ME AND SPAZIDELIC DID ANOTHER AUDIO RECORDING FOR THIS PART /27226635 "So which part of Australia did ya say you're from again?"
Sniper, who sits so engrossed with the baked porkchop on his plate, misses the question Julie poses. He scrunches his face in utter determination, gripping his fork and knife heavy handedly, literally sawing through the meat in a harsh attempt to cut it into quarters. The grooves of the experienced butterknife have clearly been sent to cut many years' worth of meals; the once reflective surface is now spotted with murky, age induced smudges, scratched and scraped by what Sniper comically notes was probably Scout's buck teeth sliding the across the cutlery indiscriminately.
The man grunts as his chair slides against the floor as a counterforce to that which Sniper exerts against the light yellow plate, the very same plate upon which his meal was served; Jack slides back a few inches, able to stop the tipping of his rigid oak chair thanks to his heel doubling as a stopper of his inertia. He places his hand on his chest and simply releases his silverware onto the table next to his plate, silently relinquishing the title of victor unto the defiant meal which Sniper ultimately finds impossible to consume despite his efforts.
"Larry honey, I think you might've let the pork cook a little too long," Julie whispers out of the corner of her mouth to her youngest son who stands unoccupied at the kitchen sink, washing equally aged pots and skillets by hand with his back turned to the others who also populate the Fitzpatrick kitchen. The middle aged woman raises a thinly plucked eyebrow at the tough, light red slab that sits shriveled in a brine of dark brown gravy on Sniper's plate, the edges curled up and congealed as if wilted and spoiled with death.
The woman, who holds her fork primly in between fingers tipped with nails shined and polished, coloured with a rich light pink nail lacquer, lets the corner of her mouth curl too in a manner similar to the flesh she skewers, rotating it slowly so as to survey her son's culinary brainchild as a singular cohesive display. "Seriously, dear, you baked them, they should be tender; I told you to take these out of the oven at three, but no, don't botha listenin' to mommy,"
"Ma, I would've had them out sooner if Luc had just mowed the lawn like he said he would," Scout sighs, back still turned to the two who sit at the table still. The stove on the opposite wall with the refrigerator is soaked in dried canola oil, as is the ceiling above it from where the hot grease must have popped. Heat still radiates from the very side of the room, for the oven had only been turned off some few minutes ago. Julie leans back and fans herself, her tanned, freckled chest visible due to the low cut collar of her halter dress, glistening with a light sheen of sweat as proof of her discomfort. "It ain't like I've never cooked before…"
"Normally you cook with mommy, though, I can understand if maybe your first time makin' a meal isn't perfect," Julie sighs, stretching a jewelry bedecked hand to tickle at Scout's hips affectionately, giving her son a light pat on the bum.
"Well sorry, Ma—I gotta prepare lunch'n mow the lawn 'cause it's an inch away from gettin' ya cited by the city, and of course you tell Luc to do it, but he just ditches—"
"Larry he fully intended to mow it, but Paul needed help and it wasn't like he was goin' to just leave your brother on the side of the road—"
"Shocked, I really am,"
Scout slams the dishes against the imitation marble sink, the crash of water cooled porcelain against scagliola momentarily deafening the other two, though neither jump.
"Wouldn't 'a put it past 'im,"
Sniper opens his mouth slightly as if meaning to apologise, his brow arched regretfully as he taps the plate, the origin of Scout's new mood, with the back of his knuckles.
"Sorry 'bout your meal, Jack…"
"N—no, Lawrence, it's—" Sniper sighs, clearing his throat and catching Julie's eye (or rather light blue eyeshadow), the woman brandishing a hand quietly as if to dismiss Sniper's woeful reasoning that Scout's mood is his doing.
"All I'm sayin' is that maybe if I weren't cookin'n mowin' the lawn and entertainin' guests—"
"Right, but it's a little difficult for me to sympathise with ya after havin' nine kids and jugglin' you boys with dinner andeverything else goin' on an adult's gotta deal with!"
Sniper looks up as a distinct edge of impatience actually resides on the tip of Julie's tongue, the woman clearly harbouring little tolerance for Scout and his whiny excuses.
"And I didn't have half the food budget we have now; welcome to real life, Larry," Julie snaps, and Sniper twiddles his thumbs nervously, hoping that the awkward silence that falls between them subsides quickly. Julie grimaces once more at the marinated pork before placing it back onto the man's plate and poking at the now hardened mashed potatoes.
"He usually cooks so much better than this," she whispers as Scout extends a hand in front of the Australian, taking the plate from the table and scrapping the uneaten food in the trash. Sniper catches a glimpse of the young man's stoic expression, his muscles locked into a hardened, deadpan display.
"Do you cook, Jack?" Julie asks the man lightly, Sniper startling silently as the woman addresses him in a manner that suggested that from him an answer was to be expected.
"I—I mean—I can, I s'pose," Jack hiccups. "When I still lived in Australia I wasn't hostin' five course dinner parties, but I could open a can o'beans 'nd heat 'em up well enough," Sniper flashes the woman a soft smile, Julie narrowing her eyes pleasantly, quietly indicating for the man to go on.
