2024-11-26 - Jaw Break

It's late afternoon, and Huck has handed off his early tour to the next interpreter for the afternoon shows. He'll have another group in an hour to hit the pirates area, but for now, he's in the break room. He's leaning against the counter, digging around in a first aid box. Behind him, his long tail is swishing back and forth through the air as he pulls out bandages, tape, and everything else that he apparently doesn't need and dumps them onto the counter. "Doodles. Come. On. Argh," he grumbles to himself as he reaches to his head and yanks off the stupid park ballcap. His long, clawed fingers toss the hat to the counter as well as he huffs.

Elmo is working the evening shift at the arcade today and is getting in a nap before that starts. He lies on the couch like a mummy, arms crossed over his chest, with a white-and-black rat snoozing between his shoulder and neck.

At the noise Huck makes, he awakens with a little snore and then a long moan ala Frankenstein’s monster. Slowly, this light sleeper rises and reaches for a half-drunk glass of water on a nearby surface. The rat stirs and digs its claws into the fabric of the jean jacket he’s wearing.

“What’s the what?” he grumbles, drinking some of the water and then rubbing one eye before turning to Huck. “What are you looking for?”

His back is to Elmo, so Huck just doesn't even know he's there. He grunts and begins just grabbing handfuls of everything he pulled out of the first aid kit and shoves them back in, one fistful at a time. He's not being neat. He's annoyed, maybe even angry, as he slams the kit closed and shoves it away across the counter. His hand lifts to his jaw, rubbing it as he turns around to finally see Elmo.

Huck is actually startled by the other man. "Whowhat!?!" He jumps, his tail flailing and knocking over a stack of ketchup and mustard bottles from the counter, sending them tumbling to the floor. "Doodles, man, don't freaking do that!!" He lays his hand on his chest a moment, catching his breath, before he shouts at Elmo, but then begins signing at him as he says the words. "Did you just APPEAR there?!" He shakes his head, as his tail wraps around a bottle of ketchup and lifts it back up onto the counter, his eyes staying on Elmo. Still signing as he speaks, "There's no aspirin. Who fills a first aid kid and doesn't put aspirin in it?"

Elmo slowly stands and tugs at his jacket and shirt, trying to get a few wrinkles out to look more presentable. When he’s not answered, his eyes narrow. When Huck seems surprised to see him, it startles the rat on his shoulder and he makes a calming shushing sound.

“I didn’t do anything,” he mutters, slowly turning his gaze back on Huck. There’s no move to explain himself. He does, however, appear to soften slightly when Huck begins to sign. No wonder he didn’t catch Elmo’s warning moan.

“Hang on,” he says, lifting a single finger before he walks to the couch neighboring the one he napped on. There, his canvas backpack rests, and he rifles through one of its small pockets to pull out a mostly-used pack of ibuprofen. “Will this work?” He holds it up, turns it this way and that for Huck to see.

Huck's entire body seems to fill with dramatic relief. "Yesyesyesyes!" He has a bounce in his step as he moves over to Elmo. "Thank you!" Assuming Elmo hands it to him, Huck takes the bottle and lays both his hands on Elmo's shoulders (if he allows). His tail slithers up to cup the side of Elmo's face, cupping his cheek for dramatic effect. "You. Are. My. Hero." He nods, kind of intensely, and then his hands and tail and everything withdraws. He moves back to the counter and begins working to get the bottle open, which seems to be a little more difficult for him given the elongated fingers and claws. The struggle draws a furrowed brow onto his face. As he fusses with the bottle top, he glances at Elmo, "Is that a gerbil?" It's not judgmental.

Elmo braces himself, since it seems like Huck might jump on him in the excitement. “Uh huh,” he says, holding still as he feels hands and tail on his body. This isn’t something he shakes off at all; even a tail in his face is something he’s used to. “I’m just a go who’s prepared for the next hangover,” he explains, watching the chipper young man move to the counter.

“What’s wrong?” He watches the struggle with the top for a moment before clicking his tongue and stepping forward to help. “Here,” he ways, extending a hand. The word gerbil almost makes him wince, and the critter on his shoulder starts to squeak incessantly. “Rat. He’s a rat.”

Huck doesn't resist at all, allowing the other fellow to take the bottle and get it open for him. As Elmo speaks, Huck turns to watch the man, keeping his eyes on Elmo's lips. "Jaw," he answers as to what's wrong. He rubs it with his hand, and works it around a little, "It's a little toothache-ish, but I never really had cavities. I think maybe I slept on my face funny or something?" He shrugs, not sure. Then he looks at the critter. "Oh. Heh, right." He then signs to the rat, "Sorry," moving his hand away from his chin in a downward motion as he says the word. "Pet or one of the something more things everyone seems to have around here?" he asks as his tail moves up to rub the side of his jaw.

