genessia | Bully in the Gutters~ [Video // Action for Everglade]

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Bully in the Gutters~ [Video // Action for Everglade]

[A balmy autumn day in Everglade seems as good a day as any to take on a less life-threatening bounty, and Namur's been eyeballing this one for awhile anyway. It's a good excuse to do some busy work and just be moving around for a few hours. It takes awhile to gather enough hose and find a water source that'd reach all the way up to the roof, but by the time the sun is high he can be found on the roof with a brush broom borrowed from the witch next door. Getting caught up in the breeze with nothing above him but cloud-speckled skies takes him back a few years, before he knew anything about Time Compression or alternate dimensions or whatever the hell they were living in. It's like swabbing the deck in a lot of ways- with the occasional ghostly rodent skittering out of Miss Tilly's haunted gutters. But he's got an enchanted broom, so it works plenty fine for launching the incorporeal creatures off the roof and back into the nearby haunted woods. Feeling rather fine, Namur begins to sing, sweeping out the gutters in perfect rhythm- though his voice leaves a lot to be desired. In fact, it's so bad he catches the attention of a couple of mischievous imps who, upon finding his communicator, decide that if they have to suffer, so does everyone else.]

[Namur sounds rather like a yowling tomcat, singing a catchy tune as he dances with his broom.]

Help me Bob, I'm bully in the alley,
Wey hey, Bully in the alley.
Help me Bob, I'm bully in the alley,
Bully down in Shinbone Al.

Sally is a girl that I love dearly,
Wey hey, Bully in the alley.
Sal's the girl that I spliced nearly,
Bully down in Shinbone Al.

For nine long years I courted li'l Sally,
Wey hey, Bully in the alley.
All She done was dilly an' dally,
Bully down in Shinbone Al.

So I left Sally t' become a pirate
Wey hey, Bully in the alley.
Gold an' jewels, Gan Fall, I'll take it!
Bully down in Shinbone Al.

Get thru some 'hoo an' go an' see my Sally,
Wey hey, Bully in the alley.
Throw her a line an' make fast in her alley.
Bully down in Shinbone Al

When I get home, I'll find my li'l Sally,
Wey hey, Bully in the alley.
Spawn six pups an' live in Shinbone alley,
Bully down in Shinbone A-

Ah shit.

[Namur bonked the head of a ghost mouse and spun the broom to fling it off- only the head of the broom flew out into the forest as well. The imps dissolve into riotous laughter and cut the feed as Namur looks out over the edge, trying to gauge where it might have gone.]

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[Namur doesn't remember, actually, since it wasn't anything more than a throwaway comment. So he winds up crouched on the edge of Miss Tilly's rooftop like a gargoyle, head cocked to the side, jaw slack as he tries to fathom what the hell Ted is going on about this time.]

Uh wha-?

[He turns his head the other direction, brows furrowing, before he finally yells down incredulously.]

Schoolie Boy, 're y' confessin'? Can't swing that way, sorry man! But hey! If y' see a shitty brush broom head, lemme know! Borrowed it from a witch an' she'll probly turn me int' a bird or some shit if I don't get it back t' her all put t'gether! Damn thing went flyin' int' the forest, see?

[He holds up the headless broomstick, so he can see that it's basically just a very straight stick at the moment.]

[Ted's hopes remain unfixed from reality. All fourteen lines, wasted!]

"Should've known you'd have your head in the gutter. Not all love is erotic!" [He shouts back and looks anyway. His observational skills are among the worst in the world, so only fortune would allow him to find anything.]

"You've got questionable sense, indebting yourself to a witch. Can't be helped now, I suppose. While I'm searching, I might as well search your brain, and pose a few questions. What does your name mean? And can you juggle?"

Edited 2016-09-07 03:02 (UTC)

[Namur thumps his hand against the edge of the literal gutter he's currently sort of occupying, then stands and heads up the roof for the hose. If he can't brush, at the very least he can spray things down and get the ghostly rodents on the move.]

Dunno if I can juggle, but I'm damn good with my hands- [He clicks his tongue a few times hahaaaaa] -so maybe?

Ain't got no idea where my name comes from or if it has like a translation or whatever, 's jus' what my Ma called me. So it means me, whatever the hell I make it mean. Some people hear it an' get real scared. Some hear it an' have hope. Some think of a dumbass, some think a the best damn lay they ever had, some think of a brother, or a father, or a son. [He shrugs.] I'unno. What's yers mean?

