Friendship is Magic

A deviation for Crick and Mr. Face, as Mr. Face tries to figure out the workings of how one makes friends. Long story.

Continued from chatbox/textboxing! GO!

Cricket

"Let's see, let's see...'ow does one go about not being someone's enemy, Mr. Face, after all this time?" I almost prefered him as an enemy. It was simpler that way, easier to understand. Now, trying to explain friendship and feelings to Mr. Face was not something I had ever had the intention of doing. It was probably one of the more uncomfortable conversations I'd had with him since we'd met, despite the fact that I wasn't dying painfully yet.

I hesitated. "Most might apologize, per'aps, for anything they'd done t' demote themselves t' th' enemy rank, per'aps?" That suggestion came with a grimace. I wasn't sure I wanted an apology, either. There was no sense going back and trying again after all this time, aye? Why bother?

Mr.Face:

...Pfft. Apologise. As if that were a logical course of action. I mean... if I hadn't been 100% behind whatever I'd been doing at the time, I wouldn't have done it...Clearly. "...But I do not regret my actions. And who wants a friendship built on a foundation of lies?" I asked.

It occurred to me that friendship might have been completely founded on lies. That would be awkward if it were the case... Something to aggregate more information on to be sure.

Cricket

"Very true. And I also 'ave no regrets if I ever 'appened t' do anything t' you, and as a matter o' fact, I'd rather not lie and say that I'm very open t' this friendship idea at all. Could we even be friends if we tried? I mean, honestly, it's...it's not going t' work, I'm telling you." I tipped my face up in his direction as if that might get my point across more clearly, but didn't actually look at him.

Mr.Face:

"Your doubt is the incentive to keep the cogs running, my...uh... Well, I could call you prisoner, but really that seems to overstep some kind of...I mean, does it? It's simply a nickname..." I informed him. Though really the end of it was a question so, perhaps asked is the better verb there.

Cricket

"I take that as 'I'm only doing this to prove you wrong'? And t' be honest, I don't quite care anymore what you call me, though...you do know I 'ave an actual name, aye, Edgar?"

Mr.Face:

"Don't call me that." I spat at him. Honestly. I make an effort to not over step boundaries, however... he seems to have no such qualms. Lovely. This was going to be a fantastic experience. And since friends apparently did not disembowel each other violently for each of their transgressions against one another...

I fumed in silence for a while longer before dignifying his ill-worded inquiry with a response. "I do know that you have a name." I grumbled. I wasn't going to inform him that I didn't know what it was, because...well, that just looks bad.

Cricket

And then, the face was back. You know the one: the fuming one he gets that shows in his voice moreso than his face, because it's hard to show emotion in your face when you have no face. Although I couldn't see his face because of my face being covered in face-covering hair, I could very clearly imagine his un-brows knitting together just a tad. "Aw, c'mon, it's not that bad a name. Not quite my taste, but then, my taste in names doesn't quite mesh with th' rest o' th' world's from my experience."

I paused. Couldn't quite place a time that he'd ever called me by my real name.

"Do you know what it is?"

Mr.Face:

"It isn't the nature or the sounds or the syllables or the syntactical arrangement or any of that that causes my utmost displeasure at the use of it." I explained bluntly.

I paused again, uncertain as to how to proceed. Honesty was probably again the best choice, and considering my distaste for lying, made the most sense anyway.

" I do not, actually." I stated, still infuriated by the whole... first name thing.

Cricket

"What is it, then? Why you don't like me calling you such, is what I mean." I raised an eyebrow.

Part of me wanted him to know my name. Part of me liked the way I could make him seethe by working the magic of a few pointed syllables. It's the oddest feeling I get, talking to him . . . seeing how much I can push, how much of an imprint I can leave, what type of reaction I could get. I'd found that I could make this person acknowledge me . . . somehow, it made me feel less invisible. Aye. More present. That's it.

Was I only chasing after attention? Possibly. It didn't used to be that way; I can remember very clearly wanting to dissapear every time I saw him near, how much I'd wanted not to be seen. What happened?

I opened my mouth to say something else, but then bit my tongue and waited for his answer.

