Don't Laugh, You Ignoramus (Murdoc)

[dustyn james harrison]

Dusty was making himself a new cane. Some idiot had stolen his last cane. He'd been sleeping at the time, and he still wasn't sure who it was who had stolen his cane, but someone had and he needed a new one. The first one had been made for him by a homeless man two towns over in exchange for a pair of boots Dusty's possessed at the time, but he was doubtful the man was still around. It was time for him to figure it out himself.

This was his fourth attempt at making the damned thing, though. It wasn't as easy as it looked. Of course, part of that could be the fact that Dusty was using a butter knife he'd stolen from the cafeteria to carve the damn thing. It wasn't an ideal tool for the work he was trying to do. And, of course, he had no idea what he was doing.

Growling, he threw away his newest effort and let his head fall in his hands. He'd done that a lot lately. It seemed like nothing he did was working right now. He was so tired. He'd been sick for weeks. The illness was just hanging around, mocking him. Walking was five times as painful as usual without his cane. He had no idea where Hailey was or what she was doing for food.

He was well and truly a mess right now.

[murdoc taylor arliss]

400x200 graphic here

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and i'd give you everything
IF THERE WAS SOMETHING LEFT
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

With a grunt, Murdoc jumped off the top of the chain link fence he'd just climbed over, landing not ungracefully on the other side, a thin cloud of dust raising under his boots. He got his bearings quickly, clearing his throat once before glancing back at the woods behind him and the clearing full of ferocity hidden in the trees. Resting in his jeans, feeling like a pocket full of blissful fire, was more cash than could be found in Las Vegas casinos and strip clubs, and every cent of it had been stripped of their willing owners, that pack of dogs. It was crazy how people hadn't quite figured out that when they betted on things with Murdoc--such as the volatile freshman boy fights in the woods behind the school, for instance--they were losing hundreds or thousands of dollars, depending on how popular that particular fight was. And all of it was shoved in Murdoc's pockets at that exact moment and he had to get out of there. He'd paid the winners, but after fixing the fight, he'd made more money than they had, and it was incredibly obvious that his pockets were jammed full of cash. And no one was allowed to be asking him questions.

However, in his haste to escape, Murdoc found himself nearly tripping over a mouse of a boy who was sitting on the ground with his head in his hands, seemingly trying to disappear from the world all at once. Murdoc had to assume that he was a freshman, as the boy seemed too young to be even that and Murdoc himself had never seen him around before. There was a plastic butter knife of the sort that the cafeteria had lying next to the boy, who, upon closer inspection, was wearing haggard clothes with holes throughout, making the boy seem even slighter than he probably was. Murdoc regained his balance quickly enough, pausing uncharacteristically to stare at the boy. Normally, Murdoc was the type to just walk on by and let other people's business stay other people's business, but something about this boy made Murdoc hesitate. He didn't know what the boy was trying to accomplish, but whatever it was, a butter knife wasn't going to do anything. Grumbling slightly to himself and already regretting his decision, Murdoc slipped his fingers into the breast pocket of his leather jacket, dug out a knife and tossed it to the ground next to the boy. Kid, he said wearily, nudging the boy with one black toe of his boot. This'll work better, I promise.

cait&&dusty;; tag
430;; wordcount
done;; notes
the city sleeps in flames - scary kids scaring kids;; lyrics
emilita of caution 2.0;; credit

[/center]

[dustyn james harrison]

Dusty winced as a knife clattered to the ground next to him, and winced again when he was nudged in the side with a black boot. He stared at the boot nervously for a second before deciding that it was of no further threat to him and looking up to see the person it belonged to. He let out a little sigh when he saw that it was a schoolmate of his, though one he didn't know.

"Thanks," Dusty said, flicking his eyes to the knife the boy had tossed him. His voice, when he spoke, displayed a confidence that he did not feel. He knew from experience that quavering with fear didn't help you in the face of an adversary. "That will definitely help. When do you want it returned by?"

He wondered if the boy even knew what he was offering Dusty help with, and then he decided that he probably didn't. After all, it wasn't like his previous attempts at a cane had any resemblance to the artifact. The only way the boy could know what he was trying to make was if he knew that Dusty had a bum leg, and Dusty was pretty sure that he'd never seen the boy before.

"My name's Dusty, by the way," he said in his quiet, understated voice.

