Poem: "Make It Worth Their While"
May. 9th, 2021 04:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysabetwordsmithThis poem is spillover from the February 2021 ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crowdfunding Creative Jam. It was inspired by discussions with dialecticdreamer. It is posted here as a Mother's Day gift for Shirley Barrette. This poem belongs to the Finn Family and Mercedes threads of the Polychrome Heroics series.
Warning: This poem contains some touchy topics. Highlight to read the warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes confusion, lack of knowledge and resources, references to getting beaten up, past abuse in foster care, followed by running away from foster care, reluctance to ask for or even accept help, body dysphoria due to crayon hair, worry, references to hostility against crayon soups, upset leading to jumping rope to burn off the outrage, consensual hair-touching, sensory issues, rude language, touch starvation, possible zetetic issues, reference to inhalant drug abuse, traumatic stress, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"Make It Worth Their While"
[Tuesday, March 8, 2016]
Blainn arrived at the Finn house
and let himself in as he'd been asked,
heading back toward the kitchen.
"Hey, I brought your ... stuff,"
he said, stopping to stare.
Mrs. Dr. G was up to her elbows
in a giant cooler packed with ice
and whole fish, but these weren't
bass or catfish or even trout. They
were weird, colorful things that he'd
never seen before except on TV.
The man standing beside
her was -- well -- ridiculous.
He had hair in shades of cobalt,
jade, and indigo with a few wisps
of purple over what was probably
the original black, sticking up in
shaggy locks that bobbed as
he moved around the kitchen.
As if that wasn't enough,
heavy makeup framed his eyes
in the same peacock colors.
He wore a suit that looked
way too expensive to be
hauling around dead fish,
and shoes with the logo
of some Italian designer.
"Hi, Blainn," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"This is Junket. He brought us
a load of fish from the Maldives.
Take one for a tip, if you like."
"I uh ... have no idea how
to cook that," Blainn said.
Or clean it. Or anything.
"Oh, right, another time,
then," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"There's mas huni, if
you like tuna and rice,"
Junket said, pointing
to a stack of containers.
"I like food," Blainn said.
He put down his delivery
and picked up a container.
It smelled like tuna and ...
"Is this coconut?"
"Yes, it's a recipe from
the Maldives," said Junket.
"Good stuff, lots of calories."
"Thanks," Blain said. He
grabbed a bamboo fork and
dug in, because courier work
burned a lot of fuel and he
hadn't eaten since breakfast.
He couldn't stop sneaking looks
at Junket, though, and didn't dare
check his own garish blue hair
to make sure it was still hidden
securely underneath his hat.
Junket didn't seem to mind,
he just helped Mrs. Dr. G
put all of the food away.
Blainn finished the mas huni,
which was weird but really good,
then dropped the container
into the recycling bin.
"You can ask questions,
as long as they're polite,"
Junket said with a faint smile.
"How do you not get beat up
looking that way?" Blainn said.
Junket disappeared.
Blainn squeaked, turning
to look for him everywhere.
"Like that," Junket said
from right behind him.
Blainn whirled around
to face him. "How --
how did you do that?"
"I'm a teleporter," said Junket.
"So if people try to get rough,
I can just jump out of reach. If
they're really mean, and I think
they might hurt someone else,
I give them a lift to That Guy."
"Where's that?" Blainn asked.
"I've never even heard of it."
"That Guy is a chain of
counseling centers for people,
mostly men, who have problems
with anger management, bigotry,
and other social issues," Junket said.
"The rule is, if they stay and talk to
someone, they get a free ride home.
If they split, though, they're on their own."
Blainn laughed. "That is awesome,"
he said. "They must get lots of traffic."
"Mmm, some," Junket said. "Are
you having trouble with bullies?"
"I dunno, does it count if they're
foster parents?" Blainn muttered.
Junket gave Mrs. Dr. G a sharp look.
"Do I need to get involved here, or
have you got it under control?"
"That's for Blainn to decide,"
she said, rippling a hand
through the air. "He doesn't
know us very well yet, so
he hasn't asked for help."
"I'm out. I'm fine. It's fine."
Blainn backed away, not
wanting to get into it.
In fact, he backed
right into the cabinets,
knocking his hat askew.
Swearing, Blainn grabbed it
and mashed it back into place,
frantically shoving his hair
under the hat to hide it.
He could feel his face
flaming scarlet, and wished
the floor would swallow him up.
Instead he heard the swish of
water in the sink, and then
Mrs. Dr. G said, "Now that
the fish are put away and
we're all cleaned up, shall we
go in the living room to chat?"
"That sounds good to me,"
Junket said, and the sound
of his expensive shoes
tapped across the floor.
Blainn slunk after them,
because it seemed rude
to sneak out the back way,
and the Finns had already
done so much for him.
When he glanced up,
he saw that Junket
looked pretty worried.
"Blainn, are you okay?"
Junket said, leaning forward.
"You don't have to talk with me
if you don't want to, but you look
uncomfortable in your own skin,
and that dysphoria concerns me."
Blainn twitched. "I know that
I look awful, you don't have
to rub it in," he grumbled
"I don't think that you
look awful," said Junket,
"but you do, don't you?"
"Yeah well, I could
do without getting
smacked around
for being a freak,"
Blainn muttered.
Suddenly Junket
stopped looking
ridiculous and just
looked ferocious.
Blainn leaned back.
Maybe scramming was
a good idea after all.
"Has someone hit
you because of how
you look?" Junket said.
"Plenty of people,"
Blainn said, "but
they're not here. I
got away from them."
"And nobody's doing
anything else about it?"
Junket said, scowling.
"The line wraps around
the block," Mrs. Dr. G said
through her teeth.
"I would like to take
a number and get in line,
because that shit needs
to stop," Junket said.
"Blainn isn't ready for that,
but the moment that he is, I
would be delighted to have
your support," said Mrs. Dr. G.
Junket looked at Blainn, shook
himself, and sat back. "Sorry if I
came on a little too strong," he said.
"I'm just steamed about this, because
it keeps happening to crayon soups,
and it's downright dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Blainn said. "You mean
other than the usual for a beating?"
"Yes," said Junket. "It's never
a good idea to beat up people, but
especially soups, because sometimes
another superpower might pop up
out of nowhere. That way lies
50-foot robots with Laser Eyes."
"And traumatic manifestation
is dangerous, because the power
doesn't always start out under
the person's control," Blainn said.
"I remember a presentation on
that from school, somewhere."
"Exactly," said Junket. "That's
why it's important to stop this."
He sighed. "It also runs up
the rate of supervillains."
"But don't supervillains and
superheroes get into fights?"
Blainn said. "I've seen it on TV."
Junket looked at Mrs. Dr. G.
"You want to field this one?"
"Cape fights happen, Blainn, but
that doesn't necessarily make them
a good idea," she said. "There are
better ways to solve problems than by
hitting each other -- though to be fair,
most cape fights are dominance fights,
more about showing who's the boss
than really trying to hurt people."
"Huh," Blainn said. "That makes
some sense. I guess I just don't
understand why anyone would want
to make that much of a spectacle
of themselves." He looked at
Junket's peacock hair. "I try
to avoid attention, so I don't
get picked on as much."
Junket ruffled a hand through
his shaggy hair. "In my case, I got
some excellent advice from a friend
in theatre," he said. "People will
stare. Make it worth their while."
Blainn tried to wrap his mind around
that, only to have it snap loose like
an overstretched rubber band.
Mrs. Dr. G cleared her throat.
"Well, since you're not comfortable
with attention and I am, how about
I tell you a little more about myself
and see if that helps?" Junket said.
"Okay," Blainn said, mouth dry.
"Listening shouldn't freak me out."
He was desperate to find out
how someone could live with
hair that horrible and not hide,
even if he couldn't teleport like
Junket did. Maybe some of
the other solutions would help.
