vrusk

[vrusk]

[vrusk]

Was he sure. For a moment - just that, a sliver of time, but sharp enough to get under his skin and fester there - Virgil actually hesitated. And hated it. Like he hated being unsure, of anything. Such as how Andersen Laboratories had decided he ought to be on their specifically superhuman guest list. If those shitheels at Cerberus had fuck all to do with this...

"Entirely. Completely," he waved whatever Hadrian might have been getting at aside with a smoky flick of his wrist. If there was anything he was sure of, it was the work. (Wasn't it?) Dusting tailor's chalk from his finally-free hands, Virgil swept over to his phone and fixed it, firmly, to do not disturb.

Then spun back to the task at hand, with a winsome smile. "Beg your pardon, for all that. As you said, there's something of an occasion on the horizon, and occasions do mean business." And this had to be the first morning appointment he'd taken since... before everything. He'd just forgot the damn phone entirely, until he was far too occupied with Hadrian's fitting to break away and silence the thing. But it was dealt with, now. "It's a pleasure and a privilege, truly. Sure to be a hell of a night, what with the crowd..." Not that Hadrian had any reason to know how extra ordinary his company would be. People like Hadrian - people on Virgil's currently buzzing client list - were the sort who got invited to everything. How many of those guests would be drifting around in blissful ignorance? Christ. He almost wished he were one of them. Almost. He'd rather not be going at all.

But, he had a cat to skin. (The fucking question of how he'd wound up invited, at all.) And dozens to dress. He sat back at his workbench, retrieving his still-burning cigarette from the ashtray. "Did you have any particular vision, for the evening? An impression we're looking to make, a note we'd like to hit..." His work for Hadrian had been simpler, so far; exquisite suits for a man of exquisite taste and deep pockets, yes. But this? This demanded something moreish.

WITHER & BESPOKE // @vrusk

"Are you sure? I don't mean to question you or your decisions. I would be lost if you asked me the difference between the weight of threads. You hear this all the time, darling, I'm sure, but ... a night to remember, a night to never forget, so on and so forth." Hadrian laughs softly, easy. Not often does he put work away in favor of — what did that silly boy call it? — fun but even if Virgil was pressed with his phone ringing and ringing and ringing.

[vrusk]

Virgil laughed off those niceties, lightly, and - it was almost like the old days. Which felt so bizarrely far off, somehow. It hadn't been that long ago. But everything fit just ever so slightly wrong, now, from his bones on out. Even the most familiar places in the world. The cramped, uneasy prickle that ran right down his spine as they sauntered deeper into the club wasn't a surprise; if his own penthouse left him unsettled, where wouldn't?

But, well. Virgil had learned the trick of faking it 'til he made it ages ago. That balmy smile stayed put, high and easy. Couldn't have Himiko getting the wrong idea. It wasn't anything about her place, after all. That was... oh, just how he'd left it. Those private rooms, too, were wonderfully, comfortably the same - and, yes, blessedly quieter, emptier. Perfect. "Isn't it just." Those little pleasures, indeed.

"At least a bottle," he agreed, sagely, sliding into the sleek booth seating with a neat fix of his jacket. "It's right there, in that whole Blue Zone business everyone goes on about these days. Red wine and dirty martinis, extra olives, we'll live to be a hundred. And you've no idea how good it is to see you. I've been cooped up like a prize pigeon for ages..." Abyss was one of those spots to see and be seen, which, naturally, meant he and his usual suspects had been regulars; God, he'd spent more time alone since he died, or whatever, than he had... in all his life, perhaps. Miserable thought. He leaned right away from it, trailing a curl of smoke. Still beaming, even aghast at her too-kind compliments. "Oh, please. Credit where it's due, darling: the model wears the work, not the other way round." And Himiko wore it so well. "I'll pencil you in myself." As if he had the time, but - for a friend, he'd find it. Somewhere...

Like Himiko would have an issue with smoking in the club as there were worst things going on at the back of her club. Not yet anyways, she had no bookings for her other business until tomorrow night so all the backrooms were clear of their being any unneeded crossovers. Virgil has a been a frequent patron, a friend who was on Himiko's growing list of expectations. He has always been a spectacle and delight to her, Vigil could smoke to his hearts content.

Their hug was only brief, yet she only pegged it down to them not being in the old flow that they use to be. Time would reveal any more hidden depths if needed. But in this moment, she could not be more grateful that he made even a flyby visit. After all, the season of being thankful and grateful was upon them. "And like I would expect nothing less from you sweetie," Himiko beams, oh how she had missed his infectious personality.