[murdoc taylor arliss]

400x200 graphic here

[/img]
and i'd give you everything
IF THERE WAS SOMETHING LEFT
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Murdoc studied the small boy again. He didn't look very threatening at all, and certainly not the type to go off stealing people's knives. However, Murdoc had come across enough people that looked innocent enough--but needless to say, really weren't--to convince him that trusting the kid with a knife and expecting it back whenever was probably not a nice option to go with. Besides, Murdoc didn't know anything about the kid at all. What if he was the type to go sprinting off to the office whining about weapons on school property? That was just what Murdoc needed: a call home to his Aunt Janie. He'd never hear the end of that one, and all of the limited privileges--and by that he was referring to what should have been rights--that his aunt let him have would have been ripped away. Instead, Murdoc said, I can wait, in the mildly distrustful voice that he normally used anyway, but was only slightly emphasized by the actual distrust that he felt. He was hyper-aware of the money in his pockets, but he hoped that no one would come across him until after the kid was done with whatever the hell he needed to finish.

Murdoc half considered sitting next to Dusty, but decided instead to remain standing, dismissing any form of friendly gestures as too, well, friendly. Murdoc wasn't the friendly type. In fact, he was quite the opposite, instead giving off an air of dislike and annoyance. And Dusty--however innocent and trusting he appeared to be--was no exception. Murdoc wasn't swayed by much, especially not a freshman boy. However, he did feel the need to at least relinquish his name which, as uncommon as it was, would probably have no negative side effects at all. It's Murdoc, he said offhandedly, glancing off to his right and scratching the back of his head absently. He didn't exactly want to be here much at all, but it was better than many of his other alternatives, which included his aunt's house, being yelled at by a hundred angry teenagers, still hyped up from watching a fight, or even just watching TV or doing something else that wasn't useful at all. And at least when Aunt Janie bitched him out over not being home when he needed to be home, he could be honest and truthful in telling her that he was helping a freshman out. It probably wouldn't appease her entirely, but it would be enough for him to sneak by without getting in trouble. Living with Aunt Janie was like living with a prison warden who had no other thrill in life than making rules and punishing everyone who broke them.

cait&&dusty;; tag
447;; wordcount
done;; notes
the city sleeps in flames - scary kids scaring kids;; lyrics
emilita of caution 2.0;; credit

[/center]

[dustyn james harrison]

Dusty bit lightly on his lower lip when Murdoc said that he'd wait. That meant that Dusty had to make his cane right now, in front of the older boy. He knew that he was crap at woodwork--he'd never had any training in the area--and he didn't relish the idea of having someone wait around while he made mistake after mistake. Sighing, he decided that he'd just do the best he could, and he'd take whatever he produced on this try, even if it was utter crot. It didn't have to be good, after all. It just had to be capable of getting him from place to place.

He used his good leg to push himself up off the ground, and then limped painfully over to the tree line. He studied the sticks on the ground with a critical eye, looking for one that could definitely handle his weight. He found a broad stick. It was taller than he needed, but he'd be able to cut off the part that he didn't want. It was certainly better than having it be too short.

He gimped back to the spot where he had been and picked up the knife Murdoc had allowed him to borrow. He held the stick up next to him and made a notch in the stick at the right height for him. This one would be made into a crutch, he decided, rather than a cane. Trying to whittle a handle was too hard, and a crutch would be just as useful to him.

He sat down in the grass, stretching his bum leg out in front of him, and lay the stick on the ground next to him so that he could use the knife to cut off the excess part of the stick that he didn't need. He leaned over it, cutting until the knife cut all the way through the stick and slid into the muddy grass. He pulled the knife out, wiping the mud off of it onto his pants, and then he stared at the top of his new crutch. He needed sandpaper, he thought mournfully. He didn't have any, and pressing that ragged top into his hand for the rest of his life was going to hurt.

Swallowing, he peeled the bark off of his makeshift crutch with Murdoc's knife. He gazed at his handiwork with a critical eye. The top of it really needed to be sandpapered. He was going to get a ton of splinters until he figured that out. And without some sort of rubber stopper on the bottom of the cane, people were going to get annoyed pretty quickly with him. He bit his lip, frowning at it, and then he pulled off his sneaker and his sock. He put the sock on the bottom of the cane and, pulling out his shoelace, tied it to his crutch. At least then people wouldn't hear him coming a mile away.

He tested his new crutch by using it to haul himself to his feet. It was solid, if nothing else, he thought balefully. He handed Murdoc's knife to him, smiling faintly.

"Thanks a ton. That definitely shortened my workload," he said quietly.