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The night's turned cloudy, the sliver of a moon all but invisible in the sky. Light pollution means it's never too dark a night, but the shadows are long and deep. Especially in north philly, in the neighborhoods that don't get streetlights repaired when they blow.
Or don't have streetlights at all.
There's a flicker of light, on and off, on and off, down an alley. Like someone playing with a lighter, behind the dumpsters of a pharmacy and a convenience store.
He might be living in a cabin, but Gallowglass hasn't stopped feeding his cats. He's worked his way around his usual route, popping open a couple cans and leaving them before moving on to the next. He's at home in North Philly. Literally. He stops every now and again to take a look over old neighborhoods, haunts he ran back in the day. He stops outside a housing project, staring at the monolith from the shadow of the street. The street where, just to his right, there's the flick of a lighter that summons him to investigate.
The lighter goes out, as soon as he turns down the alley.
He shifts his weight, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. He shifts to one side of the alley and leans against the building, wrapping himself in the shadows there. And he goes silent to wait.
It's a good few minutes, before anything happens. And then eyes, from around the side of the dumpster - a dark bandana covers their nose and mouth, and the hood of their sweatshirt's up. Checking to see if the coast is clear before they slowly get to their feet.
"Not th'greatest neighborhood to be on the street," Gallowglass rumbles from his position. "You okay?"
"Fuck, who -" their voice cracks, and they swallow. "Who the fuck're you?"
"I'm Jude." He drops into a crouch, happy to put himself lower in height than the kid. "I grew up around here." He reaches into his bag, pops the top on a can of cat food, and sets it down. "I leave food for th'cats. Who are you?"
The comfortable crouch draws them out from behind the dumpster just a little more, but they don't take their bandanna down.
"What d'you want?" They're defensive, but their voice shakes a little.
It's not fear, that's making their voice shake. Given the break, and the fact that it sounds a little rough, they might've been crying, recently.
Gallowglass certainly knows that sound; he's been on both ends of it. "Nothin', just checkin' in. Sound like maybe you've had a rough night."
"Fuck's it to you?" The scoff, and flick open a zippo lighter. It looks beat to shit, but it still functions fine, and their face is illuminated for a half second before they put it out again. On, off. On, off.
He purses his mouth in a placid expression, lifting broad shoulders. "Don't like t'see people upset, that's all. Especially my kinda people." He gestures around them. "You're out here, so...seems like you're my kinda people."
Another scoff, another flick of their lighter. But they do take the time to look him over, trying to judge whether he's actually their kinda people.
Gallowglass is a black man in his thirties; while he looks very physically fit, his skin has a quality to it that is weathered, worn thin by street life. His hands are callused, nails clubbed (ex smoker?). He isn't quite clean-shaven; it looks like a beard that was lazily shorn with clippers recently, and there's a little gray in it. His clothing is soft, that limp shade of gray that clothing gets when the black's been all washed out. But really, it's all in the eyes. They have that determined fire that some mistake for 'empty', the simmering bitter brew that street people embody - that nobody, not nobody, will make them roll over and give up. Not today.
"...So what if I'm your kinda people," they mutter after a few moments, and flick their lighter closed before crossing their arms over their chest. "Don't know you."
"You don't gotta," he shrugs. "I still look out for people; s'what I'm good at." He studies the covered face a moment, ducking his head. "I used t'get all kindsa shit on this block," he confides. "Believe it or not, I was a skinny little shit when I was...well, probably a little younger than you."
"'S no one's block, right now. 'N too far away for -" they cut off abruptly before they can give anything else away. "Figure I'm always gonna be skinny as shit," they shrug. And indeed, they're pretty slight, though their oversized sweatshirt makes it kinda hard to get a handle on just how small they are.
"Make it work for you," he suggests, with a faint smile kicking his mouth up at one side. "It's always th'little ones that are th'toughest. Knew a guy, he was...probably five-five, a buck fifty? Toughest motherfucker I ever knew. Never even had t'raise a hand t'anyone."
