#─── ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ * ⠀ 𝐫𝐮𝐞. ／ ⠀ replies.

[tragedyrich]

@carminekings: ❛ who are you under there? what are you hiding? are you just hideously scarred? ❜ ( joe & rue / assuming they both use drugs to cope -- they're high at some house party and/or outside and getting to know each other . . . )

if this was some kind of half-baked attempt at getting in her pants, rue would've shut this shit down in five seconds flat. the intrusive questions are met with rue clearing her throat of phlegm before levelling joe with a scrutinizing, judgemental gaze. "jesus fucking christ. are you always this intense when you smoke, or did someone lace something in your joint?" she squints, as if that'll suddenly make the intentions behind joe's questions more clear. it didn't exactly take someone with the intellect of a rocket scientist to figure out that rue was broken, with most people at school having assumed she'd overdosed and passed away already. the fact that she was still alive and kicking was a surprise. triumphing against adversity? not exactly. that just didn't seem to be in the cards for her. "if this is your way of telling me my skin looks like shit, i already know. and in case you put it together already, it is because of the drugs," she informs him, the corners of her lips lifting up into a smirk. rue's not going to tell him shit unless he comes at her with a different approach. leads with his own heavy baggage first, so she doesn't overwhelm him right off the bat. and she can tell there is baggage -- she's seen enough shit to know just by looking.

[tragedyrich]

it's part calculation and part experience that rue chooses to catch flies with honey. she's mildly disappointed by the reaction, the prejudice that she could extrapolate from the few incriminating words he'd said, but she knows it's not joe's intention to hurt her. conversely, rue's hurt a lot of people in her life without intending to either, so maybe that's why she can't reduce him to an unflattering moment. she was no saint, she wasn't even christian, her mother had tried to raise her into the same religion although it never took, but rue knows a thing or two about forgiveness. if they did end up staying friends, rue knows it's inevitable that she'll ask for joe's forgiveness too, especially once she ends up relapsing and backsliding worse than this. regressing into a child-like state. rue smiles at the naive stream of consciousness being funnelled her way, cheeks dimpling with the force of it. "'s fine. and if you're unsure, normally it doesn't hurt to ask. but nah. you have, they're just not as brave and uninhibited about it as i am. maybe we can thank the drugs for that too," she muses, a thoughtful little wrinkle appearing between her brows. she's sure plenty of people have tried to explain away her proclivities towards the same-sex as yet another side-effect of her drug use, and maybe there was some shred of truth to it, as insidious as it sounded. but it was one of the things rue actually didn't want or care to change about herself amongst a laundry list of others. "you'd think, huh. no, i actually had to fake an orgasm because i'm a fuckin' idiot and i forgot that narcotics deaden your nerves, so because it was taking me forever to, y'know ... felt like the path of least resistance?" she jokes, struggling to rationalize her train of thoughts, letting out a harsh sounding little laugh. "fuck, maybe if they included that in the after school special i actually would've listened. you better learn from my goddamn mistakes. don't fuck on fentanyl." rue points an accusatory finger at him, like she's worried this exact scenario might play out for him if she doesn't warn him off. birds of a feather, and all that. she wouldn't put it past joe. a mischievious grin splits her lips, because that's exactly what she was hoping he'd say. "what are you gonna do, honeytrap him? 'cos it'd probably work. on cal, anyway. probably wouldn't have to do much except look all doe-eyed and innocent in like, the highschool parking lot. and they say addicts are weak-willed."

she takes his impulsive bark with more patience than he expects her to. and maybe it's calculated, proven effective from years of hearing similar judgment -- because it makes joe feel worse. he shrugs, willing a twisted, burdened smile to meet hers -- if only out of a budding sympathy. remaining stern would remind him of his (mostly unintentional) bigotry, and if he isn't capable of reeling himself in or chewing on the point of his own hand -- pride will eat him alive. and he'll be like all the other adults, stubborn and old and unable to swallow blame. "just -- surprised s' all. like i know there isn't one way 'bout it -- i just." joe shrugs, honest then when he admits, "don't tink' i've ever met one. y'know. a lesbian. or -- a queer. s' that right for me to say?" it sounds off on his tongue, a word that tingles in his mouth and makes the shell of his ears a little hot. he'd heard it plenty. he'd heard worse -- said worse. he's only relieved that he'd kept his violent stints limited and summarized. rue wouldn't be so unsparing if she knew him younger -- more childish -- more hateful, and willing to show it. "nunna' my business 'nyway. you're cool like. n' i bet girls know what other girls like best -- 'ay?" a smarmy, juvenile smirk presses over joe's stiff politeness. "s' like havin' a cheat code." it occurs to him belatedly that maybe relationship talk -- even if it is just sex -- often comes with long lasting feeling. and at the mention of her ex, he stifles his grin into a furrowed glance. impulse, alongside habitual surges of adrenaline, lure joe into another boldfaced proposal. " -- maybe we pay 'im a visit. nate. or cal. i've dealt with 'em types."