"I relied on myself for food out in the wild; I'd kill a deer 'nd skin it, eat its meat for the rest o'the bloody year, y'know? I'd only shoot t'kill if it were a question o'safety otherwise. Anyway, 'cause o'bein' alone in the wild with just the van y'learn t'keep meals simple, aye? If y'can't cook it with a bonfire 'nd some boilin' water then don't pack it.
Though nowadays I mostly eat vegetables; can't keep meat in the camper, really, 'nd I've never been too big on preservatives so I like my veggies t'be organic, locally farmed, 'nd in season—"
"Uhuh, and what's your favourite meal to make?" Julie cuts him off, though careful to maintain a sweet and patient tone.
"Well, I—I—," Sniper scratches behind his neck, frowning slightly as he unintentionally stalls in answering. "I guess—soups, I dunno—I throw whatever I've got in the camper in some water, sprinkle pepper in it, some vegemite, let it dissolve in the water—y'got yourself a meal, Miss Julie,"
"Larry's always been into cookin', he was always in the kitchen with Mommy growin' up! 'Course today he didn't have his eyes on the meals so he didn't do as well as he normally does. I swear Alex—his oldest brother, you saw him earlier—he can barely even make himself a bowl of cereal! Luc always cooks, too, so I know that probably influenced Larry—yeah, so soups, huh? So what's your favourite broth? Beef? Chicken—?"
"Ma, Jack doesn't care about cookin', alright?" Lawrence sighs, putting the spotted dishes away neatly, closing the groaning, splintered cabinet doors, the chipping white paint sticking to Scout's palms, sudsy from the dishwater.
"Well he should if you're spendin' all this time with him, I want my Larry to be eatin' healthy!" Julie barks, turning her head and giving her youngest son a stern, motherly look. The blue headband in her hair slips slightly as she cranes her head, the motion causing the stagnant air to move about, Sniper catching a sharp whiff of the product spray she must sheen it with.
"That ain't his responsibility, Ma, come on," Scout rolls his eyes as he dries his hands on a knit dishtowel, spotted brown, coordinated with every other addition to the apartment. Sniper can't help but notice the way his soft, properly spoken words deteriorate into his typical Bostonian moodiness the more his patience with his mother wanes. "He ain't just some lunchlady,"
"Larry I thought I asked you to use the fancier lunch plates," She scolds, disregarding his last statement and folding her thin arms across her busty chest. "And not the white ones, they've got all those scratches all over 'em—"
"Ma, it doesn't matter—"
"It matters if you want your friend here to leave with an impression of us other than how slobby we are!"
"No, Miss—please, I have Lawrence sleepin' on a mattress in a van, I promise you I'm not judgin' or holdin' any of you up t'any sort o'standards," Jack clears his throats, his voice light with a bit of nervously uttered laughter. The man wears neither his hat nor his glasses, thus he less able to easily hide his squinted, skeptical stare behind the tinted shades, his raised eyebrows behind the brim of his slouch hat. Scout, who takes one look at the tense Australian and rolls his eyes out of aggravation toward his mother, simply continues putting away the dishes in silence. Any other time, any other place, he would have been quick to add onto the topic of the low maintenance camper van he and Sniper spent the majority of their time in. Considering both battle to win over the hard earned approval of the middle aged woman however, he holds back on mentioning that a man who hordes his own urine and eats with plastic forks and knives was currently experiencing a lifestyle well near luxury.
"A van—A van—and how old is the van? I saw it down there; looks kinda rusty, like you haven't really been cleanin' it too well,"
"Ma, he cleans it—"
"She's about twenty," Sniper nods, bringing his leg to rest upon his other knee. "Sure, shes a little rusted in some spots but I promise she goes, 'nd that the camper itself is's clean as white linen,"
"She? So what, do you talk to it?"
"Ma, seriously—stop,"
"Stop what, Larry?!" Julie gasps, mortified that her son would even insinuate there was a what to inquire about. She places a soft hand to her chest, mouth wide in a silent gasp as she watches her son quietly, awaiting an answer.
"Stop screenin' him like I'm askin' you to adopt some bum I picked up at the bus station! Seriously, you're just makin' us look stupid,"
"I am not screenin' him, Larry, I'm just tryin' to maybe get to know the complete stranger you've just brought in here on a more personal level, cut me some slack here!"
"He ain't just some stranger, Ma, Jack means a lot to me!"
"And I think that's great, Larry, it's wonderful to finally see you makin' some friends after all these years, but I would be a bad mother if I didn't make sure the man my son's so crazy about was a good person to idolize!"
"Yeah, maybe if I were ten years old, then I'd understand the fuss, but—"
"Honestly, Lawrence, it's completely understandable that your Mum's gonna wanna make sure her youngest son's not hoppin' about with a bad boy," Sniper adds, nodding curtly to Scout; he hopes it would certainly earn him points to side with the woman and her err of caution.
"Nah, it's not understandable, she's bein' ridiculous and we all know it—I'm twenty five years old, Ma, 'nd if you keep lettin' her talk like this, Jack, she's just gonna be doing this all day—"
"Do what all day, Larry?! I don't understand what you're talkin' about, but you know what—I don't even wanna know what you think I'm gonna be doin', 'cause I think you're grumpy,"
"Ma, I'm not grumpy—"
"I think you might need to take a nap nap," Julie tisks, rising from her chair and taking the plates from her son's hands.
