trans_9 | If I Have to Lie, Steal, Cheat or Kill [Semi-Open]

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If I Have to Lie, Steal, Cheat or Kill [Semi-Open]

Howard hasn't gotten a full night of sleep since a little before they landed on Galilee. The events of that particular mission certainly haven't helped. Recently he's taken up to squinting to combat the way his eyes feel as if they're covered in dustbunnies and sand, and his usual skittishness has turned into an unconscious twitch and tremble.

After spending at least a few hours of the night pacing the Warehouse, now otherwise devoid of life except for him and Emergency Rations the Cat, he finally sinks to his anxious instincts and pulls open the hidden closet to reveal the cans and cans of non-perishable food. Then he closes the door again, places back the wall panel. That's for emergencies. That's for starvation.

He checks Albert's room again to see if his business partner has magically appeared back in his bed, but the immaculate, orderly room remains empty. It's not even as if he liked Albert. If pressed, he might even admit to hating him. But Howard doesn't like that someone in his life has vanished without warning. He's had bad experiences with that.

Emergency Rations follows him to the front door. She brushes up against his legs while he puts his shoes on, and for a moment on the floor he pulls her to his chest and breathes into her fur. Then he fills her bowl up with more kibble, taking a handful for himself, and locks her inside the house while he heads to Hydroponics.

He passes the beer tree, passes the carnivorous plants, and finds a quiet little nook with exactly what he's looking for - fruit trees.

The fresh, strange fruits within arm's reach don't last him all that long - partially due to his relatively small stature and their slick, unclimbable bark. But there are some on the ground, if rotten. He's not picky. He gathers them from around the surface roots of the trees and sets them in one sloppy, oozing pile.

He sits with his back against one of the trees, resting his head on a loose knot and swallowing pieces of overripe fruit while barely chewing. It's a temporary comfort. Just because people disappear on Stacy doesn't mean she's about to put them in some death trap. Stacy's always been like this, taking people when it makes sense to her. It's just never been someone close to Howard.

Thinking about how he's the only person from the FAYZ still awake here sends a shiver down his back, but the sweet juice in his mouth does well to remind him that he's not back home, not in the FAYZ, not buying time from death, not going to go hungry again.

[OOC: Due to the tone of this post I'd like to keep this limited to a few threads; hit me up in PM or AIM if you want to tag here. I'll be having a less wangsty open post for Howard up in a few days for those interested in getting CR with him under different circumstances.]

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"Aww. So that makes the Not-Actually-Mrs.-Tim what, Sleeping Beauty?" He snickers, but raises an eyebrow at Tim. That's all Tim wants from a vacation? Just one that doesn't get crashed? Most people at least name some beach or party town they want to hit up. But Howard shrugs and figures maybe Tim's not really the talkative type.

Which makes this conversation charity. Howard frowns and gulps down another mouthful of fruit, gagging a bit on the large swallow.

"Even the people who like the missions, the ones who are big violence junkies who like to blow stuff up or feel like the have to be the big heroes and be there to help their friends, even they hated it." He curls up a bit more as another wave of nausea hits. "But yeah, just cuts and scrapes. More than I can say about some people. Did you see Conner lost a hand? He bled all over me."

"I guess it does," Tim grimaced, but it was pretty good humoured. "Can't make any promises about kissing her while she's still got the smile thing going on though." He shook his head a bit, and watched the shifts in Howard's body language closely, but subtly. He was bothered, and he was recoiling, it seemed. He held back the natural 'don't make yourself sick'-- he could tell it wouldn't go well to tell him to lay off the food a bit.

Tim's expression darkened slightly, but he did his best to hide it. Because Red Robin was the one with close personal connections there. Even if he wanted to thank Howard for having been there. "I heard about that, yeah," he said instead, shaking his head and frowning. "Brutal stuff. I can't imagine that was good on anyone. He's okay though now, I hear-- I mean, we didn't lose anyone or anything, right?"

"I always thought kissing someone while they were asleep was real creepy, honestly," he says in a sarcastic deadpan. "It's why I don't sleep, ever. You never know when people will come try and kiss you."

He winces. "So what's the real reason you don't sleep?"

He doubts it's just the particularly unpleasant accommodations Stacy provides.

"Technically, we didn't." Howard's face takes on a bitterness and cynicism beyond his fifteen years. "But what, you think people have to die to lose themselves?"

"Fair enough," Tim laughs. "I can't imagine it'd be a pleasant experience-- especially if it's a total stranger. Prince and/or princess status being beside the point." He can't help but think of Rose ambushing him in his own room at Titans Tower, but that was a... different case.