[tragedyrich]

she lets out another impressed little "huh," with her brows raised, lips parted with mild surprise. "well, i am all for affordability. and harm reduction." rue offers him a cheeky grin, looking considerably less enthused when he mentions passing out for long periods of time. "even if you build up a tolerance? fuck. count me out, then." she had to be a semi-functioning addict, at the very least. this is another thing rue has learned over the years. there were all kinds of addicts out and about in the world, it's just a matter of whether or not what substance you were abusing was socially acceptable and if you could still function on it. this was the reaction she'd been anticipating, trying to brace herself for, yet she's still disappointed. why you wouldn't judge someone for doing drugs but go on to judge them for being gay was beyond rue, but people always had strange and hollow concepts of what was right and wrong. "what do you mean, really? you mean to say you've been talking to me this entire time and you haven't been thinking, 'no way she doesn't munch a bunch of rug along with all the other shit she gets up to'? tch. damn, joe, you're not the sharp-eyed street kid i thought you were," rue clicks her tongue at him, playfully chastising him in a way to make him more conscious of his words but not reeling with humiliation. people never learned when you acted haughty. she sniffs, subconsciously spreading her legs to inhabit more space. feminity was a performance that rue didn't care to partake in, because at the moment, sobriety was also a perfomance she was struggling to nail. "i'm not mad. just disappointed," she prods, a shit-eating grin on her lips. god, has rue heard that one before. once she feels he's been sufficiently teased and chastised, rue is all too happy to let the subject change. "nah, he's a big shot real-estate developer, half the town is in his pocket. nate's been terrorizing jules on his behalf. my ex."

"makes ya loopy, n' it's cheap. get 'em giggles, y' know?" joe grins, emphatic in the lift of his brows, then tucking the shrunken joint over the shell of his ear. "'cept it knocks ya out for a long while. m'tellin' ya. don't even remember passin' out half the time." the lack of judgment doesn't surprise him considering the bulk of their conversation, but she makes all of it feel easy. there's no hidden pity, no stupid questions. clearly, there are worse things to bat. "y' ex-girlfriend? fuckin' hell. -- really?" she says it casually, almost unwavering, and joe doesn't think himself a wholly ignorant person; he's a stupid runaway, so he's had a few slip ups -- but he's still surprised by the revelation. maybe even a little impressed by the ease of her throwaway comment. (it's probably more fucked up that he's singling out her orientation as opposed to the context of her confession.) joe swallows, and has the decency to feel at least moderately ashamed. he knows of nate jacobs; seen his towering cryptid figure, heard the whispers of his varying girlfriends, sensed the fame and contrary infamy he lorded like currency. everyone either wanted him, or wanted him dead -- and there seemed to be no middle ground. it was clear how rue felt, and joe had little reason to feel differently. "nate, i know. why's his dad sound so familiar then? -- n' how come people know all this shite 'bout him and the bastard's still walkin'? -- got some hotshot lawyer or somethin'?"

[tragedyrich]

rue was only telling him this because he pressed her for it, not because she was in any need of comfort or sympathy. she's got the drugs for that. when everybody else in her life either died on her or disappointed her, she had her orange labelled prescription bottles to take the edge off. it was more poisonous than it was medicinal, but rue knew it was an intrinsic part of herself she couldn't change, no matter how much others wanted her to. but at least she wasn't the only one being disappointed. "fucking cancer," rue echoes with emphasis, brows knitted as she lets out a soft sigh. just when the heaviness of the reminder begins to set in her shoulders, the joint is passed back to her and she offers an appreciative little smile before nudging it back between her lips. a brief respite from the perpetual heaviness that was her life. she inhales, smoke pluming from her lips as she watches him, letting out a startled bark of laughter. "uh, no? i don't know. but sounds to me like you're my new fuckin' hero. you picked a good demographic to rob blind. sorry to hear about your dad, though. most of them are like that." not hers, though. not hers. "i'm gunna be honest, i have no idea what the fuck whippets are and you're making me feel very insecure about my street cred right now," she says, pointing the joint sandwiched between her fingers at him with an irritated little glare before passing it back. they were almost down to the roach. rue regards him with no judgement, and feels comforted by the fact that joe didn't seem to be scrutinizing her too much either. fuck, even her dealer judged her at times, so this was a rare occurrence. although she's a little thrown by the fact that he thinks getting beat up is fun. "there's this guy that goes to my school.. his dad's probably the same sorta sick fuck that you and your friends bait." she'd like to see him cross joe's path organically, and she has no doubt in her mind that'd happen sooner or later, no pedo sting operation required. rue opens her mouth like she wants to say something else, but then a conflicted expression flits across her face and she recalibrates, offering a small smile. she didn't know joe well enough yet to divulge even more personal details or ask anything of him. "anything else you like to do for fun, aside from assaulting pedophiles? getting high is pretty much the leading act for me."

