#i read a lot of mcormac this year and it Sunk Into Me

[america-oreosandkitkats]

busted, burned, black (mouthwashing ficwip excerpt)

just vibing with a mouthwashing fic. not sure where it's going, what it'll turn into, but just having some fun with tone, texture, and presentation. i don't ever write scifi either so i'm having fun with Thinking About The Future. with that, im playing fast and loose with the canon (as i do) so if there's any confusion, that's probably why. would love to know if you're vibing like im vibing with this.

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Jim had set her off the minute they met during his onboarding. The unwarranted self-importance radiated off him like body odor and he was one of those assholes who took every presented opportunity to say something snide in order to show off how cool or how smart he was. The way he carried himself, you’d think that his Life Loan was good and paid for, but those with silver spoons lodged in their throats did not find themselves in the employment of companies like Pony Express. Those with silver spoons lodged in their throats did not have the tail tell signs of a dirt humble origin or existence. His cheeks were hallow in a way that did not match the rest of his stature, though he was already quite lean. His eyes, though naturally deepset, were shrouded in dark circles such that made caves of his eyes and the green irises seeming to glow. His skin was rough. Bitemarks trailed his arms too uniform in size and too methodically spread to be given by any known insect. There were faded lines in shades of blue and black on his neck, old tattoos that had not been removed well and only put in place by needle prick and pen ink.

It was a look she knew too well, found outside her town’s one clinic. Their spiderlike limbs were draped in rags which wafted in a strong odor as they reached out for respite, for mercy. They begged for credits, for food, for a cessation from the pain that wracked their bodies. They fought each other with vicious ferocious possessiveness if one should receive gifts. Anya wanted to so much to ask Jim what Midwest shithole he pulled himself out of, but she knew men of his design did not take to shame. It was best to just ignore him.

He’s a little rough around the edges, Curly had said, but he’s been through a lot. He’s trying to get back on his feet. You know how it is.

Anya hummed over the rim of her coffee. She did, but only as much as one gets back on their feet after the loss of a safety net, after the grief and disappointment of a dream made unrealized. She resented him for equating their experiences, even if it was only just a turn of phrase. It would be the last cup she’d make with fresh beans and non-recycled water for the 385 days. She tried to savor it.

Is that why you referred him to the position? she asked, and he nodded.