your own personal jesus [for campjesus]

[artoflabor]

Jimmy Caster, while often a coward, likes to think he's a man of his word. If he says he's going to be there, he'll be there -- even if it means dragging his sorry dick out of the ass of the hottest performance artist this side of Wicker Park and sobering up in a manner of minutes. And when he told Brody -- albeit anonymously -- to "count on" him

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[campjesus]

Having a boyfriend is a pain in the ass; having a boyfriend who happens to be the leader of his particular crew is worse, because now everybody is up in his ass all day every day. When did his apartment become a fucking hostel? He can't get them out, and it's driving him nuts; he really can't wait until he can take the brace off and start dancing, because at least then he'll have a legitimate excuse to fuck off and leave them all behind.

Add to that the fact that Percy has suddenly decided he wants to start gunning for Father of the Year and Brody's not in too great a mood either.

But he laughs like a motherfucker when Jimmy calls him from Times Square sounding like he got stuck on the It's a Small World Disneyland ride. That is the kind of place Brody would want to hang out in

[artoflabor]

Jimmy never thought he'd be so relieved to see a kid so goth. The only time he'd waited on any guys who wore eyeliner or fishnets before was for Lester Crowley in eighth grade to finish a fight that had started in sixth period. Lester had lost, but the scuffle had resulted in a permanent truce between the small band of goths and Jimmy's larger group of punks. Jimmy couldn't help but respect a kid who had to remove 20 different rings from his fingers before throwing a fair punch and actually did it

[campjesus]

"Okay." That right there is one of those automatic reactions. Okay. Fine. Sure. Whatever, it only hurts if he moves it, and that's what the brace is for, to prevent that. "Where ya been?" His absence has been duly noted, it seems, and although Brody is very used to his friends disappearing without a word, it's always kind of a relief when they show up again. There's a couple he'd wish would pop up again, but chances of that happening are slim to none. Anyway, they probably wouldn't remember him

[artoflabor]

He knows there's a story hidden under the single word answer, but prying is for mothers and people with crowbars. If Brody's gonna tell him, it'll come out in due time. "Just hope that wasn't the arm you jerked off with," he says, diffusing tension the only way he knows how.

It's his turn to hide the truth. Going sober should be something to be proud of, but there's a strange shame he carries about it. Now that there's no alcohol in his system, looking at his life is like seeing the wreckage after a storm rather than from inside the chaos. Easier to pretend the storm's still raging instead of admitting how incredibly fucked he is. "Needed to sort together my shit. Get a job and everything. I'm gonna be a janitor. Cleaning up kiddie puke and everything. Real rockstar job."

Not exactly a lie. Walt had some connections with the custodial staff at a public school in Brownsville. Not exactly the cushiest job, or one where he'd necessarily fit in with the staff -- but hey, it'd pay the bills. Walt did mention something about a drug test,