*HERO / COMPLEX.

.

Jude’s brow inevitably creased when Sonny brought up the bouncer, not only for the danger imposed to their most important friend in a very physical sense, but also the more abstract threat implicit in Lydia seeing it happen. “Fuck,” they uttered eloquently, the one leg that was swinging starting to swing a little faster with nerves. It didn’t slow even when they accepted the joint and took a quick, deep lungful, the smoke scraping down Jude’s throat in a much different way than their vape but not in a way they wholly minded.

It was a precarious tightrope they’d been walking for years with Lydia. Jude had been careful to follow Sonny’s lead when they met, well aware that the two of them were far too inexorably intertwined for her to believe that one would be in the business they’re in without the other. But maybe she’d be upset to know they were both in it without her. Without her even knowing.

Jude tilted his head back towards the sky, a starless backdrop thanks not to clouds but to the pollution of the bright lights all around them, and exhaled a soft cloud of smoke. “Fuck,” he said again, more subdued this time, as he lowered his gaze to Sonny’s, an uncharacteristic picture of heavy concern, and offered the joint back.

Ultimately, he shook his head. “There’s lots of people here I know. A few of ‘em even know me.” Which was the more important point, when Jude was so frequently an anonymous name behind a computer or cellphone screen. “But if they know what’s good for ‘em, they won’t be seen talking to me.” Jude shook his head again, licked his lips. This time when his scuffed-white boot swung out, it caught briefly but purposefully at the outside of Sonny’s thigh.

“Ever think too much about what’d happen if she found out?” ‘If’ felt like a lie, when it was so much more likely a ‘when.’ Lord knew Jude thought too much about it, when he so often considered himself the most disposable of the three. Lydia could hate him, he figured with an unaffectedness he didn’t really feel. But surely she couldn’t hate her brother.

—

“Fuck indeed,” he echoed the sentiment with a bitter mirth not quite present in his friend’s own delivery. Kohl-rimmed eyes lingered on Jude’s form, on the angles formed as they tilted their head to the sky, and the way the cityscape reflected off of them to create a soft diffusion of light like a pink-hued halo. Rather candidly, and likely a byproduct of the cross-fade starting to take effect in his brain, Sonny grinned, “I should’ve brought my camera. You look–” Inhale, exhale. “—too good to ruin it by gettin’ worried over my own...shenanigans.”

He shrugged at the silliness of the thought. Where Sonny’s shenanigans ended, Jude’s began, and vice versa. The world might see the Caine siblings as inexorably linked, but in the deepest sense of what the trio was truly comprised of — wouldn’t that title instead be better suited to the two who shared a secret as readily as a joint on a rooftop, as manicures and Mario Kart, as inside jokes and knowing glances? Sonny shrugged again, a half-bemused chuckle accompanying another small exhale of smoke as the other nudged his thigh.

“Well, half the reason I keep you ‘round is for the thrill of it all,” he joked in response, words bearing a certain truth — not solely in the sense of fending off any trouble that came their way, but simply because that Jude was a thrill. Beyond friendly flights of fancy, they offered something Sonny’s life seemed naturally inclined to reject: stability. Stability in the form of someone to look forward to, to even occasionally come home to, to lean against and trust even with that which was most hidden from the rest of the world. Whatever existed between them was indeed a thrill, the kind that demanded to be protected if only for its sheer rarity. 

Before he could speak more on it, they were back on about Lydia — and when his sister was the topic of conversation, all other considerations fell momentarily by the wayside. “‘Too much’? How about eight days a week?” A beat, filled by a nervous chuckle, gaze clouded with a hint of reluctance. “I didn’t realize we were playing Truth of Dare, but seeing as I’ve lazily worked my way around a truth, that means you get a dare.” Those were hardly the rules, and they both knew it, but his assertion carried the undercurrent of a simple plea. “Dare you to distract me from the inevitability of my sister hating me when she finds out.”

.