"Heh. Yeah 'm no good in a fight, just...fast." The corners of their eyes crinkle slightly, like they're smiling under the mask. "Gets me outta most shit I get into."
"You don't gotta be fast, just gotta be faster than th'other guy, right?" He cocks a lopsided grin at Calamity. "Anyone ever teach you how t'fight?"
"...A little, yeah." They shrug. "'Nuff to keep me alive, 're whatever, but...mostly just figured shit out."
Gallowglass nods. "Fair 'nough. Like you said, you know how t'get outta shit; you can handle yourself."
"Yep. D'you know how'ta fight?"
He snorts. "Kid, I taught Cain how t'use th'fuckin' rock. Yeah. I know how t'fight."
They huff at that, but do draw into themselves a little at the bible reference. "You...feed the cats here, y'said?"
"Here, some other places," he nods. "Someone’s gotta. Other people feed 'em ground up glass and all kindsa shit, but they know I just leave them food, water when I can get bowls."
"People're assholes - had'ta get the guys to stop throwing rocks at one of 'em th'other day. Fuckin' jerks." They shake their head.
"Yeah, I've popped a couple little shits that tried doin' it. I only gotta do it once, usually. Unless they're real determined." He rubs a hand along his jaw. "Thanks for not bein' an asshole."
"Oh I am an asshole, just not to cats." The corners of their eyes crinkle again.
"Well, yeah," he scoffs. "I mean, you gotta have some reward for watchin' out for the cats. I take care of 'em to make up for all th'bullshit I gotta put up with from people."
"People're the worst," they agree wholeheartedly. "Fuck."
"Fuckin' a," he agrees. "Most of 'em. And they say they listen, but they don't. Not really. They might hear what you say, but they sure as shit don't listen to it."
"They sure fuckin' don't. An' I mean...I'm not the best listener, whatever, but...I get the important shit, y'know? Shit that matters." They...might have something in particular that they're talking about.
"Right?" Gallowglass looks at Calamity with plain gratitude; finally, someone that gets it!"You get what's goin' on, and you're doin' your best and makin' sure you don't fuck it up - but nope, you get yelled at anyway."
"Fuckin' - exactly, shit, 'n it's worse when it's over shit that someone else fuckin' did." Their voice breaks slightly here, and they take a shuddery breath.
"But you get blamed for it anyway," Gal breathes out. Is his voice wobbly? "Just another stop on the shit marathon, right?"
"Yep." There's tears shining in Calamity's eyes now, and they look away from him. "But...'s how it always is. Guys I run with, 'm used to it from 'em now, 'n they don't do it so much since I've been with 'em for a bit. But...'s fuckin everyone."
Gal begins the arduous process of creeping to be closer to Calamity, mostly to end up beside - instead of across - from them. He still gives them their space, sitting with his back to the wall, arms stretched across his upturned knees. He's silent for a moment, staring at the blank wall across. "That's gotta be rough," he murmurs finally. "Hate those nights, where it's just....everyone and everything, goin' wrong."
"Mhm." There's a sniffle, and they tug their bandana down to swipe a sleeve across their face, and pull their knees to their chest. "Fuckin' sucks. 'N my friends prolly hate me now, 'n the guys'll never lemme hear the end of it if I show up fuckin' cryin'..." Another sniffle.
"Fuck them. Everybody cries." He tips his head back against the wall, gaze going unfocused in the middle space. "I mean. I ain't gonna speak for your pals, but. Why do you think they hate you?"
"'Cause one of 'em told a secret about me, t' th'other one." It bursts out of them after a few moments, like they can't hold it in anymore. "An'...an' it was just 'cause they thought it might help her, but...I told 'em - I can't - 's my thing. Not somethin' anyone can just throw around to someone else. 'S mine, but...but I got mad at 'em, and...and th'other friend yelled at me, 'cause...'cause knowing it did help her. And - and now they're both mad at me 'cause I got upset an' - an' -" They're starting to gulp for air, holding their knees tight to their chest as they desperately try to fight against the tears.
