strangetrip | [OTA] Amazing Organ

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[OTA] Amazing Organ

Jackson was, as often at this hour (unless he had plans with Corbie), at the bar, and well on his way to completely sozzled. He would have sworn up and down that he could still walk in a straight line, if asked, but the truth was that that line would have to be a little squiggly in places. But his Virginia drawl was more pronounced than usual, and he was at that energetic, talking-too-much stage where everybody nearby might be treated as a friend, no matter what his relation to them were, if they even had one.

"We don't talk about it often enough," he told the next such person his eyes landed on, without so much as a hello, "but the clitoris is, by far, the best organ in the entire human body. 'd ya know it's the only organ, the only one, that serves no purpose but pleasure? That's just..." His hands moved in the air as he looked for the right word, narrowly avoiding splashing bourbon with the one still holding a glass. "That's amazin'. Twice as many nerve endings as in a penis, too. Just picture that amount of pleasure. Men got played."

Perfectly respectable conversation to have with anyone, after ingesting as much bourbon as he had. Perfectly. Respectable.

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Snow White as a general rule didn't much bother with Jackson. A girl really only needed someone to laugh at her name once before she knew he should rightly go fuck himself with a rusty screwdriver. But most days if she wanted a drink, she could drink in peace. He wasn't so clueless as to keep engaging her when she didn't respond.

Today, though. She hadn't choked on whiskey since she was fifteen, but she did right then, staring at him through her spluttering as phantom pain flared between her legs. "What?"

Well now, Jackson hadn't expected that reaction. He stared at her in confusion for a couple of seconds, then said, in very earnest concern, "Darlin', please tell me you know what I'm talkin' about."

The milk baths had started when Snow was still very young, not long after Mrs. H had married her father. Her stepmother had told her that she could teach this little animal that she'd unknowingly agreed to mother how to be a woman--meaning, of course, a white woman. And to wash the Indian out of her, every Sunday Mrs. H put Snow in the milk. It was always cold, so cold it hurt like lye. So cold she thought she'd die in it. And then Mrs H would added ice and made Snow hold it. In her mouth and elsewhere.

Snow still couldn't drink milk.

"I ain't confused," she snarled.

Edited 2019-03-20 00:16 (UTC)

Jackson wasn't quite drunk enough that his survival instinct had turned off, so he knew something was wrong, by now. Severely wrong. However, he was absolutely drunk enough to think that he could handle whatever was wrong. "Was somethin' done to you?"

The rage and tears in her eyes was probably all the answer anybody needed to that question, but for all that Snow failed at communication when it overlapped with her anger she could say quite a lot very clearly without any words at all.

She screamed and swung her fist as hard as she could at his face.

Jackson was fairly used to bar fights, but he was also fairly used to seeing them coming. That swing, though, caught him entirely by surprised, knocking him off his stool and onto the ground, glass shattering a little way off as pain flared in his cheekbone. Jackson pushed up on all fours, working his jaw and trying to focus again.

Snow's fire stoked so fast and so hot that she didn't know what to do with all this rage other than scream and swing until it burned out. So she did. Or at least she would until Jackson managed to get up and hit her back--which she wasn't about to let him do, nothing good happened when a man got any leverage--or someone dragged her off.

The someone in question was Snow's mother, eyes ablaze and fire at her fingertips for whatever was causing that noise that filled her nightmares. She came hauling into the bar, hands raised and ready to fight only to see Snow whaling on Captain Jackson.

"Get. Away. From. My. Daughter." Her voice dripped with venom like to promise he touched her little girl again, she'd burn his hands off with it. Which only made it more incongruous that her no-longer-blazing hand settled at Snow's shoulder warm and steady with a silk-over-steel murmur of, "Snow."

"I'd like to!" Jackson protested, still on the floor, and doing his best to block Snow's punches as they came. That didn't leave him much room for trying to do anything else, although he was coming dangerously close to losing what few principles he had, and attacking her in return. If he had been more sober, he likely would have already, but the alcohol toned down the pain and slowed his reaction time, leaving him no time to strike back that he was being punched again.

"Mama?" You're here. Snow's face was already wet, but when Regina settled that hand on her shoulder, that was when her blows immediately stopped and she started crying in earnest. Big, lost little girl tears, never mind the height or the twenty-one years that made her an adult in almost any time and place. "Mama..." I need to go, but I don't know how.

There were things...things you could never unlearn. Like terror so strong you had to kill it rather than turn your back on it. Seeing that terror in Snow's eyes now, Regina felt fear's handmaiden, fury, rising--

And carefully looking away from what her brain wanted to call "one more dead peasant," she murmured, "Close your eyes, Snow," and drew her in against her body. When Snow would hopefully not be able to see the magic that might set her off further, Regina flipped her wrists to summon the mists that would teleport them both away.

As the purple smoke closed around her, Jackson might have heard her say, "I'll speak to you later." By then she might be less bloody-minded and willing to listen to him too.