"When I was in college, there was
a zetetic explosion," Junket said.
"Those of us caught in the blast
developed superpowers -- we all
have peacock hair, though its details
do vary, and most also have either
Teleporting or Super-Speed."
"Wow," Blainn said. "That must
have been hard to deal with."
"It was at first, but we had
each other, which helped a lot,"
Junket said. "We keep in touch.
Would you like to see some of
my friends? I have pictures."
"They don't mind?" Blainn said.
"Some don't like being photographed,
so I don't carry theirs," Junket said.
"Others love being in the spotlight."
"Yeah, I got some of that too,"
Blainn said, grimacing. "SPOON
wanted me to be a showoff."
"Show soup?" Mrs. Dr. G said.
"It's a good option for some folks,
but it's definitely not for everyone."
"Yeah, that," said Blainn. "I hated
the idea of being stared at for a living."
"We have some people to do that,
we don't need everyone," said Junket.
"Here, this is Viridian. She's a model,
one of the most-depicted soups."
Blainn looked at the smartphone.
The woman had pale skin and hair
so dark green it was almost black,
with faint highlights of blue and purple.
"She's pretty," he said. "My hair was
like that for a while, but blue-black."
"Mine changed fast and bright,"
Junket said. "Some other people
changed slower, and not all of them
ever got as bright as this. Viridian
remains among the darkest tones."
"Does it mean anything?" Blainn said.
"Not that we know of," Junket said.
"Some of the brighter tones came
in people closer to ground zero and
darker ones farther out, but it's not
a fully consistent match. Pavo still
has dark colors but was closer to
the center. He's an artist with
Teleporting and Super-Speed."
The man in the picture had
short black hair streaked with
green, teal, and navy blue.
"He looks happy," Blainn said.
"He's not wearing a suit, though."
Junket chuckled. "Never if he can
help it. Pavo hates formal wear and
always dresses as casual as he can.
Maybe you were expecting something
more like Hari Barr. He's a lawyer."
This man had black hair and
a beard, but on top his hair was
longer and streaked in shades of
sea green, turquoise, and cobalt.
He also wore a smart suit.
"Yeah, you're so successful,
it kind of spilled over in my head
to your people," Blainn admitted.
"For upsetting expectations, you
can't beat Razz," said Junket,
offering his smartphone again.
"Ey serves as an activist."
This picture showed a person
with wildly curly hair that was about
half teal and emerald, half violet,
over a slim androgynous face.
"What kind of activist?"
Blainn wondered, fascinated
in spite of himself by the riot
of colorful curls in the image.
"Originally human rights, but
now more superpower cases,"
Junket said. "We try to look out
for each other, and also watch for
other people in similar situations.
Life can be hard for soups, and
especially for crayon soups."
"Tell me all about it,"
Blainn said bitterly.
"My foster parents tried
to beat it out of me."
"That does not work!"
Mrs. Dr. G exclaimed.
"If anything, the opposite."
"Yeah well, that's why I split,"
Blainn said. "I figure if I can just
keep my head down long enough,
I'll be free. All I want is to stay
the fuck away from them. I'm
afraid of getting forced back into
the system, because it sucks."
"You sound like one of us,"
Junket mused, looking at him.
"One of who?" Blainn said.
"Teleporters," said Junket. "First,
understand that superpowers usually
match the bearer's personality. Even
with a limited range of options, such
as my cohort has, the match tends
to come as close as possible."
"Okay," Blainn said. "But what
does that have to do with me?"
"Most teleporters want to get away
from something," Junket said. "There's
a smaller group whose manifestation
came from wanting to get to something
or somewhere. Most of us tend to be
very flight-oriented in survival mode."
"Yeah, that does match up," Blainn said,
giving a wry smile. "I guess that we're
more alike than I realized earlier."
"Running can be a good solution
to an immediate problem, but it's not
ideal in the long term," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"Blainn, you have a very strong case
for emancipation, and we could --"
"No!" Blainn yelped, shaking his head
frantically. "No, I don't want to attract
any attention and maybe get dragged
back to that shithole. What if the cops
don't believe me? Which they never
have before, they don't give a fuck
what happens to freaks like me."
Junket flinched, but that didn't
stop him from jumping in.
"I can promise you that
won't happen," he said.
"Oh yeah? How you gonna
manage that?" Blainn said.
"Are you a lawyer too?"
"I'm not, but Hari is,"
Junket said. "He takes
soup cases, some of
those pro bono."
"That's not nothing,"
Blainn said slowly.
"Meanwhile, if anyone
tries to trap you back in
foster care, contact me and
I'll rescue you," Junket said.
"I can have you in the Maldives
in a blink, and they'd be thrilled
to take in another soup."
"But I thought teleporting was
really expensive," Blainn said.
"It is when I'm working for
rich people, but I also do
pro bono work," Junket said.
"On the job, I'm about as
expensive as a private jet."
Blainn's eyes widened.
"Shit, that's a lot," he said.
"Understand that it's not just
the teleport that makes me worth
that much," Junket said. "I'm also
a fully trained chauffeur, and I have
first aid training for the kinds of problems
that might pop up, like alcohol poisoning
or an asthma attack from pressure change."
"So other teleporters can't charge as much
because they don't have the extra skills,
just the superpower?" Blainn said.
"Exactly," said Junket. "Some folks
don't need more. Others ... well,
some try to skate by on nothing but
their superpowers, like a pretty girl
relying on looks instead of hard work."
Blainn snorted. "Yeah, I've seen
something like that," he said. "Some
of the real kids would slack off doing
their chores because they expected
the foster kids to do all the work."
"Excuse me," Mrs. Dr. G said
as she stood abruptly. "Will
you boys be okay for a little bit?
I need to go jump some rope
before I break my teeth."
"Um ... okay?" Blainn said.
"I mean, it's your house,
you can do what you want."
She gave a short nod
and then hurried away.
Blainn watched her go. "Is
she really ..." he wondered.
"Oh yeah," Junket said.
"Jumping rope is one of
her favorite coping skills.
She's really good at it."
Curious as well as fidgety,
Blainn ghosted through
the house until he could
peek out a back window.
Sure enough, Mrs. Dr. G
had a speed rope, going at it
so fast that the rope was little
more than a blur and her feet
barely touched the patio.
One time at a gym, Blainn
had seen competitive skippers
going that fast, but nobody else.
"Wow, she's really something,"
he said, letting go of the curtain.
"She really is," Junket said.
"Sorry I kind of ... bailed a bit,"
Blainn said, waving his hand.
"We can go sit back down."
"That's okay," Junket said as
they went back to the living room.
"I understand the need to move
when you're upset. My offer stands,
though -- if you need a lift, I'll get you
out of whatever sticky situation you're in."
He produced a card, black with swirls
of metallic ink in blue, green, and purple.
The back had his contact information
embossed in dark, shimmery blue.
"Take this, and please do call me
if you get in trouble," he went on.
"You wouldn't be the first crayon kid
I've rescued from a rough spot, most
of those considerably worse than this."
"What could be -- never mind, I don't
want to know," Blainn said hastily.
"You really don't," Junket said,
and the dark look in his eyes
made Blainn shiver a little.
Blainn took the card, though.
He'd have to be crazy to turn down
an offer of escape that good.
Junket smiled and relaxed a bit,
though he still looked worried.
"Would you like to take a trip,
just to see what it's like?"
Junket offered. "We could
be there and back again
before anyone notices."
"I ... yeah, that'd be
cool," Blainn said.
"Is there anywhere
you've always wanted
to go but you never had
a chance?" Junket said.
"Yeah, the Atlantic Ocean,"
Blainn said wistfully.
Junket held out a hand.
"Grab hold and I'll take you."
It took a few seconds for
Blainn to buck up his courage,
but he took the offered hand.