“It’s very true! But because you don’t, and my feet are smaller than yours and therefore render you unable to steal mine, I get to be a bit taller, just this time.” She paused, “I mean, still not taller than you, that is not something I’d dare to take away from you - much like the award for ‘sibling who is the best and who I love more than anything ever, but I digress.” She nestled against her brother as they began to make their way around the room. “You could also pull off this dress, you know,” she whispered, “but I still say you look absolutely stunning in your choice of attire for tonight.” She ran her hand along Sonny’s jacket, before giving him a small tap on his nose, in response to the earlier boop deposited on hers.

“Yes, well, all sorts of places hold their own sorts of magic, so…” She pressed her lips together. “And besides, if I hadn’t done that then we wouldn’t have had record of our idea to make those candy wraps - tortillas, sour candies, and caramels, regrettably.” Lydia made a face. “Even if that was not our best idea, it’s nice to have records of our sudden-onset ideas and plans.” Because everything with you is worth documenting was the silent, unspoken message between the two of them. One that was constant, and had been for as long as she could remember.

“He’s not done anything even remotely of the sort!” She exclaimed. “I’ve not even run into him for some time now, he’s probably off talking with like, real important and fancy people, he actually hasn’t even texted me in like a full twenty-plus minutes!” Lydia quirked her lips to the side, “come on, just have fun with me and forget all about my boss, no matter how neat he is. I’m not working, and Graham wouldn’t make me work at this sort of event. I think he also thinks I need to have fun, and having a whole adulty adult tell you that is something, let me tell you.” She was grateful that Sonny trusted that her friendship with Graham was just that - and there was no one’s opinion who she valued more, and no one’s trust who she wanted more, than her brother’s. 

“Well, I don’t know if it’s all watered down - not that I’m an expert - but yes. Let’s do it!” Lydia brightened again, offering a small kiss to Sonny’s cheek. “Are they now? Well, if there were be a place that they’d secretly premiere something new, this does seem like that sort of place!” She allowed him to lead the two of them toward the VIP lounge. “You’ve got a lot of faith in me. However, I promise to not make a face like I did during family photos when they said I had to take a picture without you.” Lydia giggled, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

As they arrived, she pulled the two of them up to the person who stood in front of the doors. “Hi!” Lydia offered a bright smile, “we’re meant to be in there - I - I’m a reporter,” she pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “for the BBC. So, can we? Please?”

—

“A ‘real adulty adult’, huh?” Sonny repeated her words with a chuckle, the phrase cementing his suspicions as to his sister’s level of inebriation. Try as he might to tease her about it, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride; after all, Lydia was the one who devoted her days and nights to the unending pursuit of a good story. So, if she allowed herself just one night to let loose, Sonny knew it still wouldn’t be enough to make up for all that time spent toiling away over keyboards and field notes just to make one man look far more clever than he likely actually was. “Suppose that makes me a ‘kiddy kid,’ then, and to that I say... Baaaah.” 

It was, admittedly, a terrible impression of a goat, his commitment to the imitation sacrificed to the unspoken rules of the evening which demanded decorum amongst the masses. Sonny, admittedly, knew what lay a few floors below the masses: an underground arena to which he was, by now, well-accustomed. Therefore, he also knew that bleating was the less preferable option to its sonically near-identical twin of ‘bleeding’ — something which he had done a number of times in the Red Rose’s hallowed halls, yet had no intention of doing while in Lydia’s company. Still, the mental recognition of unintentional, if not macabre, wordplay brought a shudder of a laugh to his chest.

Returning to her as they neared the VIP level, he assured, “Oh, I’m certain the face I’ll be making if I see Mr. Turner in the flesh would beat yours tenfold. I’d probably start drooling — God, am I actually a goat?” Sonny joked ( kidded, if he kept on with the farm animal shtick ) but quickly adjusted his countenance into something more serious when met by the stern gaze of the bouncer. Lydia led with even more exuberance than he expected her to, and the man, in turn, gave them both a hard once over, yet convinced. As inconspicuously as he could manage, Sonny averted his gaze, allowing his pirate hat to do most of the work — though not before realizing the Jolly Roger-emblazoned bandana he’d kept wrapped around his wrist. 

