57:50 GMT -8
People cried in prison. No matter how much they'd deny it, it still happened. Everyone cried at least once. They cried because they were alone and isolated, because those they cared for where outside the walls. They wept because for them, there was nothing else, and they could only wait for the days to tick by until they were finally free.
Even so, people would deny it. They learned to weep silently, to hide it if at all possible. Moose had never been much of a crier. He'd felt distant and alienated, but he lacked the things people cried over. He couldn't think of people and cry because he missed them--he couldn't imagine what his life would be like outside of the walls. The times he cried were few and far between, almost always brought on by the same nightmare--that he'd never be free, that he'd always be there.
It was habit when he heard someone speak to stop, to draw his hands away from his face. In the darkness it would be impossible to tell his eyes were read, and his voice was terribly gruff to begin with--hard to tell there had been any change at all, unless someone was really paying attention. He lifted his head, turning to face him. Had he woken him? Had he been loud enough that he'd actually drawn Oskenonton out of his room?
His voice sounded vaguely hoarse when he spoke. "Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you?" Probably. Moose imagined he'd probably woken one or two of his neighbours in prison, but no one was ever going to call him on it. Moose might have been patient, but bringing that sort of thing up was a quick way to start a fight. It didn't matter if your neighbour was blubbering like a baby--you didn't talk about it. |
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Post by OSKENÓN:TON on Oct 31, 2013 19:18:44 GMT -8
tagged: Moose + Rhiannon time: May 11, 1PM. speech: Oskenón:ton. notes: - - -. He was already fairly sure it was Moose even before he spoke. Nobody he really knew was that large, and it wasn’t like some burglar would come in and then sit down on the couch. His voice only reinforced it, though it sounded a tad gruffer than usual. He didn’t mind that much, though, and basically dismissed it in his head.
With a flick of his wrist, Oskenon:ton’s tomahawk was tucked into his waistband; not like he had the strap it was usually stored in on him right now. He just let it hang there, grinning slightly in the dark. The lights of the city were on, framing everything with dark silhouettes. Still, he felt safe in here. There was really nothing to fear in the apartment, especially with Moose around.
”Yeah, but nothing to be sorry about.” He’d been startled, sure, but to him there wasn’t really anything to apologize over. ”Did you just get home?” He was making small, pleasant conversation. It was nice to talk to someone that wasn’t your patron at the end of the day, even if it was just a little.
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Oct 31, 2013 19:26:34 GMT -8
Moose didn't see the tomahawk, and all things considered that was probably a good thing. He wasn't paying attention to the finer details, wasn't really looking at Oskenonton. His back was hunched slightly, blankets pulled over his legs and bunched around his waist, having fallen there when he sat up. Blankets in general struggled to cover him, and his bed had a piecemeal bit of two blankets--one mostly for his legs, and one that doubled over his waist and came up to his chin.
"No." He paused, trying to sound more normal, less hoarse. "Got home a few hours ago." More like three, but he wasn't sure what time it was. "Had to walk a girl home, sorry." He was keeping it short, largely hoping Oskenonton would leave. He had to be tired, didn't he? Hadn't Moose just woken him up? If he went back to bed, things would be easier. He could lie down, pull the blankets up, and maybe fall back to sleep. Maybe he'd be able to get the rest of the night done.
OSKENÓN:TON | MAY 15TH, 3AM |
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Post by OSKENÓN:TON on Oct 31, 2013 19:51:32 GMT -8
tagged: Moose time: May 11, 3AM. speech: Oskenón:ton. notes: - - -. Really, Oskenon:ton would’ve been glad to leave him be if he just asked. He wasn’t the sort who would linger in another person’s space if they didn’t like it. But if there wasn’t anything said, and because it was so dark, it wasn’t like he could pick up on the smallest of ques. As long as Moose fed him information, he thought he was free to stay and talk for a while longer. He hadn’t seen him all day; Oskenon:ton had woken up before anybody else in the house, and when he came back, Moose was at work.
”Oh?” He tilted his head curiously at him, wondering what that was all about. Had he impressed a girl? Not bad. Not to say that he didn’t find Moose sweet, but he was very intimidating and he was just a tad surprised. ”Really, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re making friends at work?”
