Pomme

I feel like Jean Loo would lose the motivation to take care of his physique, tho he also fears it's the only redeeming part of himself, so he feels shameful for letting himself go the way he did. But he can't find it in him to continue to take care of himself no matter how badly he wants to and desperately feels like he needs to, he hates that he lost himself, he failed himself more than he failed anyone else and he wants so much more than to feel used like he has been for so long.

Another things I feel like is very psychologically hurting him is the fact you were the only one that bothered to stay even if it was for one thing, and he simply didn't want to get hurt by you anymore. He thought maybe if he got rid of you, since you've already used him all the time for the entirety of his life, and still continue to do so even when he's no longer your possession, he would feel better. But if anything it made him more miserable and he has absolutely no idea why, he knows he should be happy to get rid of someone who's caused him so much pain but he can't bother.

     Johnny, who had previously been immersed in his heartfelt ballad, turned around to glare at Jean Loo. Johnny was a lover by nature, ever since he was a little baby shower his mama said to his water pressure always ran soft, but he was getting mighty close to steaming every time the blue haired heckler, well, heckled.

    “Hey now! What gives man? I’m tryna get into my sweet tunes here. Tryna come up with a nice n’ funky beat!” Never one to stray from dramatics, Johnny strikes a pose, hands on his hips.

    Jean Loo, appalled and offended, rolls his eyes so far that they may have actually rolled into the back of his head had he not been so determined to look the agitator of the night. What he saw was a guiltless wall of pipes with ironically bad pipes.

     “What gives?! You ask Jean Loo ‘What gives?!’ Ben voyons! Clean the water out of your ears, you fool! You will ‘ear that you’re not giving anything! You are taking, stealing, my very sanity!” The toilet was fuming, striking a pose of his own, arms crossed and torso leaning back. His visage made the picture perfect image of a disturbed artist.

     “Wohohohohoho now John Lou, settle on down!” Johnny tried to placate the frustrated man.

     “No! Nononononono! Not John Lou. Moi c’est Jean Loo!”

     “...Ain’t that what i just said? John Lou?”

     “Non. Jean Loo.”

     “Yeah…John-”

     “Forget it! Your pronunciation is as tragic as your music!”

     “Gasp! You take that back!”

     Before either of them could escalate their disagreement, they were stopped by the slow and menacing sound of a door opening. Not just any door…a Dorian. The bouncer glared at the pair. They could tell he wasn’t mad, just disappointed. That disappointment was all it took for the two appliances to stop their squabbling.

     Dorian lingered for a moment, a long awkward moment, before sending them a singular, slow nod.

     “Making a friend can make you a new person, because it opens up doors inside of you…that you never knew were there…” Dorian steadily closed the door, exiting the bathroom, leaving the plumbing alone, surrounded by silence. It may be the only time the bathroom had ever been fully quiet.

     “I don’t want ‘im inside of me at all.” Jean Loo muttered, visibly disturbed.

     Johnny hummed, thinking long and hard. “I do. Yeah, I definitely do.”

     Jean Loo cringed, positively scandalized. But, after thinking on it for a moment, looking  at the closed door, letting his eyes roman over every groove and notch of the hard wood. He couldn’t help but look at the knob with half lidded eyes, the view tantalizing in a way he couldn’t hope to describe. “Okay…Jean Loo kinda gets it.”

     Another beat of silence passes before Johnny lets out a defeated sigh. “Be real with me man, was my song really that bad?” He asked, a vulnerable gaze fixated on the tiled floor. “I know my voice ain’t much to speak of, but I’ve been practicing for a while and I was thinkin’ maybe I was getting a little bit better?”

     Jean Loo raises an eyebrow at the downtrodden shower. Without skipping a beat, he flicks him right on the cheek, possessing not an ounce of sympathy.

     “Man, your voice isn’t the problem! Your voice was the best part of whatever the hell that was! Your lyrics are the problem!” The eccentric man exclaimed. “Your voice, at least, has some passion! I can ‘ear how much you enjoy singing! Honestly the whole house can ‘ear. BUT YOUR LYRICS ARE CRAP!  Not cool rap, non. I need to clarify immediately, your lyrics sound like actual shit.”

     Despite the harshness of his words, Johnny was…well he was blushing. He could feel the heat spread across his pale cheeks, an unfamiliar sense of pride washing over him. He was flustered. No one had ever told him that his voice was even remotely good. Technically, not even Jean Loo had directly said that. But…he at least recognized the passion in his performance. Even fewer objects had managed to do that.

     “Oh…uh…” Johnny made a point to clear his throat, awkwardly rubbing his clammy hands off on his pants. Having shower mats patched to his trousers sure did come in handy at a time like this.

