For a second, there had been a smile and Tucker was glad for that; it was needed. Necessary. But then mom started crying and the coffin was in the ground and he watched the father holding that shovel, and finally looked away. Shit, he was going to need a drink after this. Maybe three.
Tucker went to stand beside Sonia, watching her mess with the brazier, and for a second he wasn't sure if she was going to cut herself and bleed into the fire like some creepy cultist thing or not. But no, no, it was just hair, and he watched her cut it and put it in, watched it catch the flame and curl up on itself before turning to ash. His own hair was too short for that shit, but they probably didn't want his anyway; he was an outsider and this had to be something a little more special.
He didn't have anythin--
Wait. He had something. It wasn't much, of course; it wasn't like he came with all of his shit because woo, would the tent be a different experience then, but he had one thing, one. He slid his hand into his pockets, digging around before he felt the folded paper, and pulled it out, opening it. After talking to Byerly, he had sat back and drawn a picture of Junior as best he could without color or anything to help him. It wasn't great; he wasn't an artist, but he had tried and it showed with the time, the effort. In the corner there was a basketball, and the mandibles made him look like he was smiling.
Beneath, it just said Junior.
He smiled at it for a second, before folding it up and putting it in the fire. It might not have been much of an offering to anyone else, but it was to him, and the hungry fire charred the edges before working its way inward. Tucker didn't explain it, not now, not yet, but he reached over without looking, found Sonia's hand, and curled his fingers around hers.
His heart hurt, but not as much as it had to for this family here, and that's what he had to remind himself. Later he'd make some dirty jokes and hit on people and be himself, but for now, well, he could shut up and be quiet. Maybe that was his offering, too.
no subject
Tucker went to stand beside Sonia, watching her mess with the brazier, and for a second he wasn't sure if she was going to cut herself and bleed into the fire like some creepy cultist thing or not. But no, no, it was just hair, and he watched her cut it and put it in, watched it catch the flame and curl up on itself before turning to ash. His own hair was too short for that shit, but they probably didn't want his anyway; he was an outsider and this had to be something a little more special.
He didn't have anythin--
Wait. He had something. It wasn't much, of course; it wasn't like he came with all of his shit because woo, would the tent be a different experience then, but he had one thing, one. He slid his hand into his pockets, digging around before he felt the folded paper, and pulled it out, opening it. After talking to Byerly, he had sat back and drawn a picture of Junior as best he could without color or anything to help him. It wasn't great; he wasn't an artist, but he had tried and it showed with the time, the effort. In the corner there was a basketball, and the mandibles made him look like he was smiling.
Beneath, it just said Junior.
He smiled at it for a second, before folding it up and putting it in the fire. It might not have been much of an offering to anyone else, but it was to him, and the hungry fire charred the edges before working its way inward. Tucker didn't explain it, not now, not yet, but he reached over without looking, found Sonia's hand, and curled his fingers around hers.
His heart hurt, but not as much as it had to for this family here, and that's what he had to remind himself. Later he'd make some dirty jokes and hit on people and be himself, but for now, well, he could shut up and be quiet. Maybe that was his offering, too.