"Close your eyes, swallow, and
open your eyes," Junket said.
Blainn obeyed -- and then
they were somewhere else.
Seagulls squealed overhead,
and a great gray ocean
boomed against the beach.
Pale sand broken by tufts
of brown grass stretched out
toward the edge of the water,
anchored here and there
by bits of dune fence.
Blainn looked down and
saw that they were standing
on a compass rose made of
sandstone, set into a circle
of gravel, that nearly matched
the color of the sand around it.
"Care to pick up a souvenir?"
Junket asked, waving at the beach.
"Is that allowed?" Blainn said.
"Lots of places are look-don't-touch."
"Turn around," Junket said, nudging
Blainn's shoulder. Behind them,
a sandy path wound toward
a rustic little beach cottage.
"That is Pavo's house, and
this is his private beach, so
yes, you can keep something."
Blainn looked around for
possible souvenirs, but
they were far enough back
from the waves that there
weren't a lot of options.
"Here's a good one,"
Junket, pointing. "It's
a New England Neptune,
the state seashell of
Massachusetts."
Blainn picked it up.
The spiral shell was
pale with brown stripes
wrapping around it.
"This is great, thanks,"
he said, brushing it clean.
"Ready to go back?"
Junket asked him.
Blainn took one more peek
at the seething gray water.
"Yeah, I'm ready," he said.
He blinked, and they were
back in the Finn house.
No wonder Junket cost
as much as a jet flight.
Some people just got
the cool superpowers.
Blainn slipped his shell
into his pocket and sat
back down on the couch.
Junket took the other end,
watching as Blainn carefully
tucked his windblown hair
underneath his hat again.
Ruffling a hand through his mop
of colorful hair, Junket said, "Would
you like to touch? Sometimes
things are less scary once
you get to know them better."
"Really?" Blainn said, curious
in spite of himself. "I never ...
I usually avoid other people
with bright hair, so I don't get
roughed if they attract attention."
"Yes, really," said Junket. "We're
safe here. Nobody will bother us."
Hesitantly Blainn scooted closer
until he could reach up and touch
Junket's hair. The different colors
felt the same, but the texture was odd.
Tufts of hair stuck together, not hard,
but sort of leathery, almost like scales.
"Does it do this naturally?" he said.
"Shit, I shouldn't have asked, nevermind."
"I don't mind," Junket said. "The color
is natural, but the texture isn't. I use
styling products to stick it together
so it doesn't fly everywhere the way
crayon hair sometimes does."
"You mean that's normal?"
Blainn said. "When mine gets
long, it falls over my face, but
the shorter parts just go wild.
I guess hacking it off with
a knife doesn't help much."
"Definitely doesn't help,"
Junket said. "It's better if
you find a barber familiar with
caring for crayon hair. That's
how I developed my style."
"It looks good on you,"
Blainn said, petting the hair
again. At the very base it
felt softer, silky. "What's
that energy? It feels
like static, only not."
Junket's eyebrows
went up. "You can
feel that?" he said.
"Yeah, a little, I think,"
Blainn said. "What is it?"
"Personal energy, as far as we
know," Junket said. "Some soups
are more sensitive to it than others.
You seem to be the sensitive kind."
"Yeah, I know." Blainn grimaced.
"People always got on my case
about being so fussy at school, but
some of the lights just bugged me."
"That can happen," Junket said seriously,
like it wasn't even Blainn's fault. "Anyone
can have sensory issues, but they're
more common with soups -- especially
crayon soups, who often have some sort
of enhanced vision along with the colors."
"I don't remember anyone mentioning that,"
said Blainn. "Well, some of the Finns
asked me if I was sensitive to things
like bright light, which yeah, but I don't
think they connected it with crayon stuff."
"I think they're trying very hard to avoid
spooking you," Junket pointed out.
"Yeah," Blainn said. "Sometimes
that even works, for a while,
but I've had some hard knocks
that make me kinda jumpy."
"It's a start," Junket said.
"Since you like my hair,
may I try touching yours?
It feels a bit different from
the other direction, but it's
okay if you don't want to."
Blainn hesitated. He never
wanted anyone to touch
his freaky-ass hair.
Junket was nice,
though, and he'd told
Blainn more about
being a crayon soup
than anyone else had.
"Maybe ... if you just ...
I don't know, be careful?"
Blainn said, fidgeting.
"I will be very gentle,"
Junket promised. "Shift
your hat a bit for me? I won't
touch anything I can't see."
Blainn tugged his hat
so the royal blue tufts
in front came free, and
Junket lifted a hand.
"I tried cutting it off, at first,
but that didn't make it go
away," Blainn said glumly.
Junket's hand stilled
in midair. "No, cutting it
won't make the color
go away," he murmured.
"That's part of you now."
"I fucking know that!"
Blainn snapped. "I tried
to cut back, but it didn't --
I'm just stuck like this,
and I hate it. I hate it!"
Junket sat back and
folded his hands. "I
hear you," he said. "If
you're not ready yet,
then that's totally okay."
"You're not going to tell me
that it's my body and I should
loooove it?" Blainn said,
narrowing his eyes.
"No, you feel what you
feel," Junket said. "If people
had hit me for having peacock hair,
it probably would've taken a lot longer
for me to realize that it suits me."
Blainn sighed. "It's not your fault
that I'm such a mess," he said.
"Go ahead, you can touch. I want
to know if it's ... bad, or okay."
"All right," Junket said. He
stretched out a hand as if
trying to feel heat from a fire.
When Blainn didn't pull away,
Junket reached forward slowly
until the very tips of his fingers
brushed the royal blue strands.
Goosebumps danced down
Blainn's back, making him gasp.
Junket let go instantly. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I think?" Blainn said. "It
wasn't bad, just ... weird. I
felt that, really felt it."
"Some people can,"
Junket said. "Are you
done, or do you want
to try that again?"
"Try it again, please,"
said Blainn. "I want
to know what it's like,
really like, and I was
too startled to get much
beyond new and yikes."
"Okay," Junket said,
reaching up again.
This time he stroked
his fingers through
the soft blue strands.
"Wow, that's just so ...
wow," Blainn whispered.
It felt like petting a cat,
only kind of backwards.
It felt like being the cat
getting petted, Blainn realized.
Without even meaning to, he
sighed and leaned into the touch.
It had just been so long since
anyone had truly touched him,
more than a fleeting handshake
or whatever, since he had
let anyone touch him.
Here, people had offered,
but Blainn hadn't felt
comfortable getting
that close to people
most of the time.
Junket let his fingers
dig a little deeper,
skritching along
the scalp as if
Blainn actually
was a housecat.
It made Blainn wish
that he could purr.
"You like that?"
Junket asked.
"Mmm, yeah, I do.
It feels like --" Blainn
laced his fingers together.
"Compatible," Junket supplied.
"Your energy seems to be on
a very similar wavelength.
My cohort is like that -- we're
not all exactly the same,
but we are compatible."
"Have I missed anything?"
Mrs. Dr. G said in a wry tone.
"Uh, not much," Blainn said
as he pulled away from Junket.
"I gave Blainn a quick trip,"
Junket said. "We were just
exploring compatibility. It's
interesting how his hair is
changing in a familiar pattern,
and his energy meshes with mine."
"Oh ... dear," Mrs. Dr. G said faintly.
"What's wrong?" Junket said. He
went from relaxed to worried again.
"I can't say," she demurred.
"Privacy maintains."
"Is it important, or
just a passing concern?"
Junked asked her.
"Possibly important, but
if I'm on the right track, it
involves both of you, and
Blainn just doesn't know me
well enough to offer that kind
of trust yet," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"Then start with my side,"
Junket said promptly. "I trust
you to share only what's useful,
and that may help Blainn decide
if he wants to share his side."