"Ma, I don't need a nap,"
"Larry, I think you do, especially if you think it's okay to just take that sort of tone with me!"
"Cut 'er some slack, love, you're her baby," Sniper smiles, resting his hands behind his head.
"'Nd if you were my baby I'd be protective of ya too…"
"Speakin' of babies," Julie immediately pipes up, straightening in her chair, alive and vibrant with a rejuvenating excitement that spreads her lips into a dazzling smile at the rugged Australian before her.
"What do you think of kids, huh? Do you want any?"
Sniper blinks rapidly at the bedazzled woman who rests her chin in the palms of her hands, her pink elbows digging into the cherry print table cloth. Children, Sniper presumes, must have been a passion of hers; even the potential of a man she knew for a total of five or so hours thinking about starting a family excites her greatly. Considering she had seven of her own and the fire that smolders in her eyes as she allows the concept of offspring to rev within her, the Australian assumes the right answer regarding children may or may not aid in winning the woman's affection.
"Er—"
"'Cause Larry's brother Christopher is the only one with kids right now, and I'll tell ya—my parents were really Catholic, so they didn't believe in birth control; I came from a ton of brothers and sisters like Larry did and all seven of these boys were their lives until my parents passed, may they rest in peace—and each and every one of my twelve siblings had at least twochildren,"
Sniper's mind teeters as if on a wooden boat cast upon uproarious waves at sea, the thought of so many children poxed about in a single family for a man who had only one sister nauseating at best.
"And here my boys are and they aren't even tryin' to pretend like they have any interest in continuin' the Fitzpatrick line!"
'Guess it wouldn't comfort 'er t'know I don't plan on startin' a family anytime soon' Sniper gulps, though it wasn't him under the scrutiny of Julie's ambiguous passive aggression; the woman sneers at Scout, who stands with his lower back leaning against the cool imitation marble of the counter, doing all he can to avoid his mother's eye. As things looked, it mattered little whether Scout had plans to eventually become a father or not; sex between himself and the Australian would never result in pregnancy, no matter how often they had it—their sex being something Julie had no idea even existed in the first place…
"Seriously, I'm startin' to wonder if maybe I should have let them near more girls growin' up…"
'I'm glad y'didn't if it meant Lawrence would've found some dame…' Sniper muses, though in the eyes of an aspiring grandmother it's only natural that she regards her son's disinterest in the female sex as a fault of her parenting; who knewwhat sort of reaction the woman would have to Scout coming out? By the way things were looking the two were to be a couple for quite some time, he'd have to come out eventually…
Jack would prefer not to think about it; he shifts a little in his chair, Scout drumming the ends of his fingers against the counter and casting a glance at the ancient cobwebs that have congregated in the space between the wall and the refrigerator.
"You know speakin' of babies I'd really like you to see Chris sometime this week, Larry, I know he'll just be dyin' to see you—Ginny, too, she's always askin' where you are,"
"Is she?"
"'Course she is, Larry, you're that exotic uncle—the one who's only there every blue moon, you know? Gosh I wish Luc and your brother would come back already, it shouldn't take that long to pick up Paul," she adds, checking a plastic clock mounted on the wall, the only décor short of grease splatters and peeling paint.
"Wait, he's comin' over? Like over, over? I thought Luc was just givin' him a ride 'cause he got stranded?"
"'Course he is, Larry! There's no way you're just gonna be in town and he's not gonna see you! But you don't sound too excited!"
"Nah, Ma, that's—that's great, I can't wait to see him, but—"
"But what?"
"Nothin', I just—I know we're kinda a big family and I don't wanna give poor Jack a heart attack introducin' him to everybody in one day,"
"Oh come on, he's only met me and Alex, Paul isn't gonna break his back—"
"Ma, Jack's been drivin' the past five days straight, he's way more exhausted than you—"
A single, irregular intake of breath from the Australian interrupts Scout's defensive monologue, the older man's silence having been no coincidence; Jack tucks his head into the crook his crossed arms rested upon the table provide, eyes shut lightly, his breathing back however to being theoretical, as it is completely untraceable save the soft, occasional rise of his mass.
"See? Told ya," Scout grumbles, slipping the brown vest from the man's body and draping it lovingly across Jack's shoulders like a blanket. "I told you he was tired, Ma…"
"Well—sorry, Larry, I never said he wasn't…" She eyes her son skeptically as he runs a maudlin hand across the man's slumbering face, Scout clearing his throat curtly as he meets his mother's questioning gaze.
"He's knocked out,"
"You sure you don't want to move him to your bedroom?"
"Nah, this is the most sleep he's gotten in a while, just let 'im rest here for now," Scout whispers, exiting the kitchen briefly only to return with a chintz, deflated throw pillow from the sofa, propping it gently under the man's head. "Least the thing don't smell bad I guess…"
"So who is this man, Lawrence," Julie asks her son unamusedly unabashedly, and most of all, unprecedentedly. She stands next to him against the counter, arms folded. "It's the only thing I wanna know,"
"Ma, he's just someone I've gotten to know back at the 'Fort, okay?"