He furrows his brow, trying to sort through the tangle of emotion wrapped around Calamity. He rubs a hand along his jaw. "That...sucks," he admits. "Shit, kid. I'm sorry, I dunno what else t'say. I mean...yeah." He awkwardly trails off. "But let it out. I'm good for that, at least."
"My fuckin' best friend, an'...an' I yelled at 'em. Swore at 'em, zhe...fuck, I dunno if zhe could yell if zhe tried -" They let out a sob. "An' now zhe's never gonna wanna - be my friend -" Another sob, and then another, and they can't hold it back anymore. They shake as they cry, their wails bouncing off the dumpsters and echoing down the alley.
It takes them a bit to calm down, and at some point they slump onto Jude's shoulder.
"...Fuck, I'm...'m sorry..." they finally manage to say, when they're able to sit upright and wipe their eyes. "Didn't mean'ta like...explode all my shit all over you, you don't deserve that. Did um...d'you run with anyone, when you lived around here?" A blatant attempt to change the subject. But maybe a welcome one?
Jude digs in his pockets, eventually producing, of all things, a handkerchief! He laughs a little. "Don't sweat it. S'good t'get that shit out. You'll get a good night's sleep, wake up, realize your friends probably don't hate you." He claps a hand on their shoulder. "Yeah, it's been a minute. Had a little...we'll call it a 'youth social organization'." He cocks a sly grin at Calamity.
Calamity grins back, and lets out a slightly wet sounding laugh. "I like that - gotta use it sometime. I'm uh...over in Hunting Park, now, me'n the guys...how long's it been?"
"I always used that one with my caseworker," he confides, a shit-eating smirk on his features. "Oh....it's been, what...fifteen years? Maybe more. I been away awhile." He nods, lacing his fingers against his middle. "Hunting Park, shit. That used t'be...let's see. Deshawn Jesse ran four, five guys out there in my day."
"I only been up there a couple years - never had no caseworker'ta tell that shit to. Dunno Deshawn Jesse, either, now there's just us n' the Night Howlers - think they've been around for a while."
Gal shakes his head, shrugging. "Was probably a bit, yeah. I was sent up for awhile, been out of touch with the life." He scratches his nose. "Probably better t'keep it that way."
"Night Howlers're hardasses, we don't fuck with 'em. Even though we've got two blocks, 'n they only got one." There's a hint of pride in their voice.
He purses his mouth in approval, brows lifting. "Not bad, in that area. How many of you?"
"Five. Well, four'n a half, 'f you ask any'a them." They roll their eyes.
"That's a shitty thing t'say," he offers, giving Calamity the side-eye. "You don't gotta take that."
"Yeah, well. They're all the reason I'm not dead in a ditch somewhere, so. 'S whatever." They shrug.
"Take what you can get?" He nods as if he understands. "Pick your battles, even. I get it. Why would you be in a ditch?"
"'Cause I didn't know shit when I got here - place to stay fell through 'n I didn't know how any'a this shit worked. No way I'd'a lasted on my own, you know?"
"Oh yeah, I feel you," he nods, dreads rustling against the brick. "S'how it was when I got to th'hill. New fish in an old pond; still tall as fuck, so ain't like I can keep my head down. It was a rough first week."
They wince in sympathy. "'S so many worse-off places I could be, than with them. Bounced around a few different...'youth social organizations,' but fell in with these guys pretty fast."
"You find that bond, you stick with it," he summarizes, nodding. "I feel you. You run through foster, too?"
"Nah. Parents kicked me out. Came to Philly to stay with a friend, didn't work out, so." They say it pretty matter-of-factly. Like they know he's gonna get it. "Foster system's a piece of shit too though, couple of the guys...nothin' good to say 'bout it."
