[ Who showers in three minutes? You can’t possibly scrub all the places you need to scrub, with the attention each deserves, in three minutes, that’s absurd. Or, so Jack believes. That’s what you call a military shower, and he knows well enough from warfront camps and trenches that 3 minutes does not a completely clean individual make. Or soldiers and war are just naturally foul, that’s a good possibility too.

Once he’d learned they’re living inside a rotting carcass, Jack couldn’t make it to the showers fast enough, and when someone started prodding him to finish up, the words ’make me’ came more like a compulsion than a real proposal. Luckily, they didn’t, just frowned aggressively and waited for the water to turn cold a moment later, souring Jack’s peaceful communion with cleanliness. ]

I don’t do sloppy seconds towels, sorry. [ blithely remarked as he snatches up the one towel he and his shower buddy were meant to share, clearly not actually that sorry. ]

[ in the mess hall, jack’s sat off in a corner all his own, not so much looking like the dejected kid with no friends as the aloof princess unwilling to share personal space with strangers.

A mug of coffee simmers a few inches below his chin, the metal flask he tugs from inside his jacket upended to pour something amber and alcoholic into the cup. Head seeming to be held up only but the fist his cheek is propped on, Jack doesn’t bother looking up from the cup he’s stirring when someone joins his table. ]

Seat’s taken. Mosey along, friend.

[ the seat is not taken, he’s just grouchy and anti-social right now. Feel free to completely ignore that and bother him anyway. ]

[ In another life, perhaps Jack’s ability to completely erase himself and portray a fabricated persona for the public might’ve been better used for the theatrical arts. He has no skill for engineering or medicine, and while he could work security, after witnessing the others attempt conversation with What’s-his-ass, any motivation for volunteering there was struck down.

Children are certainly not a demographic he’s used to or interested in associating with, but since he hasn’t yet heard that sanitation means free weed, this is where he’s ended up. Script in hand, 5 year old attempting to scale his right leg, Jack squints down at the words critically. ] Who wrote this drivel?

[ The staff seem about as thrilled to deal with Jack and Jack is to deal with these kids. These kids, who are the only ones truly excited about his presence. He’s tall and grumpy and too prim, and that, of course, makes them want to bother and dishevel him all the more. They tug on his clothes, reach for his hair, grab at his hands and arms to lead him around. One spotted the silver flask Jack periodically sips from, reaching up towards it with grabby-hands.

Can I have it?
No.
Why?
Because I said so.
But why?
Because I’m an adult.
So?
So I’ve earned bodily autonomy and the privilege to own property, and you are just some breeder’s unleashed, glorified pet. Keep your filthy mitts to yourself. And blow your nose, for godsake, you look like a toddler.

A native childcare worker reminds Jack, he is a toddler, which earns an unimpressed snort and - ] Doesn’t mean he has to advertise it.

[ Look, if Jack could be a toddler with the poise and disposition of a 50 year old ambassador, so can this brat. There’s a chance Jack Benjamin did not have a normal childhood, and it is possible it’s left him a little fucked up, okay? Someone save him from this fresh new hell. ]

[ if bitterness could be made manifest, the pointed stare Jack angles at the synagogue would be pouring out waves of it. He’s crossed time and space, traveled galaxies and dimensions away, and still, God follows him. There’s no escaping it, and tension runs all through his frame, muscles tight, jaw clenched, not enough whisky left in his flask. Someone pauses nearby, and his gaze shifts, looking over their profile a moment before addressing them - ]

Subscriber or tourist?

[ are you here to pray, or here to watch others and judge them? Guess which he is. ]

[ toss me a fresh starter, if you like, or hit me up on plurk at Wuzzafuzzle for plotting! ]