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gyzymFor everyone who hasn't read the webcomic Lackadaisy (though you should, you really should, it's amazing), here is a conversation between me and Burrito to show how awesome he is:
Burrito: I've never seen so much perfect snow.
Me: I know, right?
Burrito: I mean, there's no footprints or anything. It's just...perfect.
Me: ....
Burrito: ....
Me: You wanna step in it?
Burrito: Yeah.
WE WROTE OUR NAMES IN FOOTPRINTS, GUYS. IT WAS AWESOME.
Okay, so, uh, for those of you who have read Lackadaisy--which is probably, like, three of you--this is a weird little Mordecai/Victor thing that I blame![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
futureperfect for entirely. It is...pointless and REALLY WEIRD and I don't...yeah, I don't know. It just happened. I'm going back to work on the H-50 fic this interrupted now, but futureperfect, I hope you enjoy this, and butterflythread, I hope it helps make things suck less :D
Title: no one above me to stay my fierce hand
Pairing: Mordecai/Victor
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Together, there's no one they don't frighten.
Author's Notes: Right, so, Mordecai is a Jewish name, specifically from the story of Purim. I would link you to like, a proper rendition of the story, but you really don't need to know more than what the Wikipedia page about it tells you to understand this fic. Additionally, tikkun olum is a Hebrew phrase that, loosely, means "repairing the world," and tsores is Yiddish for misery, calamity, trouble, etc.
1.
Mordecai is named after an unsung hero, a fact that his mother never lets him forget as a child.
"It is about protection," she says, stern and unrelenting, handing him a gregor his father has made for him. "It is about tikkun olum, Mordecai, remember that."
He takes the gregor apart that night, disassembles it in pieces on the floor. It's a crude thing of wood and metal, makes a sharp rattling noise he despises when he spins it. He has heard the story of Purim more times that he can count, and even as a child identifies more with Haman than his namesake; his ruthlessness appeals to Mordecai, as do the neat, creased lines of his three cornered hat.
Later, when he is less about tikkun olum and more about tsores, when his Judaism is just another part of him that no longer exists, he comes back to the story. If one were to consider things objectively, it might be applicable to his life--Mitzi as Esther, Atlas as Ahasuerus, Asa as Haman and Mordecai as himself. It's a romantic notion in a romantic place, under vaulted limestone ceilings, with the alcohol flowing bright and loose around them.
Like everything, though, it falls apart if you look too close. That, Mordecai knows, is the trouble with believing in stories.
2.
He meets Victor during a delivery gone wrong, caught unaware as he choses between a tire iron and a kerosene lamp as his next method of destruction. It's the kind of mistake he only makes because he's young--he knows that even as he makes it--but both have such strong merits that he can't...anyway. Victor just looms out from nowhere, slipping from a corner Mordecai knows he checked, and raps his fist once on their assailant's head.
He drops like a stone. Mordecai can't really blame him.
He stares, unblinking, at the man--at his broad shoulders and sharp eye, at the disinterested curve of his mouth. He's thinking Who are you and How did you get in here and Did you know that eyepatch is about a quarter inch from where it should be, not that it isn't offensive anyway, dividing your face asymmetrically like that, but he knows better than to say any of these things. Mordecai may be young, but he's old enough to know he unsettles people, and old enough to know how to use that.
"Vhat?" says Victor, and oh, he's been staring too long.
"…A clean kill," Mordecai says. "Very clean, well-delivered, nicely done all around. I would perhaps have tried for a slightly less blunt method, but I certainly can't fault you for your results."
"Is nothing," Victor says, shrugging, and slips back into the shadows like he was never there at all.
"Who is he?" Mordecai asks later, seated primly on a barstool, his finger tracing the edge of the tonic and tonic he's ordered to wind down.
"Atlas's new boy, honey," Mitzi says. "A little rough and tumble for me, but you know how Atlas is. You'd best get used to him."
"Hmm," says Mordecai, and sips his drink.
3.
Mordecai is small and ruthless and brilliant, in the sense that there is no problem he cannot--eventually, give or take a couple casualties--solve. He likes victory and satisfaction and being a step ahead; he likes the taste of his own superiority on his tongue, and little else. He is, according to others, a bit of a psychopath, but he wouldn't necessarily know.
Victor is tall and imposing and efficient, in the sense that he wastes no time in killing when there's killing to be done. He likes quiet, and terrifying people, and quietly terrifying people; he likes drink strong enough to curdle his stomach, and little else. He is, according to others, funny, but Mordecai's never been much good at discerning that, isn't sure how to tell.
