Post by AvistheCrow on Jul 20, 2005 16:44:34 GMT -5
AN: I am rather happy with this, which is surprising, since it was written in about twenty minutes tops. Isn't it always like that? The ones you slave over come out awful and the ones you spit out are nice...oh well. The burden of the author.
This is pitiful mostly, but I do like the interaction/description nearer the end; now I'm asking you to tell me if it is indeed worth something, or if I'm just getting into one of those delusional spurts we authors get from time to time. Please do crush it, I can use all the help I can get.
Thankee.
We never know we go. When we are going
we jest and shut the door;
Fate following behind us bolts it,
and we accost no more.
-Emily D!ckinson
Fungus wasn't quite sure what to look for when he came through the door; the message had been vague about looks. It had been vague about a lot. What had happened, how he had gotten back, what he would look like were not mentioned. He couldn't show his face in public, he must know; not after Waternoose's trial last fall. Did he know about Waternoose’s trial last fall?
However the message had been right as well as vague: he did recognize the caller as soon as he saw him. The bending head topped by smooth, pink-tipped fronds slouched over a cup of the exquisite coffee this cafe was known for marked the two things he’d always noted about the monster---feline poise and a caffeine need. He wasn't sure if it was pride or confidence in his own recognition abilities that had made the reptile say he would pick the right person out, but then that didn't matter.
He was carefully different. His skin was holding a mottled green tone, one with brown stripes along the legs, and only two of his arms were out; the other pair must have tucked themselves away in the coat he was wearing. It looked ragged and slightly the wrong cut.
Fungus had no greeting ready, and he doubted it was possible to. As he sat down across the white-draped table, however, something else stopped him from saying anything. The lizard-monster's right eye was terribly scarred; in fact, it was hardly there. Rough tissue had built up around the closed lid that collapsed into itself, the smooth shape of the eye now crushed inward like rotten fruit. It had been destroyed.
For one moment he stared, revulsion swelling in his throat as he looked at the jagged half-crescent that clung to one side of the reptile's face like some partially swollen parasite. Then he forced himself to look away and swallowed.
The other eye was unharmed. It gazed back at him, blank, blunt, and still the deep emerald he remembered. Randall said nothing. A waiter hovered nearby, in an anxiety of needed service, and Randall nodded to him; he dashed forward to fill the cup nearest Fungus, who smiled half-heartedly and murmured thanks before the waiter skimmed off the check on a family at a larger table.
Randall's un-scarred eye was focused on the cup the waiter had just filled; as he watched, he realized the lizard-monster was actually looking at the steam rising steady from the dark coffee. His dilated pupil trembled as it followed the billowing movement, entirely focused on the tiny white whorls yet seemingly unable to stay still. After a moment he closed his eye and took a breath as if trying to make his eye come back in contact with the rest of his controlled body.
"Good you came," he said. His voice had not changed, but its intonation had; the rise no longer went high into swift emotion. His eye trailed over the tablecloth before focusing on Fungus again.
He nodded, trying not to stare at the way the green eye rambled and seemed to calm for a few moments before beginning its excited travels again. "I...I didn't expect it. Here, I mean."
"The best place to go unnoticed." He spoke matter-of-factly, green eye running to examine the glint of the unused water glasses. "Too rich a place and you'll look out of place---the poor ones watch TV and talk like birds. Here no one notices."
"The waiter's attentive," he said, quietly. Across the room the waiter skipped toward another table, almost moving on his toes.
His eye briefly found the subject of their conversation. "Not really. He doesn't remember a face here. They only exist when he sees them---when he turns and your face is there, his mind pulls out the files on you and he knows you haven't eaten yet. Once you're out of his sight, you're forgotten."
Fungus fumbled with the cup, looking for sugar and finally finding it among the various bits of silver glinting on the table-top; the waiter dashed over, pouring in just enough rich cream before zipping away again. That wide emerald eye followed the sparkling grains of sugar falling into the liquid, blinking once as they instantly dissolved as if the disappearance surprised it. Fungus watched, the quivering aliveness of the open eye somehow more fascinating even than the terrible stump remaining of the other.
The green eye jumped up to his face, catching him staring; for a minute they remained that way, not communicating, not trying to judge the other or even to make their emotions show. They simply stared.
He inspected the dull green of the iris, the way it flared into brighter green nearer the wide pupil. The circle of black was larger than he remembered.