"Just someone?! Larry, just someone isn't exactly 'hoppin' in your van and spending our whole vacation with ya' material;Just someone isn't someone you're literally goin' to bring home to show Mom,"
"Fine, Ma, he's my best friend, now what's it matter?!"
"I don't get it, all these years you couldn't make a single friend—"
"Well there's a first time for everything, Ma,"
"But why him? I—I just don't get it,"
"What is there to get, Ma—"
"Listen sweetie, I can tell you're growin' a little irritated with me, but hear me out," Julie whispers, raising her arms meekly and stealing a glance at the sleeping Australian.
"I'm listenin'," Scout snaps impatiently, arms folded across his chest.
"I just don't understand why you're getting' so defensive…"
"Probably because you're standin' here judgin' my friend!"
"Look, I'm just gonna be honest with you, Larry; he just doesn't seem right to me—"
"Yeah, to you," Scout spits, his temper rising, though staying subdued in its staggering, Scout always having been gentler with his mother.
"Larry, why are you actin' up like this?"
"What's your problem with Jack, Ma, just spit it out already—no more questions, why don't you like him?"
"It's—it's not that I don't like him, it's just I don't know if maybe I like the way he's—he's—"
"What?"
"He seems a little primitive…"
"What?" Scout laughs disbelievingly, turning his head to make sure the mentioned is still resting peacefully against the table.
"He—he's got teeth on that hat of his, and that accent sounds like he hasn't spent a day in school, and he's got a little stubble, and—"
"We've been drivin', he hasn't shaved in a couple days…."
"He's got all those knives and machetes, what's he use 'em for?"
"He's an outdoorsman, Ma, he explores the Outback and stuff—"
"Uhuh, and is that what he tells you so you don't see it comin' when he chops you up and makes you into one of his soups?"
Scout grimaces, folding his arms and turning away from the laughing woman.
"Larry I was just kidding, sweetie—kinda,"
"He's not gonna chop me up, okay?"
"But seriously, all I wanna know is why him? After all these years of you not havin' a single friend, and you find someone over on your base you're just so crazy about—"
"I dunno, war makes exceptions of things," Scout sighs, repeating the very same words Sniper had used to explain their unlikely friendship when questioned a couple days ago.
"And here I was thinkin' you'd be on the battlefield and way too busy to be makin' friends,"
"Well clearly you haven't spent enough time on one—look, does it really matter, Ma?!"
"Yes, Larry, it does—I want my little boy to be safe and well cared for, I want him to be happy—"
"And I am, Ma," Scout nods, staring the woman in the eye. "Seriously, Jack's one of the best things that's ever happened to me—he is the best thing that's happened to me. He's an amazin' friend, you don't have a clue, Ma—he does way too freakin' much for me and I tell him that all the time, too—seriously, he's like, selfless or somethin'—he wanted to spent these two weeks alone, in the mountains, but he let me come 'cause I wasn't plannin' on leavin' the base for leave—"
"Oh great Larry, why would you do that to the poor man? He said he wanted to be alone, so you shouldn't have bothered him! And just why weren't you plannin' on comin' home for leave?" She adds sternly, glaring down at her youngest son.
"Look, I didn't wanna be near Luc, alright? He—he's an ass and you know how he treats me, and I didn't wanna have to deal with that—It ain't about him though—So Jack let me come with him, and he's done all of this stuff for me this last week, and he even turned around just so he could drive me out here…"
"Why are you doin' this to the poor man, Larry, why are you usin' him like this—?!"
"I ain't usin' him, that's the thing; he's doin' all this for me, and I ain't gotta clue where I should even start with you, tellin' you why he's amazing, you know? You're over here questionin' him when to be honest I'm over here questionin' anybody buthim,"
"Uhuh—I see…"
"I know you're paranoid and stuff and I love you and understand and I'm glad you care but please, Ma—please—"
"Please what, Lawrence—"
"Give him a chance…"
"Well, I'm—I'm tryin'! I'm askin' him questions, and—"
"Can 'em,"
"Can what?"
"Your stupid questions,"
"Now Larry I'll let you two be friends, but you're gonna have to let Mommy get to know him, too,"
"Fine, but quit actin' like he's a freakin' boogey man,"
"Well maybe to me he is, I don't know how Australians usually act,"
"They're people, Ma…"
"Alright, well listen, I've got laundry goin' downstairs in the basement and I'm sure the load's been done for a while—"
"You want me to get the clothes?"
"No sweetie, you stay up here and wake up your friend, Luc should be back pretty soon with your brothers," Julie instructs, taking a hamper from the living room and slipping out the front door.
"Jack…wake up…" Scout shakes the man who still sleeps completely knocked out against the table, the man startling, opening his eyes slowly.
"Hey,"
Lawrence's weak smile elicits a lazy, drawn out yawn and stretch from the waking Australian, who returns Scout's subtle grin with a light one of his own.
"How long was I out?"
"Not very, maybe like ten minutes or somethin'…"
"What'd I miss?"