Mordecai mostly talks, speaks in clipped, sharp sentences, likes to hear himself think. Victor mostly listens, growls for silence occasionally, laughs sometimes for no reason at all. Together, there's no one they don't frighten.
They get along, quite literally, like a house afire--casting sparks in every direction, reducing to ashes things Mordecai never meant to burn.
4.
"You are," Victor says, pausing, and then waves a broad hand in defeat. "Ehh, no. Is too difficult to explain."
"Try," Mordecai says. "Use your words, Victor, you've only got the one eye, you can't expect me to read things from it."
"Like a clock," Victor decides. "Always vound, but little bit too much, yes? Hard to keep time like that."
They're on the riverbank, surrounded by mosquitos, and Mordecai itches everywhere. The bugs have bitten up his back and behind his ears, there is mud on his suit, their shipment is two and a half hours late, and Victor is comparing him to a clock.
"I keep perfect time," Mordecai says, affronted, and kisses him.
Victor laughs into his mouth, the sound big and broad and dangerous, coming from low in his throat. He is large everywhere, looming even when they're chest to chest, a weapon in his own right; Mordecai shivers to think of what they could, together, tear apart.
"Vell, yes," he says, pulling away, "I vould imagine so."
Mordecai's blood simmers with intent until their shipment appears, a speck at first, on the horizon.
5.
"You should leave," Mordecai says, his only concession to sentimentality. His suitcase is in hand, packed full with crisply pressed shirts and eight different knives, and he shouldn't have come back here. This place is all arching limestone and highball glasses, and Victor is an anachronism amongst the already visible decay.
He just raises an eyebrow, the bastard. He's always known Mordecai sets less stock in people than things.
"You could leave, is what I mean," Mordecai corrects. "The semantic argument being what it--no, I apologize, what am I saying. You should leave, I was right the first time. You must know, Victor."
"Of course I know," says Victor.
"Then why?" says Mordecai.
Victor wastes what could have been, in Mordecai's admittedly rather dispassionate view, a romantic moment. He just stares at him with his good eye, like he's carving a hole in Mordecai's skull, which is impossible, of course. Skull-carving is really more Mordecai's thing.
"Vhat," Victor says finally, "gave you the idea that I do not enjoy a lost cause?"
"You're an idiot," Mordecai says.
"Perhaps," Victor agrees, and lets him go.
Burrito: I've never seen so much perfect snow.
Me: I know, right?
Burrito: I mean, there's no footprints or anything. It's just...perfect.
Me: ....
Burrito: ....
Me: You wanna step in it?
Burrito: Yeah.
WE WROTE OUR NAMES IN FOOTPRINTS, GUYS. IT WAS AWESOME.
Okay, so, uh, for those of you who have read Lackadaisy--which is probably, like, three of you--this is a weird little Mordecai/Victor thing that I blame
futureperfect for entirely. It is...pointless and REALLY WEIRD and I don't...yeah, I don't know. It just happened. I'm going back to work on the H-50 fic this interrupted now, but futureperfect, I hope you enjoy this, and butterflythread, I hope it helps make things suck less :DTitle: no one above me to stay my fierce hand
Pairing: Mordecai/Victor
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Together, there's no one they don't frighten.
Author's Notes: Right, so, Mordecai is a Jewish name, specifically from the story of Purim. I would link you to like, a proper rendition of the story, but you really don't need to know more than what the Wikipedia page about it tells you to understand this fic. Additionally, tikkun olum is a Hebrew phrase that, loosely, means "repairing the world," and tsores is Yiddish for misery, calamity, trouble, etc.
1.
Mordecai is named after an unsung hero, a fact that his mother never lets him forget as a child.
"It is about protection," she says, stern and unrelenting, handing him a gregor his father has made for him. "It is about tikkun olum, Mordecai, remember that."
He takes the gregor apart that night, disassembles it in pieces on the floor. It's a crude thing of wood and metal, makes a sharp rattling noise he despises when he spins it. He has heard the story of Purim more times that he can count, and even as a child identifies more with Haman than his namesake; his ruthlessness appeals to Mordecai, as do the neat, creased lines of his three cornered hat.
Later, when he is less about tikkun olum and more about tsores, when his Judaism is just another part of him that no longer exists, he comes back to the story. If one were to consider things objectively, it might be applicable to his life--Mitzi as Esther, Atlas as Ahasuerus, Asa as Haman and Mordecai as himself. It's a romantic notion in a romantic place, under vaulted limestone ceilings, with the alcohol flowing bright and loose around them.
Like everything, though, it falls apart if you look too close. That, Mordecai knows, is the trouble with believing in stories.
2.
