Brand Saint John (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
runes_brand) wrote2021-09-16 12:20 pm
runes_brand) wrote2021-09-16 12:20 pm
Family Pictures
Brand's phone had manifested like the Stuff was trying to apologize for taking Rune away from him. It was a piss poor substitute given that Brand doesn't have a lot of pictures of Rune. Why would he? If he wanted to look at him back home, he could go fucking find him. The few he does have are thanks to Addam (why Addam thinks that Brand wants artsy shots of Rune drooling on his fucking pillow is beyond him) or the kids (who are usually tattling on Rune for screwing around).
He's not looking at those pictures anyway. Given that Rune's absence might as well be a sucking chest wound, it seems like a bad idea. The others are safer. He can miss them without feeling like he's dying.
He glances up from his phone when South enters the room, and considers his own state of mind. He almost feels sociable, so he stretches himself beyond his usual grunt-and-nod greeting.
"Hey."
He's not looking at those pictures anyway. Given that Rune's absence might as well be a sucking chest wound, it seems like a bad idea. The others are safer. He can miss them without feeling like he's dying.
He glances up from his phone when South enters the room, and considers his own state of mind. He almost feels sociable, so he stretches himself beyond his usual grunt-and-nod greeting.
"Hey."
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"I actually get words today, huh?" she teases, stretching her arms above her head and almost elbowing the door frame in the process.
She drops down onto the edge of her bed with a heavy thump, and stretches her legs out as far as she can—which isn't far, her feet thunk into the base of the other bunk—before relaxing, leaned back on her hands.
Then she cocks her head.
"...the fuck is that you're holding? Something randomly appear again?"
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One hand drops away from his phone as he raises it with the other so she can see it, restrained as it is in its (battered) sturdy case. Hopelessly ancient by her standards, given the time differences.
"Yeah," he answers. "My phone. Nothing unfamiliar on it either, and believe me, I fucking checked."
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"Stuff is so fucking weird. Same shit that can make monsters makes a carbon copy of your fucking phone. What the fuck."
She sits up, shuffles forward a little. She's not exactly craning to get a good look at the screen or anything, she's not that nosy, but she's curious enough that it's turned up at all to look a little closer.
"Pretty sure I've seen that model in history books," she snickers. Like fuck she has, she didn't pay that much attention in school, let alone in tech history.
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After he locked it, of course. The lock screen shows a field of sunflowers, with the words "put my phone back where you found it" superimposed over it in white letters. Only part of that seems out of character.
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Soldier's reflexes have her catching it in both hands before she even has chance to recoil from it being thrown. Not that different from a COM pad, some design principles just stick, apparently. Buttons are in different places, though. She flips it around in one hand, lights up the screen, and snickers again.
"Nice flowers. Who the fuck's stealing your phone so often you needed to add that warning?" She doesn't like to mention Rune's name unless there's no way around it, but he's her first assumption. Who else, really? It's that or it's just Brand being Brand, no real provocation needed.
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Brand snorts.
"Max, mostly. Got it into his head to see if he could figure out my password, but Quinn won't help him so he just fucks around with it until I find him and give him something better to do with his time. Corbie too, but you know...six-year-olds." He rolls his eyes, but he sounds almost affectionate. "They'll pick up anything that's not nailed to something bigger than them."
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South nods along for a good second or two, until she actually really processes the words coming out of his mouth and she freezes, before raising her head to just... stare at him. Squinting, head angled just a little to the side. Her mouth opens, closes, opens again. Her eyes narrow further. Wait a fucking—
"I— what the fuck. Rewind that a fucking second. Like, all the way. One: who the fuck? I don't think I remember any of those names. Two: six-year-olds? No, Brand, I don't know what six-year-olds are like, why the fuck would I know what six-year-olds are like, why do you know what six-year-olds are like?"
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"Did I -- Layne! That time when we were bouncing around between our memories, I told you we rescued Layne Dawncreek from the Hanged Man after he tried to kill them."
There, see, he did mention one of the kids. The rest of them though...
Fuck.
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“Okay, yeah, that I remember, but you didn’t— you just said you rescued them! You didn’t mention a Max, a Quinn, a— six-year-old called Corbie, apparently? What the fuck, dude, are they all kids?”
The look on her face is— beyond neat description, honestly. Somewhere between incredulous, laughing and plain old confused as fuck. Didn’t he once… back when they hadn’t known each other that long…
“…oh my fucking god is this why you have fucking specific sparring techniques for teens.”
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Brand's words are somewhat muffled by the hands over his face. He takes a deep breath and raises his head.
"In my defense," he says, sounding slightly strangled, "Quinn was a packaged deal with Addam, because Addam is basically his fucking dad."
He's definitely mentioned Addam. The tall blond guy who was there in the rescue memory. The one who was in his forties instead of his four-hundreds.