"Nothin', just Ma bein' a goof," Scout rolls his eyes, easing Sniper back to consciousness by rubbing the man's shoulder's comfortingly.
"Yeah, you were gettin' a little heated back there, love…"
"'S 'cause Ma was bein' a dope! She's over here askin' you the dumbest shit—I love her to death, Jack, don't get me wrong, Ilove Ma, but she's never acted like that before. I tried stayin' patient with 'er 'nd stuff, but I guess I just didn't know how to handle 'er,"
"Yeah, your Mum…I don't get the impression she's all too fond of me…" Sniper attempts to joke, Scout rolling his eyes and sitting next to him.
"It ain't that, she just thinks it's weird that I'm just showin' up with friends'n wants to get to know ya, I guess—I wasn't very social growin' up, I guess she's not used to it or whatever, but still, she's actin' ridiculous,"
"You sure I haven't done anythin' t'rile her up?"
"Jack, you haven't done nothin' wrong; I even told her 's 'cause of you she can even say I'm in town right now…"
"That should help put in a good word for me…"
"Look, it ain't you, okay? My family's just weird as Hell," Scout assures him, peeking around the corner, checking to make sure his mother hasn't returned from the cellar.
"You kiddin' me? You're all a cute little bunch; watchin' you with your Mum 's about the cutest thing I've seen in a good while,"
"Yeah, cute—speakin' o' Ma, she prolly ain't done with the questions,"
"'S alright, I'm willin' t'take it slow," Sniper stands and cracks his lower back, slipping the brown vest back around his body. "'Specially if I'm gonna be reintroducin' myself as your man at some point later in life,"
Scout groans overtop the man's sentence and his gentle laughter at Scout's reaction, the young man dragging his hands across his face before shaking his head.
"Yeah, we ain't tellin' her shit 'til after we're married; sure, she'll cry for years about not bein' able to plan the wedding'n shit, but trust me, it'll be worth it…"
"We're gettin' married?!"
"'S a joke wombat—but nah, she's gonna start askin' questions a mile a minute when she comes back up those stairs and sees you're awake. Just be yourself, alright? You're a great dude and it won't take long for her to realize I ain't just runnin' around with a deranged sniper. But if she asks what religion you are, just please, please, for the love of God, Jack, just say you're Irish Catholic,"
Sniper chuckles, nodding in agreement.
"No seriously; don't tell her about your views on the universe or none o'that shit—you know that story you told me about hearin' God that one time when you said you were rootin' around in that abandoned church? Don't tell her 'bout that,"
"'lright,"
"Tell her your favourite saint is Saint Caidoc and Fricor, 'kay? Please,"
"Anythin' else I should know?"
"You want a million grandkids," Scout smiles, the two turning to face the woman who juggles two overflowing laundry baskets in her arms, the bump of her hair the only visible indication that she hadn't been consumed entirely by the clothes of her family. She sighs as she places the baskets down in the living room, ambling calmly into the kitchen as she catches her breath.
"Ho Goodness, by the way it's really startin' to heat up you'd think we weren't gonna have a real spring this year! I swear it's gonna turn straight into summer—oh hey there, Mister Australia, I see you're awake again…"
"Oh—yeah, sorry, Miss Julie, I know I turned your poor little table into a bed…"
"It's no problem, dear, Larry said you were pooped—least you don't drool like Larry does…"
"'S true, he drools all over the bed—"
"So then you sleep together?"
Scout blanches exactly as Sniper jolts awake with a violent hiccup; that was certainly what his words implied. Scout starts coughing roughly, though whether the heaves are faked or authentic Sniper can't tell. Ma seems confused by their sudden tenseness and inability to take two breaths in succession, proving that they must have interpreted the question in a manner much different than the one she meant to ask.
"Only when—y'know, this last week, 'cause—y'know—the camper—'nd—we're on vacation," Sniper utters nervously, Julie raising an eyebrow at her sputtering son before turning back to Sniper.
"Well as long as Larry has enough room to stretch out, it hurts him if he doesn't have just the right amount of room to lay down, he's got a very sensitive back …"
Jack, for the sake of maintaining appropriate, unambiguously platonic conversation, chooses to withhold some choice words about Lawrence and just how sensitive he knew his back was. Turning the Bostonian on was as simple for the Australian as lifting up his shirt and running his hands down Scout's naked back, or massaging it after a particularly gruesome battle. Apart from that he often harped on about his back pains, thus Sniper was always careful to give him just enough room to stretch as his mother had suggested seconds ago.
"You know Larry's always had back problems growin' up," Julie explains, patting her son on the cheek. "I even took 'im to see a chiropractor, saved up for months for that visit—doctor just said he was havin' growin' pains, that he was probably goin' to get nice'n tall; well here he is, only five eight,"
"Only?! Ma, I'm like, six inches taller than you,"
Sniper laughs, Scout responding to his amusement by punching him lightly on the shoulder.
"Australia, huh?" Julie smiles, flashing him a soft one in between her folding clothes and placing them back into the basket. "So then do you surf?"
"No," Sniper chuckles, Scout rolling his eyes silently and taking a handful of clothes from his mother's hands and resting them on the sofa in the living room.