He meets Victor during a delivery gone wrong, caught unaware as he choses between a tire iron and a kerosene lamp as his next method of destruction. It's the kind of mistake he only makes because he's young--he knows that even as he makes it--but both have such strong merits that he can't...anyway. Victor just looms out from nowhere, slipping from a corner Mordecai knows he checked, and raps his fist once on their assailant's head.
He drops like a stone. Mordecai can't really blame him.
He stares, unblinking, at the man--at his broad shoulders and sharp eye, at the disinterested curve of his mouth. He's thinking Who are you and How did you get in here and Did you know that eyepatch is about a quarter inch from where it should be, not that it isn't offensive anyway, dividing your face asymmetrically like that, but he knows better than to say any of these things. Mordecai may be young, but he's old enough to know he unsettles people, and old enough to know how to use that.
"Vhat?" says Victor, and oh, he's been staring too long.
"…A clean kill," Mordecai says. "Very clean, well-delivered, nicely done all around. I would perhaps have tried for a slightly less blunt method, but I certainly can't fault you for your results."
"Is nothing," Victor says, shrugging, and slips back into the shadows like he was never there at all.
"Who is he?" Mordecai asks later, seated primly on a barstool, his finger tracing the edge of the tonic and tonic he's ordered to wind down.
"Atlas's new boy, honey," Mitzi says. "A little rough and tumble for me, but you know how Atlas is. You'd best get used to him."
"Hmm," says Mordecai, and sips his drink.
3.
Mordecai is small and ruthless and brilliant, in the sense that there is no problem he cannot--eventually, give or take a couple casualties--solve. He likes victory and satisfaction and being a step ahead; he likes the taste of his own superiority on his tongue, and little else. He is, according to others, a bit of a psychopath, but he wouldn't necessarily know.
Victor is tall and imposing and efficient, in the sense that he wastes no time in killing when there's killing to be done. He likes quiet, and terrifying people, and quietly terrifying people; he likes drink strong enough to curdle his stomach, and little else. He is, according to others, funny, but Mordecai's never been much good at discerning that, isn't sure how to tell.
Mordecai mostly talks, speaks in clipped, sharp sentences, likes to hear himself think. Victor mostly listens, growls for silence occasionally, laughs sometimes for no reason at all. Together, there's no one they don't frighten.
They get along, quite literally, like a house afire--casting sparks in every direction, reducing to ashes things Mordecai never meant to burn.
4.
"You are," Victor says, pausing, and then waves a broad hand in defeat. "Ehh, no. Is too difficult to explain."
"Try," Mordecai says. "Use your words, Victor, you've only got the one eye, you can't expect me to read things from it."
"Like a clock," Victor decides. "Always vound, but little bit too much, yes? Hard to keep time like that."
They're on the riverbank, surrounded by mosquitos, and Mordecai itches everywhere. The bugs have bitten up his back and behind his ears, there is mud on his suit, their shipment is two and a half hours late, and Victor is comparing him to a clock.
"I keep perfect time," Mordecai says, affronted, and kisses him.
Victor laughs into his mouth, the sound big and broad and dangerous, coming from low in his throat. He is large everywhere, looming even when they're chest to chest, a weapon in his own right; Mordecai shivers to think of what they could, together, tear apart.
"Vell, yes," he says, pulling away, "I vould imagine so."
Mordecai's blood simmers with intent until their shipment appears, a speck at first, on the horizon.
5.
"You should leave," Mordecai says, his only concession to sentimentality. His suitcase is in hand, packed full with crisply pressed shirts and eight different knives, and he shouldn't have come back here. This place is all arching limestone and highball glasses, and Victor is an anachronism amongst the already visible decay.
He just raises an eyebrow, the bastard. He's always known Mordecai sets less stock in people than things.
"You could leave, is what I mean," Mordecai corrects. "The semantic argument being what it--no, I apologize, what am I saying. You should leave, I was right the first time. You must know, Victor."
"Of course I know," says Victor.
"Then why?" says Mordecai.
Victor wastes what could have been, in Mordecai's admittedly rather dispassionate view, a romantic moment. He just stares at him with his good eye, like he's carving a hole in Mordecai's skull, which is impossible, of course. Skull-carving is really more Mordecai's thing.
"Vhat," Victor says finally, "gave you the idea that I do not enjoy a lost cause?"
"You're an idiot," Mordecai says.