It gazed blankly at him, not flickering away when his gaze inadvertently slid to its ruined counterpart. Now that he was looking closely he could see the scar had been caused by a multitude of blows to the head; that side of his broad face was torn to the smoothness of skinned flesh, deep scars running over each other as if someone had hit him repeatedly with a weapon that was dull and thin. He frowned, his mind instantly trying to find a match.
The open eye was now no longer looking at him but focused on something in his direction and a million miles away. He fingered the fine handle of his china cup.
"I---I was surprised you called me."
The eye jumped away from its distant stare to rivet on him again. "There was no one else to call."
Fungus played with the delicate white handle, not knowing what to say, what to think. Randall's eye moved down to follow the nervous movements of his fingers. "You going to drink that?"
He stammered---"Oh, uh, yeah,"---and took a sip; made a face at the unexpected strength, felt stupid for it and tried to hide his embarrassment. Randall's emerald eye watched him, but it was void of the criticism he thought he remembered so well. Something was different now; something about the reptile felt innately wrong.
He felt lost. Randall, the one who was always aware and ready, felt lost. Suddenly his chest hurt and he wanted desperately to leave.
He wanted Randall to say something and break the silence, but the lizard-monster just stared at him, watching. Through one dilated eye. He twisted the frail cup in his hands, fingers clumsy around the delicate china, used to a wrench or something metal and easy to understand. The cup was too thin; beautiful, but spread too thin. If he dropped it to the floor right now, it would shatter in a million slivers. Like a splintered door dropped from a great height.
"How did you get back?"
The question wasn't one he meant to ask; the words came without him knowing they planned to. Randall's eye twitched, and it seemed like while he was away he had decided to stop allowing his body its wide range of gestures that had always so clearly shown his emotion, and his body, unable to entirely contain itself after years of being an outlet for his feelings, transferred its energy to his eye. It had started in surprise, and now it blinked twice, rolled back a bit as if he wanted to lean back in his chair and sigh; but his body remained still, the delicate fronds that were so intricately connected to his expression not moving in the slightest.
"How much do you know?" Randall asked.
He ran his finger around the lip of the cup. In truth, he didn't know anything. He'd never known anything about Randall. "Roz was absolute. Sullivan and Wazowski weren't allowed to say a word. Neither was I."
The eye roved up to the ceiling, traveling along the spackled texture of the expensive paint. "I found another closet door. Banishment's not that big a problem. Sullivan got back from it in hours."
"But your eye---"
He caught himself and stammered, suddenly unable to keep from glancing at the ruined part of the reptile's face, some part of his mind insisting on still working over what kind of weapon would cause such a wound; some part wondering why it hadn't rotted to a sickening pit. He took a deep breath and tried desperately to keep from showing disgust. Randall's ego had never been able to handle disgust.
"Attacked by a human when I was thrown through," said Randall, and his good eye trailed away to look at the row of bay windows that let in so much light. "Washed it in salt water; didn't get infected for some reason. Didn't think salt water would do that good a job."
"It shouldn't have. You must have been in a sterile environment." He cut off, silently cursing himself for slipping into scientific observation now. Randall's eye traveled along the line of windows to slowly come back to his face.
"I was, eventually."
Fungus swallowed, reminding himself not to ask more questions about the scars, forcing his mind to stop following the multiple paths the lizard-monster's words opened up in his imagination. Salt water on an open wound that had destroyed an eye---he didn't want to think about it.
He had to get the conversation somewhere. Randall's eye was drifting off again and he felt if he didn't get out of this cafe soon, he would for some reason break down into choking laughter. "What are you going to do now?"
"Leave."
The answer was so blunt and final that at first he misunderstood. "Now?"
"Not the cafe. The city."
He frowned, trying to come to grips with the sudden idea. "When?"
"After you head home."
He stared, feeling that this was all wrong. Randall needed to come to his own house, to rest, to be fed properly, to have his wounds dressed and bandaged up until they healed better. He should be soothing the reptile, convincing him that he really was home, that things were going to be okay. Randall shouldn't be the calm one.
"Why?" he whispered, trying to understand what was going on in the lizard-monster's complicated mind, one that had been shot through with bolts of bitterness, caffeine, sleep deprivation and exhaustion collapses until it was too confused to work rationally any more. One that operated on a moral code he could never understand and was fairly sure Randall didn't either.
"There's nothing here for me."