If he was, then he was very glad to hear. He took a small step closer, but Moose was still mostly a dark shadow against the city coming through the window, so he didn’t quite notice the subtle differences right off the bat.
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Oct 31, 2013 20:00:28 GMT -8
Moose unfortunately lacked the sort of self awareness that would have told him to simply ask Oskenonton to leave. If people were upset about the fact that men weren't supposed to show their emotions in modern society, then they would have been even more alarmed at the conditions in prison. You simply didn't volunteer that sort of information. You didn't say things like 'I want to be alone'. You often didn't even ask--you told.
"Yeah." He paused, unsure of how much was acceptable to say. "She got in trouble back on skid row, so I told some guys to fuck off and made sure she got home." He'd been worried they'd come back, waiting for them to split up. If they'd somehow managed to trail Moose all the way back to her house, then they were a lot more persistent then Moose had given them credit for. "Took me a bit to get back."
He paused at the second question, staying where he was as Oskenonton moved closer. Was he going to sit down? There was technically room on the couch, although Moose wasn't sure if he wanted that sort of thing. He felt strange--hollow and empty. He'd felt like that a lot in prison, especially during the later years. He'd had nothing to really look forward to, nothing to push him through the day. He'd had nothing waiting at the end of the tunnel, and sometimes he'd ended up with a strange sensation of being fake. Everyone else had something to hold onto, and he'd simply been a puppet going through the motions, unsure of why he was even doing so.
He'd pushed away that feeling since getting out, but it still returned every so often when he was at his most aimless. "Not really." No, not friends at work. Too busy, too disorganized. Those who had been around long enough knew he was the only person to come back from the mansion, but didn't dare ask any questions.
OSKENÓN:TON | MAY 15TH, 3AM |
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Post by OSKENÓN:TON on Nov 1, 2013 10:42:01 GMT -8
tagged: Moose time: May 11, 3AM. speech: Oskenón:ton. notes: - - -. Oh, so he’d saved her? How noble of him. He knew he was right; even if Moose looked scary, he was still sweet. It was actually very nice to hear, and Oskenon:ton nodded, grinning at him. ”That was very good of you. You did the right thing.” Guiding a girl home might not have gotten him anything huge, but Oskenon:ton was still rather glad to hear it.
The part about not really having friends at worked caused his brow to furrow, but just a little. Technically, he didn’t have any friends at work, either. Some of his employers got pretty chummy with him, but those didn’t quite count as friends unless they kept contact after he was finished on good terms.
However, the step closer brought more of Moose to the dim light, and he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. He didn’t look so good. Perhaps it was the light that made him look a little paler, with dark rings under his eyes. Still, Oskenon:ton wasn’t quite sure.
”Hey Moose, are you okay?” A little pause, tilting his head at him. ”You don’t look so well.”
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Nov 1, 2013 12:22:08 GMT -8
Moose wasn't entirely aware of just how bad he was downplaying what had happened with Emmie. Realistically, he probably should have explained it more as 'I stopped some thugs from taking advantage of a young girl, then walked her home to avoid them coming after her', as opposed to just 'I walked her home'. For Moose, it wasn't that big of a deal though. They'd never presented much of a threat to him, and while it was possible that they could have pulled a gun, to them it was just as possible (if not more so) that he could pull a gun. No one ever wanted to take that chance, and while Moose had never so much as laid a hand on one, most people simply assumed he had.
He had hoped that Oskenonton would leave. That he'd done his business, checking to be sure it was Moose, and that he'd go back. He didn't though--he asked if he was okay, sounding concerned. It was a strange feeling for Moose--to realize that someone was concerned for him, and he found himself utterly unable to think of what to say. Did he lie? Did he say he was fine and tell Oskenonton to go back to sleep?
Moose wasn't much of a liar. When he did, it was painfully obvious, and he rarely felt the need to. Instead he let himself think on it for a bit more before simply asking what was on his mind.
"Do you have bad dreams sometimes?" Bad dreams were something he knew happened to others, but he lacked the context to really understand it. He didn't know that there was a word for it, and he didn't know if it happened to people outside of prison. Maybe it was an isolated thing, connected to being locked in cells. No one else ever seemed bothered. No one else ever seemed to speak of it.
