polemical | open post

[Once again he listens with something like total fascination, utterly rapt again and it's only when she finishes that he smiles again] That's Bob Dylan, right?

[He shakes his head, biting the corner of his lip before explaining] It's stupid, how I know, but um, one of the youth pastors put Forever Young on the summer camp sing along list one year, and some of the parents had a huge meltdown about it, because Dylan's a communist or something, but he's definitely immoral and we were all going to end up going to hell just because of one song.

But a complaint like that, getting the pastor disbarred, which is lawyers, but same thing, basically a step below excommunication which is stripping him of all his titles and whatever [he shakes his head again realizing he's going off on a side tangent] basically to get that done they had to prove to the diocese, that's the church higher-ups, that this pastor was teaching false doctrines or something.

[His laugh is dry as he runs a hand through his hair again] So there's my mom, sitting at the kitchen table in any free time she has for a week solid with a rosary to protect her, listening to Bob Dylan with this little portable tape deck, and copying down lyrics from the liner notes, or transcribing them herself when there aren't any, just to prove her point.

Yeah. [ Eddie resists the urge to tell Chris that she knows what excommunication means, because while she hasn't gone to church in well over a decade, she reads a lot of books and most of those are high fantasy novels, and it's not an uncommon concept there. ]

Doesn't your mom have a job? [ she asks in wonderment, though she realizes as soon as it's out of her mouth that it's a stupid question. Chris may not be Steve Harrington levels of rich, but he's definitely a perfect picture of middle-class suburbia, and of course his mom doesn't work. She's a homemaker, naturally, one who's so involved in her children's lives that it feels incredibly unhealthy to this outsider.

But then again, Eddie's mom is dead and her dad is in jail and she lives alone with her confirmed bachelor of an uncle, so what the hell does she know what moms are supposed to act like? ]

My mom loved Dylan. I don't really remember a lot of her, but I remember she would sing to me all the time. She wasn't always great with the words, [ she huffs a little laugh, shaking her head, ] which I only discovered later when Wayne heard me sing some of her favorite songs, but that's alright.

[ Most of Eddie's memories of her mother are tinged heavily with the despair of the cancer that took her, but she does have some good ones. Wayne had a few photos tucked away that Eddie had never seen before, of her mom before she was born, of her as a baby, of her perched on the lap of a woman with her same curly hair as they both laughed. She misses her, of course she does, but her mom has the benefit of something Eddie doesn't: an early death means people only remember the good things about you. When people talk about her now, all they say is how tragic her illness was, what a pity that it struck her down when her daughter was so young, how unfair life could be. Nobody talked about her long bouts of melancholy, of the deep and dark moods that would come over her and leave her all but comatose in her bed, of the fights she and Eddie's no-good father would get into. Sometimes Eddie thinks she should die young, too, so people don't say bad shit about her any more, but she has too much to prove. She's not going to give up that easy. ]

[He shakes his head at the question] Nope, I mean, sometimes she takes in seamstressing, fixing hems or zippers or whatever that other people can't or don't want to, but it's not like it's an actual job, it's just so she can feel superior to the ladies who can't, but hiding behind being helpful.

Anyway [he waves a hand in front of his face as if to brush that aside, because while he knows on some level that his mother's level of control isn't normal, he's not to the point of being able to say so himself.] he was only here for the summer, and then got moved on to another congregation, hopefully one that didn't try to make him lose his job over what's actually a pretty good song.

[He'd listened to it a couple times, and can remember the tune if not all the words, but he remembers it felt hopeful, if a little sad.

He goes quiet at the rest, just listening, taking in the information, brow creasing a little before saying anything, not sure if he should] That's a good connection to have though, right?

Well. [ Eddie thinks Chris' mom is a fucking dragon, but she's aware of social niceties enough to not actually say that, at least not to his face. Maybe to someone else's though, but who'd listen to her complain about the mother of one of the popular jocks like she has any stake in what his home life is like? Her friends are supportive, but even they have limits, and her weird insistence that Chris is actually kind of cool is met with skeptical glances at the best of times. ] That's a useful skill to have, mending. Fixing shit when it breaks is important.

[ Technically Eddie can sew too, but she doesn't think her slap-dash approach to mending would hold up against Mrs Cunningham's. Eddie read once in a library book that the Japanese will mend broken porcelain with a gold-plated glue or something so that the cracks are visible even after it's all back together, and she's taken that philosophy to heart. She never worries about matching thread colors or hiding patches. If she has to sew something up, she's going to let it tell a story.

Also, it's way easier to do it that way, so that helps. ]

Yeah. [ She's never come right out and said it, not to Chris' face, but Hawkins is a small town. Everyone knows the story of how Eddie came to wash up on her uncle's doorstep, his quiet life torn apart by the addition of a brat that wasn't even his but had nowhere else to go. It pisses her off that everyone thinks they know exactly what happened, but it's also kind of nice not to have to explain. Even if people get the details wrong, enough of the truth is there. ] Just wish she didn't like so much folk, though. [ She laughs a little, and sure, it's mostly forced, but she doesn't want the mood to sour. ] Then again, Wayne pretty much only listens to old-man country, so I suppose it could be worse.