"Yeah, s'why I asked," he nods. "I was in foster for..." He sucks at his lower lip, squinting. "From....about two, until...twelve? Then they just stuck me in a boys' home." He snorts, sneering, as he applies finger quotes. "Boys' Home. Like we ain't smart enough t'know it's junior jail."
"Eesh. Yeah, 's thirteen, for me. Had'ta play a lotta catch-up, to figure how shit works." They grimace. "I know it wouldn't'a been better, t'be on my own for that long, but...kinda wish it was one or the other sometimes, y'know? Like what was the point of those thirteen years, if this's where I ended up." There's not a lot of emotion in their voice.
"Well, because you ain't done yet," he points out, not unkindly. "How old are you now, seventeen or so?"
"Twenty-one." They meet his eyes defiantly. It's probably a look he knows well. And has used himself enough to know how bullshit it is.
His lips twitch, and he lifts a hand to dismiss the statement, cutting against the air. "No no, kid, sorry, I didn't phrase it right. I meant t'ask, how old are you on Monday morning?" His grins breaks free. "Or if the judge is decidin' where t'send you? He gonna have a real hard choice, or is it straight uphill?"
Calamity's mouth quirks up in a grin. "Nineteen. Barely. Pretty convincing seventeen though, if I gotta."
He barks a laugh of approval, nodding. "All right, all right. That's how t'play it. I told a judge I was seventeen once. Had my file right in front of his face, knew I was twenty-two. Still." He shrugs, grinning wide. "Had t'try, right?"
They snort out a laugh in response. "Yeah well. I been stayin' outta trouble - record's one thing, when it's just juvie shit, but...who knows which judge they'll stick you in front of. But I'm a good kid, sir, honest." Their eyes go a little wide, there, only overacting a little before they break into a grin again.
"There y'go," he laughs. "And yeah, never fails I'd get th'one that decides he's gonna get his baby nuts in a twist and I'm the poor motherfucker he's gonna make an example out of." He spreads both hands, expression bewildered. "Motherfucker, to who?! Ain't nobody lookin' for an example!"
Calamity cackles and unfolds themself from how they'd been sitting, wincing slightly as their joints crack. "Yeah, all the guys got stories like that. I -" Their pocket buzzes once, twice, and all the mirth they'd allowed themself fuckin' disappears as they pull a cheap-ass flip phone from their pocket. "Fuckers, 's like they hear me talking about 'em." They say it fondly, kind of. Kind of. They take a second to check whatever texts they got, and shove the phone away again as they sigh and start to get to their feet.
"I gotta go, sorry. This was..." They nod, and stare at the ground. Emotions are hard, y'know?
"D'you mind if I get your number?" a beat. "Case I ever find any cats need fed."
Jude leans to one side to withdraw his phone, tapping the screen. "Make you a deal. Promise, it's a real easy one."
"...What is it." They narrow their eyes just slightly.
"You talk shit out with your friends." His brows lift. "It's important to have 'em. Even when they piss you off. They only make us so fuckin' mad because we care, and caring feels crappy sometimes. S'just how it goes."
Calamity winces. "...What if they don't wanna?" They sound a little afraid of the answer.
"Aw, shit, they will," he sounds affectionately aggrieved by this. "Th'ones that stick around, shit. They make you talk, it's fuckin' obnoxious. But s'because they wanna keep your ass around. I mean, you do you. You wanna bounce, walk away. I just figure, in my own experience, I walked away recently instead of talkin' it out, and it was one'a th'dumbest things I ever did. So. Learn from my pain I guess, kid." He holds his phone out.
"'F you say so..." They don't sound particularly optimistic, and they take his phone, tapping their info in before handing it back to him. Their contact is set as 'Calamity 💥'.
"See what I can do. I...I do want 'em around. See you 'round?" They tug their bandanna up over their nose and mouth again, before bringing a hand up to give him a small wave and trotting down to the mouth of the alley.
"Yeah, I know." He claps Cal on the shoulder before they scoot off!
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