He frowned, though, when Howard questioned that. He could go for partial honesty there, at any rate: "Mild insomnia, is part of it. I'm a late-night kind of guy. Am I to assume that your only reason is sleep-lip-locks?"

Tim's expression did get more serious, though he held the worst of it back-- he had no intention of getting 'grimdark' or brooding in front of anyone, frankly. Certainly not anyone he didn't really know. "I guess not," he said, watching Howard closely for a second. He can see the effects of experience on this other teen, and he has the feeling it's from more than just the ship. He doesn't have the demeanour of someone who's recently had their worldview shattered. No, he knew what he was talking about more than most. "I'm just lucky to not have personal experience, I guess," he lied.

Howard snorts. Some of the people who know him well (and his fixation with his personal bubble) would actually believe that his sleeping problems come from a desire to keep his bodily space secure.

"I get nightmares. You know, the sit up in bed and wake up sick and shaky kind. So I decided to skip all that tonight and do a midnight snack instead."

He figures the fact that he's not all well right now is probably evident in his body language and well, the fact that he's face-deep in nauseating rotten fruit. Maybe he and Tim can do a 'show me yours I show you mine'.

"Yeah, right. Unless you're the single normal person in Spacey Stacy's little psych ward, which I doubt. Stacy doesn't pick up people who're all there." He makes a gesture around his head and wraps his arms around himself.

Tim nodded, listening quietly and respectfully. In part because he knew he, personally, wouldn't be open enough to tell people about his own nightmares, in any amount of detail. Howard wasn't giving him much-- but this fed more into Tim's theory that the boy had experienced some more traumatic events before the ship, too. His quiet neuroses spoke to that.

"Can't blame you, I guess," Tim said with a frown, still subtle with his watching the other boy. "They're not a pleasant experience. Of course, there's not much in the way of appetizing food on the ship, either." He could tell that that wasn't Howard's concern, of course-- or else he wouldn't be eating fruit that was clearly past its 'best by' date.

He hesitates, then decides it's only fair, "I've never been much of a sleeper. Late nights and early mornings. I'm just used to... a few hours of deeper sleep, really." Mostly as a result of his 'work'. Though 'deep' sleep is something he hasn't had in a long time.

But of course, Howard had a point. Even if he was trying to keep up his secret identity, there was little point in pretending to be 'normal' either. At least not completely. "You've got a point," he said with a grimace. "Overall we seem to be a pretty motley crew." He frowned, watching Howard for his body language, then said, "I'm just lucky. I was into business from a relatively young age. I worked with my adoptive father and got into work for correctional programs and youth support."

"Ugh, the food," Howard says with a very dramatic, very sarcastic-teenagery roll of his eyes. "Everyone here always complains about the food. It could be way worse, believe me. If Stacy stops feeding us, that's when all these wusses are going to have to get over their picky eating. At least tasting like nothing is better than like...spoiled mayonnaise and rotting cat. And bugs."

He knows from experience. And the three don't mix well. Also, hair conditioner will make you sick but shampoo won't, there's pretty much no nutritional value to eating salt out of a box, and if you drink a mouthful of hot sauce beforehand you can force yourself to swallow just about anything. But don't let anyone else know you have hot sauce, since that's a rare commodity.

The way Tim talks makes it sound like he's hedging. It's probably all the truth, but carefully selected truth to give people a different impression of the whole picture. Howard's eyes narrow ever so slightly as he thinks it over - he's not angry, but he's heard that sort of rhetoric before. He's just thinking.

But he actually bursts out laughing when Tim explains what he did, although he stops quickly when laughing upsets his stomach more. He suppresses a gag and goes on. "Correctional stuff? Man, you probably saw a lot of kids like me go through that system. I did so much shoplifting when I was twelve."

And when he was thirteen, looting. When he was fourteen, drug-dealing. Fifteen, bootlegging. Stacy's the only place he hasn't bothered to nose out crime.

"Adoptive father? So what, your parents get shot in front of you or some tragic backstory like that?"

Ah, so there was the key. It obviously wasn't the context behind the problem, but that was the confirmation Tim needed. It wasn't surprising, given the boy's behaviour (and his apparent fixation on the fruit), but that proved it. He watched Howard carefully, before he said, "True. I guess most people just take it for granted." Tim's own luck had been enough to avoid starvation, too. He'd been in very bad spots, but generally he was able to go home and have a warm meal. "And even with what we have, you can always use the Sensoriums to make it taste better." He shrugged. He'd never bothered doing that himself.