"Blainn, does that sound okay
to you?" said Mrs. Dr. G.
"Yeah, I guess," said Blainn.
"I can always tap out if it
gets too intense for me."
"All right," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"Junket mentioned an explosion
at his college. That happened in
the Liquid Materials Development Lab.
They made a variety of things including
lubricants, adhesives, and pigments."
Blainn frowned, trying to work out
what that had to do with anything.
Then it hit him. Glue. Paint.
"Shit," Blainn said, and
put his face in his hands.
"See the potential connection?"
Mrs. Dr. G asked him.
"Yeah, I think so," he said.
"Is it -- is it dangerous?"
"It could be, if something is
out there that nobody knows
about," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"Do I have to talk about it?"
Blainn said, cringing at the idea.
"You do not," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"It might be safer for you and
others, but it's not an obligation."
Blainn sighed. He really wanted
to know what was happening to him,
but also wanted to avoid trouble.
He must have looked pretty upset,
because Junket said, "My offer stands.
If something in your past might stir
things up, I can get you to safety."
"Not so much my past," Blainn said.
"I uh ... have a thing. A habit. It started
a few years back when a foster family
insisted I had ADD and put me on drugs.
I didn't, but the stuff made my shit life
almost bearable. Then the next place
took me off it, and I just ... couldn't cope
anymore. So I found something else."
"I'm listening," said Mrs. Dr. G. "If you
found the medication useful, it shouldn't
have been taken away like that, even if
the diagnosis turned out to be wrong.
What happened next, Blainn?"
"Um, well, I started ... I didn't
have much money, and glue's
cheap. So's paint." Blainn stared
at his shoes. He couldn't stand
to see them glaring at him like
the foster parents always had.
"Huffing?" Junket said softly.
"It's not safe, but yeah, it's cheap."
"I had to try something," Blainn said.
"That fucking family just would not quit."
"We can worry about that part later,
if you want to ensure some consequences
for their misbehavior," said Mrs. Dr. G.
Blainn shrugged. "It's over and done,
now," he said. "I just needed something
to keep me from flying apart. Huffing made
me calmer, and I liked the little halos."
"You got visual effects?" Junket said.
"Some of us did, after the incident --
but well, we thought it was the fumes."
"It is the fumes," said Blainn.
"That's how huffing works."
"It could also be something
zetetic," said Mrs. Dr. G. "I'm
sure the lab remains would have
been tested thoroughly, but if
any projects survived in notes
and the finished products passed
safety tests, they might have gone
to market. The college incident
happened some years ago."
"How would we find out?"
Blainn said. "I'd like to help
if I can, if I won't get in trouble."
"You're not in trouble," she said.
"You could help by making a list of
the products you remember using.
Then I can check to see if any of
them are recent developments."
"Yeah, I can try," Blainn said.
"My memory isn't great, but
I can put down my favorites."
Mrs. Dr. G gave him a piece
of scratch paper and a pencil.
"Crow Wing is the best,"
Blainn said. "People like it
for graffiti because it's so shiny,
and I love all of the visual effects.
Galaxxxy Slam and Galaxxxy Dance
are bright and fun for the tactiles.
Madras Run is like watercolor
for walls, a real mellow ride."
"And glue?" Mrs. Dr. G said
as she watched him write.
"Maxitack doesn't do anything
but stick stuff together," said Blainn.
"Beautie Gloo is fantastic, it's pretty
and the high is kind of bubbly too.
Rokk Poxxy is really strong, so I
only use that when I'm desperate."
Then he looked up at Mrs. Dr. G.
"Are you sure I'm not in trouble?"
"The things you've listed are not
controlled substances," she said. "I'll
repeat that it would be a very good idea
to let Heron check your health, especially
if any of these turn out to be recent."
Blainn rocked back and forth in
his seat. "I dunno," he said.
"I mean, I know it's a good idea
and you're good people, I just ...
I have a lot of history, and
most of it's not very good."
"It's up to you," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"If you want a disposable relationship,
I could help you find someone else
far from here," Junket offered.
Blainn looked him. "I suppose
you could pull a healer out of
your back pocket, too?"
"Not my pocket, but I
know plenty of them,
and it's easy to get
a favor," said Junket.
"I'll think about it,"
Blainn said. "I want
to help, but this is a lot
and I'm kinda freaking out."
Junket shifted, draping
his arm across the back
of the couch near Blainn.
"You want to lean against me
for a bit?" Junket said. "That
seemed to help you earlier,
with no huffing required."
"Yeah, maybe," Blainn said.
He scooted closer, just barely
brushing together at the sides.
Junket let his hand drift down so
his fingertips touched the fuzz
at the back of Blainn's neck.
Blainn sighed in relief. "Okay,
that works," he said as he
slid down, letting his hat
ride up in the back to give
Junket a little more access,
the front of it falling forward
to cover more of Blainn's face.
People might be staring at him,
if his hair was making an escape.
He couldn't bring himself to care.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character, location, and content notes will appear elsewhere.
crowdfunding Creative Jam. It was inspired by discussions with dialecticdreamer. It is posted here as a Mother's Day gift for Shirley Barrette. This poem belongs to the Finn Family and Mercedes threads of the Polychrome Heroics series.Warning: This poem contains some touchy topics. Highlight to read the warnings, some of which are spoilers. It includes confusion, lack of knowledge and resources, references to getting beaten up, past abuse in foster care, followed by running away from foster care, reluctance to ask for or even accept help, body dysphoria due to crayon hair, worry, references to hostility against crayon soups, upset leading to jumping rope to burn off the outrage, consensual hair-touching, sensory issues, rude language, touch starvation, possible zetetic issues, reference to inhalant drug abuse, traumatic stress, and other challenges. If these are sensitive issues for you, please consider your tastes and headspace before reading onward.
"Make It Worth Their While"
[Tuesday, March 8, 2016]
Blainn arrived at the Finn house
and let himself in as he'd been asked,
heading back toward the kitchen.
"Hey, I brought your ... stuff,"
he said, stopping to stare.
Mrs. Dr. G was up to her elbows
in a giant cooler packed with ice
and whole fish, but these weren't
bass or catfish or even trout. They
were weird, colorful things that he'd
never seen before except on TV.
The man standing beside
her was -- well -- ridiculous.
He had hair in shades of cobalt,
jade, and indigo with a few wisps
of purple over what was probably
the original black, sticking up in
shaggy locks that bobbed as
he moved around the kitchen.
As if that wasn't enough,
heavy makeup framed his eyes
in the same peacock colors.
He wore a suit that looked
way too expensive to be
hauling around dead fish,
and shoes with the logo
of some Italian designer.
"Hi, Blainn," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"This is Junket. He brought us
a load of fish from the Maldives.
Take one for a tip, if you like."
"I uh ... have no idea how
to cook that," Blainn said.
Or clean it. Or anything.
"Oh, right, another time,
then," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"There's mas huni, if
you like tuna and rice,"
Junket said, pointing
to a stack of containers.
"I like food," Blainn said.
He put down his delivery
and picked up a container.
It smelled like tuna and ...
"Is this coconut?"
"Yes, it's a recipe from
the Maldives," said Junket.
"Good stuff, lots of calories."
"Thanks," Blain said. He
grabbed a bamboo fork and
dug in, because courier work
burned a lot of fuel and he
hadn't eaten since breakfast.
He couldn't stop sneaking looks
at Junket, though, and didn't dare
check his own garish blue hair
to make sure it was still hidden
securely underneath his hat.
Junket didn't seem to mind,
he just helped Mrs. Dr. G
put all of the food away.
Blainn finished the mas huni,
which was weird but really good,
then dropped the container
into the recycling bin.
"You can ask questions,
as long as they're polite,"
Junket said with a faint smile.
"How do you not get beat up
looking that way?" Blainn said.