Elmo takes the bottle and deftly pushes in on the top and turns it, a little trick to keep kids from getting inside. And some adults. When he passes it back, he glances up and eyes the side of Huck’s face, grunting at the explanation.

The freak swishes his tail back and forth at the apology, whiskers moving quickly as it sniffs the air. “I think he’d tell you I was the pet, if he could.” Elmo rolls his eyes at that. “But, uh, something more, I guess.”

"Oh man, thanks," Huck says as he takes the bottle and dumps a handful of the pills into his hand. He grabs a paper cup and fills it with water, downing the pills. "Ugh." Looking back at the rat, he laughs, "You understand him?" he asks of Elmo about the rat. "Like, fully speak rat or whatever?" He extends one of his little claws out to the rat, "Hello there. What's your name?" He smiles, and his tail swings back and forth behind him. "I always wanted a ferret."

"Don't mention it," Elmo says, his voice low and quiet, as he watches Huck liberally down his handful of pills. Pawful? No, no, those are hands. In the meantime, he finds a comfortable part of the nearby wall to lean against, crossing one leg over the other casually.

"I do. Can't talk to other rats, but I get this guy." The slightest tilt of the head in the rat's direction. Unlike most of the animals, this one sniffs the air as Huck nears, then lifts the front of its body to reach for the extended claw. It's not an elegant handshake, but the intent is there. "Well aren't you polite today."

Huck laughs, "I'm always polite." Evidently he thought Elmo meant him. "That's super cool." He looks over at Elmo, making sure he's reading the lips as he's spoken to. "I've seen you a lot, not sure I've actually MET you." He extends his feral hand, "I'm Huck." After shaking Elmo's hand (if he does), Huck leans back against the counter, his tail curling around his ankles. "You play hockey?" he asks, kind of out of nowhere.

Elmo lifts a brow and looks at Huck, then turns back to the rat and narrows his eyes. "Apparently, he's in complete agreement." What this means is anyone's guess, though it forces a quick, thoughtful hrm from the man.

It takes a brief evaluation of the claws before he reaches out for a quick, firm shake, but he does it. "I'm Elmo," he says, withdrawing his hand back into a jacket pocket. "And this is The Freak,” he adds, gesturing to the rat.

The next question out of Huck’s mouth surprises him, though he answers with a quick, “Nope.” And then, “Well, I mean I would play. Why?”

"I don't bite," Huck notes with a smirk as Elmo pauses before shaking his hand. "The Freak?" he asks, and he looks at the rat. He signs it to the rat, speaking as he does, "The. Freak. That's how I would do your name." He laughs a little, and still signing at the animal, explains to it like it was a new, perhaps younger, friend. "My ears don't work, so I talk with hand movements and I read people's lips when they talk to me."

Back to Elmo, Huck just talks. "You look like the kind of tough fella I'd expect to run into on the rink is all." He grins, "It's a compliment. It's gettin' colder and we have a lot of water. I'm hoping maybe to get a scrimmage match going this winter."

"I'm not worried," Elmo says, almost defensively, before nodding a single time to confirm that's the critter's name. Not many people actually go out of their way to speak to the rat, so he watches the exchange with interest, even trying out the sign for The Freak's name. "Neither of us know ASL," he admits glumly.

So, he speaks so that Huck can at least see him. "If you do, let me know. I can skate and, at least, run into people." He jerkily throws one shoulder forward. Not the one where his rat perches.

Huck smiles when he sees Elmo try the sign, "Close. Here, like this..." And he repeats it slowly for the man to see. It's like a hand made into a 'c' and then moves from the side of the head to dip down to the neck until it's an upside down 'u'. "It's not an exact translation. It's used for an 'odd' or 'bizarre' thing, sometimes 'freak.'" He nods happily when Elmo gets close enough, "There you go!" With a laugh, he reassures Elmo, "It's okay that you don't know it. I appreciate when you tap me on the shoulder or just move to where I can read your lips and don't speak crazy fast – that's good enough for me."

"I will absolutely let you know," he assures Elmo about the hockey, and his tail begins to swish back and forth again behind him. "Check. You can check people," he notes, and adds with a bit of mischievousness, "The harder the better, too. But honestly, being able to skate is a huge start!"

Elmo goes through the motions, his expression an almost pained one at noticing how graceless his initial movements are. After a few tries, though, he gets it and point at The Freak, making a teasingly affectionate face that's there and gone in an instant. "Lucky for you, I'm not a fast talker."