     “Oh and uh are all I ‘eard!” Jean Loo persisted. “Where is the passion and story behind that? If I searched, I would be looking until your warranty ran out-”

     “I’m pickin’ up what you’re putin’ down pretty baby, no need to go reiteratin’ to ole’ Johnny here. Imma hearin’ you loud n’ clear!” Johnny answered, hands up in a surrendered position. “I guess I never really gave too much thought on how to write up some good lyrics. Always was so focused on my sound, never spent time on any lyrics…”

     “Tu m'étonnes.” Jean Loo deadpanned.

     “Tu meh tunny what now?” Johnny tilted his head in confusion. One, namely Jean Loo, could even find the movement a bit cute. Jean Loo didn’t sympathize with cute though, evident in the way he smacked Johnny across the head.

     “Don’t butcher my language, shower boy.”

     “Right…sorry.” Johnny chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck clumsily. “You know…I’ve heard you ‘round the house. *Your* lyricism is somethin’ worth admiring.” Get a compliment, give a compliment. That was how Mama Splash raised Johnny, the sentiment drilled into his head from a young age. It was only polite, after all. But Johnny wasn’t really aiming for politeness this time around, he was aiming for sincerity. 

     Jean Loo wasn’t like Johnny. Jean Loo had a gift, a natural born talent with a confidence that could really get him places. For Jean Loo, his music seemed effortless, even if Johnny knew from personal experience that the toilet put a substantial amount of effort in all that he did. It stirred some conflicting emotions in Johnny, emotions he couldn’t name and honestly didn’t really want to unpack.

     Johnny Splash is a complicated shower. At least, he liked to think so. He’s many things, including passionate and determined. Though there are a couple things that he isn’t, for example he isn’t dumb. Nor is he oblivious. He knows what the other objects go around and say about him. Some were blunt about it. Amir. Amir was blunt about it. Others, the cowards of the bunch, chose to talk about him behind his back. Johnny liked to think that any publicity was good publicity. Anything to get his name out there. Still…it got rather tiring, being made fun of and ridiculed so often. It was a rare occurrence, this. Relating to another object, if only just a little. Even talking to them openly and honestly.

     Jean Loo, a man with a rough exterior, felt similarly. The Crapper was…well he was a lot to handle. It was his greatest strength and his worst weakness. Most objects couldn’t even hope to understand what went on in his head. No one really wanted to try. Instead, he focused on the fact that his art spoke for itself, no need to seek praise, he knew he was good. Still, a little bit of praise never hurt anyone. In fact, though he was loath to admit it, he wanted it. Craved just a tiny bit of validation sometimes, a confirmation that he was doing a good job. Just something that reminded him that people listened to his craft and liked what they heard. 

     The young toilet pursed his lips, letting the feelings flow like water, like a rhythm. He chose not to dwell over the fact that a singular compliment could make him feel something. It wasn’t anything strong, no, that was the wrong word for what he was feeling. No, he didn't feel anything for this shower man other than…intrigue. Yes, that’s the word. Intrigued. Perplexed! Interested?

     He had heard the shower sing before. Yes, a tad ironic, all things considered. He had heckled, he had shouted, but he had never spoken to him. Never truly met him. In all honesty, he had assumed Johnny was another amateur who chased the spotlight, another greedy fool. He hadn’t recognized his passion before, his sincere desire for…Jean Loo realized then that maybe they had a little bit in common. 

     “You will write your own lyrics…and you will perform them for Jean Loo in three days' time. I don’t want to hear your dumb little adlibs, no! I need to hear that passion! That drive!” Jean Loo instructed, almost sternly.

     “You…” Johnny hesitated. “You’re gonna teach me…? How to write lyrics?”

     “Non! Jean Loo doesn’t teach, no. He critiques! You will do as I say, and I will give you my undivided attention. You understand, yes?” Jean Loo insisted, not intending to take no for an answer.

     That honestly made Johnny more confused, a blank look on his face. He found himself nodding dumbly before he could fully comprehend what Jean Loo was saying. And when he actually did, Jean Loo had already left. To where? He had no clue.

     Lyrics. In three days. Johnny was confused, yes, but excited! Someone who wanted to hear him! Someone who actually requested something, willingly! It was an indescribable feeling, a cross between excitement, inspiration, and admiration. He took the challenge in stride, wanting to begin work right away, prove to himself and to Jean Loo that he was capable of improving.

     A beginning to a very strange partnership, huh? Toilet and shower, tale as old as time?

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Thank you for reading!

*Translation Guide*

*I am not a speaker of French, so please correct me if these phrases are used or spelled incorrectly!*

Ben voyons- Oh come on!

Moi c’est- I am

Tu m’étonnes- You don’t say?