joe takes the blunt to his lips and hollows his cheeks -- creased brows relaxing as soon as the smoke pools, flying between them like swaying dancers. the story he gets is a melancholy one. it is a tragedy: one of those quiet re-tellings that inform listeners at the start, how things couldn't have happened any other way. that the addiction and heart ache and numbness, was inevitable, that they had been written in the stars, chipped into stone. rue was half-dead and joe was half-dead and even here, the hairs on their arms prickling from the cold -- they were quartered, portions of them hovering above -- omnipresent and ghostly. he takes another well needed hit, before returning the joint, sympathetic in it's necessity. "fuckin' cancer." joe slouches over lifted knees, folded arms now warming against the hug of denim. "sorry to hear that. -- sounds real shite." this is as sentimental as he gets -- never one to linger unprompted. the bulk of his generosity comes in matching the specificity rue had offered him, strangely unburdened by privilege or comparison. "my dad's a deadbeat. mom's got too many kids -- too many dads -- so i left home real early. thirteen or somethin'? -- dunno. lived 'round other kids like me. sully n' the lads. they're all -- the same y'know -- all runaways." he wets his tongue, occasionally pulled into some faraway look. then, as if entertained, as if amused by the danger, by the violence he's been fed -- joe's grinning, gesturing animated. "and we had no money -- so we started this thing, right -- started lootin' the creeps, y'know? 'em pedophiles? i'd walk down some alley, n' they'd tail me, right? -- then i'd round a corner and BAM!" joe swipes the empty solo cup with his left hand, crunching it in perfect time -- some half-lidded smirk still stretched upon his features. "we'd fuck 'em up. and get paid. then we'd huff. whippets n' aerosols -- nythin' cheap. beat each other up. y'know."

[tragedyrich]

the acknowledgement has her interest doubling, brows raising quizzically as she watches him down the rest of his liquor. rue wouldn't say she's hiding, or if she was, it'd be in plain sight. even under the influence of a variety of differing brain altering chemicals, rue had built up a tolerance to enough that it didn't alter her personality too much. it made her more emotional, more impulsive, but she's been using so long that it feels like apart of her now. "yeah? what's your poison, then? i like downers." she licks her lips, brows knitting in thought, her gaze flitting to meet his head-on. he wanted a story? rue would give him a fucking story. she sniffs, taking a hit from her joint, the cherry lighting up as she inhales before passing it over to joe. "so, when i was eleven.. i started having panic attacks. my dad was diagnosed with cancer. these two things weren't entirely unrelated, but the nitty-gritty of it is this -- they gave me valium at the hospital because i couldn't breathe, and it was like.. i dunno. the earth stood still, and i finally felt safe in my own head." she swallows, idly playing with the zipper on her hoodie. "then, he lost that battle and passed away when i was fourteen." rue points at him before leaning back on her haunches, a challenging look in her eyes. "now you, hotshot."

there's a proper grin on his face, wide and toothy from her blunt acknowledgement. gossip and the ever revolving rumour mill sit permanently on the outskirts, never one to outright confirm, never one to care when things are. and although rue's addiction isn't at the forefront of his mind, he recognizes something hollow in her stare when they collide. blindly, he thinks she would benefit from his own foolish medicine. "s' the drugs for me too," joe reflects, swirling some bitter punch in his right before tossing it back, gulping the last few remnants with a tilted head. it's barely cold anymore -- room temperature with hints of fruit. "'sides... nothin' wrong with hidin'. m' just curious. just -- y'know -- lookin' for 'em kindred spirits n' that." with both palms pressing into the concrete step, joe cocks his head, leaning against propped arms. his tongue is loose, lubricated by liquor and a compound of chemicals. "y' don't have a story?"