“Princess Peach can go in. Wannabe Jack Sparrow over here, nah.” The bouncer declared, arms resolutely crossed over his chest, and the older Caine caught the way his eyes lingered over the bandana before passing back to the blonde.

“Well, we’re a bit of a package deal, so...” Sonny started, half-attempted plea falling flat even to his own ears — though, what else could he expect? This was the first time he’d ever been caught between the two most important aspects of his life: the known and beloved, against the secret and detestable. “Just name your price, mate, and let me walk in with my sister, yeah?”

The bouncer scoffed callously in response, and leaned his much bigger frame over Sonny, clearly intent on intimidation. “Keep talking, pirate, and you’ll end up paying much more’n what your wallet holds. That’s the only way we let your kind in.” 

At that, Sonny froze.

.

‘Entirely fitting for someone who’s just about as elusive as smoke.’ Jude snickered from the perch they’d found on a wide concrete railing, one that let them swing their feet far enough from the ground — and almost put them eye-to-eye with Sonny. “You always manage t’find me, though.” But that sounded a little too cheesy, a little too personal, so Jude was quick to move on.

“Never really anything sharing a joint wouldn’t help,” Jude figured, glancing down as Sonny took one of his hands. His own fingers felt bony and cold in comparison to Sonny’s substantive warmth, and they felt colder still in the absence of it; he was quick to stuff his hands in the soft sweatshirt pocket of the totally-on-dress-code tie-dye hoodie he had on under his suit coat. “And sorry for messin’ with your handiwork, I’m…”

He’s, what? Jude kept idly swinging one of his legs as he endeavored to put his words together. “Lot of people in there, is all. Just feelin’ overwhelmed.” Which was the truth, but not all of it. Jude’s teeth worried at the corner of their lip, a childish habit never grown out of, as they glanced over Sonny’s face. “You okay, here?” In Jabberwock territory, was the unspoken continuation. But if anyone was good at finishing Jude’s sentences, it was Sonny.

—

“Maybe I like finding you in the crowd, is all,” Sonny replied simply, an honest smile brightening his features. Rosiness further illuminated by the cosmos-like scatter of lights from London’s skyline, he found himself succumbing to the notion of shying away, nestled at the pit of his stomach like nerves. Like butterflies. He was usually so free in his presentation to Jude, comfortable beyond measure even when his words were at their most minute. With each other, they spoke in the singular language their friendship had come to invent over time: a mix of tender physicality and unspoken, yet definite, understanding. 

So, when one spoke without saying much at all, the other knew immediately which silence lent itself to comfort and which to concern. It was the latter that struck Sonny now, unsurprising given the setting and their relationship to those within. In an attempt to soothe by way of assurance, he declared, “Only means we’re due for a bit of spa and Spyro, eh?” Ring-clad hands rifled through frilly pockets for a joint and a lighter. “Might bring Lydia along, too. Hopefully make her forget all about how a Jabby bouncer staunchly refused to let her big brother into the VIP section. Reason’s still unknown to her, thankfully.” 

He shook off the recent memory, and inhaled deeply before passing the joint to Jude, slow trail of smoke exhaled through his nostrils as he explained, “Just makes me think how much she doesn’t know...about the world, about me, about you.” A beat, filled half with worry and half with wonder. “Speaking of... There anythin’ more to that overwhelmed feeling of yours? I haven’t got any varnish on me, but I’m not much one for painting over problems, anyway.”

.

She could remember rewinding to watch the dancing scene of Roger’s and Hammerstein’s Cinderella over and over again, dragging her brother into the middle of the living room floor, before they both would inevitably fall, laughing, onto the couch and share a bowl of popcorn absurdly too large for the both of them.

It, much like practically every single other memory in which her brother was included, was one from which there was nothing but a feeling of intense, warming joy.

“Sonny!” She felt any leftover tension leave her body right away as she let her brother twirl her around, the skirt of her dress spinning out and around before she stopped to refocus on him. “One, I’ve missed you, even though it’s been perhaps a few days at most since I saw you, and two, look, I’m nearly as tall as you in these heels. Or working on it, at least.” She bunched up her nose.