Mr.Face:

"Because they had no right to thrust anything of theirs upon me if I wasn't even going to be welcome in their home. Because I don't want to have to think of them every time I put my name on something. If they'd wanted exclusive rights to my name plate, I would not have been treated as I was. They excluded me from their life... And you can be certain that I wiped every last trace of them from mine. Including that." I stated summarily. The entire thing had that air of 'and then everyone in the room was executed swiftly and with much precision'. Though not in the amusing way. In the deadly serious: 'You aren't dying quickly enough allow me to help that along, you insolent imbecile,' kind of way.

Cricket

Oh bother, the fuming voice turned even more so. I found myself looking down as soon as I heard it, but otherwise didn't flinch. Well now . . . I'd wanted a reaction. It would be idiotic to want one and then be scared of it, wouldn't it? Unless it was idiotic to want one in the first place. "Ah, I see . . . th' family issues. I forgot that names can tie t' such things, almost . . ." I paused, and then tipped my head up again. "You 'ave a thing for cutting out names out o' spite."

Mr.Face:

"I cut away at many things out of spite. Names are one. Flesh is another." I corroborated coldly. I'd done away completely with the unfortunate people who had refused to call themselves my parental units, and I couldn't be better off for it. "I do not see why I should validate their existence by permitting them a permanent place on a name placard in my office, or even in my page on the Book of Faces. They did nothing to deserve that space. Therefore...Why give it?" I continued after a moment.

Cricket

I hesitated. Then I stole a peek at him to see if he even looked like an Edgar, and then I hesitated again, and then I continued. "But friend, it's still your name," I said, and for once in a long while my voice had a small bit of . . . what, sincerity? "I mean, I myself didn't chose my name. Pft. I don't even like it, and and I just barely met th' people who gave it t' me. But I'm proud of it, aye? It's quite literally a part o' me on th' account that th' initials are branded int' my neck -- or so I've 'eard, since I can't exactly read -- but even if they weren't! I'd still 'ave t' be proud of it because it's a name and it's mine and I 'aven't exactly got another real one t' speak of without speaking a lie. Changing your name at all for th' sake of anyone, that's . . . why? It's not their name, it's yours! They chose it, but it's still yours."

Mr.Face:

"I picked another one, and got it legally changed. I am not lying by using it, and I don't want any lingering pieces of them anywhere. There is no pride in knowing of them, and no use in keeping around mementos of...of them." I stated. I paused for a moment. Somehow that didn't seem like quite enough to drive the point home though.

"Unlike you, I don't WANT to know they existed. I do my very best to ignore the fact that I wasn't produced via meiosis or something. They may have chosen that, but they didn't have any other significant impact on the rest of my development, AND THEREFORE FORFEIT THE RIGHTS TO CALLING ME WHATEVER THEY'D LIKE." Yes, I was angry. Not necessarily at him, however... he hadn't done anything but encourage the whole vile mess...so, honestly, if he ended up in the center of this...It wasn't to be entirely my fault. He precipitated the event.

Thinking about all of this encouraged the idea that perhaps I ought to go kill something to let off some of this pent up anger and resentment. Rant self-righteously at some tax- evading vagrant for a few hours... rip out some tendons... excise fingernails... It would be lovely.

Cricket

Something wasn't making sense. Names are a thing to be proud of, aye?

" . . . A name's a name. Aye? It doesn't matter where it came from if it's yours, aye? You've got to make the most of what you've got, and when you do, anyone who ever was against you would be put to shame. That's what I was taught about names, and 'eck, that's what you told me about your life! Take what people give you, whether it's a name or th' title of outcast, and make it great. Or 'orrible, in th' case o' you."

Granted, the people who taught me such about names and titles turned out to have done the opposite.

It was still a nice idea.

Mr.Face:

"There is a profound difference! Certainly if you are going to be alienated, be alienated as a god! Be alienated as the supreme ruler of...everything that ever was! Be fantastically alone if they want you to be, and live to make them regret it...CERTAINLY! However the moment you take that from a noun to a proper noun, the whole thing changes. That is a completely different playing field. Titles, titles yes, you can make the most of. But names... no. No. It becomes a matter of control.

"Who am I to allow them to control me? Control the expression that flashes across someone's face when they read off your name from a long list. What's going to stick? Some bizarre arbitrarily chosen nonsense assigned by people you don't even WANT, or something that... while it certainly isn't fantastic by any stretch of the imagination, is at least something that you came up with on your own...and something that you can calmly introduce yourself in casual conversation as? Something that yes, is bizarrely ironic...but bizarrely ironic BECAUSE. YOU. MADE. IT. SO." I tried to explain. It made a lot of sense inside my head... though I didn't know if that was all being accurately conveyed verbally or not. Which was...irritating to say the least.

