Hmm, the arrival of lifyre. not a bad entrance dude.
Everyone's gathering, good! this means things can up in intensity.
and now, i bring you folks more SUPPLEMENTAL MATERIAL.
that's right, another peek into Mad and Muz's wandering ways, this one taking place only a short time before their entrance into RT.
*************
"Jesus, man. Stop bitching about the heat."
The words are swept away from the parked, dusty van by the desert wind, as the man that spoke them sits down in the open back door of the van, his boots scuffing the dusty ground near the road. He stares through the tinted glasses at the flat, featureless line of the horizon, sucking hard on the cigarette in his mouth and wiping the sweat off of his bald scalp.
"easy for you to say," comes the reply from inside the vehicle. "You aren't the one who has to get around in long sleeves all the fucking time." Another man emerges from inside the van, carrying two icy cans of beer. he hands one to the bald man, and sits down heavily next to him.
The two could contast more, perhaps, but only if they tried.
The one, bald, wearing all black, the dust from the desert showing up on his heavy metal top with the letters "ZDF" emblazoned on the front, heavy boots, ice-blue eyes behind his tinted glasses. His expression, his stance, his quiet, monotone voice, all speak of sombre contol, something held back, or something preocupying his mind. The fingers of one hand constantly twitch in a triphammer rythm all of their own, a silent rhapsody that only a violinist, or a guitarist would comprehend.
The other, not only a contrast to his bald companion, but a collection of contrasts himself. Scruffy, wild red hair, a black longsleeve shirt, buttoned all the way to the neck and covering the arms down to the wrists. Worn blue jeans, and a dusty pair of comfortable sneakers. A hand scratches at the patchy stubble on his cheek, and his eyes stare off into the distance. Strange eyes. Atop his head, in amongst the scruffy hair, a pair of dark sunglasses nestle. Used to hide those monster's eyes in public.
The Iris' are a bright crimson red, and the pupils, vivid yellow. Because of the coloring, it becomes hard to discern his expression from his eyes alone, but his face is usually very expressive. Where his travelling companion is sombre and withdrawn, he seems more open, almost as though he's challenging or daring existence to acknowledge him.
The red haired man swigs from the beer can and sighs contentedly, and he unbuttons the top of his black shirt. A glimpse of something red can be seen moving across his skin, if you were to look. He smiles off into the distance, watching the wind blow dust devils across the flat, featureless land.
"so what are we gonna do about our passenger?" the bald one asks before taking a swig from his can. The other man's strange eyes move from the landscape to his fellow, bith men's expressions sombre. "shit, i dunno.All i know is she's better off without those asshole parents." The red haired man's expression turns sour, distaste glinting in the alien eyes. "We left her there, she probably woulda ended up the devil they thought she was. Mundanes just don't get us."
"so you felt 'compelled' to save the kid?" the bald man's voice holds a note of skepticisim. he drops his cigarette butt on the ground, scuffs it out with the heel of his boot. "usually you're just dragging me through places, causing general chaos...take no prisoners."
the man's blue eyes look sideways at the other man, who's scowling at him. "so why play social welfare all of a sudden Mad?"
Mad stands up, looking openly irritated, and throws the half full beer can a short distance away. He turns towards the desert and starts strolling, his lazy walk a noticable contrast from his angry expression. "leave this one alone Muz. just leave it at 'cuz i wanted to."
Muz shakes his bald head, and mutters as his friend Mad strolls off away from the van. "that's bullshit and we both know it."
As the red-haired man strolls away, undoing more buttons on his black shirt, a long shadow comes up alongside the van, followed by a quiet looking girl, who could only be 5 at the most.The eyes, a washed-out brown, look like they are used to being scared, and the shoulders have a permanently guilty set to them. She holds her head down, and her entire demeanour speaks of someone trying to apologise for being there.
When Muz sees her, he tries to relaxm let go some of the restraints he keeps, appear lighthearted. it doesn't really work. <i> kids really make me uncomfortable...</i> "hey, kid." he says out loud, a little more cheerfuly than he intended.
The girl blinks at him at first, then looks at the sillouette of Mad strolling off into the desert, following his shadow. "is he angry?"
Muz shrugs, feeling uncomfortable around the little girl. "yeah.i think so."
"is...he angry...at me?"
Muz looks at the kid, a little surprised, trying to think like a kid, trying to understand her. Some adults can do this instinctively, but others, like muz, struggle with child logic. In the end, he decides all he can really do is treat her like he treats anyone else. "nope, don't reckon. He'll just blow off some steam."
Muz falls silent, unsure how to continue. When he sees that the girl remains unconvinced of her blamelessness, he sighs, giving up and resorting to the only tactic he can think of, no matter how distasteful. "hey, kid. what's your name again?"
"...Jenny..."
"want to hear a song?"
***********************
By the time he is out of sight of the van, he's lost the longsleeve shirt, let the wind carry it through the dust and the dirt, watching his shadow lengthen in front of him, combing his long fringe out of his eyes with his hand, still glaring at the desert as if challenging it to try something. Shifting red signs and sigils glow lightly on his torso and his arms, another sign of his parabilities.
His angry thoughts drift to the girl, his reasons for grabbing her, her aprents, and the similarity to people he can barely remember.
<i>They were just scared i guess....but it's a shit of a thing to be scared of your own kid.</i>
*-*-*-*
Muz had been the first one to notice the girl when he and Mad had been trying to keep a low profile in a small town a few days back. Muz had always had an eye for Paras - or perhaps ear would have been a better term.
It was because of his sensitivity Muz had been watching when the girl had used a drop of water to slice a bug in half that had been flying around her father's head.
Both he and Mad had witnessed the reaction of both parents when their daughter had done this in plain view. They'd looked angry and frightened. The mother had slapped the girl's hand, looked around fervently to make sure no one was watching, and scowled at Mad and Muz when she saw them, then grabbed the frightened and guilty looking girl by the arm and practically dragged her down the street to their modern looking car.
"you see that?" Muz had askes as he turned to face Mad, and to his surprise, saw an angry, disgusted look on the man's face, his eyes narrowed behind the sunglasses.
"yeah. i saw it." Mad immediately had begun walking toward the car, his fingers moving quickly in the air, and then his hand moving as if to catch something. As he walked past the vehicle, and openly glared at the two adults inside, he'd placed his hand on the side of the car, a red mark flashing and then vanishing where he'd touched it.
It was the parents that had set him off. The fear in their eyes. Fear that the town might find out their child was a para. Fear of the child, and the stigmata that had come with her power. Their looks made him as angry as the looks he remembered from his childhood. the features were gone, but he remembered how those looks had felt. They'd felt like watching the back of a dirty old Datsun driving away, knowing it wasn't coming back.
*-*-*-*
There is a rational part of him that realises that the situations were likely very different, but rationality has never been a big part of Madadric's psychological makeup. He has always and still is very much an Id creature, made up of instincts and desires, and a kind of randomness that throws you off guard, like a roulette wheel of emotions and responses where you never know what's going to come up. He never feels the need to ask "why", as he'd always found that the most logical answer was "because."
But it isn't the 'why'that's bothering him now so much. He understands it, and gone past it. Now, it's the 'what' that's bugging him, particularly "what the hell am i gonna do with a 5 year old girl?"
And then, with a gust of wind, his sour mood is gone, a wolfish grin replacing it. "i guess i could always leave her with the old man. Who knows, he might make her a "little soldier" or some shit!"
Turning back towards the van, and staring into the remainder of the desert sunset, Mad begins whistling and odd, aerythmic tune.
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