OSKENÓN:TON | MAY 15TH, 3AM |
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Post by OSKENÓN:TON on Nov 1, 2013 12:44:02 GMT -8
tagged: Moose time: May 11, 3AM. speech: Oskenón:ton. notes: - - -. Yes, there definitely seemed to be something wrong. Moose just felt off, now that he took the time to watch him for a couple of minutes. His shoulders slumped slightly and he seemed uneasy and pale. Well now he was just a bit worried. He didn’t think anything happened to him while bringing the girl home, though; Moose was really much too intimidating to get bullied by many people. His hesitation only made him more alert, and he was now willing to stay until Moose seemed better.
The question was utterly out of the blue. He tilted his head at him, curiousity across his face before trying to answer him. ”Well, yeah. Everyone has dreams.” His were rare, and they were often only when he was so worn out that he passed out as soon as he hit the bed. Nothing too much in particular was noted when he did have dreams, though. Colours and shapes, sometimes dreaming of home and other times the woods… Never of the city, though.
”…did you have a bad dream?” Nothing physical could touch him, but Oskenon:ton had been told by his mother multiple times in the past that dreams were much different. His dreams were rarely so bad, but Moose might’ve been different.
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Nov 1, 2013 13:02:20 GMT -8
Everyone had dreams, but did everyone have bad dreams? He supposed that they did. Dreaming was normal enough. Only it seemed like people were never bothered by the bad ones the way that Moose was. He hadn't dreamed once since he'd gotten out, and he'd largely thought that he was free of them. As it turned out, it was simply a matter of exhaustion. He went to bed sore and tired, and slept badly when he was sleeping in the wild. He'd had little time for dreams, and it was only once he'd become relatively comfortable and relaxed that they'd returned to haunt him. He rarely dreamed, but when he did it was always the same. Dreams were supposed to build off of your experiences, and the vast majority of Moose's experiences had taken place in prison.
He paused at the question, another long hesitation as he seemed to consider the answer. "Yeah." He finally said, letting it hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "Thought I wasn't going to get them anymore. Now it just got worse. Woke me up."
He chanced a glance at Oskenonton. "Sorry. Shouldn't have kept you up."
OSKENÓN:TON | MAY 15TH, 3AM |
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Post by OSKENÓN:TON on Nov 1, 2013 13:14:55 GMT -8
tagged: Moose time: May 11, 3AM. speech: Oskenón:ton. notes: - - -. Oskenon:ton tried to remember when the last time he had a bad dream was. Probably a couple months ago, if not up to a year. They were rare, and usually involved smaller things. He hadn’t been through anything sufficiently traumatic enough to warrant repeats, after all. Leaving home and never being able to go back was one of those things that often caused him to toss and turn, but nothing to lose sleep over. Moose had more behind him, and he knew.
He shook his head again, trying to look reassuring. ”Moose, stop apologizing. You’re not bothering me.” He might’ve woken him up, but it was a mild nuisance at best. It didn’t truly bother him in the same sense, and he was willing to let it pass.
Oskenon:ton stood there for a second, and then moved over, sitting down on the couch with a sigh. Alright, so he was willing to stay up most of the night to talk to Moose, if it’d help him feel better. He could go a little late for work tomorrow, anyways.
”You got them a lot in the past, huh?” And considering that he was aware that Moose had been in prison, he could guess why.
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Nov 1, 2013 13:41:47 GMT -8
Moose couldn't have named it, but he felt comforted by the simple fact that someone was there. For the first time in his life, when he was upset he was no longer alone. Someone was sitting with him, talking him through things, and he felt the strangest sense of something upon the realization. Gratitude--that was what it was, even if he couldn't have named the sensation either. It was foreign and alien to him, no more bizarre then if another monster had burst into their living room that very night.
He nodded once, a silent answer to Oskenonton's question. Yes, he'd gotten them a lot. Or at least a lot to him, even if it might not have counted as a 'lot' to others. Maybe once a month, either jolting awake in the middle of the night or waking covered in sweat and drowning in a feeling of horrible dread. Every time was unpleasant, and it had never seemed to get any easier. He'd hoped it was over, and yet now he was left wondering if it would ever stop.