"Life's about all the little pleasures after all, one drink of the good stuff never hurt anyone," Himiko gives a cheeky little wink, "Especially when it is the expensive stuff and you're friends with the owner." She begins to usher him through the crowd, cutting through the people to head to the empty back rooms ,"Don't those cheery Italians say a bottle of wine is good for the heart?" She knows it's a glass, yet she liked to haver her own little spin on it. "Even if it's a short stay, you have no idea how good it is to see you!" Their small talk continues and she perks up as he spoke about a possible feeling,"Stop it you, it's only because I've learned from the very best. Wouldn't be a thing without you. But I have to say I am long overdue a session with you .Certainly, need to make a change to that, won't we?"

[vrusk]

[vrusk]

"Eight." Virgil let out a low whistle, appropriately revolted. "Sounds maddening. My condolences. Isn't it terrible, to be useful?" What a practice they had, pockmarked with superheroes and their collateral damage. Like the whole damn city. Like most places, really. Anywhere anything really happened wound up suffering a super something or other, eventually; just inevitable, these days. And New York City, as in so many ways, seemed to be at the center of the action. But, then again - if you build it, they will come. Even if it was a host of maladjusted mutants. Where else could an aspiring villain find a worthy adversary? Maybe even a nemesis, if they were lucky.

The megalomania of it all. And that was coming from someone who knew his share of megalomaniacs.

Sera's guess earned a dry, thin laugh. "As careers go, there's nothing quite like superheroism for convincing a person that impossible is a word that only really applies to other people." Nothing quite like, but. Close. He was used to the type, frankly. If anything, his usual clients could be more deranged; none of them were genuine small gods. "Very magical, the thinking. But no, no. It's not any one thing, really. More..." he flickered a hand, then went back to fixing himself a cigarette with a sour sort of smile. "Weathering an absolute deluge of opportunities." Yes, that's how Cerberus liked to phrase it; every piece as an opportunity to exercise his talents. Patronizing horseshit.

And yes, perhaps it had been overly optimistic to open his books for private projects again, even to his more particular list of clients. But he was supposed to be getting on with his life, and that, his work, his actual work, and the people who were part of it, who'd held it all together while he was - whatever he'd been, that was his life. Not... enabling superheroic dogfuckery. Again, though: Sera wasn't his therapist. This wasn't the couch. And weren't they both glad of that? So Virgil spun up a smile, and lifted his drink in a toast. "To the next eye in this shitstorm?" It had to be coming. Any day now.

          the last thing they want after a week of hell is to find their favorite rooftop spot teeming with people.  okay, maybe, they're exaggerating, but it's still busier than they would like, which means their little meet up place is going to have to change soon.  sera grabs a drink and maneuvers their way through the crowd, a look of distaste hidden behind the high collar of their overcoat.  

          they settle across from virgil with a heavy sigh, exhaling the exhaustion of a heavy work week.  cerberus has been on their ass lately trying to get to the bottom of the super extraordinary extra ordinary issue that they're having.  sera already took a shot at nullifying the abilities of the people cerberus had held a few weeks ago with no luck, and either their clients have been getting more aggravating or the entire city was about to go up in flames.  honestly, they'd prefer the latter.

          sera takes a sip of amber liquid and waits a minute before speaking.     "     i've had to block eight different cerberus numbers these past few days.     "     that's a sufficient enough answer to surmise that they have in fact been quite busy.     "     don't tell me  —  some level one threw a tantrum over their suit not having the design specifications they wanted even though you explicitly said you couldn't do it  ?     "

[vrusk]

Virgil didn't join in that near-laugh - out loud, at least. The smirk he passed down the balcony said it all. "Never." If anything, Zaya's particular brand of consistency was something he'd... not started to count on, certainly, he wouldn't could on anything, in this place. But. Begun to look forward to. There. She hadn't uninvited him, anyway. So he nodded, yes, he fucking would, and sparked that cigarette with a flourishing flick of his wrist. There was a lull, between the snap of the lighter and the end of his first long drag, blown out slow, inhaled again through his nose. Billowed away, one more time, over the rattle and hum of Manhattan. Funny bookends, they made.