Junket disappeared.
Blainn squeaked, turning
to look for him everywhere.
"Like that," Junket said
from right behind him.
Blainn whirled around
to face him. "How --
how did you do that?"
"I'm a teleporter," said Junket.
"So if people try to get rough,
I can just jump out of reach. If
they're really mean, and I think
they might hurt someone else,
I give them a lift to That Guy."
"Where's that?" Blainn asked.
"I've never even heard of it."
"That Guy is a chain of
counseling centers for people,
mostly men, who have problems
with anger management, bigotry,
and other social issues," Junket said.
"The rule is, if they stay and talk to
someone, they get a free ride home.
If they split, though, they're on their own."
Blainn laughed. "That is awesome,"
he said. "They must get lots of traffic."
"Mmm, some," Junket said. "Are
you having trouble with bullies?"
"I dunno, does it count if they're
foster parents?" Blainn muttered.
Junket gave Mrs. Dr. G a sharp look.
"Do I need to get involved here, or
have you got it under control?"
"That's for Blainn to decide,"
she said, rippling a hand
through the air. "He doesn't
know us very well yet, so
he hasn't asked for help."
"I'm out. I'm fine. It's fine."
Blainn backed away, not
wanting to get into it.
In fact, he backed
right into the cabinets,
knocking his hat askew.
Swearing, Blainn grabbed it
and mashed it back into place,
frantically shoving his hair
under the hat to hide it.
He could feel his face
flaming scarlet, and wished
the floor would swallow him up.
Instead he heard the swish of
water in the sink, and then
Mrs. Dr. G said, "Now that
the fish are put away and
we're all cleaned up, shall we
go in the living room to chat?"
"That sounds good to me,"
Junket said, and the sound
of his expensive shoes
tapped across the floor.
Blainn slunk after them,
because it seemed rude
to sneak out the back way,
and the Finns had already
done so much for him.
When he glanced up,
he saw that Junket
looked pretty worried.
"Blainn, are you okay?"
Junket said, leaning forward.
"You don't have to talk with me
if you don't want to, but you look
uncomfortable in your own skin,
and that dysphoria concerns me."
Blainn twitched. "I know that
I look awful, you don't have
to rub it in," he grumbled
"I don't think that you
look awful," said Junket,
"but you do, don't you?"
"Yeah well, I could
do without getting
smacked around
for being a freak,"
Blainn muttered.
Suddenly Junket
stopped looking
ridiculous and just
looked ferocious.
Blainn leaned back.
Maybe scramming was
a good idea after all.
"Has someone hit
you because of how
you look?" Junket said.
"Plenty of people,"
Blainn said, "but
they're not here. I
got away from them."
"And nobody's doing
anything else about it?"
Junket said, scowling.
"The line wraps around
the block," Mrs. Dr. G said
through her teeth.
"I would like to take
a number and get in line,
because that shit needs
to stop," Junket said.
"Blainn isn't ready for that,
but the moment that he is, I
would be delighted to have
your support," said Mrs. Dr. G.
Junket looked at Blainn, shook
himself, and sat back. "Sorry if I
came on a little too strong," he said.
"I'm just steamed about this, because
it keeps happening to crayon soups,
and it's downright dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Blainn said. "You mean
other than the usual for a beating?"
"Yes," said Junket. "It's never
a good idea to beat up people, but
especially soups, because sometimes
another superpower might pop up
out of nowhere. That way lies
50-foot robots with Laser Eyes."
"And traumatic manifestation
is dangerous, because the power
doesn't always start out under
the person's control," Blainn said.
"I remember a presentation on
that from school, somewhere."
"Exactly," said Junket. "That's
why it's important to stop this."
He sighed. "It also runs up
the rate of supervillains."
"But don't supervillains and
superheroes get into fights?"
Blainn said. "I've seen it on TV."
Junket looked at Mrs. Dr. G.
"You want to field this one?"
"Cape fights happen, Blainn, but
that doesn't necessarily make them
a good idea," she said. "There are
better ways to solve problems than by
hitting each other -- though to be fair,
most cape fights are dominance fights,
more about showing who's the boss
than really trying to hurt people."
"Huh," Blainn said. "That makes
some sense. I guess I just don't
understand why anyone would want
to make that much of a spectacle
of themselves." He looked at
Junket's peacock hair. "I try
to avoid attention, so I don't
get picked on as much."
Junket ruffled a hand through
his shaggy hair. "In my case, I got
some excellent advice from a friend
in theatre," he said. "People will
stare. Make it worth their while."
Blainn tried to wrap his mind around
that, only to have it snap loose like
an overstretched rubber band.
Mrs. Dr. G cleared her throat.
"Well, since you're not comfortable
with attention and I am, how about
I tell you a little more about myself
and see if that helps?" Junket said.
"Okay," Blainn said, mouth dry.
"Listening shouldn't freak me out."
He was desperate to find out
how someone could live with
hair that horrible and not hide,
even if he couldn't teleport like
Junket did. Maybe some of
the other solutions would help.
"When I was in college, there was
a zetetic explosion," Junket said.
"Those of us caught in the blast
developed superpowers -- we all
have peacock hair, though its details
do vary, and most also have either
Teleporting or Super-Speed."
"Wow," Blainn said. "That must
have been hard to deal with."
"It was at first, but we had
each other, which helped a lot,"
Junket said. "We keep in touch.
Would you like to see some of
my friends? I have pictures."
"They don't mind?" Blainn said.
"Some don't like being photographed,
so I don't carry theirs," Junket said.
"Others love being in the spotlight."
"Yeah, I got some of that too,"
Blainn said, grimacing. "SPOON
wanted me to be a showoff."
"Show soup?" Mrs. Dr. G said.
"It's a good option for some folks,
but it's definitely not for everyone."
"Yeah, that," said Blainn. "I hated
the idea of being stared at for a living."
"We have some people to do that,
we don't need everyone," said Junket.
"Here, this is Viridian. She's a model,
one of the most-depicted soups."
Blainn looked at the smartphone.
The woman had pale skin and hair
so dark green it was almost black,
with faint highlights of blue and purple.
"She's pretty," he said. "My hair was
like that for a while, but blue-black."
"Mine changed fast and bright,"
Junket said. "Some other people
changed slower, and not all of them
ever got as bright as this. Viridian
remains among the darkest tones."
"Does it mean anything?" Blainn said.
"Not that we know of," Junket said.
"Some of the brighter tones came
in people closer to ground zero and
darker ones farther out, but it's not
a fully consistent match. Pavo still
has dark colors but was closer to
the center. He's an artist with
Teleporting and Super-Speed."
The man in the picture had
short black hair streaked with
green, teal, and navy blue.
"He looks happy," Blainn said.
"He's not wearing a suit, though."
Junket chuckled. "Never if he can
help it. Pavo hates formal wear and
always dresses as casual as he can.
Maybe you were expecting something
more like Hari Barr. He's a lawyer."
This man had black hair and
a beard, but on top his hair was
longer and streaked in shades of
sea green, turquoise, and cobalt.
He also wore a smart suit.
"Yeah, you're so successful,
it kind of spilled over in my head
to your people," Blainn admitted.
"For upsetting expectations, you
can't beat Razz," said Junket,
offering his smartphone again.
"Ey serves as an activist."
This picture showed a person
with wildly curly hair that was about
half teal and emerald, half violet,
over a slim androgynous face.
"What kind of activist?"
Blainn wondered, fascinated
in spite of himself by the riot
of colorful curls in the image.
"Originally human rights, but
now more superpower cases,"
Junket said. "We try to look out
for each other, and also watch for
other people in similar situations.
Life can be hard for soups, and
especially for crayon soups."
"Tell me all about it,"
Blainn said bitterly.
"My foster parents tried
to beat it out of me."
"That does not work!"
