[That also explains the name, he guesses; Credence sounds pretty old-timey. He's mostly pretending that he doesn't have a last name at all, because depression or no depression, he snickers like a thirteen-year-old every time he reads it.]
You wanna just meet up somewheres? And I can show you how to use the thing, if you need.
[He says Jesse, but somehow pronounces it 'sir', and he's tapping
at his door three minutes later. After a moment, he takes off his hat and
clutches it to his chest with one hand, fixing his hair with the
other.]
Oh, Jesus, he says to himself when he hears the way Credence says his name. He says it again when he opens the door and gets his first look at his hunched, spindly inmate and his deeply terrible haircut. He doesn't look like he actually is much younger than Jesse in years -- not if Jesse is right about his own age at this point -- but everything about him still screams kid enough that Jesse's heart stays melted.
Holy shit, he thinks distantly; has the Admiral finally given him an inmate he can actually help?
"Come on in, man," he says after a couple of beats, stepping aside to let him in. The front room beyond is large, high-ceilinged, but largely empty except for a cluster of 2000's dorm-style furniture clustered around a big-screen TV at one end.
He steps across the threshold, and as soon as he's past Jesse he does actually lift his head slightly to look around. The high ceilings he's used to, and he's seen TVs in the common rooms, but the rest is alien. The styling of the rest of the ship is more familiar than this by far, save perhaps the infirmary.
"Thank you for your invitation," he says, still not completely confident that he simply failed to follow a rule on these matters.
"Uh, yeah. No problem." He waves towards the futon. "Make yourself at home."
There's something else here, he realizes, now that he's seeing him in person; there's a feeling of wrongness crawling right under his skin. He stifles a grimace and turns, heading towards the stairs behind the TV. "You want anything from the kitchen? Something to eat, or a soda... um... pop?" Is that the old-timey way of saying it?
"Sure," he says, before vanishing onto the stairs. He's relieved, honestly; it gives him a second to breathe through the unsettling feeling. And as soon as he does, he realizes what it is: that hunched-over, no-eye-contact thing. Thank you, yes sir, no sir. And then saying sir without saying it.
Someone has beaten the shit out of this kid. Badly and regularly.
Thanks for the ice cream, he thinks bitterly as he fills two glasses, then presses one to his forehead until the cool of it starts to soothe his feverish memories. He knows he has to be, like, on now. Whatever he does, he cannot blow up at Credence. Not ever.
"Sorry for the wait," he says when he's pulled himself together and returned, a few minutes later. "I've been, um, working on the pipes some. They're unreliable."
"It's cool, seriously." God-- this could have been him, with a little more time. Maybe this was him. He doesn't remember the early days here very well.
He hands over the glass and takes a drink from his own as he sits down, not on the futon, but in the papasan chair next to it. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, trying to catch Credence's eye. "Listen -- right off the bat, I promise: you can ask me for anything, okay? Worst thing I'll do is say no, but I'll... I'll try not to, you know, if I can."
Christ. Is there a reasonable way he can ask Credence to never actually address him at all? He's not sure he can take the discomfort.
"It's all good," he murmurs, then trails off for a moment, thinking. His conversational skills have... dwindled, and he's pretty sure he can't trust the kid to carry the conversation for him the way Erskine does. He takes another drink, then sets it on the floor, his knee jiggling anxiously. He clasps and unclasps his hands.
"So," he tries. "Um... You've been here at least a month, anything you still need the rundown on?"
He gives it some genuine thought. So far none of the questions he's asked have had answers which have made him happier, or even feel much more knowledgeable. He's explored as much of the ship as he wants to. Slightly more, in fact.
"I - I don't know where to find laundry soap," he says, finally. "I had a little in my room but I've run out."
And the laundromat on board is something he glanced into once and never returned to, because his image of an electrical washing machine is very different.
"Uh, sure, I'll get you some detergent. Or you can use mine -- it's good with black stuff." And he has more left than he probably should, for how long he's been here.
Despite the slightly awkward beat of silence that follows, he realizes this is already going infinitely better than literally every other first inmate meeting he's had. Thank God. He's useful.
"Oh-- what about the phone, you need some help with that?"
He ferrets it out of his pocket and just peers at it.
"I don't use it much. Miss Annie asked me to keep it with me, in case I needed to speak to someone, if it was urgent. I don't -- I don't know how to contact someone who hasn't contacted me first."
Historically, not many people on the Barge have seen Jesse smile -- but apparently that's changing, because when Credence says Miss Annie, he lights up in a surprised but very pleased grin.
"Annie found you, huh?" Of course she had. Now that he knows, it seems insanely obvious. "Good."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 05:22 pm (UTC)Oh. I'm sorry, you're my first -
I didn't know if I needed to report to you or where I'd need to go. I'm not very good at using this...
[He trails off, at a loss for a noun to describe what he's using.]
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 05:26 pm (UTC)[What do people call it, like, officially?]
Communicator?