And there it was. Same shit. The way these people were manhandled - these people, as if he wasn't as on-leash as the rest of them. But Zaya was a proper hero. Level 1, at that. Cerberus hardy seemed to trust her anymore than they did him, though, from what he'd seen once the curtain peeled back. He nodded along. Sympathetic. Softening her image, Christ; like she was some coiffed Disney starlet who'd spent too much time splattered across the tabloids, lately. There was sense to it, the way Cerberus Corp wanted their superheroes to be so... mundane. If extraordinary people were going to exist, they could only be accepted - insofar as you could say they were, really, accepted - if they'd been domesticated, first. Micro-managed macro-deterrents. Made approachable, comprehensible to the ordinary majority. Regardless of how incomprehensible their circumstances might be, how incompatible with, incomparable to any human experience. No wonder they were all a few bricks shy of a load. (As if he wasn't.)

"Well. No. Not actually new." He flicked a bit of ash off into the edge-of-winter wind. "The sheer volume is..." Virgil threw a whole look heavenward, billowing smoke, beleaguered. "Staggering. Speaking of," a swerve, but she wouldn't mind. Any excuse to grouse about the boyfriend. "I gather that little stunt wasn't in your script. Mm?" He wouldn't have to specify which little stunt; obvious enough.The kiss Ymir had snuck in where the paparazzi could make a whole shitshow of it. She was welcome to correct him if he was wrong, but... try as he might, Virgil couldn't escape superheroic news anymore than the next New Yorker, so he'd suffered the sight of the whole debacle when it hit the headlines. And part of Zaya's trouble, presently, was that she just wasn't much of an actress. It'd shown.

Anti-social spot in New York? Zaya's ass would be there.It could be the shittiest bar with horrendous light. But if they sold booze and would take her money, she had zero fucks together. At least she would be alone. Not spotted by dickheads who wanted to snap up a picture. With her or sneak one of her private affairs. Bet your ass, Zaya made sure the area had shitty phone service too. Outside the hours she was an agent, Zaya's time was hers and hers alone. What she got up to it was her business.Keeping at least a 6ft pole between work and private. Some idiots, mostly levels threes, blurred the line between work and social. Professionalism meant nothing to them, no wonder why they'd stay so low.

Hearing her name from someone from work almost always triggered her fight or fight response apart from Virgil. Virgil was the exception. The only exception. She was still the same ass she was at work. Nothing more. Nothing less. Virgil and her seemed to click, it wasn't all fresh roses and chasing sunshines, kinda connection. It was real and honest. Something Zaya valued most. "Like you'd expect anything fucking less? " Zaya sniggered almost to the point that it sounded like a laugh,"Well help yourself, why fucking don't ya?" With him she didn't mind at all. Anyone else? That's a different story.

She watched him as he lit his cigarettes. No longer a smoker but she enjoyed being near the smell, reminder her of certain times past. Zaya turned around, so her back was leaning against the iron balcony. "You know how it is, same shit different fucking day," She begins,"More fucking PR bullshit for my "boyfriend" bullshit. To...how did the PR team put it....'soften my image'" she air quotes,"Then working with incompetent asses that don't know which way is up or down." Zaya groaned,"Just another fucking day at the office?" Her tone was sarcastic with such joys that came with it. Both carried bitterness on their tongue, yet here they both were dogs for the course. She looks to him,"Any new bullshit from your end?"

[vrusk]

SOME MYSTERIES ARE BETTER LEFT UNSOLVED

[vrusk]

It was blessedly, appropriately rare to hear his actual name uttered around these halls; Abraham was one of the mere handful of agents Virgil would tolerate it from. And not only because Legion was also one of the even smaller handful of agents who knew exactly why he was here at all, though that was, as always, terribly hard to forget. Ironic, really, when he could barely remember that hell of a day.

But there'd been one of those bursts of half-recollection, sense-heavy, hair-raising, when they met. Or met again, that is, months after Virgil's life had torn off the rails. It hadn't been so explosive as what rocked him the first time he (re-)crossed paths with Phoenix, thank fuck; it also wasn't like anything else he'd started to piece together, either. There was a clarity to it, a steadiness; not a true stillness, but a still-enough, a moment of focus shuddering at the edges. The rest of them were just smears of action and pain and noise, but - it, he, remembered Legion. Whether that was a good thing remained to be seen. Or hopefully, not.