Oh it could definitely be worse, he could genuinely enjoy devotional music.

[Truthfully he's not sure if his mother actually enjoys the stuff or if she's just convinced herself she does, or it's just some new level of keeping control of the household, but the only times he's seen her even close to being a normal human being is when she's humming along to the Harmonettes or Richard & Judy Lee while sewing or washing dishes.]

Or opera, he could be really into opera, that would be worse than, uh, what was it, 'old-man country'?

[He's biting back a smile even as he says it mostly because he knows that's exactly what she called it, but also because he can't imagine Wayne would have the patience for something like that, especially if it's in Italian or German.]

You wanna know a secret?

[ She grins at him, her hands still on the guitar in her lap as she leans over it like she's going to whisper. Considering it's just the two of them in the entire trailer and they're both sitting on her bed, it's totally unnecessary, but Eddie is nothing if not dramatic, so she indulges in the impulse.

Also, maybe she kind of wants Chris to lean closer to her too. ]

I actually kinda like church music. But like. Real church music. Old church music. Like Gregorian chants and stuff. I think it's kinda cool. And it makes great ambiance for Hellfire sessions.

The chants are cool. [He agrees, easy as anything, because they are and some days he wishes he had that kind of vocal control. He's good enough for choir, but not for solos, and that's about where he wants to be most of the time.]

And now I kind of want to know what story-games you've got going on where Gregorian chants are the right kind of ambiance, but I'm not sure I actually want to know, you know?

[ He shouldn't have said that, if the way her eyes gleam is any indication. ]

Chris. [ She leans even closer, folding over the guitar, and reaches out to take his hands in hers in a fervent grip. ] I will tell you everything.

[Well if she's going to light up like that of course he's going to want to hear more, because her lunchroom rants aside, he does like listening to her talk when she's excited about something.

And truthfully: he likes the lunchroom rants as often as not, because at least she's got an opinion on things. He smiles in return, can't help it, really] I can't promise I'll understand any of it, but I'll definitely listen.

[ They dimple at each other, Eddie's brown eyes practically twinkling as she stares into Chris', and with a squeeze of their clasped hands she launches into a story that, despite being pretty meandering and requiring her to — very reluctantly — let go of Chris so she can shove the guitar into his lap to go scramble across to the cassette player on her desk so she can play the song she's currently talking about, manages to be both comprehensive and simple enough for the layperson to follow.

Eddie's got practice summarizing her stories for the uninitiated, first with Wayne and then with Steve and Nancy and Robin, but it's hard to rein herself in right now. She wants Chris to think she's smart. She wants him to think she's not wasting her time.

She wants him to think she's impressive. ]

[He's a little surprised by having a guitar foisted onto him, but he holds onto it all the same, leaning back on his other hand to watch her move.

As predicted, he doesn't actually understand a lot of it, but he can pick up more via context clues than he thought he was going to be able to, which is definitely down to her skill as a storyteller as much as it is his being able to figure things out.

Finally he just shakes his head] How long does it take to plan something like that out? Or play it?

Oh man. [ She rubs the back of her neck sheepishly, standing in the middle of her room looking like she just crashed back to earth, a little awkward in her uncle's low-slung sweatpants and threadbare shirt. Not that she's uncomfortable in her clothes, or anything, but more like she forgot who and where she was for a moment and suddenly she's back in her body and the edges are a little stiff still. ]

Weeks to plan, definitely. Maybe weeks to play, depending on how often we can meet. And things never go exactly according to plan, y'know, that's half the fun. I can control the world the players go through, but they decide where to go and what to do in it. If I wanted complete control I'd just write novels or something.

You could, you know, write novels. There's good money in that, so they say. [His brow furrows then, actually considering that] Unless the unpredictability is the part you like, in which case definitely don't let me tell you what to do.

[A laugh and a shake of his head follow] I say, as if you'd let me do that anyway.

[ She huffs out a self-deprecating laugh, using the hand on her neck to fluff her hair a little. ] I don't think there's good money in the kind of novels I'd write, [ she admits, then immediately tries to change the subject before Chris asks for clarification. He knows she's a nerd, that's become abundantly clear, but he doesn't need to know how much of a nerd.

Chris beats her to the punch, though, and she winds up looking at him with a funny little smile on her face, her hand drawing a piece of her hair forward as if to hide her mouth. ] I dunno. I might.

[All he knows is that there seem to be at least as many fantasy novels as serial romance novels out there these days, and that westerns and science fiction are always going to be around, not that he thinks she'd write either of those, but some of the adventure she'd just been relating could have very easily been cowboys and railroads instead of magicians and monsters, it's all a matter of perspective.