His hand slides back into his pocket and listens. Checking, skating, these things sound fun. "I probably would have picked this up earlier, if I could. Gear looks expensive, though. I like watching the games at Lucky's. Haven't seen you around there, I don't think?"

"Oh yeah?" responds Huck when Elmo says he watches the games. He bounces a little on his heels, excited. "Who's your favorite team? Don't say the Blackhawks. We'd have to be enemies then." He laughs and then signs something at The Freak and winks at the rat, as if they now have a secret. "I don't spend a lot of time at Luckys, honestly. It's loud, I don't always know who to be looking at. I prefer the club where I can at least feel the music, you know?"

Elmo shakes his head and lifts a hand from his pocket to hold out between them. “Nah, not really. No favorite.” He shakes that hand back and forth, then slips it away again. Maybe it’s true, or maybe he’s Blackhawk who doesn’t want to start something.

“Lucky’s can be loud, sure.” There’s no arguing that, and it’s true pretty much every night of the week, since schedules are so varied at the park. “I don’t really go clubbing, but I think I get ya. Can’t dance.” He looks down at what could be two left feet.

“Oh good, then I can teach you to properly love hockey through the glorious Vancouver Canucks,” Huck declares proudly. “Who beat the Hawks last night, by the way.”

“What?” Huck asks, surprised. “I can’t hear the music and I can dance.” He chuckles and does a ridiculous kind of snappy finger dance that clearly indicates only that he can’t dance at all.

“Oh, sure,” Elmo says, amused by the fact that someone thinks they can teach him to properly love anything. He’ll be a terrible student. “You can try, at least.” His brows lift twice in what could be taken for approval of this defeat.

“But you said you can feel it. That counts for something.” Still, the snappy dance earns Huck a dubious look. “What club are you going to anyway?” What’s playing the kind of music that induces a snappy dance?

“Oh I’ll try,” Huck answers. “And you’ll LOVE it!”

“Honestly there’s not a club here on the islands yet,” notes Huck, “but back home I went a lot. Here I think mostly it’s like a karaoke bar, which.,,” He shrugs, “Not really a thing for me.”

Elmo breathes in deeply, wondering what he may have gotten himself into with this enthusiasm. "I'm sure it'll be fine," he says, the edge of his mouth quivering. "When's the next game?" He has to look at his watch to check the date.

Blinking back up at Huck, he says, "Really?" There's surprise in his tone. "It's not really a thing for me, either." Surprise, surprise, from the man who doesn't club. "I like shows, though. I think I miss them here. Like a dive bar punk show, y'know?"

"It's in season right now," says Huck about hockey. "So, every few days. Pretty sure they play again this weekend. Red Wings, I think?" He nods, affirming, "I'll find out and make sure you know. I got you."

He rubs the side of his jaw as they talk, still in some discomfort there. "You don't sing either, huh?" he asks. "I'm tone deaf." Is that a joke? "A dive bar punk show? Okay, I'll bite." He hops up onto the counter, his tail wrapping around his side and ending up in his hands being idly played with. "Tell me about dive bar punk. Is that a music type? What band would you say is a dive bar punk band, Elmo?"

“Let’s catch a game,” Elmo says, posing it as a thing that’s going to happen more than a suggestion. “I know you said you don’t like Lucky’s, but it’s on TV there.” Not that there aren’t other televisions, of course.

He shakes his head at the singing. “Nope.” The man seems pretty confident about that and there’s a squeak from the rat that makes him mutter, “Shut it.” And then the topic moves to dive punk bars and he smiles a little. “The band doesn’t really matter. It’s just when you go to a place that’s dark, a little hot, and kinda smells like pee. The drinks are cheap and the people on stage are yelling at you, and everyone starts jumping around and into each other.” Objectively, it probably sounds awful, but he speaks of the experience fondly.

"Perfect," Huck agrees about the game.

Laughing, Huck then asks about the dive bar, "Wait... So, you're saying that it's just a Vancouver gay bar?" He nods, "I guess I'm in then." He slides off the counter, that tail swinging about once more. "I should head back up. The family I'm with today is probably about finished with their ride." He rubs his mouth again, "Thanks for the aspirin."

Both brows grow up and Elmo doesn’t know what to say for a moment. Then, he just shrugs and says, “Yeah, sure. Vancouver gay bar.” It doesn’t sound like he knows what those are about, but if they’re anything like what he’s describing then they would be great.

He nods when Huck says he has to go and looks at his bag. “I should do the same. Arcade’s not gonna run itself.” Or maybe it will. At least for a little while. Those games are surprisingly sturdy. “Catch ya later. Hope the jaw gets better.”