“No, no - I’m not properly here working, just figured I’d come, and I mean yes I’ve been taking notes but I literally did that in a Tesco’s when I was eight, so…” she trailed off. “I appreciate that I have a very noble Pirate King willing to defend my honor, though.” Lydia offered him a smile. “Don’t ruin the scepter, he’s quite proud of it, it’s actually fairly adorable, if I do say so myself.” She paused, “his pride, not the scepter, to be clear. Though the scepter is certainly fitting with the theme, so one can appreciate the effort and therefore the resulting deserved pride.” A smile beamed across her face - “I am however, still an employee of the BBC and so I might be able to convince someone to let us into the VIP section, if you’re game to try that?” 

A shrug, “and I believe you’ve told me I have a lovely smile, so maybe that will help us out.”

— 

His smile brightened immeasurably as they reenacted one of countless pretend-scenes from their youth, and Sonny (ever the sentimental one) couldn’t help but imagine his sister in her younger form, twirling around in a too-big dress, teetering about in shoes she’d no clue how to wear. Eyeing the heels she sported tonight, he gave her a playful nudge with his elbow, grinning, “Yeah, alright... But that’s only ‘cause I haven’t got ones of my own on tonight.” Taking the opportunity she’d presented, Sonny lightly booped the tip of her nose with a small chuckle, before wrapping an arm around her shoulder as they ambled about the space.

“A Tesco’s and every other setting that struck your fancy. But, as long as it’s not Mr. Goldstein who’s turned your one night of fun into a workin’ one, then...I suppose he can keep his scepter.” Even before Lydia properly landed her job, Sonny did a bit of research of his own to learn the nature of her prospective workmates and bosses. Along with the man’s achievements — which certainly could be seen as reason enough to want to work alongside him — Goldstein’s penchant for having a pretty young colleague on his arm one week, and an entirely different one the next, had been well-documented...much to Sonny’s dismay.

However, if there was a single person he trusted to speak the truth, it was Lydia, and when she stated that those late-night research sessions with the man were no more than just that, he believed her. Of course, Sonny still hated the idea of his baby sister being worked to the bone, so when his ears were met by her suggestion of something undeniably fun, he beamed at her with pride, gleefully willing to indulge in her flight of fancy. 

“The VIP? Oh, I bet they’ve got proper drinks being served there, too. Not the watered down stuff I’ve been getting all evenin’. Maybe even a band tucked in the corner? Arctic Monkeys are making a comeback, you know — imagine if we heard one of their new songs before the album came out? Oh, I’m beyond in.” His eyes traced a mental path from this lounge to their desired destination, ever the one to test the waters before letting Lydia dip her toe. Arm linked with hers, he started them off towards the VIP Lounge, excited anticipation coloring his tone impossibly bright as he whispered, “If all that’s standing in between me and seeing Alex Turner live is a smile...you better show ‘em one hell of a big, toothy grin, sis.”

A House of Cards and Lords; the Red Rose feat. @samsoncaine​​

Jude had a tendency to exist in the nebulous in-between of introvert and extrovert — much of that was to do with his work as a streamer, putting on a show for and interacting with the masses, but only at a distance. At any moment he had the option to turn them off, leave himself to an instant solitude that could be at once suffocating and leave an enormous sense of relief.

Here, tonight, Jude couldn’t simply turn these people off. It was getting to the point where he couldn’t even really tune the majority of them out, a realization that only turned into a feedback loop the more he thought about it. He’d started to pick at the nail polish on his fingertips, and wasn’t entirely sure if it was dysphoria or nerves.

Sonny crossed his line of sight and Jude snapped out of it, finally prompted to do something. He quickly darted through the spaces between entirely too much embroidered satin and obnoxiously large skirts to catch his friend by the elbow, popping up on tip-toe to rest his chin on Sonny’s shoulder. “I’m goin’ outside,” he said without bothering to properly announce himself ( because it was Sonny and he didn’t have to ), and his friend was welcome either to take that as an FYI or an invitation to follow.

Either way, Jude pulled away as abruptly as he’d appeared and, without bothering to look back, squirmed his way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd towards a door he’d seen designated as the smoker’s patio.