[Ted wished that the more he got to know people, the more dearly he should like it. Alas, first impressions are lies, and he's uncovering a lot of dirt. Promiscuity, presumably. Why should one so used to water be unclean? And he took a cleaning job at that. So much contradictory symbolism.]

"All right then, give it a try. I'd like to see." Ted took out three yellow balls from his sack and pitched them to Namur. "If it's not too slack of you while working." [Ted, no surprise, hadn't made any progress on the broom front. He speaks the answer more quietly for shyness.]

"...it means 'god-given'. Now, that 8 on your neck, what is it's full significance?"

Edited 2016-09-07 03:51 (UTC)

[Namur has quick reflexes, even when surprised. He drops the hose and bats the balls high into the air, to give himself a moment to think. He's... pretty sure he's seen people juggling before. It has a certain rhythm to it. And maybe some weaving?

He probably should have paid at least some attention to them in the past, but he's not even sure what it's supposed to look like really. So a valiant attempt is made, but in the end even he recognizes that just catching the balls and throwing them up in succession isn't quite the right thing, so he chucks them back down at Ted.]

Show me what this shit's s'posed t' look like. Ain't never sat down an' really watched it, aye?

[Not that he could see very much from two stories up, but whatever. The general motion of it ought to register, if he squints. He sits at the edge of the roof again, not even caring about the still running hose getting his pants wet, and runs his finger over the tattoo on his neck. He'd modified it in Balamb, added a few things to show Marco he was on board. It'd now look almost scarab-like, but Namur kept the newer parts purposely thinner so the 8 would be most prominent.

But how to explain all that it means?]

'S for my Division. My brothers I gotta take care of, gotta be strong 'nuff t' protect. An' for Marco, cuz our father died, an' we're a hell of a long way from home, an' we had t' make a new kind a family. Rest a 'em changed up their crew mark- 's got the Whitebeard Pirates as a base, an' adds a few things for the Phoenix Pirates- but Marco wanted me t' be the go-between, in case we found other brothers that weren't there with us in Balamb. So we modded up my Division mark instead.

[Namur untucks his shirt and lifts the right side, showing a cross with a semicircle tattooed just above his hip. It's easy to see how it could be turned into the mark Namur sent him earlier- just complete the circle and add wings. He tucks his shirt back in after a few seconds.]

So I'm both a Whitebeard an' a Phoenix pirate. Commander a the Eighth Division that don't exist no more.

What's yer family like?

[The balls bounce off his head and back; he was absorbed in the talk. Oh, and the search, can't forget that. Now he's got the balls to look for on top of the broom-head. So much to look for, on top of Namur's latent juggling talent.]

"Heh, don't know myself either. I'm surprised you've never seen; not a lot of circuses on the high seas, eh? You'd fit right in one of their sideshow attractions. Well, you can see videos of most anything on the internet; I'll send you one some time." [Then again, Genessia was such a motley bunch of freaks that a circus would be redundant.]

[For such a relatively upbeat guy, Namur's tales of piracy seem to be pretty sad, almost sentimental. Dead fathers, broken families, lost wars, and faded purpose. Ted was plaintive as he listened and looked.]

"Whitebeard...I hope that's more benevolent than its darker counterpart. And Phoenix...are those names or something else?" [It may be basic conversational parity, but not many people ask about Ted's family. It gave him pause as he thought of a way to speak honestly about his, yet nicely.]

"Heh, mine? Well they were--er, still are, likely--very...fashionable people. They believed in trying anything once, childbearing included. I'm the first and the last; fashion, being very fastidious about overpopulation, frowned upon any more. Probably for the best; they were of modest means. Happily married too. In that they defied fashion very nobly."

[Namur does his best not to bristle. He knows what a circus is, and knows what a freak show is, and damn it Ted, stop saying shit that ties in with being treated like an animal rather than a person. Dumbass.]

Didn't like 'em much, huh? 'S that why y' dress like y' do? T' fight 'gainst fashion? Cuz seriously dude. Get help.

[Namur picks up the broomhandle, stabs it through the nearby muck still hanging out in the gutter, and knocks a bunch of it down to the ground. It's not very effective. So he lays down the handle again, and casually jumps off the roof. He lands in a crouch, Willing the force of his momentum outward rather than letting it bounce back through him. He picks up one of Ted's balls and chucks it at him. Again.]

Whitebeard's the name the world gave t' Pops, an' he thought it was funny, so he owned it. An' Marco is a phoenix. See a bigass bird with feathers like blue flames an' a gaudy as hell fire crown on his head, that's him.