It seemed like hours since Oskenonton had come out, and yet it had been only minutes when Moose spoke again. "I dream that I'm back there. Or that... well, that I never left. That I never got out. That life meant life and I'd be there forever, and I just go through the motions. There's not any monsters or anything, but it... it's scary. To know I could have been in there for the rest of my life."
He shifted, drawing his legs up a bit closer to his chest, seeming to huddle in, fingers digging into the fabric of the blankets. His voice was whisper soft, and sounded horribly close to cracking when he spoke again. "I don't want to ever go back."
OSKENÓN:TON | MAY 15TH, 3AM |
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Post by OSKENÓN:TON on Nov 1, 2013 14:39:35 GMT -8
tagged: Moose time: May 11, 3AM. speech: Oskenón:ton. notes: - - -. Sitting down next to him, he was well aware that he was definitely upset now. He’d never seen Moose like that before, and it was unsettling to say the least. He was used to Moose being much more… boisterous than this. Nightmares apparently wore him down on a fairly regular basis, which wasn’t anything good. He didn’t look like he was bothered by him, however, so he decided that staying might be a good idea.
”So you dream about being back in prison?” That sounded rather horrible, and he could sort of understand why Moose had been so fearful of the whole thing. It was understandable no less; prison was a pretty damn terrible place and even someone like Moose didn’t want to go back.
”That’s understandable… Not wanting to go back, I mean.” He shrugged a little, being nonchalant and trying to be relaxed about the whole ordeal. If he seemed relaxed, then so would Moose, right? People tended to feel how others felt around them. ”But you don’t need to, you know? You’ve been good so far. You’re likely never going back.”
Realistically, Oskenon:ton didn’t even know what Moose had gone in for.
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Nov 1, 2013 15:04:45 GMT -8
The more Oskenonton spoke, the more it became clear he really didn't understand it. He had never been to prison. He knew only what he'd seen on TV--that it was a bad place. He didn't understand how it affected those who went in, how prison became a mindset. It was inescapable. There was no way out.
Most importantly of all, he didn't understand how easy it would be for it to go back. For Moose, he wouldn't have to kill someone again to end up in prison for the rest of his life. Anything could send him back, and even things that were relatively minor could send him back forever. He didn't need to try and commit a crime to go back to jail--he simply needed to make a single mistake, and then he'd never get back out.
He shook his head, unsure of why he was even trying. What did it matter if Oskenonton understood why he was afraid? It didn't change anything. Even so, he wanted him to understand. He wanted Oskenonton to understand why he was. It was stupid and irrational, but he wanted it anyway.
"I'm on parole. If I do anything--if I so much as jaywalk, or if someone jumps me and I fight back--I'm right back in prison. Probably forever. This is my second chance, and there's no third. There's not even an option for a third. Just... just back there forever." He paused, unsure of how much to say, before deciding that Oskenonton was already sheltering him--he might as well know. "I'm not even supposed to be out. I'm supposed to have a place to go--that's one of the things I have to do to keep my parole. But I don't, and my parole officer let me skip around it because he knew I was trying, but the whole thing is just..." He trailed off for a moment, trying to compose his thoughts into words that didn't completely sound terrible. "If anyone looked into it, I'd be right back."
OSKENÓN:TON | MAY 15TH, 3AM |
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Post by OSKENÓN:TON on Nov 1, 2013 15:18:35 GMT -8
tagged: Moose time: May 11, 3AM. speech: Oskenón:ton. notes: - - -. Well, he definitely didn’t know what being in a prison was like. Some of the others complained, when he was younger, that living on the reserve felt like a prison. He was fairly sure they didn’t know what they were talking about, either. Oskenon:ton had never done anything particularly bad, so why did he have to worry? He didn’t even know what Moose had been in jail for, yet he did feel very bad for him.
He nodded a little when Moose tried to explain. He couldn’t say he completely understood, not by a long shot. He had never been in danger of being locked up anywhere, but he was trying to understand why Moose was so afraid of it anyways. He was a large, very intimidating man. It couldn’t have been the people he was afraid if, would it? Perhaps it was the environment? He didn’t know.
”Well… you have a place to stay now, don’t you?” He grinned a little, trying to be at least a bit hopeful though it was hard so late at night when the both of them were exhausted. ”You can tell him you’re living here. Rhiannon and I let you stay, after all.” He was paying a much lower rent, but at least he had somewhere to go at night, even if he didn’t show up sometimes.
