quietmounds | (no subject)

(no subject)

WHAT Christmas in July
WHERE Every-fucking-where
WHEN Day 141 & 142

[IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR. It's . . . well, time doesn't really work well here anyway, but it's been 'a while' since the last 'festive activities' so that's what's happening, right here, right now.

It's still warm enough for shorts and t-shirts, but there's also big fat snowflakes falling from the sunny sky, making piles of it that are pleasantly cool and don't seem to melt. Skating rinks! Palm trees and cacti decorated with pretty sparkly lights! Do we even have those? We do today.

Besides that, you can do whatever you want to, to get into the #mood:

Mistletoe? Mistletoe for kissing, for cuddling, for whatever?
Mysterious gifts with your name on them that turn out to be a long-lost item from your childhood?
Blankets that you get trapped under until someone joins you in there to cuddle?
[insert your fun here]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[looking at the snow]

...what you wanted Wakanda to be... was that what he wanted, too?

Yeah. He saw everything going down, and he knew he had to do something.

You know he was in America, right? He was working a war dog mission?

I know. ...T'Challa told me. He took me to Oakland. To the building where you lived.

[an unkind grimace that could be mistaken for a "smile"]

And now I know why got them gaps in the story. —Dad told Klaue where to find the vibranium long as he got a cut of whatever he managed to get out. Needed to arm the rebellion.

Oh.

[why you* gives a knowing eyebrow raise]

That's why he got murked. It wasn't some accident.

I know it wasn't an accident. But Zuri—I thought it was in the moment, to save him.

Who the hell knows. I wouldn't trust a word that comes out that traitor's mouth.

Well it isn't as if I can ask him for details now, anyway.

Yo, fuck that. He was my uncle—! He should have had my dad's back— Had my back.

I'm not saying Zuri acted rightly, or Baba—they certainly shouldn't have just left you there, for one thing. But your father was a traitor, too. Every single one of them was wrong!

[standing up and roaring]

No! You don't get to make judgment calls on someone who was fighting for people that you don't even know, that didn't cross your mind!

[yelling back!!]

Yes, I can, because if I don't think about how he was right, and how he was wrong, then there's no way forward to fix what's wrong with Wakanda now!

[has an open hand, absolutely ready to wring her neck . . . then curling up a fist and dropping it, growling and throwing the fist through the glass of the store front]

Which one of you?! Which of you is actually going to walk a mile in our shoes?! One of the Somali camps, the Haitian camps, the projects in Chicago and Harlem, the slaves coming out of Libya, the Congo — Throw a fucking dart on the map and roll your sleeves up, princess!

[doesn't flinch]

Why do you think we went back to Oakland in the first place! Tourism?! Do you want me to get to work or are you just mad I haven't suffered?

How are you supposed to help without knowing anything?! You aren't going to be any better than some white savior that shows up every now and then to soothe their guilt!

How can you possibly say that to me with a straight face when your "solution" was reverse colonialism?! I will learn. I am listening to you right now. But this can't be about guilt, and it can't be about revenge either. There has to be something better than either.

[a long, protracted growl. shoulders rolling through snapped shake/punch down with both hands]

—Don't talk smack about my dad when you never knew him!

I wasn't talking smack—

[she cuts herself off, though, taking a deep breath and holding her hands up a little]

—I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry. This is so messed up.

Yeah, it fucking is!

[hissing and shaking his window-punching hand out then checking over the book in his free hand, do not have blood on you, please]

...I really didn't mean it that way. At least your father was honest with you.

Had to be. I told your brother, it wasn't a joke. I lost some friends, and they lost their parents and brothers and sisters and cousins, aunts and uncles. Fuck, it was jail or death. Sometimes, both.

[tossing his bag onto the window ledge and putting the book on top, starting to idly pick glass shards out]

Let me see your hand.

No. I got this.

[sighs and doesn't push it for now. though she's watching, and if it looks like he needs stitches anywhere she'll probably hassle him about it again later]

...was that what happened to your mother?