"He's still a stereotype, though—he like, hikes'n stuff,"
"Oh do you? Well that's interesting. You ever sleep in a tent?"
"…Yes?" Sniper laughs again, Julie nodding as Scout stands behind her, dumbfounded by the questions she's truly asking.
"Didn't actually make the camper nice 'nd homey 'till after livin' here for a few years; back when I was still rootin' around the Bush back home she didn't have the bath or the kitchenette, did all my business outside,"
"So then did you use leaves to—you know, go potty? Did you ever get any poison oak on your—you know—"
"Ma," Scout clears his throat, Sniper laughing deeply in his chair at the table. "I can proudly say I've never had ominously itchy privates, Miss Julie, it's a perfectly valid question,"
"See? I dunno why you're lookin' at me like that, Larry, Jack said it was fine—so where're you from?"
"Adelaide, maybe you've heard of it?"
"Adelaide? You mean like St. Adelaide?" Julie grins, Sniper opening his mouth to argue that the city's namesake originated from Queen Adelaide and not the Saint, though Scout nodding his head furiously behind her causes Sniper to simply grin and nod. "It's the capital of South Australia, 's a nice little place, but I can't say I'm one t'really stick around in one spot for too long,"
"So then are you a nomad?"
"Er, I mean, I don't do battle or herd horses, but I take the van 'nd see the world, 's all pretty nice,"
"A classy nomad," Scout adds.
"So then you know a lot about the wildlife, huh? You know I read in a magazine once that those koalas, you know—koalas,"
"'Course,"
"They—they only eat those stoner leaves,"
"Stoner leaves?!" Sniper retorts, coughing to hide a smile that emerges on his lips, trying with all his might to maintain a straight face. Seconds later however the man breaks, doubled over with a laughter so genuine his breath falls short and he clutches his stomach.
"I musta said somethin' funny…" she whispers to Lawrence, who smirks and hides his own laughter by carrying more clothes into the living room.
"You know the magazine said those koalas were getting high and they were lazy all day!"
"Well—koalas're lazy little things, but they can run very quickly too—much like Lawrence—gettin' him outta bed's a chore every day, but he's easily the fastest person I know,"
"Comparin' me to a koala—"
"If only you were half as cute—"
"Ooo, Larry, he got ya good," Julie notes, Scout scowling and making yet another trip to the living room. "So then what's the deal with the stoner leaves?"
"Eucalyptus? Sorry t'say, but smokin' or consumin' it'll hardly get ya high, but there are special oils on the leaves that can clear up real nasty bronchial—"
"Boring, don't talk my Ma t'death, Jack,"
"Jus' thought maybe I'd clear up a couple misconceptions 'bout stoner leaves,"
"Now Larry, you need to be sweeter than that,"
"I tell 'im all the time, Miss…"
"Aw, come on, don't you both start actin' like I'm six."
The front door can be heard opening in the living room, as can the distinct stomping of three grown man slipping through it.
"Oh! What's going on in 'ere?" Luc pokes his head in throw the entrance to the kitchen in the living room, the man tossing his windbreaker and keys on the counter, his blonde hair disheveled as if he'd spent the last few hours in front of an industrial power fan instead of helping his stepson with car troubles. "'ave you not already eaten lunch?"
"Too bad, Puke, we ate everything already," Scout mumbles, Julie rolling her eyes and kissing the Frenchman who ignores Scouts insult curtly.
"We had to throw it out,"
"MA—"
"Larry left the porkchops in the oven too long,"
"Yeah well maybe if you'd mowed the fuckin' lawn you were supposed to," Scout spits at the Frenchman, who raises an eyebrow at his youngest stepson.
"Oh, I didn't know your ability to actually cook a decent meal was contingent on zhe consistency of my 'ousekeeping schedule,"
"Larry don't use those words, they're no good for a gentleman like you,"
"Yeah but when Alex says fuck—"
"Larry I said don't use those words," Julie repeats, Luc smiling innocently at the Australian who simply sits in the same chair he'd been in since they initially sat down for lunch.
"Seriously Larry, just 'cause you're grown that doesn't mean you just quit bein' the baby," Alex chuckles as he brings his hand to whack his youngest brother on the back of his head. The brunette grimaces at his red headed sibling, checking about the kitchen to assure his mother's absence before hissing an aggressive "hey fuck you," under his breath and curling his hand into a mocking fist at the smirking Alex.
"You hit me and I'm tellin' Mom,"
"Real mature, dude,"
"MOM—!" Alex shouts, Scout rising from his chair and attempting to tackle his sturdy brother to silence him. Sniper laughs as the two stagger backwards, knocking a loosely nailed spice rack off the greying white walls and sending it tumbling to the floor in a violent crash.
"WHAAAAAT?!" The woman roars, sticking her head in through the arch of the doorless entry into the kitchen, eyes seething with a furious red. The two stand innocently with their hands clasped primly behind their back. Sniper sits transfixed at the way the two brothers silently but efficiently kick the broken spice rack so the cast iron shards hide behind the heels of their shoes, the spilled herbs also being swept with subtlety into a peaking mound behind their legs.