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Nov 1, 2013 15:37:00 GMT -8
He felt shaky and upset, but there was at least some hope in it. He did have a place to stay. Not a bed, but a couch, and that was a thousand times better then what he'd had to live with for the past few weeks. It was almost like a home, and there was even a little box set by the window where Aura slept and ate. He was vaguely aware that Oskenonton and Rhiannon were undercharging him for the privilege of staying, but he really had no idea how much they were undercharging. He didn't know what the average cost of an apartment in LA was, and he wasn't going to go looking either.
He nodded carefully, the blanket bundling in his lap. He hadn't tried to, but it had ended up that way anyway, and he let his hands rest on it. "Never really - well, never had anyone I liked before. Who liked me back anyway. Then you bought me a meal because you felt bad for me, and you were nice and didn't -- well, didn't judge." He was fumbling through the whole thing, entirely unused to the idea of talking about how he felt. He actually couldn't remember another time where he'd actually done it beyond a basic surface level.
"So I guess.. thanks." Which didn't seem at all adequate considering what Oskenonton had done for him.
OSKENÓN:TON | MAY 15TH, 3AM |
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Post by OSKENÓN:TON on Nov 1, 2013 16:32:07 GMT -8
tagged: Moose time: May 11, 3AM. speech: Oskenón:ton. notes: - - -. Moose wasn’t all that intimidating, now that he thought about it. He might’ve looked it, but as far as he’d ever been concerned, he was a sweetheart. He felt rather bad about the first time he’d meet him, when he thought he was going to end up mugged or murdered, perhaps both. He clearly remembered that he didn’t meet him in the best of situations, and now that Moose had told him, perhaps that was why he didn’t fight back.
”It’s not a problem, at all. If you need anything, you can just tell me, alright?” Because he would do his best to help out. It came as second nature for him to be kind, and Moose was definitely in need of kindness. It was his second chance, after all.
”I do try not to judge. It’s just… well, it’s not right to, I guess.” He gave another little shrug, relaxing against the couch. ”I mean, you never did a thing to me, so I don’t see why I should treat you badly.”
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Post by DARRIN "MOOSE" MOORE on Nov 1, 2013 16:44:36 GMT -8
Oskenonton was kind in a way that Moose had never really had to deal with before. In prison, you simply weren't that specific sort of kind, or else people would stomp all over you and that would be the end of that. If anyone in prison had been that specific brand of kind, they'd gotten very good at hiding it, pushing it so far down that no one would ever find it.
And yet there Oskenonton was, sitting down beside him and telling him that he didn't judge, that he didn't see any reason to treat him badly. That simply wasn't the sort of environment Moose had lived in. Prison didn't operate on those sorts of rules. People treated each other badly for no reason at all, or for reasons so minor that outside of prison they didn't even count as reasons at all.
"I guess I'm just... not used to it. In prison things aren't like this. No one is just... nice to be nice. I don't think anyone's ever really been nice to me like you have."
OSKENÓN:TON | MAY 15TH, 3AM |
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Post by OSKENÓN:TON on Nov 1, 2013 16:53:38 GMT -8
tagged: Moose time: May 11, 3AM. speech: Oskenón:ton. notes: - - -. He was aware that Moose was in prison and from what he was saying, probably had been for a very long time. Poor thing didn’t know how everything worked, didn’t he? Having lived in skid row for a very long time had likely not helped, either. As far as he was concerned, people weren’t nice in prison. Of course he didn’t know the specifics, but he just knew the one fact that it was a tough place.
”Well, how about before, then?” Before prison, he meant. He had no idea that Moose didn’t remember a lick of it. He just knew that Moose had bad memory, and that was all. For him, bad memory meant going out and forgetting what you were doing, not full on amnesia. Moose hadn’t ever used that word, so he had no idea that it was the case.
”I mean, how about when you were a kid? Do you remember much from them?” He remembered a lot from when he was a child, though he wasn’t entirely sure if they were good because they were of home, or if they were honestly decent. He mostly remembered the forests and the oceans. He missed those the most, and the sea in California just wasn’t as nice to him.
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