[He didn't say "freak", he said "attraction". Gosh Namur, such a negative Nancy.]

"Oh, no! I liked them plenty. Loved them, too. [He'd be the second to rag on his rags. The first being one of the most fastidiously feminine people he's ever known. Namur isn't the first person he'd think of to care for aesthetics.] One of the tragedies of modernity, eh? Colors and threads are so readily available that any could look like the brightest and richest kings. And no one wants to, choosing, say, drab tees and jeans instead. I'd chalk that to your modesty if I knew you less.

[Ted's more spatially acute when he pays no attention, so he catches it this time in an act of pure reflex. One down, two to go!] "So I've discovered..." [Damn you, Marco, tricking him into lovingly caressing a pirate. Mark his mental words, he will pay.] "Suppose he'll die hard then. Has he lived for five hundred years or so? If we're lucky we might seem him be reborn from ashes."

[Namur snorts.]

Least I ain't some borin' sandskin that needs clothes t' catch a girl's eye. Sheheheheheh!

[That said, a majority of his wardrobe is, in fact, as colorful as his language.]

Hell if I know how long he's been 'round. Marco gets kinda schoolie when y' ask 'im shit like how old're y' or what time is it. Oughta talk t' 'im sometime. Bet y'all'd have a hell of a time talkin' circles 'round each other, sheheheh!

[He's slowly getting corrupted by vulgar humor. Darn you too Namur.] "I don't doubt you could get all sorts of attention without clothes, feminine or otherwise. Better not." [Namur plz don't streak.] "Honestly, a shark calling me a sandskin? Now I've heard everything. And you say Marco could say a good deal more? He's always seemed taciturn. Truthfully I'd rather he say things like 'I'm wrong' or the Lord's Prayer, but I'm not yet a miracle worker. 'Uncle' would do nicely; maybe I'll make a nephew out of him.

He's 'schoolie' too? You cod--cad. I thought that was particular to myself. What does it mean, anyway?"

[Poor, poor Ted. He had to ask and ruin a good thing. Namur circles his finger around his ear.]

Take a schoolin' fish an' put it somewhere there ain't no school t' sync up with an' it goes a li'l bonkers. Dartin' here an' there an' turnin' circles. Done it with yer words a lot when we's first jawin' at each other, 's why y' made me think a it. Back an' forth from one thing t' the next an' then right the hell back 'round 'gain. Shit I didn't have any idea if y's comin' or goin' half the time, but for whatever reason y' seemed t' like it when I said it so I kept at it.

[Namur shrugs, to illustrate his cluelessness. It may also be interesting to note he says all of this without the slightest hint of derision. Some people are just schoolie and that's the way they are. He chases down the second ball, which ended up rolling the same general direction Namur remembers the broom head flying off to, and gives it a toss.]

Give y' 'nother'n if y' want, but it might take a bit cuz y' can't force this kinda shit, y' know?

[He showed one pang of disappointment when he learned the true meaning; not a flattery of his intellect, but a crack at his sanity. It was fleeting; Ted took light insults almost, if not more lovingly than compliments. By the end he's chuckling and shaking his head.]

"Heh, well I wouldn't say 'no' to more, but what you've given is fine. Many must think me so mad, but you're the first to tell me so frankly and frequently. If anything, I'm offended I might have to share it. By all means, keep it. If you don't call me 'schoolie', who will?" [It wasn't inappropriate. There's the usual "fish out of water" cliche, which seemed to apply doubly to Ted. Even other earthlings didn't have much in common with him. Fish without a school indeed.]

"Of course, I might have to indulge some turnabout. Oh, that reminds me. Namur, I'm sorry about...what I said, back at your apartment." [he'd be more specific, but that would involve saying it again, i.e. the 'slavery's too good for you' bit. That also reminds him of something only he can say]

"Namur, would you consider becoming a believer?"

[Namur chuckles.]

Hey man, I can take as good as I give, comes t' that kinda shit.

[He's wandering ever closer to the forest, peering this way and that. He stops when Ted apologizes though, and turns to peer at him, sniffing once.]

The hell y' talkin' 'bout? Didn't know somethin', now y' do. 'S called learnin' shit. Everbody does it once in awhile. Sheheheh!

[Namur turns back, beginning to head deeper into the forest. There are some rather nonplussed ghost mice chittering away at him as he does.]