"Sorry Ma," Scout whispers, looking up from the ground and eyeing her innocently. She glares at them and shares a quick look of disbelief with Jack before continuing her conversation with Luc in the living room. The two exchange hushed and worried glances. Somehow from their arched eyebrows and dilating pupils the two boys decipher some sort of message confirmed by the simultaneous nodding of their heads; thus began their long refined tango. Lawrence nods twice to the red head, who takes the message and responds with one of his own. Lawrence shifts to cover the mess with his body while Alex assumes the role of quietly slipping past their mother and into the utility closet with a broom and dustpan.
"Alex what're you doin' in there—" Scout flinches as the skeptical voice of his mother follows the eldest of her children into the kitchen.
"Nothin' Ma, don't worry 'bout it," Alex shrugs her off, the two once again scrambling to sweep the mess and dumping the pan into the garbage. Scout ties the bag with ease, Alex catching it with the same lightness that suggests this is a routine they've practiced since childhood.
"Just takin' out the garbage, Mom," he smiles, the apartment door closing behind him.
"Bloody Hell that was awfully efficient," Sniper sighs at the no longer nervous Scout, who wipes his brow and exhales deeply having escaped his mother's scolding.
"Ma thought we were angels, nah; we just had a system,"
"That's strange, you'd think you all would want t'see each other get punished,"
"Heh, Ma's policy was if one of us gets into some shit, we all get into it; guess it was too hard for her to keep straight who fucked up and got punished and who didn't,"
"Oo, 's harsh," Sniper mumbles, Scout nodding in agreement, checking under the counter for any pieces of evidence of their mess.
"She's gonna notice all her racks 'nd spices missin',"
"Hey, it didn't matter if she found out what happened, all that mattered was that it wasn't your ass gettin' the paddle for it; seriously, my brother was twenty two'n runnin' down the street 'cause of that fuckin' thing,"
"Nah, see, Larry's got it all wrong, bro; for the other six of us it was always as long as Larry gets the paddle we didn't give a shit,"
Both startle at the smooth, slow voice that interjects itself into the conversation with casual fluidity, Scout grinning at the grungy young man who rests his dirt blackened, greasy arm against the table. With the man's presence wafted an indisputable stench of motor oil, which Sniper connects to the blackened sheen that settles in the pores of his tanned skin he'd mistakened for dirt. His hair, also a chestnut brow like his youngest brother's, though much, much longer in length (and pulled back into an equally grimy ponytail at the base of his neck).
"Fuck you too, Paul," Scout smiles before taking his taller, ganglier older brother into a strong hug despite the light coat of grease that now plagues Scout's cotton blue shirt.
"It's been a while, kiddo,"
"Holy shit, hey Paul!" Alex grins as he closes the door behind him, throwing the middle sibling a light wave. "It's been a couple weeks, or whenever the Hell that was you last came over here with Rosa—and almost made Mom pop a fuckin' vein—"
"I thought I told you boys to quit usin' those words! I raised gentlemen, not delinquents," Julie spits from the couch, her physical being joining her voice as the entirety of her tiny frame stomps into the kitchen to glare at her three children.
"We ain't boys, anymore, Ma—"
"The heck you aren't, Larry, you're barely legal!"
"He's almost twenty five, Mom," Alex laughs, the woman smirking before smacking him playfully on the arm.
"You know better than to backtalk me," she snaps, and Sniper has to marvel at how such a petite woman of her beauty and daintiness still commands an ominous fierceness to her to the point where Sniper was certain she could take all seven of her boys down in a dirty fist fight.
"Jeeze, Little Larry's legal," Paul sighs, swiping a moist hand through Scout's hair, Sniper swearing he stains it black too like everything else the man touched. "Last time I saw ya you were about half this tall and barely twenty, man,"
"Time flies, huh? I remember when you were still gettin' your ass wiped—"
"Alex,"
"Sorry, Mom,"
"Goodness, you know if Chris weren't at work I'd have half the mind to call him up and tell him to get down here too, this is the first time in a while I've had this many of my children in the kitchen at once since you all started movin' away and gettin' lives of your own—and it's not like Larry, Will, Roy or Anthony ever call…"
"Well, I couldn't believe it! When you guys came and got me when I was stranded on the freeway—"
"You're a mechanic, you couldn't fix your own car?!"
"Shut up, Larry—but yeah, when you and Luc said he was in town I knew I couldn't just let you guys take me back home—"
"Home, huh? Sounds like maybe you've finally gotten a nice new place? Maybe in a decent neighbourhood without drugged up roommates that are stealin' your cash and comin' after your girlfriend?"
"Yeah, packin' next week; Rosa's parents said we could move into the basement," Paul explains lethargically, clearly oblivious to the scowl his mother makes at the news that Miss Rosa was still in her son's life, whose name Sniper had grown to associate with a highly promiscuous girl who maybe donned skin tight red dresses and heels much too scanty for public.
"Classy, move into your girlfriend's parent's basement—"
"Shut up, dude, 'least I'm outta Mom's—" Paul retorts, Lawrence "ooooo!" ing loudly at the quip of his brother, Alex folding his arms and leaning against the counter.
