a desert of pavement opens it's lanes, stretches itself across a landscape of a city about to be left behind. the elder's countenance remains clad, weaved by a vow of silence taken. at their words, hues glide towards the tinted windows, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, rather a habit than a thought --- as if such circumstances were awaited, familiar --- known, to a man, who had spent a decade under the false pretenses of trust. this used to be a deadly line, to be treated. lethal, fragile in its existence --- leaving own chest to rise, playing with the thought, of indulging in a game rather loathed, if not forgotten. faced by circumstances only his own very cruel fate could have left him to live within, a huff of acknowledgement rattles within own throat --- filled by the white noise of a strong snort, merely to last the fragment of fluttering eyelashes. and indeed, blinking towards them now --- with unimpressed glimmer. it should be choked down, this false sense of pride, crowned and sanctified with --- proof of remaining alive, against all odds and macabre curses, he remained ever and always damned with. slowed exhale, mixing itself with own response, " only if i'm to play babysitter for them. " flat tone, rather aiming to sharp shoot, than to leave one alive. call it what you want. same shit. " slapping a fancy title on this, changes little. " less to border the condescending, rather a matter of fact, neither chosen to be concealed nor entirely ignored by himself. exposed to rather unorthodox introductions --- it mattered naught. jace's mustering, scanning hues are countered by own glance --- as fleeting and distanced very own chose to be, narrowed by the inch and unwavering against their awfully bold, questionable approach. after all, who was he to judge ! these realms remained entirely foreign, laced by a bitter taste of realities' brutality ! hardly to transform, to change ways, no matter, who would come to seize command.
within their large moving vehicle, sheltered and hidden from the outside world --- tony would carve out his domain anew. this star rises upon the horizon of a liminal, parallel dimension --- merely to exist, before destination's arrival, would continue to spin this ridiculous wheel once more. his irritation, has no place, to take seat --- and tony wishes for it, to continue in such manner. his doubt, glides through the cracks of a fist, still resting upon his knee. pointless. " if i wanted to be seen, i would be sitting where you are. " chin tilted, pointing towards them. little room for deviance, nor to feign any ignorance. and why would he, anyways ? given badges, in his lifetime, would not come with the deduction of very own dignity. below the avoiding concealment of sunglasses, another layer, another wall --- false expressions upon polished features play a hymn, almost entirely alien to the elder. a source of additional confusion, with an never asked question, to receive a never to be given answer. but line of respect is reluctantly appointed, especially upon the twilight borderline of a blurred conversation --- thus, own neutrality comes to surface, just barely, " i'm not interested in your world. just trying to find my place in mine. " on the legal side of matters. beyond dusted, abandoned and smoke - clad backrooms of a darker realm. beyond the constant hover of deadly threats, another hierarchy to climb through blood soiled steps upon rotting bones. but his thoughts doesn't need to speak, for what seemingly --- looked obvious to jace.
if i'm to play babysitter to them. as those particular words are aired, the van jolts above a bump in the highway. jace, now deeply perturbed, hopes wistfully that the motion hides the way that his prideful smirk twitches downward into a frown. the remaining words are easy to graze over; titles being meaningless is not a point he wishes to argue against. babysitting. that insinuation disturbs him, for there is little fact to render it untrue. jace knows that the publicist gets sick of cleaning up his tiny twitter messes. knows that the intern who just likes music, hates his, and wants to spit in his coffee. he is inordinately aware of this facade — the falsified autonomy with which the capital and cash has blessed him with, amen. but he is self-admittedly: ever so lonely, his personhood drowning away in this surround sound system of fake friends and controlling businessmen alike. and there is little that he can do to resolve it. put candidly, the topic of his handling is an ugly wound, and tony digs into it more quickly than anyone ever has. this guy really doesn't give a shit that i'm famous, he thinks, not quite bewildered, but tacitly pleased. yet with a steadfast defiance does the younger cling to his learned method of concealment. he uses his hidden gaze to drink up tony's visibility, his own features shaded over with a jet-black glaze of a tinted glass. each time he thinks himself satisfied — tony's image processed and memorized — he somehow begins to stare all over again. this is a truth only half veiled by his frames, body language being perhaps a better tell. a beat or two trails the other's brief monologue. and jace merely raises his eyebrows, theatrical, as though struck with a scintillating idea. ❝ i got it now, ❞ pointer finger to the skull in falsified. realization, ❝ the difference, i mean. none of my other body guards were hot. ❞ he effortlessly flies above the conversation, webbing his assertion with an innocent intent to answer an old inquiry.
being seen. that must be the other’s main assumption, jace thinks, that attention is his goal. perhaps he will allow him to maintain the frame of thought. people often aren't worth the corrections. ❝ well, ❞ he says, voice laced with soft finality, ❝ congratulations on the raise. ❞ his voice smooths seamlessly into neutral indifference, the tone accompanied by a gentle and genuine smile. jace busies himself, pushing his sunglasses up to rest away from his eyes and exposing his bruising again, if only for better eye sight while fishing in his bag for that fan letter. he doesn’t spare tony a bare-eyed glance, preferring to respect the invisible wall that their inner shadows have built for safety. ❝ i always pay everyone who doesn’t particularly care to be here double. ❞ knowing the misery of the hours, escapades and facades, it is the least that he is capable of. his gratuity comes in the form of dollars and dazzling smiles, after all. a few beats of quiet follow his statement, only the crack of an opening envelope severing the silence. ❝ my vices are just champagne and joints. i’m not too bad of a baby to sit. compared to the company that i keep. ❞ the information is his way of upholding his own side of an unspoken deal; of making this easier — this finding of one’s place. the babysitting. he does try. ❝ you’re joining me at such a special time, too. today is my last shoot before my big vacation. ❞ the last two words steeped in sarcasm. ❝ i get to do whateverrrr i want. for a whole month. ❞ supposedly unbeknownst to him, paparazzi included. his publicist is ironically bad at keeping secrets from her own clients. ❝ sounds fun, right ? the bad news is you go wherever i go. the good news is, you also get whatever i get. penthouse suites and all. ❞
