Author's Note wrote:An anthology of the most painful moments in the life of João Nunez Reyes, including emotional trauma, deaths, and injuries to the body and soul.
Most will not be funny. This one is actually pretty difficult to read, and goes into the difficult, adversarial relationship betweden Jo and Sylvia.
STRAP IN!
Blue light filled the otherwise dark room as a movie played on a small screen. João grinned as, on screen, a man with long hair was beaned in the forehead by a coffee cup. His present company, Evelyn and Evan Thompson, had rather mixed responses to the film.
Evelyn laughed in earnest as The Dude was tossed to the floor by the sheriff. Evan watched, completely deadpan.
"I don't get the joke." Evan folded his arms across his chest. He was painfully elbowed by his sister. "Ow. What? I don't get it."
"It's not a joke, it's the situation that's funny." Jo wiped a tear from his eye as he looked over at Evan. "I mean, look at it. Lebowski can't catch a break!"
Evan shrugged his shoulders, leaning back into the couch. He took solace in the fact that his movie was next; a thoughtful foreign film that provoked intelligent discourse. This absurdest humor clearly wasn't his thing.
The door opened on the far side of the room, and Jo looked over his shoulder, his eyes widening slightly. It was Sylvia; Codename, Sylphide. A powerful ally, she normally spent her time out and about. Her water powers offered the fringe benefit of shapeshifting, if she put her mind to it. With a little practice, she could take on any face and slip into a crowd undetected; unlike Jo, who was often recognized in public rather easily, along with the other Rockettes.
Jo turned back towards the flatscreen, giving a quick wave of his hand. "Hey, Sylvie."
Evan and Evelyn went rather quiet as Sylvia took a seat nearby, looking at the screen. "What are you guys watching?"
Evelyn spoke up, breaking some of the tension in the room. "The Big Lebowski. It's really funny."
Sylvia nodded, and watched. Her eyes occasionally flicked towards João, focusing on his right arm. He was sporting a muscle shirt and sweat-pants; his neck and shoulders were on display. Most notable was his right arm, which was wrapped in a black cast from the forearm to just below the shoulder. He still didn't have his full range of motion with it back.
It had been torn off two days ago; a wound that proved fatal shortly after.
Evan nudged Evelyn, and the two stood up. Clearing his throat, Evan presented their excuse to leave.
"We're going to get something to drink. Do you two want anything?"
"Coffee would be nice," Sylvia said. Jo wordlessly held up a bottle of water that he already had. With a few hurried steps, the twins were gone from the room, an uneasy tension settling with their departure.
Jo watched the screen without saying anything, hoping the conversation wouldn't happen at all, but Sylvia's blue eyes locked onto him. She tied back her hair, and coughed; an affectation. She had complete control over her anatomy, she just wanted his attention.
"Are you doing well, João? How's your arm?" She smiled, as he turned towards her with a rather flat face.
"A bit numb. Joint hurts when I lift things. Should be fine in the morning." Jo adjusted in his seat. The most uncomfortable part of the injury was the blood loss. He still felt rather weak and sluggish, but his strength was slowly returning.
Sylvia smiled, and looked around. The twins had shut the door, so she picked up and placed something glassy and brown on the table. It was a square bottle of rum. "Maybe a drink would make you feel better."
"No thank you." Jo quickly dismissed the notion, turning back towards the television. He took a swig of water, as Sylvia leaned forward.
"It'd help you loosen up. I know you could use that; Evan's movie is next, no?" Her accent lilted her words; though she hid it well, the word "no" brought the french out in full force. "Just one glass." Sylvia slid the bottle across the coffee table; her arm elongated until it was in front of Jo, who kept staring ahead at the screen.
"It doesn't help, and I'm not supposed to drink until I'm back at 100%." Jo grasped the bottle and scooted it away. "Thank you, though."
The two sat in uncomfortable silence for a bit. Jo grasped the remote and paused the movie. Sylvia hoped he'd talk, but Jo didn't say anything; he was pausing it for the twins sake, not to begin a discourse.
"...You heal from a lot, but we both know what being dead that long does to you." Sylvia leaned forward, clasping her hands together. "I just want to help, mon amis." Sylvia grasped the bottle and moved it back towards Jo, who gave it a rather contemptuous look. "Keep things...how you like to say, 'copacetic.'"
"Yeah, alcohol doesn't tend to work that way." Jo placed his foot on the table, and slid the bottle as far as he could without moving off the couch.
Sylvia picked up the bottle and set it aside with a sigh, leaning forward and putting her hand on her chin. She stared straight at him, boring a hole in the side of his head as he looked at the frozen image of Jeff Lebowski in the back of a taxi, his hand on his head. After a moment, as if by miracle, Jo turned and looked over at Sylvia to say something.
