[ True to his word, Blake arrives prepared to give some context. He raises a hand in greeting as he slips through the door and pulls off his ball cap to reveal more length and curl than usual. He's dressed a little less casually than usual, sporting something lacking his typical personality — more black, tougher fabrics — and aside from looking far too serious, slightly more muscular, and perpetually tired, not much has changed since last they'd gotten together.
Wes, too, seems to have no qualms with the terms of their agreement. By the time Blake arrives, he's the only one left in the little shop. The door is unlocked, but the lights in the front window that typically indicate he's in have been dimmed. Once Blake is inside, Wes locks the door behind them.
He realizes with some surprise that he hasn't seen the other man since he first made it back from his most recent brush with death. That evening in the cabin was the last time, and Wes was half out of his mind with flu and amnesia. He regards his friend and runs a self-conscious hand through his hair. It's bleach-blond throughout, longer on the top with shaved down sides.
I did it myself, he remarks. You interested in the same?
No, thanks. It looks good on YOU, he notes, which probably leaves the obvious assumption that Blake himself doesn't expect he'd look all that good as a blond. But it seems to suit Wes, strangely enough, and there's even something heartening about the fact that he's so willing to make such changes now when before he seemed to live only for his husband's approval.
Blake sits, taking up the familiar chair in front of the mirror. He knows his friend will be watching (and waiting), but for the moment it seems pressing to expend the pleasantries.
How's married life? he asks, dark eyes lingering on the reflection for any signs that things might be better (or worse) than expected. He hasn't heard anything distressing, but then again, he hasn't heard anything at all lately, of no fault of anyone else but his own.
Nothing much of significance has changed about the barbershop in the last several months. To Wes, having this place as a constant has been a baffling and heartening realization. Throughout his life, there have been few places that have remained unchanged for him. Few that he could return to over and over again with the sense that he knew them, and that he could count on them to be as they always were. Waking up, coming here, doing a job... It's all the kind of life he never imagined for himself.
The stock of bottles has gotten larger and more complex, and the mirror in front of the solitary barber's chair has been traded out. Though the latter seems a bit newer and a shade more ornate, its real benefit is something yet to be discovered by Blake: if the man were to speak aloud, he'd soon find his words written on its reflective surface like a ticker-tape of captions.
Wes pins a cape around his friend's neck and watches him in the mirror, pushing his hair this way and that to assess the growth and pattern. Not much different than before. Wes thumbs the little tattoo on his ring finger. Despite himself, he can't help but smile though.
I think Grady's getting along better with everyone. Especially JP.
The smile breeds one in turn, and while Blake knows that it's unlikely that things are good — Deerington somewhat precludes that possibility — he is glad to see that things aren't necessarily bad. That Wes is still smiling probably means even more than the obvious because he's notoriously careful about his emotions unless he's around people he can trust; even if Blake has been away, their friendship remains strong enough that he gets some part of Wes that he shades from the rest of the world.
Temperance is surprisingly sexy, Blake reasons with a huffing laugh. Grady isn't exactly his type, but attitude plays such a big role in how Blake sees a person, he can imagine the guy heading past tolerable levels and even approaching enjoyable. I'm glad, he adds.
Blake then falls into silence, listening to their breathing and studying everything but his own reflection. He's rather interested in Wes and the changes he's made, impressed with the ease that's slowly settling the man, too. He remembers telling Grady that things would go this way all those months ago, and while he wants to take all the credit, he knows it's Deerington and these two men who have really made the difference for themselves. Amazing how trauma can drive people apart or bring them closer together; it all depends greatly on the people involved and their reaction to it.
What's the verdict? he finally asks, gesturing to his hair.
I'm glad too, Wes agrees. For once, it feels like he can say that honestly. Watching his husband's relationships take shape and transform in the year that he's been here hasn't always felt easy or even comfortable. Wes can even admit to a certain amount of jealousy in seeing how easily others have taken to Grady and how he's become something of a beloved character in his own right. It brings up memories of their youth he'd liked to have thought he'd already put to bed. But knowing that for once in their lives, there's a world out there big enough and willing enough to accept the both of them is certainly something new.
It's useless to waste his time imagining what life could have been like if they'd all just known each other earlier on. Wes knows that most of them have had lives all their own. That they still have friends and loved ones lingering out there. People they might actually be eager to get back to if this place were to spit them back out on the other side.
He watches Blake in the mirror and can't help but laugh as he gives his friend's hair a little ruffle. It's not great, but it's salvageable, he insists, more seriously than his expression can pull off. Maybe he's just talking about Blake's hair, or maybe the comment is intended to extend even further than that. Could take a while to shape up. Plenty of time for a chat.