Jackson was still on the floor, but leaning up on one hand as he watched the two of them disappear in whirls of purple smoke. He coughed a little, winced at the throbbing pain wherever Snow's hits had landed, then proceeded to push himself up to his feet, and told the bartender, very pragmatically, "I'mma need another drink."

And a cigarette. And some ice.

It was a long while later that Regina returned to the bar to seek out the Captain. By that time, her rage had long since dimmed to a deep, abiding sadness for her daughter and some confusion as to what exactly had happened.

When she sat beside him, she caught the bartender's attention, asked for a single malt for herself and signified she'd "pay" for another for the Captain as a peace offering before she spoke. When she did, it was only to ask mildly, "Please explain why my daughter is hysterical over you talking about sex. I suspect I haven't gotten a clear story."

A long while later, Jackson was deep into his cups. He'd iced the places where he'd taken the worst hits - including his goddamn face - and turned to the best painkiller there was: even more bourbon than he had ingested so far. He'd hesitated a long damn time about taking a bottle back to his room or staying here, but in the end, entropy had won out, and he'd kept drinking right in the bar, as if nothing had happened.

He hadn't been engaging anyone in conversation anymore, though. Just putting that bourbon away.

He blinked hazily when someone took the stool beside him, and turned a slightly unfocused gaze on... ah, Regina. Maybe he should've taken this to his room after all.

"I don't know why you think I could give you a clearer story," he slurred at her. It was obvious that he would, at this stage, have a hard time giving anyone a clear story about something that was clear to him.

"Because, you can actually talk about sex without hysterical rage and panic, even if I've known pirates more drunken." Speaking of, she hadn't seen Hook in a few days. Or Emma. With her luck, Emma would end up pregnant, which would confuse her relationship (non-relationship) with Snow even further.

Sighing when she focused again, noting the damage Snow had done, Regina lifted a hand toward the bruising on his face. Her skill at healing magics was minimal, but cuts, bumps and bruises, she could manage. "May I?"

Jackson eyed her hand warily. If he was supposed to understand what she meant... nope. No clue. Just bourbon. "May you what?"

"Heal the worst of your bruises." She looked and sounded tired when she said, "I'm not Kashaw, but I can undo some of the damage. If nothing else, it will help your headache."

Jackson kept eyeing her warily, then relented with a warning. "Y'better not heal away the drunk." He liked the fuzzy warmth; he needed it right now. It was round about the time he should try stumbling back to his room, too, for sweet, precious oblivion. That or possibly sink into that oblivion right here at the counter. Crossed arms made for great pillows, and he really was getting sleepy.

At that, Regina just rolled her eyes. "I save you from an execution, but you don't trust me to heal a few bruises?"

She shook her head, but raised her hand to the worst of the bruising anyhow. Her fingertips glowed a shade of violet not unlike the one his face would turn without her healing. It took a little while and it wasn't complete, but it should, she thought, be enough to clear up the pain enough he would talk.

"There. I trust you're still drunk. Now, will you please tell me what you said to my daughter? She can't, and I need to know so I can help her."

"Thought Kash did the savin'," Jackson muttered, although it didn't really matter, did it? Regina had helped, but no, he didn't trust her not to heal away the drunk if he didn't specify she shouldn't. Sober people had the weirdest ideas, and Jackson liked the drunk. Needed it. It made everything warm and fuzzy, including the throb of his face. He could feel it vanish as she worked her purple light magic, and he poked at the bruise that had been forming on his jaw... no pain at all now.

He didn't feel that much better for it right now, given how much of a goddamn efficient anesthetic bourbon was, but he would be thankful in the morning, or whenever the hell he woke up. When was his next shift? Who cared.

"I's just talkin' about the clitoris, and she started whalin' on me," he replied distractedly, because he had no real answers for Regina. That was all he knew, and he didn't understand what had happened, and didn't care to. Snow didn't want him to. Her fists had made that clear.

He reached for his glass, and finished it with one last swill.

If it weren't for the horror of Snow's milk-baths and scrubbings, Regina might have laughed. "'I was just talking about the clitoris,'" she repeated bemusedly mild. "Not that I'm not inordinately fond of the organ, but--" And here her gaze turned penetrating (hah). "Is there some reason why you were holding forth in public on such a...provocative subject?"

"Maybe because it shouldn't be procov... prov... that," Jackson settled on. He grimaced, because thinking had become taxing, and rubbed at his forehead. "Look, I got no idea why she turned on me. I'll stay away from her. Awright?"

"She might look like a woman, but she's a child. My child. And when it comes to Snow," Regina said in the sort of tone that promised fireballs and broken bones. "Sex and everything about it is strictly off limits."

"Yeah, her fists got that point across," Jackson muttered, absolutely unfazed by the threatening tone of Regina's voice. He was drunk, tired, and he wanted the sweet oblivion of passing out. He knocked back the rest of his drink, saluted Bo behind the bar, and stood on only slightly unsteady legs. "Thanks for the heal, darlin'."

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[OTA] Amazing Organ

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