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 05:36 pm (UTC)Yes. This -
[The ceiling moves. He's nudged the thing - which you use to communicate, so obviously that's what it's called. He really is an idiot.]
We don't have anything like it back home.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 05:48 pm (UTC)[Actually...]
You wanna talk about home?
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 05:51 pm (UTC)I'm from New York, sir. Manhattan.
It was, um, 1926.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 05:58 pm (UTC)[That also explains the name, he guesses; Credence sounds pretty old-timey. He's mostly pretending that he doesn't have a last name at all, because depression or no depression, he snickers like a thirteen-year-old every time he reads it.]
You wanna just meet up somewheres? And I can show you how to use the thing, if you need.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 06:04 pm (UTC)Yes, sir.
[That he could potentially say no has kind of passed him by.]
Where should I meet you?
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 06:16 pm (UTC)You okay coming to my place? 6-1.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 06:21 pm (UTC)Yes, Jesse, that's fine. I'll be quick.
[He says Jesse, but somehow pronounces it 'sir', and he's tapping at his door three minutes later. After a moment, he takes off his hat and clutches it to his chest with one hand, fixing his hair with the other.]
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 06:31 pm (UTC)Holy shit, he thinks distantly; has the Admiral finally given him an inmate he can actually help?
"Come on in, man," he says after a couple of beats, stepping aside to let him in. The front room beyond is large, high-ceilinged, but largely empty except for a cluster of 2000's dorm-style furniture clustered around a big-screen TV at one end.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 06:56 pm (UTC)"Thank you for your invitation," he says, still not completely confident that he simply failed to follow a rule on these matters.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 07:03 pm (UTC)There's something else here, he realizes, now that he's seeing him in person; there's a feeling of wrongness crawling right under his skin. He stifles a grimace and turns, heading towards the stairs behind the TV. "You want anything from the kitchen? Something to eat, or a soda... um... pop?" Is that the old-timey way of saying it?
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 07:30 pm (UTC)"Um - water, please. Thank you."
He perches, more than sits, on the futon.
cw child abuse, torture, all the good credence stuff
Date: 2017-02-01 08:39 pm (UTC)Someone has beaten the shit out of this kid. Badly and regularly.
Thanks for the ice cream, he thinks bitterly as he fills two glasses, then presses one to his forehead until the cool of it starts to soothe his feverish memories. He knows he has to be, like, on now. Whatever he does, he cannot blow up at Credence. Not ever.
"Sorry for the wait," he says when he's pulled himself together and returned, a few minutes later. "I've been, um, working on the pipes some. They're unreliable."
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 09:04 pm (UTC)The church had electric lights when they moved in, but no indoor plumbing, and it wasn't as if they could afford to renovate.
"Thank you," he adds, hurriedly, for the water.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 09:20 pm (UTC)He hands over the glass and takes a drink from his own as he sits down, not on the futon, but in the papasan chair next to it. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, trying to catch Credence's eye. "Listen -- right off the bat, I promise: you can ask me for anything, okay? Worst thing I'll do is say no, but I'll... I'll try not to, you know, if I can."
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 09:27 pm (UTC)"That's very kind of you - " He very nearly makes the sibilant sound of sir, but hauls it back. "...Jesse."
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 09:35 pm (UTC)"It's all good," he murmurs, then trails off for a moment, thinking. His conversational skills have... dwindled, and he's pretty sure he can't trust the kid to carry the conversation for him the way Erskine does. He takes another drink, then sets it on the floor, his knee jiggling anxiously. He clasps and unclasps his hands.
"So," he tries. "Um... You've been here at least a month, anything you still need the rundown on?"
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 09:46 pm (UTC)"I - I don't know where to find laundry soap," he says, finally. "I had a little in my room but I've run out."
And the laundromat on board is something he glanced into once and never returned to, because his image of an electrical washing machine is very different.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 10:04 pm (UTC)"Uh, sure, I'll get you some detergent. Or you can use mine -- it's good with black stuff." And he has more left than he probably should, for how long he's been here.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 10:10 pm (UTC)And he's already had a flood. And a death toll. And he's been two animals.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 10:21 pm (UTC)Despite the slightly awkward beat of silence that follows, he realizes this is already going infinitely better than literally every other first inmate meeting he's had. Thank God. He's useful.
"Oh-- what about the phone, you need some help with that?"
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 10:24 pm (UTC)He ferrets it out of his pocket and just peers at it.
"I don't use it much. Miss Annie asked me to keep it with me, in case I needed to speak to someone, if it was urgent. I don't -- I don't know how to contact someone who hasn't contacted me first."
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 10:30 pm (UTC)"Annie found you, huh?" Of course she had. Now that he knows, it seems insanely obvious. "Good."
no subject
Date: 2017-02-01 10:33 pm (UTC)"She's been very kind to me. A lot of people have."
Which he's reporting as an anomaly, a run of good fortune (Bill not included) that he expects to change.
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