Blake nods, smiling out of reflex at his friend's comment. Reaching up, he combs his fingers through the dark hair like he's saying goodbye and then releases it completely to Wes to do what he does best. There aren't a lot of people who can get it just right as far as Blake's concerned, but at least he knows he's in good hands. Add in the fact that Wes takes pride in what he does and the odds are good that he won't be coming out of this with a shaved head or a mullet.
Knowing he came here for a reason doesn't make it any easier, but Blake's making an attempt regardless. He makes sure he can keep his hands free and clear and signs, Have you ever heard of Gotham City?
If nothing else, it's a starting point, although he suspects that it's probably something more likely to be known by Grady than Wes — most pop culture seems to elude the man with the shears that not so long ago needed help in modernizing his look.
It would be easy to let himself fall back into his own habits. Wes knows that he's well-poised to use his silence and natural intimidation to draw the story out of Blake. A few narrow-eyed glances in the mirror, the refusal to set down his tools to pick up his end of the conversation, and the threat of shears to a man's head. It's the perfect setup. But he finds himself almost disgusted by the thought of wielding that power. The memories of all the times he's used it to his advantage in the past swirl inside him and make him wonder if he'll ever be any different. If he's even capable of change.
Yes, he knocks his fist in the air, signing at his own reflection to the mirror. But I don't know very much. That's where you're from?
Blake nods at the question. He's fairly certain that's not news to Wes — it has to have come up at least once — but he's no so sure about the greater implications. Most people have two reactions to hearing the name of his hometown: either they immediately recognize it, or they know nothing of it at all. The former has been much more frequent than the latter in Blake's experience.
We're famous for corruption, hopelessness, and theatrics, Blake points out, and a V-I-G-I-L-A-N-T-E... that dresses like a B-A-T. Of all the words he doesn't know, these are probably the most ironic. And wanting to clarify despite it being fairly obvious, he stretches out his arms to mimic flight before waiting to see Wes' reaction.
Wes does have a particularly good poker face, but nothing about the man's expression points to any obvious familiarity. Instead, he nods in acknowledgment. The concept of superheroes and vigilantes is one that he's only become familiar with through Deerington, but he can't possibly make his home with three members of a group called the X-Men and think that the idea of a man who dresses like a bat and carries out the kind of justice that lives outside the law is too strange.
Blake nods. For a time. And then I gave it up to do something a little more... He considers his wording and finally decides there's really no way around it. ...dramatic, he finishes with a smirk.
He suspects on some level that most people in Deerington wouldn't be greatly surprised about such things after any amount of time, but he can't ignore the knot in his throat at the very real lesson passed down from Bruce Wayne. It's one of the few done in-person and it had been a sobering aspect of the job Blake hadn't considered: those close to him could be at risk just by association. The Joker, had he not disappeared like some figment of Blake's imagination, likely would have continued his track record of taking lives for the sake of his own sick interest in bringing out the worst in others.
I told you it was complicated. He's sure he's said so at some point.
I don't mind complicated, Wes responds simply. Maybe it hasn't always been true, but certainly the man's own life has been something of a complication. He's always known that there's plenty he's not aware of, but since arriving in this place that has been made even more abundantly clear. Meeting witches and mutants and people from other worlds entirely has been quite a complication, so whatever Blake means by "dramatic," he's sure that he can stomach it.
What Wes is less certain of is what his friend must think it'll change between them. Surely something major, for him to have kept it a secret all this time. Who was Blake trying to protect by retreating in the way that he has, and from what? Wes continues the man's trim uninterrupted for a few moments, letting the silence stretch to the point of wondering if what he's shared so far will really be sufficient.
After a time, he lays down his scissors to check his progress. So you gave up being a cop even before you were taken?
Blake nods at the question, his mind briefly wandering as he reflects back on what's now so many years behind him. It seems so far away, and yet the hurt he had felt as his perception of the world had been shattered still makes his chest ache even to this day.
Corruption was everywhere. The line between the good guys and the bad guys was blurred more than ever. Even the people I looked up to were guilty.
Frowning, Blake can't help the shadow that crosses his features at the memory of Bane tearing the roof off the building that held gently Blake's expectations. The light that had flooded in showed him that even the incorruptible — the people who risked everything (including themselves) for the greater good — could twist a perspective to suit their own means.
As a cop, I could only do so much, he signs, and boy does it hurt even now to admit as much. Then again, the world was never black and white and some small measure of success shouldn't have been able to convince him otherwise after everything he'd live through. That was his mistake, and one he intends to never make again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
no subject
You want to come to the shop, or you suggesting a home visit?
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Otherwise just you.
no subject
no subject
no subject
You make sure it's just us and I'll do my best, okay?
no subject
action;
Noting Wes' hair, he nods his approval. ]
Who did that for you?
no subject
He realizes with some surprise that he hasn't seen the other man since he first made it back from his most recent brush with death. That evening in the cabin was the last time, and Wes was half out of his mind with flu and amnesia. He regards his friend and runs a self-conscious hand through his hair. It's bleach-blond throughout, longer on the top with shaved down sides.