He looked down at his coffee, watching his reflection shiver and slide across the top of the black liquid that was growing cold. Everything was wrong. He couldn't think of any clear resolution, one that didn't involve crime or eliciting massive suspicion; he couldn't think of anything helpful at all. He could only think of the lizard-monster's young face---twenty exactly---when he'd first come to the company and been so impressed with everything, excited and still holding ideals as if they were true. He'd been full of energy back then that glowed in his eyes and seemed like it would nearly burst out of his skin at any moment. Later on he was, too, but then it was a strained and desperate energy that filled his chest and seemed to shudder underneath it in repressed motion...the difference between swimming, and drowning.
Now he felt like he'd already drowned. All except his eye, his dark green eye that couldn't hold still. Fungus had a sudden terrible image of Randall underwater, lifeless, that one eye open and moving in the rippled water. He sucked in a breath and clutched his cup hard.
"It shouldn't be like this," he said.
The green eye riveted on him. "How should it?"
"I..." He faltered at that, and paused. "I don't know," he finally admitted.
Randall's gaze drifted away again. "I don't, either."
"Where will you go?"
"Away from here."
"Where?"
"Anywhere."
"What will you do there?"
"Anything."
"Can you do anything?" he suddenly pressed.
Randall's eye rocked down and lingered on the tablecloth. "I guess I'll find out."
"You don't have any plans?"
"I've learned not to lean on plans."
'Funny,' thought Fungus. 'Once you were filled with plans. You couldn't go for hours without telling them to me; like you were reminding me you had them.' It was annoying once. He wasn't sure if he liked this any better.
"I think Sullivan's done well with the company," said Randall. Fungus stared at him, shocked, not quite certain whether he was lying or insane; the lizard-monster's finger traced the rim of his cup. "I mean he's brought it up higher now."
"He has," agreed Fungus tentatively. Randall's lip rose slightly, revealing a few small points of razor-sharp teeth.
"Higher doesn't mean anything except a longer fall."
He turned the cup in a full circle. "Sometimes, yes."
"I think it always does."
He stared at the reptile, his lips pressed together in their natural baby-pout. And then suddenly he realized that this conversation wasn't ever going to go anywhere.
"I have to go," he said, forcing his body to stand. The green eye jumped in a startled motion and whipped to his face, searching his expression; firmly he pressed a bill on the table, more than enough to pay for his coffee. "I can't do anything for you, Randall."
The eye seemed to dull, then, and slowly dropped to the tabletop once more. "I know."
"You don't move any more," he said, something foreign in his mind making the words spill out desperately, knowing that of all the things he would remember about this meeting, this would be the one that would haunt him. "Your body, I mean. You used to be so expressive."
His voice was dull. "Movement attracts attention. I try to avoid that now."
"But..." The eye moved up to his face. "Your eye," he said. "You don't focus on anything--at all. Only on where you know the thing is. Why?"
Randall's eye closed and he sighed, the sound soft and final through his glimmering white teeth. "The blow that smashed my other touched some nerve. I'm not sure what."
"So you can't focus?"
"I'm blind."
Two words made him freeze on the spot, not because they were shocking, but because they were said in such an even-toned voice. "You seem to know where things are," he stammered.
"Heat." The reptile lifted a hand and tapped a spot on his neck, a small indentation right behind his jawbone. "I can read the rays like radar--something a lot of reptiles have. I know you have coffee because I can see the heated shape, and I know the smell."
"Oh." He took a step back, faltering, suddenly scared past all reason. This monster just wasn't the one he'd known before. "...Oh."
"I'm sorry." He mumbled the words as if in afterthought, or as something he had run over many times but still didn't know how to say. "That I got you into all this."
"It was Waternoose's fault." He said it instantly; the one thing he could do.
"It was my fault, too."
"I don't blame you."
Randall's eye closed suddenly, as if in pain, and he held absolutely still. Fungus felt exactly the same; overwhelmed.
"Goodbye," he said.
He took a step back, then turned and darted out the door.
The waiter, still on his toes, dashed over to clear away the near-full cup of cold coffee and made to refill Randall's. The lizard-monster reacted without opening his eye, waving the waiter away gently.
"No, don't bother," he said wearily. "I'm done."
~finis~
That said...
So this is totally believeable to me. I'm also glad to see someone make Fungus a bit more of a sympathetic character (again, no one yell at me if it's been done, I haven't kept up with the fandom). I think for the sake of this story its just as well we didn't hear any more about the "sterile environment" (again, I've envisioned a similar scene...). Nice job, you. ;D