His brows both arch a little at the rest, head tilting, a twitch of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth in turn] Yeah? What are the circumstances?

[ Eddie knows that the athletes at school all tend to have a bit of a reputation, the girls and boys both. There's really not much to do in a town like theirs, and when a bunch of kids all get together, stuff is bound to happen. Not everyone can be a well-known Lothario like Steve Harrington was in his heyday, but it's pretty inevitable that people make the rounds.

Now, she's somewhat out of the gossip loop — it's not like people are lining up to tell her their secrets — but people at parties have loose lips, made all the looser by alcohol and whatever drugs she's selling at the time, so Eddie hears things. She's heard plenty about Jason Carver, but surprisingly next to nothing about Chris. It's entirely possible that he really is taking the religious route and waiting for marriage, but that always seemed like a crock of shit to Eddie, and apparently to everyone who proclaimed to believe it, considering the exploits she's heard about.

She wants to make a sex joke, is what she's getting at, and if she weren't starting to sober up she actually might have, but in the end she just winks at him. ] You're going to have to wait to find out.

[The thing of it is, there's not much to tell, but because of the fact that he's only rarely seen at parties, people are absolutely going to come up with their own theories, and with no confirmation any one is as good as any other.

It's entirely likely that he'd have taken it well if she had made a sex joke, and it's just as likely that she'd get to see him turn the same color as his hair, but as she doesn't he just sighs at the response, shaking his head] Okay fine.

[A brief pause, head tilting] But what is it I'll have to wait for? Is this a birthday present kind of thing, or some kind of moon phase deal?

[ One of the reasons she likes Chris so much isn't just because she thinks he's good-looking, but mostly it's that he's so tolerant of all her bullshit. He doesn't scoff at her, or roll his eyes at her, or tell her she's being fucking weird, he just rises to meet her where she's at and laughs at her jokes.

Maybe he would have been okay with a sex joke. Maybe one day she'll be brave enough to try it.

She laughs, and takes a few steps forward so she can flop down on her bed beside him, bouncing a little as she lies back and drapes her arms up and out. Why yes, she does wind up with her hand basically on his knee. That's a total coincidence. ]

I can't just tell you, [ she protests with a grin. ] That'll ruin all my mystique and then you'll get bored of me. It's a surprise. You'll have to wait.

[He tells himself it's reflex, or just some kind of curiosity that has him poking the center of her palm gently with a fingertip to see if her fingers will curl the way the neighbor's cat's paw does when he does the same thing] Dee, I'm pretty sure 'bored of you' isn't the kind of thing that can happen.

[Which is mostly because whenever he thinks he's got her angle figured out there's something else there, and that fascinates him more than he should probably let on.

That's beside the fact that he likes her face and would maybe like to kiss it, but he definitely knows better than to say that one out loud.]

[ Her fingers do curl and flex when he pokes her palm, the callouses on her fingertips brushing against his knuckles before he has a chance to pull his hand away. It's fine. They're not really holding hands. She's not about ten seconds away from blushing like she's thirteen again at the prospect of a cute boy sitting in her room, smiling at her, touching her. It's fine. ]

You say the sweetest things, sunshine. [ She's aiming for vaguely sarcastic, or at least vaguely aloof, but she's pretty sure it just comes out a little breathless and a lot affected.

She's not some friendless weirdo. It's not like she never gets complimented. But it's different coming from Dave or Gareth. It doesn't stick under her sternum like a fishing hook, tugging uncomfortably, making her want to get closer to ease the strain. ]

[He grins at the movement, can't help it really, partly because it's fucking adorable but partly because theory confirmed. Which is probably why the first thing out of his mouth is:] Kitty.

[He shakes his head when he realizes what he's said and that it probably makes him sound just a little insane] Neighbor cat does that when you poke her too, and I don't think I expected that you actually would.

[ Another one of the reasons she likes Chris is he's just as fucking weird as she is sometimes. Often without prompting.

She blinks at him when he bestows on her a new nickname, a little confused but more than a little charmed, and barks out a laugh at his explanation. ]

What did you think I'd do instead?

[He shrugs, expressive and even exaggerated, shoulders hunching practically all the way up to his ears] I don't know! Smack me maybe? Tell me to stop being a fucking weirdo?

[He shakes his head, smile still very much in evidence] You're unpredictable, Dee, part of why I like hanging out with you.

I'm Queen of the Weirdos, baby, you fit right in.

[ Since they're both being weird as hell and he's acting goofy on top of it, she reaches up with the hand he poked and clucks him under the chin, making a sort of kissy face at him as she laughs.

He wanted unpredictable, right? Well. He's going to get it whether he likes it or not. ]

[He smiles again, can't help it really, shaking his head either at the face or the movement, maybe both. Probably both.] Oh, right, clearly I forgot who I was talking to for a minute.

[It's a joke, or mostly a joke, some kind of gentle tease regardless.] But wait, how do royal trees work? If you're the Queen of the Weirdos, what does that make me?

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