Mrs. Dr. G exclaimed.
"If anything, the opposite."
"Yeah well, that's why I split,"
Blainn said. "I figure if I can just
keep my head down long enough,
I'll be free. All I want is to stay
the fuck away from them. I'm
afraid of getting forced back into
the system, because it sucks."
"You sound like one of us,"
Junket mused, looking at him.
"One of who?" Blainn said.
"Teleporters," said Junket. "First,
understand that superpowers usually
match the bearer's personality. Even
with a limited range of options, such
as my cohort has, the match tends
to come as close as possible."
"Okay," Blainn said. "But what
does that have to do with me?"
"Most teleporters want to get away
from something," Junket said. "There's
a smaller group whose manifestation
came from wanting to get to something
or somewhere. Most of us tend to be
very flight-oriented in survival mode."
"Yeah, that does match up," Blainn said,
giving a wry smile. "I guess that we're
more alike than I realized earlier."
"Running can be a good solution
to an immediate problem, but it's not
ideal in the long term," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"Blainn, you have a very strong case
for emancipation, and we could --"
"No!" Blainn yelped, shaking his head
frantically. "No, I don't want to attract
any attention and maybe get dragged
back to that shithole. What if the cops
don't believe me? Which they never
have before, they don't give a fuck
what happens to freaks like me."
Junket flinched, but that didn't
stop him from jumping in.
"I can promise you that
won't happen," he said.
"Oh yeah? How you gonna
manage that?" Blainn said.
"Are you a lawyer too?"
"I'm not, but Hari is,"
Junket said. "He takes
soup cases, some of
those pro bono."
"That's not nothing,"
Blainn said slowly.
"Meanwhile, if anyone
tries to trap you back in
foster care, contact me and
I'll rescue you," Junket said.
"I can have you in the Maldives
in a blink, and they'd be thrilled
to take in another soup."
"But I thought teleporting was
really expensive," Blainn said.
"It is when I'm working for
rich people, but I also do
pro bono work," Junket said.
"On the job, I'm about as
expensive as a private jet."
Blainn's eyes widened.
"Shit, that's a lot," he said.
"Understand that it's not just
the teleport that makes me worth
that much," Junket said. "I'm also
a fully trained chauffeur, and I have
first aid training for the kinds of problems
that might pop up, like alcohol poisoning
or an asthma attack from pressure change."
"So other teleporters can't charge as much
because they don't have the extra skills,
just the superpower?" Blainn said.
"Exactly," said Junket. "Some folks
don't need more. Others ... well,
some try to skate by on nothing but
their superpowers, like a pretty girl
relying on looks instead of hard work."
Blainn snorted. "Yeah, I've seen
something like that," he said. "Some
of the real kids would slack off doing
their chores because they expected
the foster kids to do all the work."
"Excuse me," Mrs. Dr. G said
as she stood abruptly. "Will
you boys be okay for a little bit?
I need to go jump some rope
before I break my teeth."
"Um ... okay?" Blainn said.
"I mean, it's your house,
you can do what you want."
She gave a short nod
and then hurried away.
Blainn watched her go. "Is
she really ..." he wondered.
"Oh yeah," Junket said.
"Jumping rope is one of
her favorite coping skills.
She's really good at it."
Curious as well as fidgety,
Blainn ghosted through
the house until he could
peek out a back window.
Sure enough, Mrs. Dr. G
had a speed rope, going at it
so fast that the rope was little
more than a blur and her feet
barely touched the patio.
One time at a gym, Blainn
had seen competitive skippers
going that fast, but nobody else.
"Wow, she's really something,"
he said, letting go of the curtain.
"She really is," Junket said.
"Sorry I kind of ... bailed a bit,"
Blainn said, waving his hand.
"We can go sit back down."
"That's okay," Junket said as
they went back to the living room.
"I understand the need to move
when you're upset. My offer stands,
though -- if you need a lift, I'll get you
out of whatever sticky situation you're in."
He produced a card, black with swirls
of metallic ink in blue, green, and purple.
The back had his contact information
embossed in dark, shimmery blue.
"Take this, and please do call me
if you get in trouble," he went on.
"You wouldn't be the first crayon kid
I've rescued from a rough spot, most
of those considerably worse than this."
"What could be -- never mind, I don't
want to know," Blainn said hastily.
"You really don't," Junket said,
and the dark look in his eyes
made Blainn shiver a little.
Blainn took the card, though.
He'd have to be crazy to turn down
an offer of escape that good.
Junket smiled and relaxed a bit,
though he still looked worried.
"Would you like to take a trip,
just to see what it's like?"
Junket offered. "We could
be there and back again
before anyone notices."
"I ... yeah, that'd be
cool," Blainn said.
"Is there anywhere
you've always wanted
to go but you never had
a chance?" Junket said.
"Yeah, the Atlantic Ocean,"
Blainn said wistfully.
Junket held out a hand.
"Grab hold and I'll take you."
It took a few seconds for
Blainn to buck up his courage,
but he took the offered hand.
"Close your eyes, swallow, and
open your eyes," Junket said.
Blainn obeyed -- and then
they were somewhere else.
Seagulls squealed overhead,
and a great gray ocean
boomed against the beach.
Pale sand broken by tufts
of brown grass stretched out
toward the edge of the water,
anchored here and there
by bits of dune fence.
Blainn looked down and
saw that they were standing
on a compass rose made of
sandstone, set into a circle
of gravel, that nearly matched
the color of the sand around it.
"Care to pick up a souvenir?"
Junket asked, waving at the beach.
"Is that allowed?" Blainn said.
"Lots of places are look-don't-touch."
"Turn around," Junket said, nudging
Blainn's shoulder. Behind them,
a sandy path wound toward
a rustic little beach cottage.
"That is Pavo's house, and
this is his private beach, so
yes, you can keep something."
Blainn looked around for
possible souvenirs, but
they were far enough back
from the waves that there
weren't a lot of options.
"Here's a good one,"
Junket, pointing. "It's
a New England Neptune,
the state seashell of
Massachusetts."
Blainn picked it up.
The spiral shell was
pale with brown stripes
wrapping around it.
"This is great, thanks,"
he said, brushing it clean.
"Ready to go back?"
Junket asked him.
Blainn took one more peek
at the seething gray water.
"Yeah, I'm ready," he said.
He blinked, and they were
back in the Finn house.
No wonder Junket cost
as much as a jet flight.
Some people just got
the cool superpowers.
Blainn slipped his shell
into his pocket and sat
back down on the couch.
Junket took the other end,
watching as Blainn carefully
tucked his windblown hair
underneath his hat again.
Ruffling a hand through his mop
of colorful hair, Junket said, "Would
you like to touch? Sometimes
things are less scary once
you get to know them better."
"Really?" Blainn said, curious
in spite of himself. "I never ...
I usually avoid other people
with bright hair, so I don't get
roughed if they attract attention."
"Yes, really," said Junket. "We're
safe here. Nobody will bother us."
Hesitantly Blainn scooted closer
until he could reach up and touch
Junket's hair. The different colors
felt the same, but the texture was odd.
Tufts of hair stuck together, not hard,
but sort of leathery, almost like scales.
"Does it do this naturally?" he said.
"Shit, I shouldn't have asked, nevermind."
"I don't mind," Junket said. "The color
is natural, but the texture isn't. I use
styling products to stick it together
so it doesn't fly everywhere the way
crayon hair sometimes does."
"You mean that's normal?"
Blainn said. "When mine gets
long, it falls over my face, but
the shorter parts just go wild.
I guess hacking it off with
a knife doesn't help much."
"Definitely doesn't help,"
Junket said. "It's better if
you find a barber familiar with
caring for crayon hair. That's
how I developed my style."
"It looks good on you,"
Blainn said, petting the hair
again. At the very base it
felt softer, silky. "What's
that energy? It feels
like static, only not."
