He doesn't sound convinced. The things that haunt him are louder here, not in the Enclosure, but here in this afterlife. He doesn't have control, feels like everything is slipping out of his fingers and out of his grasp.
Lark told him that he'd end up losing control here, spilling his secrets, giving people exactly what they want.
"Told you I was in the war, didn't I?" he starts out, trailing his fingers along the top of the music box before it gets replaced in his pocket.
"Did two tours before they sent me home with a 'fuck you' for my trouble. I was the one who closed up those big graves. Pretty sure they weren’t dead, but - " He frowns as they walk. He just followed orders. A good little soldier. Stuffing the feelings down to make it work.
They pass the bar and general store but he doesn't give them a second look.
"While I was there, a buddy of mine got stuck in the desert together. IED went off, blew everyone to hell. We were two hundred kilometers from the nearest civilization and they - thought we were dead."
Jacob doesn't look at her. "Miller was his name. We walked for nearly ten days in that sand. It was - fucking endless. I knew he wasn't going to make it. He was slowing down and keeping us back. So I killed him. Used him to survive. You know what human flesh tastes like? I do."
So he doesn't understand why the Admiral would bring him back. He had been free from the nightmares and the darkness and the slog. Now he's back, with no purpose, no control, and nothing save for what he can salvage for himself.
There are, in Saga's experience, a surprising number of reasons why someone might tell you they've consumed human flesh. The fact that they're in what feels like the middle of nowhere is not lost on her; she wonders if he's even put together some of the connotations around the fact that he's a foot taller than her at least, has a hundred pounds on her, brought her to a remote location and now he's talking about killing and eating people.
She doesn't actually think so. But she doesn't miss that either.
He didn't like doing it. It was survival. But there is a reason that he doesn't miss a meal. That he carries his water with him.
Also, in this moment, she isn't a person. She's a sounding board. Someone as faceless and nameless as the people at home. He doesn't look at her, doesn't give her a designation, hasn't said her name at all.
He whistles sharply and Mae turns, returning to his side and trotting there as he walks.
"I wish I was given the choice. Just another fucking facet of my life to endure."
"That's part of it," she says, "but not all of it. What do you do if you can't leave your cabin? Do you have a cabin routine? What about if there's a dangerous situation on board? During a port?"
She spreads her hand towards him.
"You have your set routine, but setting up alternate paths for some other situations will give you guidance when you can't stick to that routine. You're still on the rails."
"Start your routine with checking the network every morning," she says, "and that tells you which routine you'll be following for the day: normal, cabin, or emergency. Normal, you've already got."
She gestures towards him.
"Cabin, you might need to find a project or a hobby that you can do in your cabin and what your plan is for Mae in that case. Emergency might include checking in with people you care about, threat assessment, and a path for 'out of my pay grade' or 'actionable'."
He hates how reasonable it is. He had been caught up in his own head that it just seemed an insurmountable thing. He wouldn't be able to get through it if he continued down.
"Yeah, alright," he agrees. "You know most of this shit's above my rank, though, don't you?"
"If you're talking 'shoot it', sure, but you're not just a fighter, are you?" She leans a little closer, makes sure she has his eye. "You're a soldier. More importantly, you're a protector. There are people here who can do all kinds of things but they don't plan ahead. They aren't ready. They don't all know how to utilize their resources."
She tilts her head to one side and she can't help but think of one very particular woman.
"One of most helpful people I ever met during a crisis didn't stand beside me firing: she took care of things after a fight, left caches of supplies in the woods for my use, and she made sure that important information got to me when I needed it. I have a lot of problem seeing a situation where you'd be useless, Jacob. I really would."
"I protect mine," he corrects. "Used to anyway." He keeps his gaze on her, then breaks the look, staring back up at the pulpit.
"We'll see how it shakes out the first time."
The first time, he's in it for himself. The first time, he'll keep safe himself, his dog, his brother, and his brother's girl. And Saga, if need be.
He runs his fingers through his hair, glad to have this mostly sorted through. Having a plan to work on helps more than he can express. Making sure it was his plan to create is even more important.
She never expected differently. 'His' is where it starts. You can't give a shit about everyone until you consider everyone as yours to give a shit about.
That's a little too far for today, she knows, so instead.
"Any time," and that comes with a crooked smile, "and I mean that."
She considers, letting her eyes close, letting her head tilt back and forth for a moment to work out a kink. Then she glances over at him.
"Come back with me to my cabin once we're done? I've got something for you."
When he sees her next, at the gazebo, he's in a considerably better mood, at least on the outside. He's a little sweaty, a little out of breath, but he eyes the supplies with a laugh.
"The hell is this for?"
He knows. He knows, but God does he have to save face.
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He doesn't sound convinced. The things that haunt him are louder here, not in the Enclosure, but here in this afterlife. He doesn't have control, feels like everything is slipping out of his fingers and out of his grasp.