Tim watched Howard's reactions closely, trying to gauge them. He could tell Howard realised something was off about how he was explaining, but at the same time, he wasn't totally expecting a laugh, either. He rose his eyebrows in something like feigned surprise, and frowned again. But the explanation cleared it up a bit. "Ah," he managed, and offered a tiny smile. "A bit of that, yeah. A lot of it was aimed to get kids off the streets. Away from and out of gangs." He shrugged.

But it wasn't that that bothered him-- it was what Howard said next. When he asked about the 'tragic back-story.' Tim's expression sobered at the coincidence, eyes narrowing slightly, before it changed to something more distant. But he shook it off, before he, more quietly, said, "My biological parents were killed." He felt uncomfortable saying any of this, but he didn't hide the emotions this time. No playing at this one. "My mother in a hostage situation, my father in a robbery." The latter being the more 'official' story. He made a point to stare away while he finished. "I guess that's why I got all gung-ho about the 'preventing crime' thing."

Howard shrugs one skinny shoulder. "I don't even notice. I mean, I guess a Hawaiian pizza kind of sounds nice in theory, but I don't know. I think I've totally nuked my taste buds or something. At least you don't have to chew the slop."

Hey, at least it isn't a judgment face. Howard can put up with a hesitant smile and a shrug better than he can with judgment. He's gotten enough of that lately, from people who've killed, even. "If I promise not to join any roving Stacy gangs, do you promise not to try and reform me? I've already got like, five people on my case."

Howard's smirk disappears and he bites his lip. Whoops.

Finally, he puts his fruit down - not something he does lightly - and places one hand over the other, both facing down, with his thumbs out. He waggles his thumbs a little, the universal symbol for 'oh God here have an awkward turtle', a sheepish, apologetic expression on his face. "Sorry, man. Didn't know. Mine just disappeared."

"Understandable," Tim nodded to the other boy. Someone with that experience wouldn't discriminate. That'd be pointless. "I guess you've got one advantage on the rest of us," he joked, though it was in bad taste. "And hopefully the crew doesn't have to learn about it, either." Because a food shortage was the last thing they needed.

He frowned at Howard's deal, and nodded. "If you're staying out of trouble, I'd have no reason to give you trouble about it," he said carefully. "So deal."

His expression wavered a little bit, but it went back to being mostly calm and removed quickly enough. He shook his head, then said, "Don't worry about it. Like you said, you didn't know." Then he watched Howard for a moment before he asked, "Disappeared?"

Bad taste or not (pun intended?), Howard does laugh. Humor won't carry you forever, when you're afraid or hurt or lost, but it'll take you a good chunk of the way, and he appreciates Tim not treating food as this taboo subject you aren't supposed to make light of. You can be deadly serious and still flippant about something. He gives a cheeky eyebrow waggle. "Yeah, I hope not. I get a feeling the talking cats aren't going to go down easy, but they're probably a great source of protein."

He taps the tip of his nose. "Straight and narrow since I got here, except when Stacy sends me on missions, but that's on her. Helps that I'd have Rory and Zou breathing down my neck if I did anything too drastic."

Because really, he still doesn't see any reason not to steal or swill except that he'll get caught.

"Yeah, I just...I don't know, maybe would have said something less stupid."

He makes an explosion gesture with his hands. "Disappeared. Poof, gone. All of them. Guess they all got sick of their kids, not that I blame them."

It's possible to stay through the temptation during the poof. Howard did, when he turned fifteen a few months back. Maybe it's only possible if you know it's coming ahead of time, but there's some strange comfort in being able to blame your parents for being awful, terrible deserters than to think they were both loving and now dead.

Tim laughed halfheartedly at that again, and offers a sheepish smile at that. "I don't get the feeling any crew members would willingly become dinner, to be fair." Cat or otherwise. "And I'm not sure 'check to see if the oven is hot enough' is going to fool anyone."

Tim nodded again at that, expression a little more serious. Though he noted the reference to Rory with a slight interest. That was another name in common that'd come up. "Glad to hear it," he said, "Can't say I like the idea of anyone on the ship getting themselves into trouble of any sort."

And while he didn't offer anything else on the subject of his own parents, he did listen closely to the boy's explanations of what happened to his own. He frowned. It spoke of some more background and history, though he appreciated having another clue to who Howard was. "All of them?" he repeated, "Every family?" His expression turned to one of concern, then he said, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"There's always 'take a bath in this delightful hot tub' if they get too wise about the oven," he says, sounding completely serious. Maybe he is. His stomach turns again and he swallows hard.