"Ugh, you boys, I swear," Julie shakes her head and leaving for the living room again. "I can hardly take ya now I don't have to,"
"Love you too, Mom," Paul calls after her, looking about the room.
"Where's Luc? And who's this guy?" he asks, gesturing curiously to the chuckling Sniper.
"Oh yeah, this is my friend Jack, I met him at the 'Fort,"
"You're the first t'notice me on your own," the Australian grins, taking Paul's hand into his and shaking it firmly.
"Dude, nice accent…"
"I know, Larry just brings home random ass Australians, but he's pretty chill," Alex shrugs, casting Jack a smile. "I didn't notice him for an hour…"
"Uh, that random ass Australian happens to be my best friend and ride out here—"
"Calm down, Larry, you act like we're insultin' your girlfriend or somethin'—"
"Plus 's not like that isn't exactly what I am, random arse Australian is pretty spot on…"
"Australia, huh? That's badass, you must get maaaad pussy…"
"Er—yeah, 'course—all the time," Sniper laughs, smiling at the reddening Scout from the corner of his eye.
"I bet Mom's asked all sorts of intelligent questions," Alex rolls his eyes, Scout growling at the mention of his mother's behavior.
"Dude, it was fuckin' ridiculous—"
"LARRY IF YOU DON'T QUIT USIN' THOSE WORDS!"
The kitchen goes quiet, the four men however laughing into their hands, trying profusely to hide their finding humour in their mother's serious request.
"So then that's cute, you guys just like, party together when you're not fightin'? Speakin' of which Larry, you gotta fill me in on all your war stories,"
"Later—not in front of Ma,"
"'Bout half of 'em 're gonna end with ''nd then Jack saved me—"
"Hey!" Scout snaps as his brothers laugh hysterically, throwing the man a silently middle finger.
"And then the other half're gonna end withand then Lawrence kicked Jack's fuckin' ass!" Scout peeks in the living room, his mother occupied by an episode of Gunsmoke, the picture of the television actually clear enough to decipher human beings and synced with the audio.
"Aw man, sounds like you guys've been through some shit,"
"It's rough out there, but it ain't nothin' we can't handle,"
"But you're best friends, huh—you guys like—ever sneak into town and like—have a threesome with some bitches?"
"PAUL DON'T TALK ABOUT THOSE DIRTY THINGS WITH LARRY!"
"How come she only hears me?!" he mouths wildly to the others, rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out at the back of the woman's head. "What're you guys doin' all holed up in here, though? Seriously, you and Jack should get out, show him a bit of the city,"
"Yeah, what is there to even show him though?"
"Larry could always take him to a Sox game, they're playin' today—"
"YES!" Lawrence shouts excitedly in agreement, nodding profusely at Alex's suggestion.
"Whoa, Larry's still nuts about 'em I guess…"
"Dude, you don't get how much—the Sox—dude…" Scout sputters with genuine excitement, actually clawing onto his middle brother's front like an excited dog dancing on its heels.
"Is it still rainin' though?"
"Nah, Luc's out there trimmin' Mom's hedges, plus if they take an umbrella—"
"Dude, it could fuckin' hurricane in that stadium, I wouldn't miss a game for the world if I had a chance to go," Scout sighs, Sniper unsure whether the stars in his eyes are there or if he imagines them.
"I haven't been to an actual Sox game in like, fifteen years…"
"This ain't about you though, Larry, it's up to Jack if he wants to go…"
"Y'know, I've been wantin' t'see a real baseball game ever since meetin' Lawrence,"Jack sighs, smiling at Scout as his face lights up indisputably. "Plus I brought 'im out here so he could do what he want,"
"Jeeze Larry, this dude spoils you more than Ma used to!"
"I ain't spoiled!" Scout snaps, throwin' a middle finger up at his two brothers before turning his gaze to Sniper. "You sure you wanna go, Jack? 'Cause I mean don't feel like you gotta take me or go 'cause of me,"
"Yeah, 'course I'm sure, I've been wantin' t'see the Sox for some time, see what all the fuss is about," Sniper nods, leaning forward and whispering ambiguously into the young man's ear.
"Anythin' t'make you happy, love,"
"Aw jeeze, Jack!" Scout grimaces, pushing the laughing man away but smiling smally at him when the attention of his brothers deviates elsewhere.
"Alright, so who all's goin'? The game starts at 6:10,"
"Nah, I can't dude, got a customer at the body shop in a couple hours—can't reschedule, I'll see you tomorrow though," Paul pats Scout on the shoulder sympathetically. "Plus you know, Luc's gotta drive me back to the shop, then I gotta get my car towed and brought back so I can fix it there—I'm sorry, Larry…"
"And I fuckin' hate baseball," Alex groans.
"'Cause you're fuckin nuts,"
"I'm sure mom and Luc'll go with you guys," Paul adds, Scout instantly growing colder at the mere insinuation of there possibly being a chance of Luc maybe going.
"I dunno, ask 'em, we'll hang out tomorrow though, alright?"
Scout nods, disappointed but wasting not time in assuming a wide toothed grin and sticking his head through the entry way into the living room.
"MA, HAVE YOU SEEN MY FACEPAINT?!"