agoodyarn | On the Road

On the Road

Being on the road always feels like a mixed blessing.

For one, he appreciates seeing the world, seeing it on the ground level, meeting people and living with them and finding out how their own personal microcosm works. He appreciates the chance to ply his trade as he travels, and learn new trades as well: bartending, freight hauling, carpentry, plumbing, ice fishing...

But every time a lead doesn't work out, every time he feels further and further away from answers about who he is and why he's here and why he can do what he can do...

Every step is towards another success and the fear of another failure.

He doesn't figure he's going to have very much luck today, though. It's rough out, and most of the trucks making their way along this road don't have a lot of room to pull over, which means that while he sticks out his thumb as often as he hears the rumbling of an engine, he's been walking all day.

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The list is impressive and Remy says as much with the low whistle he lets out. "I'd say dat's all a bit unfair, but I'm guessin' it made t'ings real interestin' when you were growin' up."

"I broke my mother's fingers three times when I was a baby," and there are two pieces of information here: the first, that he feels deeply responsible for what he's done, regardless of the circumstances. The other that he's been having abilities crop up since he was very small.

"And I set a field on fire before I figured out that little trick with the paper. We lived lean that winter."

Remy can't quite hold in the snort of laughter. It's not really funny, but...well, it kinda is. Kids. Also the fact that, if Jean-Luc was anything to judge by, Joe's parents probably hadn't held any of it against him.

"Didn' get de energy powers 'til I was in my teens, same as mos' mutants. But I've had de eyes an' de other physical mutations since birth, near as I know."

"My parents knew I was different considering, well... they found me in a space craft that crashed in front of their truck," he says with a scratch to one ear. "My mother says 'I knew what I was getting into' when I get worried about it."

And then 'at least you didn't pop out with any pincers or tentacles' if he continues because she knows how to get him out of his funks.

"Dat'd do it." Remy stretches out his legs with a frown. "Can't rightly say what my parents thought 'bout me. Well, I can make a guess, considerin' they left me at the hospital. Was raised with a buncha street kids 'til I was seven or eight an' got adopted."

"We kept my gifts secret," Clark admits, "small town Kansas. People weren't exactly... accepting. The one time I showed what I could do..."

The aftermath of the bus had been difficult to live with. He'd had to be even more careful.

"Takin' it didn' go so well." Remy can read between the lines as well as anybody else, after all. "'S gotta be rough, growin' up with those powers an' not always bein' able to control dem."

"Never as bad as earlier," he admits with a ruffle to his own hair. "I was a local, after all. Jon and Martha's boy. They didn't like it, but I was still sort of one of them."

"One of dose times when bein' in a small community ain't so bad." New Orleans had never been like that, but... "Been a bit like dat in my adoptive father's family. They don' always un'erstand why he took me in, but dey took me as one of theirs. Can't help but be grateful 'bout dat."

He nods, as he can understand that, and for similar reasons.

"I've... part of the reason I've traveled so much is that it's just easier. Once people see, once they find out I'm different...

"It's easier to pick up and go."

Remy hums in agreement before sitting up straighter. "C'est vrai," he says after a moment. "Dat's true. You don' put down roots, don't get connected, makes it real easy to jus' cut an' run when things go down."

A pause, then, "But you end up missin' out on a lot, too. People who won' jus' turn on you when t'ings go badly. 'S why I ended up stayin' in New York, really. Least when dey look at you weird dere, you know it's jus' 'cause dat's how dey were raised."

"I'm also traveling because I'm looking for..." he sighs a little because when he says it out loud, it always sounds so silly. "For people like me. Other people who were sent here like that. If they're out there... I want to know them."

"Makes sense. 'Less dey're doin' de same t'ing." Remy raises an eyebrow. "What's de firs' t'ing your parents taught you 'bout gettin' lost?"

He pauses, tilting his head in curiosity.

"About getting lost?"

Which makes Remy pause. "Was it only Papa dat gave me dat advice? T'ought everybody got it. Dat it's easier to fin' you if somebody's lookin' if you stay in one place."

"I guess I figured that out on my own," he says with a shrug as he glances over at the door. "I've been looking for a long time now, looking for reports that match some of what I did or the ship I came in. So far, I haven't had much luck but..."

He shrugs. He can't stop looking. Or at least, it's not an option yet.

"Maybe you jus' need some help, den." He stands, patting himself down before coming up with a card. A business card this time, not a playing card. "I ain't gonna be shooin' you off 'til we're in N'awlins, but I can give you dis while I'm t'inkin' 'bout it."

It's a piece of plain white, high end card with a series of numbers on it. "Dat's a answerin' service. My answerin' service. When we part ways, you can call dat if you need a hand or if you need somebody to track down info you can't get. Or if you're in de New York area an' need a place to stay, dat sorta t'ing."

He looks at the card for a moment before reaching out and taking it, pulling out his wallet to pop it in. He considers what Remy has said for a moment before reaching over to the notepad again and writing down an email address: royals_fan@gmail.com

"I don't have a phone, but I check that every evening. And if you really need help..." he considers whether to be as honest with this as he could be. In for a penny, in for a pound, or so his mother would say.

"Or you can just shout out for help. As long as you start with 'Clark', I'll be there as soon as I can."

Remy takes the piece of paper and folds it up, tucking it away in his pocket before raising an eyebrow. "Figured Joe wasn' your real name. Clark, huh? Nice t' meet you. 'Gain."

He just holds out his hand for another shake as he shrugs. Remy probably understands, given some of the things he's said. At least, that's what Clark figures.

"Middle name."

Remy takes his hand, tilting his head. "Always a useful t'ing to have, a middle name. Not somet'ing I got, myself, but I got plenty of people back home I can borrow names from."

Clark just nods to that, but he can't help a chuckle at what Remy says.

"You sure they're all right with you borrowing?"

He gives a half grin. "Well. I don' use all of deir names. Little mix an' match, jus' enough to be difficult to follow, dat's all."

"That makes enough sense," he says with a chuckle as he leans back on the bed again. "I kind of do the same thing with my own name. Sometimes I'm Clark, sometimes I'm Joe, sometimes I'm Kent."

Obviously, Clark knew that he'd given Remy his entire name, but it didn't seem to bother him. "Makes sense. Al'ays keep it simple. An' somethin' you know you can respond to."

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