In the meantime, though. "I'm not, no. The days have all been late, what with everything going on." Everything - he'd flickered a hand across headquarters, looming around them. The place had been humming, lately, busier even than usual. More missions meant more wear and tear which meant more fix-ups and replacements, on top of new projects, all of which were impossible in their own, special ways. Until he simply had to get them done. Fidgeting with the unlit cigarette between his fingers, Virgil let his suddenly-bunched shoulders drop, hard, with a sigh. (A sigh he'd intended to sound simply put-upon, but it turned traitor, rasping out in a way that was far too honestly exhausted.) "So if they," their mutual employers, if you could call this arrangement employment, which Virgil wouldn't, "have been bitching about timelines, please do let them know they're welcome to drop by any old time. So I can tell them to eat glass myself."

@vrusk // [ legion & bespoke. ]

Abraham checks their watch, the glass face cracked neatly down the middle with a single splinter that made it hard to if the minute hand was ten past or fifteen. Time blurs much too easily if you're not watching it. They keep this watch for that particular reminder. In any case, as hardworking and addicted to that hard work as these younger agents are — Abraham preferred to spend these ever increasing nights away from Cerberus.

However, not before they do their rounds.

Abraham, hands in their pocket, pokes their head into rooms as they head out, just to make sure the agents within are on their best behavior — and if they aren't, what did Abraham need to do to help them either get back on track or hide whatever it is that's been dug up. Heading home? Getting ready to head out? You need your sleep, don't forget about that. Maybe give yourself another hour and then make it tomorrow's problem. I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Raphael.

They knock on the door just seconds before it opens and quickly step back before anyone knocks into anyone else. Too many agents have been running into doors lately.

"Ah. Virgil." The smile is genuine, easy. "You heading home? They got you here late?"

[vrusk]

hc + 🐈 for a pet/animal-themed headcanon

"I suppose I've always had a fondness for horses. Elegant things, aren't they? Not all the time, but most of it, which is more than many of us can say. When I bought up the ranch, I had the stable filled. The extravagance of a twentysomething come into too many millions at once, fucking ridiculous. But I went and got attached. And so I didn't miss them too badly, I took to co-owning a thoroughbred or two in training, in-state, here. It really is magnificent to see them tear off. I haven't, in ages. I do miss race day. As occasions go, it's this old-fashioned sort of ostentatious; feels delightfully obnoxious, to be new money at a thing like that."

[vrusk]

Christ. Virgil interrupted his cigarette for a needy sip of coffee, then went back for another drag, staring down a pointless folder of sketches and so on. He'd been precisely tired enough to have walked into "work" - via the clandestine entrance Cerberus allowed him, one of many, he was sure - forgetting, for a few, blissful hours, that his last fitting of the day was with Granite. Joy.

Imara wasn't the only Level 1 who'd lost friends to what'd gone on, when he - when whatever he'd been made all that mess. Or who knew enough to despise the sight of him. She was, however, perhaps the worst at hiding it. She simply didn't. At all. It wasn't that he blamed her. Moreso that they both understood that any session Cerberus scheduled her for was a waste of fucking time. Imara wouldn't so much as look at whatever he put together, anyhow. And all he could do was, well, his so-called job. So thoroughly that they couldn't accuse him of being the problem, here. Perish the thought. But, for fuck's sake - he had shit to do.

"I have a proposal," he began, the moment his appointment stalked through the workshop door. "That being," Virgil leaned back, with a quick crack of his neck, "we spend our timeslot forgoing any paper-thin pretense that you and I can make some sort of progress, today. Hm?" That folder stayed shut, on the presentation table. "If anyone asks, we had an uncommonly lovely meeting. So productive. In the meantime, I can get some actual work done, and you can help yourself to coffee and... I don't know, catch up on paperwork? Read a book? Doomscroll? Whatever. So long as you don't touch anything." Brilliant idea, wasn't it? Terribly.

@iridescences

[vrusk]

LOYALTY. -Does your character have any loyalty to any group?

With Cerberus Corp as a distinct exception, Virgil is usually very loyal to the people he works with and who work for him. Outside of his atelier, he has "friends" and friends - he's not disloyal to the first, per se, but he's not going to bend over backwards for fairweather acquaintances. Especially if they go and presume too much of their relationship, which his clientele and social set - broadly, a pretty entitled, self-centered set of people, seems fair to say - does tend to.