"Perhaps," Victor agrees, and lets him go.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 03:22 am (UTC)/WHEEEEEEEEZE
THIS IS SO SO PERFECT UGH I LOVE YOU SFM RN AND FOR WRITING THIS TOO YOU HAVE NO IDEA OH MY GOD SERIOUSLY I HAVE FRIENDS FROM OVERSEAS INTERNET RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW AND I WAS LIKE "EXCUSE ME I HAVE TO GO AND READ THIS THING BRB" AND GOD YES NO THIS IS NOT WEIRD THIS IS AMAZING YOU ARE AMAZING.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 03:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:37 am (UTC)So glad you enjoyed, bb! This was so much fun to write.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:39 am (UTC)b) I just yelled to Roommate "OH GOD GYZYM WROTE A FIC ABOUT CATS IN THE PROHIBITION ERA."
Her: "...are you reading it?"
Me: "NO. Yes."
To be fair, she sent me tentacle porn twice. So.
c) I loved, loved, loved this. Particularly the fourth segment.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:41 am (UTC)And I'm so glad you enjoyed this :D Thanks so much!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:44 am (UTC)to be fair I stepped on the other cat yesterday and his reaction was to get a terrible cat-boner. and he is named after sylvia plath. so I'm really not sure to what degree further we could destroy this household
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:54 am (UTC)Guh, does that comic not have the most gorgeous art you've ever seen anywhere? And, like, the amazing characters, and the amazing writing, and EVERY TIME ROCKY DOES ANYTHING EVER. AND IT'S IN THE TWENTIES.
Anyway, THIS WAS GORGEOUS, aaaaahhhhh I love your characterization for Mordecai, it's brilliant!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 04:58 am (UTC)Oh my god, it is, seriously, so pretty. I just can't bear how good it is all around, it's honest to god shocking, the level of skill. I totally would not have known about it if not for
Thanks so much for reading and commenting, bb, so glad you enjoyed this :D
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 05:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 05:13 am (UTC)HOW
WHAT
IS THIS REAL LIFE??!!??!!
This was AMAZING
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 05:14 am (UTC)BUT I'M GLAD YOU LIKED IT?
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 05:40 am (UTC)Can I link this to Tracy? I'm sure she'll super-love it!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 05:43 am (UTC)I just. I just. You want to...you want to what?
Do you...do you know her? Won't she be like, um, WHO TOOK MY CATS AND MADE THEM KISS ON THE INTERNET WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?
ETA: AUGH I AM SORRY I DO NOT MEAN TO COME OFF AS LIKE, STANDOFFISH OR ANYTHING I SWEAR TO GOD I AM JUST. Oh man the idea of her seeing this is like. Mildly panic inducing sjhfdjskfhdsjkf
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 06:20 am (UTC)YOU READ LACKADAISY. AND WRITE FIC FOR LACKADAISY. WHAT.
Seriously, how can you get any more awesome? :O *stunned shock*
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 06:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 06:49 am (UTC)I mean it's pretty tame (i.e. not smut), it's totally in character but see my rationality was totally selfish and "OMG WHAT IF TRACY DREW THIS AND THEN EVERYTHING WOULD BE AWESOME ART AND AWESOME WRITING AND NOTHING WOULD HURT"
Not standoffish! It's a totally rational fear I won't tell her if you don't want me too.
IDK, I'd be flattered
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 07:56 am (UTC)1) When I saw "Lackadaisy fic" in my friends page, I practically squealed. (Sad truth, I even have a witness) I used to spend my internet days on the webcomic forums, so I guess you can say I'm a big fan.
2) When I saw you wrote it, I squealed more.
3) This fandom is sadly lacking in fic, so if you decided to write more of it, whatever pairing or even gen stuff, I really wouldn't mind. I'M JUST SAYING.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 08:05 am (UTC)EVERYONE LOVES VICTOR AND MORDECAI TOGETHER. IT MUST HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH THEIR SMASHING PERSONALITIES.
VICTOR AND LOST CAUSESSS!!!! I am reminded of him wearing ugly sweaters by old grandmothers MORDECAI WOULD BE MORTIFIED. Maybe carve it off and ravage him after?
YOU ARE GODLYYYYY!!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 09:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-27 11:18 am (UTC)...
VIKTOR ARRIVED TO THE LACKADAISY BEFORE MORDECAI.
Also, I totally imagined the fic ending with a gunshot *BANG*
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Date: 2011-02-27 01:27 pm (UTC)Viktor and Mordecai Lackadaisy fic! Delicious'd like crazy.
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Date: 2011-02-27 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-02 04:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-05 08:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-07 06:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-25 04:33 am (UTC)This is amazing! I love Viktor and Mordecai precisely for the reasons you described, because they are quiet terrifying people, and they're a well-oiled machine when they work as a team. Mordecai is such a mysterious character in the comic, so I like that you wrote through his perspective. Your Viktor is perfect, and their dynamic is exactly as I thought it might have been. Bravo!