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Another one. What the fuck. Anna, Max, Corbie, Layne, Quinn—five? Five fucking kids? It is an effort not to burst out laughing, now, just at how goddamned ridiculous this is.
“That— that explains nothing, you realise that, right? Okay, so one of them came with the blond guy. One of them you rescued. What the fuck about— what the fuck about the others? Do you seriously have five fucking kids around? You’re my age! What—”
No, no, that’s it, she’s gone. She starts laughing and has to cover her mouth to try and stop herself.
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Nope. Nope, South isn't listening, South is too busy laughing at him. Brand covers his eyes with his hand again briefly because he can't fucking believe this.
"Look," he says, trying to regain control of the narrative, "we've also got Queenie and Addam and Corinne, we're not fucking out-numbered by kids. And Corbie's six, but the rest of them are teenagers--"
Nope. Not working. Brand gives up and falls into a slouch.
"...It was a busy few fucking months."
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“Few months?”
She’s trying, she’s trying not to laugh, she swears, but— fuck, how many months have they known each other now and without a single bit of this coming up? Five kids? Five kids. Five fucking kids they apparently took in within a few months and not once— five! Five kids!
She’s doubled over laughing, it takes a monumental effort to compose herself enough to sit up. She has to wipe her eyes.
“Oh, my god. I can’t— Brand. That’s a lot of fucking kids and you never—” Deep breath. Do not fall back into laughter. She presses her lips together, which just leads to muffled snickering sounds. “Okay. Okay. I’m calming down. I swear. Just— Brand. Dude.”
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"Shut up and give me my fucking phone back," he says, "or else I'm not going to show you pictures of the little bastards."
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South snort-laughs. "You have pic— of course you have pictures, you have five fucking kids, you probably need a key to remember them all."
She tosses him his phone back with a stupid grin, because sure, why the fuck not see pictures of this fucking gaggle of children?
"I can't fucking believe this. This is like if I'd just never fucking told you I had a brother."
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He gets up and carries his phone to South this time, because he's not about to let her dig through his pictures without being in grabbing range. The screen shows a candid shot from a surreptitious angle, showing two blond boys in their mid to late teens having some sort of animated discussion while seated on top of an outdoor picnic table. The shorter boy with sandy blond hair is wearing an oversized and second-hand band t-shirt and looks about as human as Rune or Brand does. The other boy is taller, paler, looking almost like a fairy tale prince except for the (less oversized) t-shirt with a crossbow printed on it.
"That's Max and Quinn," Brand says. "Taller one is Max. Addam took that after we got back from going spelunking in a lost mall because fuck shopping for Equinox presents."
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South snickers and is this close to a comment about how armour is not comparable to literal family members, but she drops it when he actually comes over to show. For now. She can always give him more shit later, there's no way he's living this one down completely.
"What the fuck is your life, dude? I couldn't predict a single word of that sentence based on the previous one." She shakes her head. By now she expects the wild details, but it sure doesn't mean she can predict them. "Right, so, Quinn's... the kid that's basically Addam's, right? And Max... did you say how Max came around?"
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South's next question gets a grunt.
"Yeah, Addam basically raised Quinn. Kid sees the future and talks like he doesn't understand verb tenses, but he's not a complete pain in the ass. Max we got because his grandma got Rune to agree to 'deliver a package' for her, then we found out that the 'package' was a teenage boy and the delivery location was his age of majority. But she's an evil bitch; so fuck her, we're keeping him."
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South looks away from the photo just to stare at him for a second because sorry, Brand, that needs a moment of 'checking your expression for signs of bullshitting', but, nope, okay, more dead serious journey through a world of magical bullshit stuff. Future sight and a trick adoption. Sure. Why the fuck not, at this point.
"Well, that's sure one fuckin' way to adopt a kid. But sure sounds like he's better off with you soooo." She doesn't need to hear more than a trick being played to hand him off to someone else to not question the 'evil bitch' designation there. Though, to be fair, she wouldn't even need that, at this point if Brand labels someone an evil bitch she's just gonna take his word.
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"He is better off with us," Brand agrees. "Which is saying some-fucking-thing, given that I shoved his head in the toilet within twelve hours of him arriving at our house, and he almost died twice before the week was out."
Fucking ex-Lady Lovers. Brand's put a lot of thought into how to fight her since they took in Max. He selects another picture and turns the screen back toward South. Another candid shot: Max again, this time being harassed at the breakfast table by a tween girl with brown skin and shiny black hair and a burn scar that covers half her face.
"Anna," he says, and he can't fucking help cracking a smile. "She's a magical powerhouse, but she's also the sensible kind of kid who always has a knife on her."
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"Why is shoving people's head in toilets one of your go-tos, dude. Just— why."
It's not even actually a question, just a comment made through a laugh at both that and Brand's idea of a 'sensible kind of kid'.
"So, totally a kid after your own heart, you mean. Did you even have to teach her that?"