"Am I making any sense at all, or am I going to have to try that whole diatribe again?" I asked after a moment, the tone about as sharp as my teeth.

Cricket

It came out in a quiet whistle first, and then a burst. "But it's STILL your NAME." I shrank back after that and quieted my voice, not sure if the 'friend' scheme still applied. "Aye you can control 'ow others see you if they don't know th' truth, and aye per'aps a lie can be made legal through a certain amount o' paperwork, but it's still your name and your past that you're trying t' bury. Per'aps you 'ave that power, so use it as you wish, but you can't change who you used t' be and where you came from, you can't. . ."

Wait a moment. Agh. I liked to forget past things, too. Names? Names I could handle. Who I used to be and where I came from? I liked to think of other things. Now I wasn't quite sure how to keep talking, so . . . I just sighed and forced my hand away from my scar. "Oi my my."

Mr.Face:

"It seems that you cut yourself off there rather quickly... Have I caught you committing an act of hypocrisy? Do expound." I invited him, a completely humourless grin curling across my face.

Certainly I changed my name, but that didn't change anything about me. My past had nothing to do with them, excepting the day that I burned their house to the ground. We coexisted in the same reality only long enough for me to figure out where they were and whether they were worth keeping. Whether they were redeemable.

Cricket

I clenched my jaw before I could shout out that I wasn't a hypocrite, because then I might be a liar. Was that a grin in his voice? Perhaps so.

I finally replied tensely, " . . . It's not as if I sit around pondering my own past."

Mr.Face:

Well. Consider that. Someone trying to tell me how to process my own life who in turn wasn't even following through with their own advice. Because... those principles made sense. "So then, may I ask you why it is alright for you to ignore past events but not permissible for me to arguably do the same thing? We all have secrets... uhm... you... things we'd rather not have mentioned in polite conversation... things that drive us into homicidal rages... So, why is yours alright to hide and not mine? What, may I ask, is the difference?" Alright, admittedly not knowing his proper name yet kind of screwed up the syntactical flow there...but still. That was a pretty smoothly laid out sentence I thought. Very well orchestrated.

Cricket

It took a silent moment for me to try to figure that out myself. " . . . You're trying t' forget your past so you can carry on in your ruining of lives. Me . . . I'm just looking for a way to, for a moment, enjoy life as a normal 'uman being. Not 'urting anyone, no vengence...unless you count me simply being alive as vengence on those who thought I'd be dead by now. Tell me, Face, do you see th' difference?"

Mr.Face:

"But, you see...the past has been dealt with in my case. People killed and forgotten, names changed... all said and done. So that I could get what I wanted. To prove a point. To continue on with the more important things in life. Success and whatnot. And you are doing the same for a similar goal. Yes, what we want differs, but the underlying structure remains unchanged." I explained summarily. "So... in short, no I do not see a difference, unless difference in personality is a mitigating factor in this scenario."

Cricket

Holy Hell. It's like quicksand. You know you're stuck once you get in, but if you try to weasel your way out, you sink yourself. I could feel my arguments eroding right under my feet. I wasn't sure what point I was trying to make . . . but I was chasing after something, and by Hell, I was going to get it somehow. Hopefully.

"Underlying structure . . . mate. I didn't set fire t' my parents' 'ouse. I didn't claw my way t' a victory. I didn't kill and forget, I ran t' forget, and unlike you I tried not t' be a monster.The difference in th' 'underlying structure'? I didn't build my structure on th' bodies of everyone against me. That is th' difference."

Mr.Face:

"I maintain that if we were to elaborate on your housing metaphor, it would technically be the walls composed of bodies, and the structure of the thing being a set of goals. We both have sets of goals...Correct? Therefore... structure. Foundation. You just built your walls from... I don't know... metaphorical plywood and brick chunks, and I built mine out of the recently deceased. Completely different architecture, certainly... but different foundations? I think not." He wasn't inherently wrong... he just wasn't inherently right either. Oddly, most of my wrath had subsided, making it easier to simply discuss this without repressing the desire to inflict pain.