But, no. Fuck that. Even before his NDE, which, yeah, only further clarified his priorities, Virgil had arrived at a point in his life and career where he didn't need to put some passer-by - even a prestigious one - before anyone he had a real connection with. He insisted on the value of his time and energy, and didn't invest either carelessly. Yes, some of that was about the exclusivity of offering the services he does. Mostly, though, it's just that he's always been slow to really, thoroughly trust people. Now that he has, you know, come back from the dead, among other things... well, trusting has only got more difficult, and his loyalties are feeling unsettlingly fragile. How many of those friends, even, would stand by him if they'd seen what he can do, what he can become? He can guess. But he'd rather not test the theory. Ever.

[vrusk]

❔: assign a pop diva to every single one of your muses and explain why 💖

Orville Peck, specifically "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters."

Something something about trashcan dreams coming true and standing at the edge and going your way alone and growing your own seeds in New York City and saying good morning to the night because you can't see the sky and there being people out there like you... and how fragile success can feel no matter how much of yourself you throw into the work, how easily you can drown in the high riptides of making it, how lonely doing your own thing can be even when you choose it, gut-deep gratitude for the community you find along the way that you just wouldn't survive without.

It's got fight-for-it snarl and a hard-won sort of serenity and honest, frustrated exhaustion and tenderness, all at once. There's self-love here, maybe enough to accept what you can't change, have the balls to change what you can, and figure out the wisdom to know the difference... even and maybe especially when those changeable-or-not things are part of you and the life you're living.

Also Virgil absolutely must have dressed Orville at least once please let me have this...

[vrusk]

It was just so... different, slinking in during off-hours, before the paparazzi and big names and familiar faces. Like some mangy, stray thing sneaking through the kitchen to steal scraps. But Himiko, stellar hostess that she was, swept all that melancholy horseshit right out the door he'd walked through. Thank God.

Dusting off that flashbulb-ready smile, Virgil met the lady of the house with the cigarette he should've snuffed on his way in held neatly aside, an arm sweeping around her elegant shoulders. The hug was genuinely fond, rather than fashionable; but briefer, more careful, somehow, than his usual. Still, he swayed back beaming. "Hotter than the hinges of Hell, darling." Just about summed it up, yes.

Flawless, though? She'd always been a lovely liar. With a thin, wiry sort of smirk, Virgil blew a smoky scoff over his shoulder. "It's the clean living. Which I'll maintain, rigorously, over a round in the back, I think." As if he hadn't been very sure of that before he dropped by. Himiko's guestlist was, naturally, well-stocked with very-importants; that'd fill up faster. "I can't stay long. Tragically. But, well, I was in the neighbourhood, old habits, all that." He knew the way, of course, trailing off towards that privacy she'd offered. Already retuning the small talk to her, the future, plans. "You're radiant, as ever. It's been too long since I dressed you. We'll need to put something on the books..."

Long Time No See, Friend who: Himiko & Virgil @vrusk where: Abyss Night Club

Quiet nights at Abyss were not at all a common thing. Quiet times, however, were all the range. There was something oddly calming about the quiet for the storm before the world came flooding in. Himiko liked to think of it like watching the start of the rain, a few small drops trickled down before the downpour came rushing down. At the moment, the Abyss was witnessing the starts of a drizzle as small parties began to wash in grabbing a few drinks and claiming booths: some for the short stay whilst others were setting up for a long night.

Himiko sat in VIP, nursing a Pina Colada enjoying a moment of peace as she watched over her kingdom. Abyss, was hers. But it was more than that. The Abyss was the place were she made most of her connections. Some of her closest friends. Tonight, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of Nostalgia. Those were the nights where the real magic happens. Almost as if her thought came to fruition, she spots Virgil in the crowd. He wasn't hard to spot when he just had a flawless radiance about him. It had been a while since he had last frequented the nightclub. She'd stalk his social media to check on him, respecting his distance knowing well enough if people wanted to share anything with her, they could.

She approached him through the crowd toning down her energy slightly. "My, my stranger hasn't it been a hot minute since I've seen your flawless face around her," Himiko greets him with open arms,"It's good to see you, truly! How have you been." Her voice deeps with sincerity though does not allow herself to be over compensating. She quickly perks up clapping her hands together,"How about some drinks and the VIP section or...maybe we could catch up in one of the private rooms at the back? All one me?"

[vrusk]

FEEL. -How does your character react to a persons touch? A random stranger’s? A loved one’s? A friend’s?