Junket's eyebrows
went up. "You can
feel that?" he said.
"Yeah, a little, I think,"
Blainn said. "What is it?"
"Personal energy, as far as we
know," Junket said. "Some soups
are more sensitive to it than others.
You seem to be the sensitive kind."
"Yeah, I know." Blainn grimaced.
"People always got on my case
about being so fussy at school, but
some of the lights just bugged me."
"That can happen," Junket said seriously,
like it wasn't even Blainn's fault. "Anyone
can have sensory issues, but they're
more common with soups -- especially
crayon soups, who often have some sort
of enhanced vision along with the colors."
"I don't remember anyone mentioning that,"
said Blainn. "Well, some of the Finns
asked me if I was sensitive to things
like bright light, which yeah, but I don't
think they connected it with crayon stuff."
"I think they're trying very hard to avoid
spooking you," Junket pointed out.
"Yeah," Blainn said. "Sometimes
that even works, for a while,
but I've had some hard knocks
that make me kinda jumpy."
"It's a start," Junket said.
"Since you like my hair,
may I try touching yours?
It feels a bit different from
the other direction, but it's
okay if you don't want to."
Blainn hesitated. He never
wanted anyone to touch
his freaky-ass hair.
Junket was nice,
though, and he'd told
Blainn more about
being a crayon soup
than anyone else had.
"Maybe ... if you just ...
I don't know, be careful?"
Blainn said, fidgeting.
"I will be very gentle,"
Junket promised. "Shift
your hat a bit for me? I won't
touch anything I can't see."
Blainn tugged his hat
so the royal blue tufts
in front came free, and
Junket lifted a hand.
"I tried cutting it off, at first,
but that didn't make it go
away," Blainn said glumly.
Junket's hand stilled
in midair. "No, cutting it
won't make the color
go away," he murmured.
"That's part of you now."
"I fucking know that!"
Blainn snapped. "I tried
to cut back, but it didn't --
I'm just stuck like this,
and I hate it. I hate it!"
Junket sat back and
folded his hands. "I
hear you," he said. "If
you're not ready yet,
then that's totally okay."
"You're not going to tell me
that it's my body and I should
loooove it?" Blainn said,
narrowing his eyes.
"No, you feel what you
feel," Junket said. "If people
had hit me for having peacock hair,
it probably would've taken a lot longer
for me to realize that it suits me."
Blainn sighed. "It's not your fault
that I'm such a mess," he said.
"Go ahead, you can touch. I want
to know if it's ... bad, or okay."
"All right," Junket said. He
stretched out a hand as if
trying to feel heat from a fire.
When Blainn didn't pull away,
Junket reached forward slowly
until the very tips of his fingers
brushed the royal blue strands.
Goosebumps danced down
Blainn's back, making him gasp.
Junket let go instantly. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I think?" Blainn said. "It
wasn't bad, just ... weird. I
felt that, really felt it."
"Some people can,"
Junket said. "Are you
done, or do you want
to try that again?"
"Try it again, please,"
said Blainn. "I want
to know what it's like,
really like, and I was
too startled to get much
beyond new and yikes."
"Okay," Junket said,
reaching up again.
This time he stroked
his fingers through
the soft blue strands.
"Wow, that's just so ...
wow," Blainn whispered.
It felt like petting a cat,
only kind of backwards.
It felt like being the cat
getting petted, Blainn realized.
Without even meaning to, he
sighed and leaned into the touch.
It had just been so long since
anyone had truly touched him,
more than a fleeting handshake
or whatever, since he had
let anyone touch him.
Here, people had offered,
but Blainn hadn't felt
comfortable getting
that close to people
most of the time.
Junket let his fingers
dig a little deeper,
skritching along
the scalp as if
Blainn actually
was a housecat.
It made Blainn wish
that he could purr.
"You like that?"
Junket asked.
"Mmm, yeah, I do.
It feels like --" Blainn
laced his fingers together.
"Compatible," Junket supplied.
"Your energy seems to be on
a very similar wavelength.
My cohort is like that -- we're
not all exactly the same,
but we are compatible."
"Have I missed anything?"
Mrs. Dr. G said in a wry tone.
"Uh, not much," Blainn said
as he pulled away from Junket.
"I gave Blainn a quick trip,"
Junket said. "We were just
exploring compatibility. It's
interesting how his hair is
changing in a familiar pattern,
and his energy meshes with mine."
"Oh ... dear," Mrs. Dr. G said faintly.
"What's wrong?" Junket said. He
went from relaxed to worried again.
"I can't say," she demurred.
"Privacy maintains."
"Is it important, or
just a passing concern?"
Junked asked her.
"Possibly important, but
if I'm on the right track, it
involves both of you, and
Blainn just doesn't know me
well enough to offer that kind
of trust yet," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"Then start with my side,"
Junket said promptly. "I trust
you to share only what's useful,
and that may help Blainn decide
if he wants to share his side."
"Blainn, does that sound okay
to you?" said Mrs. Dr. G.
"Yeah, I guess," said Blainn.
"I can always tap out if it
gets too intense for me."
"All right," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"Junket mentioned an explosion
at his college. That happened in
the Liquid Materials Development Lab.
They made a variety of things including
lubricants, adhesives, and pigments."
Blainn frowned, trying to work out
what that had to do with anything.
Then it hit him. Glue. Paint.
"Shit," Blainn said, and
put his face in his hands.
"See the potential connection?"
Mrs. Dr. G asked him.
"Yeah, I think so," he said.
"Is it -- is it dangerous?"
"It could be, if something is
out there that nobody knows
about," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"Do I have to talk about it?"
Blainn said, cringing at the idea.
"You do not," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"It might be safer for you and
others, but it's not an obligation."
Blainn sighed. He really wanted
to know what was happening to him,
but also wanted to avoid trouble.
He must have looked pretty upset,
because Junket said, "My offer stands.
If something in your past might stir
things up, I can get you to safety."
"Not so much my past," Blainn said.
"I uh ... have a thing. A habit. It started
a few years back when a foster family
insisted I had ADD and put me on drugs.
I didn't, but the stuff made my shit life
almost bearable. Then the next place
took me off it, and I just ... couldn't cope
anymore. So I found something else."
"I'm listening," said Mrs. Dr. G. "If you
found the medication useful, it shouldn't
have been taken away like that, even if
the diagnosis turned out to be wrong.
What happened next, Blainn?"
"Um, well, I started ... I didn't
have much money, and glue's
cheap. So's paint." Blainn stared
at his shoes. He couldn't stand
to see them glaring at him like
the foster parents always had.
"Huffing?" Junket said softly.
"It's not safe, but yeah, it's cheap."
"I had to try something," Blainn said.
"That fucking family just would not quit."
"We can worry about that part later,
if you want to ensure some consequences
for their misbehavior," said Mrs. Dr. G.
Blainn shrugged. "It's over and done,
now," he said. "I just needed something
to keep me from flying apart. Huffing made
me calmer, and I liked the little halos."
"You got visual effects?" Junket said.
"Some of us did, after the incident --
but well, we thought it was the fumes."
"It is the fumes," said Blainn.
"That's how huffing works."
"It could also be something
zetetic," said Mrs. Dr. G. "I'm
sure the lab remains would have
been tested thoroughly, but if
any projects survived in notes
and the finished products passed
safety tests, they might have gone
to market. The college incident
happened some years ago."
"How would we find out?"
Blainn said. "I'd like to help
if I can, if I won't get in trouble."
"You're not in trouble," she said.
"You could help by making a list of
the products you remember using.
Then I can check to see if any of
them are recent developments."
"Yeah, I can try," Blainn said.
"My memory isn't great, but
I can put down my favorites."
Mrs. Dr. G gave him a piece
of scratch paper and a pencil.