If yer talkin' 'bout believin' in a god though yer too late. Already hung out with that guy's son back on Tellus. Chill dude. Genuinely loved every damn person he met, an' he's always encouragin' us all t' be better'n we was, y' know? Help us all overcome our weaknesses. First person outside a Pops I thought I'd like t' try an' be like.

[Now that's a surprise, so much that his eyes lit up and voice became excited to the pitch of bliss. Ted almost barraged him with a survey to see just how far that belief went. But he checked himself; had to be sure it was the right person.]

"You did!? Well, suppose that's not too surprising. Doubtless he's made the trip to other worlds and spread the Word there. Oh, ah, what was his name?"

Hercules! Forgot the old man's name though. Damn it. Sounds kinda like juice maybe?

[One day Ted will understand the concept of "too good to be true". Until then: deflation.]

"Good that you're not an atheist, at least. How could you be in a place like this. But know, that's not the one I mean. The Christian variety of believer, that is. Have you ever heard?"

[Namur's going to get a headache, what with Ted's constant electrochemical whiplash.]

Nah I ain't ever talked t' a guy named Christian. Other dude's name was Zeus though, jus' 'membered. Anyway, 's that who y' follow?

"Yes. Er, not Zeus, but God, as distinct from lesser gods. God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ, and...all that goes with it. You mean to say that's all new to you?"

Pretty much. Skypeia's got a person called God, but 's more a title or a job than like. A species. An' the shitty Celestial Dragons call theirselves gods an' the whole damn world plays 'long with their shitty antics cuz if y' don't y' get made a pirate, or a slave. Got damn good bodyguards though, so I only ever gotta kick a few a their asses. Damn shame, that.

Ted nodded along. "Yes, I'd have liked to join you in that. Sounds like they could all use servings of humble pie. Well, I happen to know of the God of gods and Lords of lords. Could I tell you of Him and his Words? That is, the gospel?"

Worried I might slug y' 'gain? Sheheheh!

[Ted knows that was an exception to the rule. Or at least he ought to. If not, he'll figure it out.]

Listen dude, can talk t' me an' tell me 'bout whatever the hell y' want. Even if it ain't important t' me, 's important t' you, so I'll listen. But if the only reason y' wanna jaw at me 'bout it's cuz y' wanna convince me t' act like someone or somethin' I ain't, then don't waste yer breath. Got it?

[Ted was finding the burden of the occasion almost too great to bear. It dawned on him that, in all likelihood, he was the only one who would ever tell Namur, to say nothing of perhaps the entire world, the most important thing in the universe. Him. He felt at once unworthy and momentous. He had to summon all his faculties and all his courage to risk giving holy things to dogs. And then...it seemed he was arrested before he began. There was a sting in his nostrils signifying something usual. But he held off for now.]

"...No, I don't get it. I already know it, Namur. But you don't. And the only reason I would tell you is so that you could know it and profit thereby. There's...nothing more important on earth, if not in heaven, for you to hear and act upon.

So...even if you think it's a waste, I need to at least try."

[It's probably a good thing he's turned away from Ted, heading deeper into the forest looking for the broom head, because Namur rolls his eyes.]

Whatever. Better get jawin' then. What's all this super important shit all 'bout?

[Talkative Ted was tongue-tied. This was too important to mess up or get wrong; goodness, what could be more important? If only some providential angelic power filled him with just the right words. But despite the weight of possible glory, he was left to his own devices. Here goes nothing for the sake of everything.]

"Well...the crux of the matter is...

We are all sinners destined for damnation and death. Each of us has fallen short of the glory of God, and as the wages of sin are death, so shall we earn them. No matter how righteous we might try to be, our own efforts will never avail us or blot out our transgressions. That's the bad news.

The good news is that, because God loves us, he sent his only begotten son, Jesus Christ, to take our place. Because he was blameless and without sin, Christ and Christ alone could die for our sins. So he did, substituting himself in our place and giving us a fresh start and a chance at salvation.

Though he died, Christ was risen by the power of God on the third day after his death, proving the gift of eternal life and Christ's victory over the grave. Thus, any who declares with their mouth that Jesus is Lord, and believes in his resurrection will be saved and have life everlasting.

What...do you think?"

So y' got a buncha people sayin' this dude's their lord an' now they're immortal? Seems... too damned easy. Like what happens when there's wars an' shit, d' they jus' go on an' on an' no one gives a shit cuz no one's dyin' or what?

Bully in the Gutters~ [Video // Action for Everglade]

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