"Then you must not like the idea of this stupid ship at all. It's nothing but trouble. All it ever does is try to get people killed for bogus reasons. Totally not what I was planning on when I booked my cruise on the SS Fleshy."

He looks back at Tim, suddenly serious again. "All of them. Every family. And we never found out why. Granted, we were all a little busy killing each other, but whaddayagonnado?"

"True," Tim said with another quiet laugh. "Though it's probably going to be a pretty suspicious looking hot tub. I guess if we go with steel instead of iron, it looks slightly less out of place." He watched Howard's expressions still, though, as he said it. Looking amused but focused on the other boy.

"Does anyone like the idea of this 'stupid ship'?" Tim asked seriously with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not really convinced anyone on this ship really wants to be here and deal with this."

He nodded to the smaller boy, but he was watching him closely. The 'killing each other' remark is what caught his attention the most, of course. "So, what, everyone just turned on each other, without the parents?" he asked.

"Maybe we could just turn on the legitimate hot tub to a really, really high temperature. I wonder how long it takes to cook someone in a jacuzzi?" He takes another bite of fruit but takes a while before he can force himself to swallow it.

"I don't know. I figure it gives some people a sense of purpose, or whatever. They're fighting to save the multiverse and all. It makes them feel like Stacy picked them because they're special little snowflake superheroes."

He bites his lip, then decides to just go ahead and continue being honest with Tim. "Pretty much. First we killed each other, then we starved, then we killed each other some more, then the power went out, then we starved some more, then a bunch of people killed themselves, then some people ate the people who killed themselves, then we killed each other more, and then we got eaten by bugs."

He holds up three fingers. "Fourteen months, one third of us."

He suddenly feels that queasiness intensify and lurches to his feet. He rushes over to a thresh of bushes and vomits. Eat until you're sick, hope that convinces you not to eat anymore. It doesn't. He walks back to where he was sitting before and grabs another fruit off the ground. "Sorry about that."

"Probably longer time than the subtle method is worth," Tim said, with a raised eyebrow. In reality he had a fairly good idea of how easily people died in various situations, but that wasn't something he was divulging any time soon.

"I guess so," Tim agreed with Howard's assessment, and shrugged halfheartedly. "I suppose if people are into the whole... heroic, save the universe thing." Which Tim was, strictly speaking, 'into'. He didn't enjoy the time on the ship, but doing the 'hero thing' was what he did.

Tim didn't have a chance to say much else before Howard was running to the bushes and expelling the rotten fruit he'd been forcing himself to eat. He contemplated getting up to check on him, but he knew it was unnecessary. And he was hardly surprised. "That's okay," he said, watching quietly as Howard returns his attention to the fruit, regardless. That feeds Tim's growing assessment of the boy, but that was another matter. "I... imagine that was pretty rough," Tim said, frowning. Referring to the story Howard had told. But he won't offer pity or sympathy, because he can tell the boy wouldn't appreciate that, would likely close down at least partially. "I'm willing to bet you hate bugs, then, if nothing else." Then, he said, "I guess 'Stacy' doesn't seem as bad, in that light. More food, less murder. Some missions excluded."

"Yeah, but if it worked and you used your resources right, you'd feed yourself for a while." Cannibalism's a funny thing for Howard. Sometimes he can laugh about it, or at the very least deadpan. But whenever he thinks about it too hard, about his buddy Panda digesting in the Coates' kids stomach, he feels faint and that gag reflex starts going. So he doesn't think about it too hard right now, just skimming the surface with bleak humor.

"You're not? What with all the 'correctional facilities' and 'passionate about preventing crime' stuff?" He puts all his air quotes in just the right spot to seem casual and convivial, but he's concentrated like a laser now, looking for that crack in the armor to figure Tim out. This has been one of the first opportunities in their conversation he can get a meaningful question in, instead of just an introductory one.

He's glad Tim doesn't call any more attention to the bingeing. He doesn't want to have to explain it, because he knows it's crazy, but he feels like he can't stop. It's much easier on him that Tim just continues with their conversation as if little has happened. "I don't know. Bugs are alright. Just not the giant ones that eat people."

"Fair enough," Tim said with a grimace. He'd not dealt with cannibalism much in his life, fortunately-- though he remembered one pretty disturbing story he'd come across-- but he was dealing with it in the way that it seemed Howard was most comfortable with: dark humour. "So maybe it could work out."

He fell silent for a moment, before he responded, "I never said 'facilities', for the record. But that's-- my job. It's important to me, it's part of who I am. But having more work to do will never be my goal. I want less work, because that means I'm doing something right." It was fairly honest, overall, anyway, even though he knew Howard was fishing.