"Crow Wing is the best,"
Blainn said. "People like it
for graffiti because it's so shiny,
and I love all of the visual effects.
Galaxxxy Slam and Galaxxxy Dance
are bright and fun for the tactiles.
Madras Run is like watercolor
for walls, a real mellow ride."
"And glue?" Mrs. Dr. G said
as she watched him write.
"Maxitack doesn't do anything
but stick stuff together," said Blainn.
"Beautie Gloo is fantastic, it's pretty
and the high is kind of bubbly too.
Rokk Poxxy is really strong, so I
only use that when I'm desperate."
Then he looked up at Mrs. Dr. G.
"Are you sure I'm not in trouble?"
"The things you've listed are not
controlled substances," she said. "I'll
repeat that it would be a very good idea
to let Heron check your health, especially
if any of these turn out to be recent."
Blainn rocked back and forth in
his seat. "I dunno," he said.
"I mean, I know it's a good idea
and you're good people, I just ...
I have a lot of history, and
most of it's not very good."
"It's up to you," said Mrs. Dr. G.
"If you want a disposable relationship,
I could help you find someone else
far from here," Junket offered.
Blainn looked him. "I suppose
you could pull a healer out of
your back pocket, too?"
"Not my pocket, but I
know plenty of them,
and it's easy to get
a favor," said Junket.
"I'll think about it,"
Blainn said. "I want
to help, but this is a lot
and I'm kinda freaking out."
Junket shifted, draping
his arm across the back
of the couch near Blainn.
"You want to lean against me
for a bit?" Junket said. "That
seemed to help you earlier,
with no huffing required."
"Yeah, maybe," Blainn said.
He scooted closer, just barely
brushing together at the sides.
Junket let his hand drift down so
his fingertips touched the fuzz
at the back of Blainn's neck.
Blainn sighed in relief. "Okay,
that works," he said as he
slid down, letting his hat
ride up in the back to give
Junket a little more access,
the front of it falling forward
to cover more of Blainn's face.
People might be staring at him,
if his hair was making an escape.
He couldn't bring himself to care.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its character, location, and content notes will appear elsewhere.
Yesterday I learnt...
Date: 2021-05-09 11:40 pm (UTC)And while the fury and the recoil and the hurt is real (silly me blew past the warnings again without even thinking, but this ain't nothing ain't been there done that before, so I'm okay)... the Comfort? PURRRRR.
I think Blainn just got "licked" by the Finns et al. I don't know as he'll be like external-internal like Shiv, expected to show up for birthdays and holidays, but that kid is definitely under their protection, and I would not like to be the guy who messed with him from here on out. I *might* live to regret it, depending on who showed up.
I wanna grow up to be the logistics guy for the L-America version of the Finns. Not so much in profession or in plethorage of superpowerness, but just... some punk steps out of an alleyway and goes to threaten a person, and his buddy is like, oh shit, he's a Finn, do NOT fuck with him!
Re: Yesterday I learnt...
Date: 2021-05-10 03:09 am (UTC)Yay!
>>And while the fury and the recoil and the hurt is real (silly me blew past the warnings again without even thinking, but this ain't nothing ain't been there done that before, so I'm okay)... <<
Yowch. I'm glad you're okay. Reading the Iron Horses stuff, or something else?
>> the Comfort? PURRRRR. <<
That's good.
>> I think Blainn just got "licked" by the Finns et al. <<
:D I licked it, so it's mine.
>> I don't know as he'll be like external-internal like Shiv, expected to show up for birthdays and holidays, but that kid is definitely under their protection, <<
Whatever Blainn wants, really, they're trying to leave it up to him. His strongest attachment is actually with Bennett and Jules.
>> and I would not like to be the guy who messed with him from here on out. I *might* live to regret it, depending on who showed up. <<
The plan is to get him emancipated, whenever he feels up to facing that. Also to rack the state of California for damages and permanent responsibility for family backup, and hunt down the bad foster families to make sure they don't hurt anyone else. Readers are free to prompt for any of that if they wish -- or ask
>>I wanna grow up to be the logistics guy for the L-America version of the Finns. Not so much in profession or in plethorage of superpowerness, but just... some punk steps out of an alleyway and goes to threaten a person, and his buddy is like, oh shit, he's a Finn, do NOT fuck with him!<<
That would be so awesome.
(no subject)
Date: 2021-05-10 02:30 am (UTC)Yes ...
Date: 2021-05-10 02:36 am (UTC)Many Thoughts
Date: 2021-05-10 03:37 am (UTC)Re: Many Thoughts
Date: 2021-05-10 04:05 am (UTC):D He has quite a lot of people in his corner now.
>> I love Junket, <<
Me too. He's a favorite. He's so outrageous, but he has a heart of gold. Junket very rarely shows his fierce side -- I think this is only the second time. The first involved delivering a beaten-up pedophile to a police station. But it's there. He's like the chauffeur who backs a car over the bad guys, you know?
>> and I think being in the same color-range is probably helping Blainn trust him. <<
I think so too. Resonance tends to form a strong connection for soups. Getting Blainn to relax about his hair will take a lot of work, but it may help to have other similarly colored soups around who can kick the ass of any potential threats.
>> Boss Finn is being Very good about respecting Blainn's boundaries. <<
She's hanging onto her brakes for all she's worth, here, when what she wants to do is go wrap that jumprope around Blainn's fosters and give it a good yank.
He needs people who will take "no" or "not yet" for an answer, after years of the foster system denying him any boundaries at all. >_<
>> I LOVE hair petting as a form of physical intimacy, both giving and receiving. I will happily say good bye to my carefully treated curls for the day if it means I get petted. <<
:D By all means, prompt for that. It will take a lot of work for Blainn to become comfortable in his own skin, and the hair petting is one of the few things that he has responded really well to. More work with a set of brushes, or meeting some of Junket's other friends, or even just talking about crayon hair, would give him a chance to sort through more than his previous mess of people smacking him for it. Next up will be "Heroism - Real and Perceived" in this month's Creative Jam, and the June fishbowl is on "I never thought I'd say that."
>> I'm glad Blainn is getting a support network. <<
Sooth. He has the Finns, Bennett and Jules, Loudmouth and Torrin, miscellaneous other people in Mercedes, and now Junket's cohort. Blainn is still skittish because he's afraid of getting hurt again, but he's not actually a misanthrope like Shiv is.
>> Maybe this will let him leave the coping mechanism of huffing aside for healthier methods.<<
Well, eventually, that's the goal. He's not ready yet. Things Blainn needs:
* Develop enough trust that he can accept or even ask for help without freaking out over it.
* Get Heron or another healer to scan his body for possible damage from huffing, along with whatever other issues he has aside from that.
* Discuss options for addressing the problems found, whether healing, medicinal, herbal, counseling, a better diet, etc.
* Decide on a plan and start applying it.
It's pretty clear that Blainn has some significant issues with mood and senses, along with probable damage from the huffing as shown in things like headaches and shakiness. Fixing that is probably doable, but probably not quick and easy. So he needs to take it one small step at a time. That's why Mrs. Dr. Finn keeps listing desirable options but assuring Blainn that it's his choice what to do.
>> I love this poem, and I want Blainn to get all the help he can accept! <<
Yay! :D He's making progress, and is a surprisingly popular character. If people prompt for more of him, we'll get to see this play out. Blainn is a good couple of years less broken than Shiv, so it's an interesting comparison.
YAY!
Date: 2021-05-10 05:07 am (UTC)Blainn has come SO FAR already!
Re: YAY!
Date: 2021-05-10 05:26 am (UTC):D
>> Blainn has come SO FAR already! <<
He really has. There's a considerable mess to clean up, due to past damage, but he's nowhere near as mangled as someone like Shiv or Turq. It's fixable, and Blainn can make steady progress now that he's in a better situation.