Lark told him that he'd end up losing control here, spilling his secrets, giving people exactly what they want.
"Told you I was in the war, didn't I?" he starts out, trailing his fingers along the top of the music box before it gets replaced in his pocket.
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cw: war stuff, cannibalism
They pass the bar and general store but he doesn't give them a second look.
"While I was there, a buddy of mine got stuck in the desert together. IED went off, blew everyone to hell. We were two hundred kilometers from the nearest civilization and they - thought we were dead."
Jacob doesn't look at her. "Miller was his name. We walked for nearly ten days in that sand. It was - fucking endless. I knew he wasn't going to make it. He was slowing down and keeping us back. So I killed him. Used him to survive. You know what human flesh tastes like? I do."
So he doesn't understand why the Admiral would bring him back. He had been free from the nightmares and the darkness and the slog. Now he's back, with no purpose, no control, and nothing save for what he can salvage for himself.
Re: cw: war stuff, cannibalism
She doesn't actually think so. But she doesn't miss that either.
"Do you wish he'd thought of it first?"
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Also, in this moment, she isn't a person. She's a sounding board. Someone as faceless and nameless as the people at home. He doesn't look at her, doesn't give her a designation, hasn't said her name at all.
He whistles sharply and Mae turns, returning to his side and trotting there as he walks.
"I wish I was given the choice. Just another fucking facet of my life to endure."
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"Why'd you join the military?"
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He turns to the church and walks in, leading with no expectation of following. Mae gets treats along the way for staying close.
"Military seemed like the best plan when I turned 18."
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And she follows along behind him, into the church.
"'Considering' your age, or were there extenuating circumstances?"
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He spreads out his hands, dropping into a pew.
"I told my lawyer everything. My age helped. Meant I wasn't tried as an adult."
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"Bingo."
He lets out a breath.
"Shrinks used to say that I needed to find my own structure. Make lists. Have a routine. Routine don't work here."
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She leans back, not as far, but far enough to look over.
"You're getting caught on the weird. Bring it down. Brass tacks. What can you control and what can you not control. What are your resources?"
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She might notice now at this proximity that he is unarmed.
"Got my phone with an alarm. A dog that needs walks. Job at the gym with regular shifts and a boss that might get it. That what you mean?"
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"That's part of it," she says, "but not all of it. What do you do if you can't leave your cabin? Do you have a cabin routine? What about if there's a dangerous situation on board? During a port?"
She spreads her hand towards him.
"You have your set routine, but setting up alternate paths for some other situations will give you guidance when you can't stick to that routine. You're still on the rails."
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He finally, for the first time in a while, looks at her. Sees her.
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She gestures towards him.
"Cabin, you might need to find a project or a hobby that you can do in your cabin and what your plan is for Mae in that case. Emergency might include checking in with people you care about, threat assessment, and a path for 'out of my pay grade' or 'actionable'."
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"Yeah, alright," he agrees. "You know most of this shit's above my rank, though, don't you?"
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"If you're talking 'shoot it', sure, but you're not just a fighter, are you?" She leans a little closer, makes sure she has his eye. "You're a soldier. More importantly, you're a protector. There are people here who can do all kinds of things but they don't plan ahead. They aren't ready. They don't all know how to utilize their resources."
She tilts her head to one side and she can't help but think of one very particular woman.
"One of most helpful people I ever met during a crisis didn't stand beside me firing: she took care of things after a fight, left caches of supplies in the woods for my use, and she made sure that important information got to me when I needed it. I have a lot of problem seeing a situation where you'd be useless, Jacob. I really would."
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"We'll see how it shakes out the first time."
The first time, he's in it for himself. The first time, he'll keep safe himself, his dog, his brother, and his brother's girl. And Saga, if need be.
He runs his fingers through his hair, glad to have this mostly sorted through. Having a plan to work on helps more than he can express. Making sure it was his plan to create is even more important.
"Thanks, Saga."
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That's a little too far for today, she knows, so instead.
"Any time," and that comes with a crooked smile, "and I mean that."
She considers, letting her eyes close, letting her head tilt back and forth for a moment to work out a kink. Then she glances over at him.
"Come back with me to my cabin once we're done? I've got something for you."
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The pup hears her name and raises her head, tail wagging.
Truthfully, he could wait. Give the dog a break. But he needs the time to clear his head, to mull over everything.
"I'll meet you there."
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"Just come by the gazebo. I'll go grab it and bring it up so you can just swing by."
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He takes out his music box and sets it on the pew beside him, letting "Only You" play gently as he gathers up Mae to start work.
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She'll be waiting for him with a tub of meal replacement mix and a shaker cup, tucked in a little bag and ready to go for when he comes by.
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"The hell is this for?"
He knows. He knows, but God does he have to save face.
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