I did it myself, he remarks. You interested in the same?
no subject
Blake sits, taking up the familiar chair in front of the mirror. He knows his friend will be watching (and waiting), but for the moment it seems pressing to expend the pleasantries.
How's married life? he asks, dark eyes lingering on the reflection for any signs that things might be better (or worse) than expected. He hasn't heard anything distressing, but then again, he hasn't heard anything at all lately, of no fault of anyone else but his own.
no subject
The stock of bottles has gotten larger and more complex, and the mirror in front of the solitary barber's chair has been traded out. Though the latter seems a bit newer and a shade more ornate, its real benefit is something yet to be discovered by Blake: if the man were to speak aloud, he'd soon find his words written on its reflective surface like a ticker-tape of captions.
Wes pins a cape around his friend's neck and watches him in the mirror, pushing his hair this way and that to assess the growth and pattern. Not much different than before. Wes thumbs the little tattoo on his ring finger. Despite himself, he can't help but smile though.
I think Grady's getting along better with everyone. Especially JP.
no subject
Temperance is surprisingly sexy, Blake reasons with a huffing laugh. Grady isn't exactly his type, but attitude plays such a big role in how Blake sees a person, he can imagine the guy heading past tolerable levels and even approaching enjoyable. I'm glad, he adds.
Blake then falls into silence, listening to their breathing and studying everything but his own reflection. He's rather interested in Wes and the changes he's made, impressed with the ease that's slowly settling the man, too. He remembers telling Grady that things would go this way all those months ago, and while he wants to take all the credit, he knows it's Deerington and these two men who have really made the difference for themselves. Amazing how trauma can drive people apart or bring them closer together; it all depends greatly on the people involved and their reaction to it.
What's the verdict? he finally asks, gesturing to his hair.
no subject
It's useless to waste his time imagining what life could have been like if they'd all just known each other earlier on. Wes knows that most of them have had lives all their own. That they still have friends and loved ones lingering out there. People they might actually be eager to get back to if this place were to spit them back out on the other side.
He watches Blake in the mirror and can't help but laugh as he gives his friend's hair a little ruffle. It's not great, but it's salvageable, he insists, more seriously than his expression can pull off. Maybe he's just talking about Blake's hair, or maybe the comment is intended to extend even further than that. Could take a while to shape up. Plenty of time for a chat.
no subject
Knowing he came here for a reason doesn't make it any easier, but Blake's making an attempt regardless. He makes sure he can keep his hands free and clear and signs, Have you ever heard of Gotham City?
If nothing else, it's a starting point, although he suspects that it's probably something more likely to be known by Grady than Wes — most pop culture seems to elude the man with the shears that not so long ago needed help in modernizing his look.
no subject
Yes, he knocks his fist in the air, signing at his own reflection to the mirror. But I don't know very much. That's where you're from?
no subject
We're famous for corruption, hopelessness, and theatrics, Blake points out, and a V-I-G-I-L-A-N-T-E... that dresses like a B-A-T. Of all the words he doesn't know, these are probably the most ironic. And wanting to clarify despite it being fairly obvious, he stretches out his arms to mimic flight before waiting to see Wes' reaction.
no subject
And you were a cop in the middle of all that?
no subject
He suspects on some level that most people in Deerington wouldn't be greatly surprised about such things after any amount of time, but he can't ignore the knot in his throat at the very real lesson passed down from Bruce Wayne. It's one of the few done in-person and it had been a sobering aspect of the job Blake hadn't considered: those close to him could be at risk just by association. The Joker, had he not disappeared like some figment of Blake's imagination, likely would have continued his track record of taking lives for the sake of his own sick interest in bringing out the worst in others.
I told you it was complicated. He's sure he's said so at some point.
no subject
What Wes is less certain of is what his friend must think it'll change between them. Surely something major, for him to have kept it a secret all this time. Who was Blake trying to protect by retreating in the way that he has, and from what? Wes continues the man's trim uninterrupted for a few moments, letting the silence stretch to the point of wondering if what he's shared so far will really be sufficient.
After a time, he lays down his scissors to check his progress. So you gave up being a cop even before you were taken?
no subject
Corruption was everywhere. The line between the good guys and the bad guys was blurred more than ever. Even the people I looked up to were guilty.
Frowning, Blake can't help the shadow that crosses his features at the memory of Bane tearing the roof off the building that held gently Blake's expectations. The light that had flooded in showed him that even the incorruptible — the people who risked everything (including themselves) for the greater good — could twist a perspective to suit their own means.
As a cop, I could only do so much, he signs, and boy does it hurt even now to admit as much. Then again, the world was never black and white and some small measure of success shouldn't have been able to convince him otherwise after everything he'd live through. That was his mistake, and one he intends to never make again.