make cheese, not war // human au, jor

[VALE]

“Already on nickname basis, am I?” Vale smirked, but zir fingers drummed on zir knee. Zir gaze flicked down to the white scar. Lingered. Vale flexed zir bruised knuckles. “More of a musical artist. Any idiot can learn how to paint clothes.”

“I wouldn’t say I don’t care about anything,” Vale said, eyes narrowing skeptically. Jor sounded… cautious. “I care about my band—drafted. Wasn’t like playing in underground, small concerts paid well before. Doesn’t help that the music industry is digging anti-war songs in a totally different genre.” He would know about that part; Vale’s connections in punk subculture positively impacted zir gang’s profit margins.

“My brother died in Vietnam a few months back. My friends might come back corpses next. Before they got drafted, I already lived each day like it’s my last—what artist doesn’t, are they really an artist if they don’t?—but now it’s deeper than a platitude.”

Vale’s gaze met his again, finally tearing away from the scar. “It’s a shame Clarence was the son, the brother. I’ve always been better at violence. I…” Vale cut zirself off with a huff. Ze lacked a word to pack all the mental angst into a neat and tidy package. Zir painted fingernails tapped on the wooden table again, and ze added with a sarcastic chuckle, “Lucky for me, I can’t get drafted, eh? I also gotta punch the lights out of dumb men trying shit, but that’s a fair trade.”

Vale’s characteristic smirk, lopsided and full of teeth, reappeared. “So, Jor, you going to return the favor? I know the rumors—who doesn’t!—and I’m curious.” Gang leaders tended to be monstrous.

And Vale liked monsters.

pittian ★ crow shapeshifting into a winged serpent ★ literally chaos

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