Catlike, overall. He's used to the niceties common to the circles he travels in - the cheek-pecks in passing and so on. And he's generally gracious about declining if your relationship just isn't there yet. But broadly, Virgil stakes a certain amount of personal space and refuses to give that up to someone who presumes to enter uninvited. If you're not his people, and you're not welcome, expect a look loaded like a shotgun.

But if you are? He'll settle into a comfortable, felineish kind of physical affection, feeding a longstanding touch-starvedness. Well before social media was around to capture it, Virgil could regularly be spotted lounging around the penthouses, galas, clubs, and so on of the rich and famous, living large, sharing that seemingly precious space of his very freely with the who's who of celebrities and creatives he'd found friends or a sort of family in. Since that "heart attack" the circle of someones he's prepared to loosen up around has only narrowed. His body language has tightened, closed off, become less approachable. He's developed a real aversion to being crowded, and startles easily to unexpected touches. To most unexpected things, frankly. As he tries to get back into the world, he's struggling to shake that newfound discomfort - even among his closest friends - and the isolation of it all is really starting to wear on him.

(If, say, a certain monster were to be accidentally unleashed, Cerberus Corp would release a bulletin seriously discouraging agents from getting close enough to touch that. Redirect to unpopulated and/or otherwise manageable areas. Extreme target impact approved. Avoid entering reach, if possible. Even once it's suitably sedated; recent testing suggests it may have learned how to pretend. Await containment team arrival.)

[vrusk]

Running a hand through his hair, still darkly damp from a ostentatiously long shower that his assistant had, wisely, left uninterrupted, Virgil all but limped his way toward the galley. Where Reyhan had, apparently, been welcomed to start on brunch without him. It wasn't that he'd forgot they were coming by the marina today. He'd just been entirely unable to sleep, still, even with the usually soothing creak and roll of the deck - of his yacht, moored, for the season - to help him along. What was that, now? Going on two weeks and altogether he'd got fewer hours of real rest than he had fingers? Christ.

But. The show had to go on. Rey knew that, only too well; hopefully they'd be a sympathetic audience. With an apologetic sweep of his arms, Virgil summoned a smile. "So. Are you early - or am I late?" Both seemed plausible, but. He flicked the question aside, unanswered, as he took his seat at the breakfast table. "Don't tell me, actually. Meant to be extricating myself from itinerary-based living. Doctor's orders." Yes. Had to mind his stress. "I won't even check the time. Progress." That edge-of-winter sky billowing beyond the windows wasn't giving him any hints; the light of it was harshly, barely grey, a cold sort of searing. Or maybe that was just his fucking eyes.

Virgil looked into the bottom of a vodka and orange instead, eager to wash down the taste of his morning dose of whatever the hell Cerberus had him taking these days. Better. Marginally. "Ah. How are you, then? Well, I hope." Really, truly.

@losemorals

[vrusk]

❔: when would be the only time a cape is acceptable?

"Well, so long as you're not anticipating any feats of athleticism whatsoever, and your spatial awareness is such that you've nothing to fear from revolving doors, jet turbines, or freak weather events - anytime, I suppose. They're very in at the moment. Wool, cashmere, tweed, trench. Fringe. Pleats. The look is absolutely voluminous. We're either getting fuck-you comfortable, or we're trying to disappear. All in how you wear it, darling."

[vrusk]

PRIDE. -What is your muses biggest flaw? / DNA. -What was your muses home life like?

PRIDE

Virgil hates to "depend" on people. Once upon a time, he needed to cultivate this sense of independence. There'd be no Virgil Rusk as he exists, now, without that willingness to break off and be his own person, to define himself beyond bounds that'd been ironclad givens before he got brave enough to question them. But poison's often in the dose, and like all things, taken to extremes... "independence" can do some real damage. And it has, over the years. His present situation has done this particular struggle no favours at all.

DNA

He breezily dismisses those years with an "I'll spare us both the gruesome details, darling," but doesn't really offer much detail at all. He came up in a military family. Surrounded, he'd say, by all that a military family, in Texas, implies. (Whatever you take that to mean.) And he was who they expected him to be - including an enlistee, straight out of high school - for as long as he could survive that horseshit. But he was always somebody else. And what he had to do to chase that self down was accept the fact that, well, accepting who he could be meant he'd be cutting ties to who he'd tried to be. And all that implied. Which... he did, anyway, and a dishonorable discharge, thousands of miles, and a few decades later: look at him now. (Not now, now. Look at him a couple years ago, before life got so "super.")