Sonny didn’t have to follow, but. Jude hoped they followed.

—

Despite his inherited affiliation, Sonny had no true interest in playing silly little games of territory and thievery, not for the sake of chaos created and certainly not while forced to be where the Jabberwocks had the upper hand. A flash of candyfloss pink caught his eye — then, appeared at his side and vanished from it in all-too-quick succession — and Jude’s three words were announcement and invitation enough to pull him away from the corner he’d taken to, seemingly in the same search of escape as his friend.

Intuition, rather than sight, prompted him to find the quietest, most private corner of the space in order to find the streamer. “Smoker’s patio,” he acknowledged, sidling up to his friend with a knowing smirk. “Entirely fitting for someone who’s just about as elusive as smoke.” His words are offered without malice, and his smirk blossomed into an easy grin now that they’ve both found themselves in the company of someone whose costume was similarly sewn from the thread of societal and anti-monarchist fuck you’s. 

He searched Jude’s hands for the expected vape, but was drawn instead to the picked nail polish, a recent occurrence given — “We just painted these the other day, didn’t we?” Sonny asked, waggling his ringed fingers in the air to show off his own manicure, still a fresh display of sunrise pinks and blues, before gently cradling Jude’s own to examine them further. “Don’t worry. Softshell turtles and candy-colored gamers alike tend to get nervous when they’re not in their native habitat.” A gentle squeeze of reassurance, and then he released them. “Things alright in that electric dreamin’ brain of yours? Anything that sharing a spliff might help?”

It was that simple, earnest nature of Sonny that allowed him to be so fond of a location that should be entirely off-limits for one with his reluctantly-sworn allegiance. Although a majority of all he was often seemed to stand at odds with one another, there were threads within the core fibers of the older sibling’s mind that simply couldn’t be restrung and replaced by others, one of which was simply: he was an aesthete to a fault. And so, it came as no surprise that he was lost in whimsical admiration as he explored the Red Rose, stopping in his awed observation only when another, entirely different delight reached his eyes.

She stood out amongst the sumptuous sea of crimson and onyx, in a princess pink that reminded him so very much of the times they played dress-up as children. “Lyds!” He breathed out with palpable excitement, though he couldn’t deny the pang of uncomfortable surprise forming a pit in his stomach. Perhaps selfishly, if only to rid himself of the feeling, he offered his hand for her to perform a twirl. “Don’t tell me the crown prince of the BBC has my favorite princess working on an assignment tonight. He knows that this is a real sword, right? It’ll cut right through that sparkly little scepter of his.” 

*HALLOWEEN 2022 » Sonny Caine as PIRATE KING ELIZABETH SWANN.

Under no circumstances would resident anti-monarchist Sonny Caine dress as a member of the Royal Family of past or present. At the same time, the only ‘King’ he’d really like to emulate is political leader Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. But, knowing how fussy certain Jabberwocks can be about dress codes, he anticipated a simple black suit to be ill-received, and so elected to buck the traditions of both monarchy and gender by donning his finest pirate garb to portray Elizabeth Swann, Pirate King. 

*SOME PEOPLE CALL ME ‘TENDER-HEARTED,’ BUT WHO WOULDN’T THINK IT CRUEL TO DIP ANIMAL CRACKERS IN HOT COFFEE?

*NAME: Samson “Sonny” Caine. *AGE: 34. *OCCUPATION: Owner of One Man’s Trash & political activist. *AFFILIATION: Jolly Rogers. *PINTEREST: here !!

»»» graffiti on a brick wall that gets passed by daily, with only the sharpest of eyes noticing how it grows and changes over time; a cat with limbs outstretched, basking in their favorite spot in the sun; fresh-cut flowers wrapped in parchment paper; the desperate belief in angel numbers as signs from above; the loving way a parent blows on their child’s hot food; small gifts given ‘just because’; a candle used to the very bottom of the wick, yet curiously kept; silent tears of glitter and pearl; the quiet spark of revolution; a hero for hire.

BASICS, HISTORY, & EXTRAS UNDER THE CUT !!