hey, vio! i was just curious about where your friendship-slash-rivalry-slash-archnemesis thing with jacobs began. like did you just see each other and go “i hate” orrrrrr
Vio looks affronted. “Excuse you,” he scoffs, “Jacobs is nowhere near good enough to be my arch nemesis. He’s barely good enough to drink coffee with–” “Unfortunately, I have to agree.Violet is nowhere in my league,” Jacobs sighs, folding his arms over his chest.
The alien’s eyes narrow. As expected, Jacobs adds, “Because he’s way, way below it–” “I can literally kill you,” Vio warns, “I can kill you so fast you’d have no idea what happened.”
The man across from him laughs, grinning wide enough that it’s clear that his teeth are much too sharp to be human. Usually, he has a black cloth mask on, but he has been interrupted during a meal.
It also reveals the extent of his evidently never-fully-healed stitches. The line of them that goes from under his left eye continues across his nose at an angle, then curves under his right cheek and ear.
If they continue further, it's hidden by his hair.
He looks a little more relaxed in general. The brightly colored, though often redstone-smeared, jackets he wears are instead swapped out for a nearly identical one, but in greyscale.
The unusual, void-black stones that festoon his ears seem ever so slightly less devoid of color, but that might be a trick of the light.
…Which must also explain his eyes. They’re not usually black, but they seem like they are now. His hair is less of a rich chocolate brown and closer to the shade of loamy soil.
Vio seems unphased, so anything that might be going on must either be perfectly normal or is warping reality.
Jacobs tells the alien across from him, “Go ahead. Abuse your power, see where that gets you.” “I hate you.” “No you don’t.”
Again, Vio looks offended. "Don't tell me how I feel." "Then don't tell obvious lies," Jacobs answers, taking a long sip of the…
Actually, what the fuck is he drinking? It looks alarmingly like tar, from the color to the consistency. The cup he’s using is almost comically big, too.
The alien opens his mouth, doubtlessly to argue again, but Jacobs points out, "Didn't answer the question. If you're going to experiment with defying Time, do it in a controlled way and not where I'm eating."
Vio clicks his tongue in disgust, evidently aware that Jacobs has too good a point to try to dispute.
"I knew he was an asshole from the first time I saw him and acted accordingly," the alien huffs.
Jacobs snorts, "He could tell we had something in common." "We have nothing in common–"
The man raises his eyebrows and uses his enormous cup to gesture at Vio’s own, marginally less giant cup.
It's the same stuff Jacobs is, against all logic, managing to suck through a straw and not immediately die from ingesting.
"Coffee doesn't count," Vio says, unknowingly solving the mystery. He rolls his bright purple eyes and adds, "That happened later."
"Yeah, but you used present tense." Voice flat, Vio refutes, "A slip of the tongue. Just like a knife is going to slip into your neck if you don't stop testing me."
Jacobs grins again.
Evidently, Vio is happy to have something else he can focus on.
With a pleased, smug-seeming flick of his tail, he answers, "Thank you. It's nice to know some people can appreciate me."
It's Jacobs' turn to be annoyed. "Flattery, novelty, or poor taste. Also, way to sell your not-sons short." "They’re not my kids!" "Hence the not part."
Instead of arguing that point further, Vio tells him, "Jealousy suits you. Keep being mad, it's doing wonders for my mood."
Rolling his eyes, Jacobs scoffs, "I'm not jealous, I'm pointing out that you got a blind fan. You don't have a style, you have neon purple coats with inverse amounts of stains and embroidery, some jewelry, and nothing else of note. I think Aver would laugh his ass off if he heard it being called a style."
Vio grins wide enough to show the veritable daggers he has for teeth. "Sounds like jealousy and pettiness. Can't even win an argument without dragging others in, huh?" The sip he takes of his tar-like substance, evidently some abomination that he and Jacobs claim to be coffee, is very smug. "Tsk, tsk. I expected better from you."
For a long moment, Jacobs stares at the alien.
Then he twists a band on his wrist and swipes at the air a few times.
Vio's smugness immediately fades. "Don't you fucking dare–"
There's a spiteful grin as Jacobs asks out loud, "Hey, Aver, does what Violet wears count as a style?"
A wild bark of familiar laughter sounds out. "Fuck no! He's fuckin' lucky fashion crimes can't get someone thrown in jail here. Probably like that because he rigged the fuckin' system–"
"I reformed a paranoid, war-torn hellhole with extremely obvious corruption and mental instability!" Vio's argument gets another snicker, but otherwise ignored. Aver asks, "What'd he even fuckin' do that made you ask?"
With all the smug glee of a kid tattling to a teacher, Jacobs answers, "One of the watchers claimed that Violet has a great style."
Making a noise of understanding, Aver replies, "Ah, so one of 'em is fuckin' insane. Good to know, thanks for the warning. Not-Dad–" "Still not your dad!" "That's why there's a fuckin' 'not' in front of it, dumbass. Anyway, don't believe everything you fuckin' hear. Sometimes…people are wrong."
There's a pause, and then Aver continues, "Or lying. Might just be lying. Who knows; maybe the Observers or whatever they're fuckin' called are just laughing at you."
The expression Vio has is entirely offended. "Excuse you, I have plenty of style–" "Big man, the only reason you have coats without fuckin' stains is that I threatened to snowglobe you if some didn't stay clean."
Vio mutters, "Which is uncalled for, I have formalwear–" "Don't you fuckin' dare bring that fuckin' crime up," Aver says, a worrying hint of hysteria in his voice.
"You're the one that made it!" Aver, hysterical note getting more prominent, snaps, "Practically with a fuckin' knife to my throat! You made it fuckin' clear you were doing it just to fuck with me! Ooh, Aver, I'm gonna be a fuckin' asshole and make you pick between a literal fuckin costume, something based on a fuckin' anime cosplay, or just wear a normal-ass fuckin' outfit! Fuck you for wanting me to look nice!"
Vio huffs, but he’s grinning. "Maybe that's normal ceremonial attire for my culture, you don't know."
A moment of silence passes. Then another.
Then with an alarming amount of calmness, "Hey Jacobs, where are you and how much can you stop Vio from running for his miserable fuckin' life?"
Visibly and audibly pleased by this turn, the mechanic answers, "His house, and very little. I can set off your stasis chamber, though."
With a nervous chuckle, Vio tries, "Uh– surely you have a lot on your plate. You wouldn't take the time to come here just to stab me, right?"
Very much not kidding, Aver answers, "Better fuckin' run, bitch."
Not bothering with any further attempts to dissuade either of them, Vio scrambles out of his chair and books it.
Meanwhile, Jacobs gets up and calmly makes his way to the stasis chambers in the basement.
"That was a good talk," he cheerfully says out loud. "Thanks…Chime, was it? I think you're very wrong, but I'll let it slide because Violet is about to be in a surprise manhunt."
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