Tim nodded to that, but with a raised eyebrow. "So, bug aliens are probably going to be out, huh?" Of course, the Ohm were bug-like, but that was beside the point. Possibly.

"No prisons or juvie for you? Me neither. On either side." Although there'd certainly been that threat, but thirteen was too young to get in too much trouble for petty theft and vandalism.

"So what do you do when everything's done? Or are you just one of those pessimists who think your work never will be done?" He takes a bite of fruit again, washing the taste of sickness down with sour fruit juice. "I got a friend, Zouichi? I think if his work's ever done he's going to have the world's biggest identity crisis or something. Don't tell him I said that, by the way."

He shrugs. "As long as they don't eat me, they're just regular terrifying instead of bone-chillingly terrifying. Which is the best I can hope for in this life these days, I guess."

"Good to hear," Tim grimaced, with a nod. "My work was more about helping people avoid those things." At least, that's what his day job was.

"I'd like to think that one day it'll be done," Tim said, and smiled slightly. "I don't know how likely that is, but I guess if that comes up, I can just work in the actual business side of things. Some kind of corporate job," he shrugged. Honestly, he'd never known what he was going to do after he finished crime fighting-- and that was before he'd decided crime fighting was really all he could do-- so he'd never had much of an idea about a career. But his interest was peaked by the mentions of Zouichi-- another observer could give him some insight in this other crew member, too. "And really? What, is it kind of 'my whole life revolves around this' kind of thing?"

He gave Howard a sheepish look, and commented that "that's better than nothing, I guess."

"I always wanted to run a business. Employ who I want, make people pay for something designed the way I'd like it. Maybe a restaurant or a club or something." All those dreams seems a long way off, though. He seems about as attached to them as Tim is to his.

"It's his whole purpose. I don't think he even knows how to do something truly selfish." Which makes him the opposite of Howard. Which makes Howard worry. If there's one thing Howard's truly good at, it's surviving, and Howard thinks that's only the smart thing to do. It's not that he thinks Zouichi is stupid, far from, but he worries. It shows on his face when he talks about him.

"Yeah, maybe. Fear's just my lot in life, I guess."

Tim nodded to that. Howard didn't seem passionate about the idea, but it was still something. "I guess there's a plus in all that," he laughed. "Maybe I'll get there one day, too. It'd be nice to have a semblance of control over my life."

Of course, getting some opinions on Zouichi? Certainly an added bonus. And Howard seems genuine about it all. So they'd be friends, then. Tim frowned slightly, but he was listening intently. "Selfless is good, but... Well, I guess you have to take care of yourself, too, right? Being so focused on what you do can be dangerous." Logically, anyway. He knew that hardly stopped people.

"Well, you know what they say about fear," he grimaced. "Still unfortunate though."

Howard snorts. "Totally. If we live that long." Which, honestly, isn't looking like that likely an ending. Between all the close calls and stressors of just living, Howard doesn't really see himself ever making it to old enough to drink legally, much less run a business.

"Yeah, but it's not like he cares about dangerous. If he dies, it's like...occupational hazard. And I don't know, I guess I'd get to pick up the pieces or something. It's what I do." And to Howard, self-centered as he is, it seems like it'd just be selfish of Zouichi to die and leave him alone again. He's already had enough of friends who don't fear death.

Tim doesn't seem to really believe that 'taking care of yourself' thing, though. Although maybe Howard's drawing connections that don't exist in his sleep-deprived state. It occurs to him that the tree behind him would be a scratchy yet suitable pillow.

"What, that it's just love turned to vinegar, or that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself?" He doesn't really believe either.

"I try to remain an optimist in the face of universes ceasing to exist," Tim quipped, with raised eyebrows in mock incredulity at Howard.

"Sounds rough," Tim frowned. "For the both of you, I mean. Friends in bad situations can be as bad as being in them yourself." He shook his head, then added, "I take it you can't make him consider his own life a bit more, then?" He could understand both sides, really. He'd had friends in very bad situations and he'd shown a disregard for his own safety often enough. 'Occupational hazard' was about right.

Tim laughed slightly, then said, "Mostly the second one, I guess."

"I was an optimist! For about five years, then I had to start going to school and got that kicked out of me. Literally." He mimics Tim's expression. Expressive faces are always a plus in Howard's book.

"Not a chance. He doesn't listen to me. He's the only person I know who hears an explosions and run towards it before it's even done going off." And even more than the not-so-appealing idea of going back to the FAYZ, he's most worried about, if they succeed, Zouichi going back to his world to inevitably die on his mission.

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