"I want to be friends again, I do, but you only show up when something bad happens, and it feels like you're just around out of...I donno, pity. Especially after the way things ended last time. So I'm sorry if I'm being an asshole, I just don't think you're doing any of this in good faith."
Sylvia's brow furrowed, and suddenly the hair tie on the back of her head fell off as her hair entered a semi-liquid state, flowing around it, soaking it, and leaving it on the couch behind her as she stood up. "Good faith? I leave an assignment in South America to bail you out, and you get yourself killed rather than accept an assist. I bring you your favorite brand of liquor, at no small price. I blow off a night doing whatever I want to see you when you're down, and you doubt my good faith?"
"You see? That right there. I was honest with you, and your reaction is to make it clear that hanging out with me is beneath you, and you could be doing something more interesting." Jo turned away, staring at the screen and propping his feet up, trying to act cool. His left hand shook slightly; he did not want this confrontation to go sour, and he was hoping Sylvia would calm down.
"Ta gueule! You always have to turn things around and do things yourself. Can't you just let someone besides Saffore in?" Sylvia leaned forward, folding her arms across her chest. She took a breath, walking towards Jo and placing a hand on his shoulder. For a moment, Jo didn't move. He then stiffened and stood up with a slight amount of difficulty. His leg bumped the table, and the legs ground as the low table was knocked forward a few inches.
"Don't touch me." Jo put his finger in Sylvia's face, standing his ground with a stern, angry look on his face. Tension turned to outright hostility. "Booze and pity sex on a shitty couch do not count as opening up. I'm being honest with you right now; you're making me uncomfortable."
Sylvia had a hurt look on her face. It was hard to believe they'd ever been friends.
...I may have taken it too far. Jo's stern look deflated slightly, and he looked rather guilty. "Look, I-" He faltered when he saw a rather nasty glare on Sylvia's face, turning to fury.
"Pity sex? You thought that's where this was going? Perhaps you should get over yourself a bit." She took a step forward, and Jo retreated two steps in turn, holding his hands up defensively. "You...Va te faire foutre, you tear apart everything I try to do to lend you a hand, when you're the worst off of anyone I know. You're like a hedgehog; you prick everyone who gets close!"
"Okay, I was out of line. I'm sorry, reall-"
"Maybe it's just women in general that bother you. You constantly go out of your way to disobey Saffore, you avoid Tara, and you stonewall me constantly. You used to be such a nice guy. Where did someone go wrong?"
Sylvia was actively chasing Jo now. As he stepped back, she moved forward, until he was against a wall.
"You know, come to think of it, maybe it's her. The one woman who's always God in the eyes of a man." Sylvia smirked. "I didn't know the original, but I've seen pictures of the adopted one; the one you actually knew before she died."
At first, there was only confusion, until João realized just what Sylvia meant. "...You wouldn't." Jo's fist clenched as Sylvia's physical form warbled slightly. "DON'T." Jo honestly wanted to hit her, but when her face finished changing, Jo simply turned and covered his eyes, unable to look for a second.
"Turn around. See if I got her hair right." Sylvia's voice was slightly distorted by the change in appearance; Jo could tell by her shadow who Sylvia was imitating, and he couldn't bring himself to retort.
Sylvia had taken the shape of his adopted mother, who was likely spinning in her grave.
This was worse for João Nunez Reyes than a hundred deaths, and it showed. His shoulders slumped and he put his forehead against the wall, as Sylvia, for the first time, started to question what she was doing. She took a step back, a bit mortified, as the door swung open.
Evan and Evelyn stood behind Saffore, who hit the lights. Saffore's eyes widened, and her brow furrowed. Sylvia quickly transformed back to her normal appearance. Before she could speak, Saffore lifted a single hand. "I don't want to know, and I don't want any excuses. Both of you are seperated until you learn to get along. Period."
Sylvia nodded. There was a rather choked sound from João, who gave a rather shakey thumbs up with his good arm. His face covered with his hand, he went and had a seat on one of the easy chairs, putting his face in his hands.
"...Jo, are you alright?" Evelyn tried to take a step towards him, but Saffore lifted a hand, stopping her.
"Just...need a minute," Jo murmured. He kept his voice straight. "Could you guys just...like...leave?"
Saffore nodded, and harshly gestured towards Sylvia, who stepped out the door without a word. She had the courtesy not to defend her case, and was now just wishing she could take back what she'd done. She stopped, and spoke. "Je suis désolé, mon amis. Je suis vraiment."
Jo, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, sharply turned towards her, tears in his eyes. "Here's a hot news flash: I DON'T FUCKING SPEAK FRENCH, DUDE."
Sylvia nodded and kept walking, as Saffore closed the door, leaving João alone. He looked up, spotting the bottle in front of him. Grasping it, he hurled it at the wall, watching it explode into shards and sharp smelling liquid. He couldn't help but laugh as it dripped down the wall.
Laughter soon transitioned into tears.