Wayback Machine http://allmyfault.org/jay7silentbob/armor_remix.htm DEC FEB MAR Previous capture 06 Next capture 2007 2008 2009 2 captures 7 Dec 2007 - 6 Feb 2008 About this capture Title: Armor: Chainmail Lament Author: Jess Fandom: View Askewniverse Pairing: Jay/Bob Rating: Pg-13, I guess Archive: The KS slash archive and Jay/Bob slash archive, got ask me AND Mercury for anyplace else Series/Sequels: Not my choice. Disclaimers: Kevin Smith, View Askew Productions, and other guys own it, not me. Based upon "Armor" by Mercury AN: I really enjoyed writing this. It was, I think, the second of Mercury's fics I had read. The original it's self is very short, but it kinda spoke to me. This fic kinda goes off on a tangent from Merc's and I worry it might not still be considered a remix. oh well. Jay and Bob are hard characters for me to write, so please forgive me if they come off a little flat. Thacks to Mercury of course for writing the orginal, Charles for setting up the contest. And my GF Ainsley for typing this up for me, along with Beta duties. ============================== Can an object know love? It is suggested that some species of animals, after generations of exposure to humans, gain a greater understanding of the concept then their wild cousins. And there are studies that support the idea of plants reacting well to a familiar owner. But an inanimate object . . . Can an object know strength? Bobby Blutarski was given his first coat at age ten. Not a jacket, but a coat. Big, and Black, and Full. His grandfather had cared for it well, the man's scent still clinging to the fabric. It hung a bit on the boy, but it fit better then one would expect. And wearing it he, too, felt Big, Black, and Full. A beginning shadow of the man he would become: Strong. Boy and cloth, merging into one force. . . Can an object be protective? The coat hung around his shoulders, cape like as he sank into the hard cafeteria chair. His arms free of the sleeves, freeing his hands for the thick book still hiding in the deep pockets. The coat was a warm blanket in the chill of the building. He nuzzled into the wool collar like a turtle. "Hey Boob-tarski! Nice rag, ya mama give ya that?" Bobby felt his face redden, working his way deeper into the clothed embrace. The older boy saw the weakness and leapt upon it. "God, what'd a piece of shit! The thrift store owner must be going blind to let anyone take that thing, even you." Bobby tried, as he always did, to ignore the boy . . . without much success. Burring deeper and deeper into his grandfather's coat, he felt shame bubble up inside. What would Grandpa think? Grandpa who always seemed so Tall, without ever saying a word? "Yo! Fuckhole! Ya jealous or som'in?" The raspy, reedy voice cut into Bobby's assault, loud and laughing. Jay landed with a thud, having jumped from a nearby table, eyes blazing. "Go pork yourself, rat. . ." The older, and much larger boy growled, standing over the wild blond. Jay simply looked up at him, smirking. "Show me how ya bend like dat an ah will!" The larger teen's brow scrunched in confusion, before grabbing the blonde's scruff, suddenly sure the boy had made some sort of jab at his sexuality. Bobby didn't know exactly when it was that he stood, or began to walk. All he knew was that Jay was in trouble, had gotten that way by standing up for him. And for once, with the sense of his grandfather giving him strength, he could help. He felt Big, Strong. And the feel of his fist crunching into the older teens face was strangely satisfying. The boy squelched, stumbling away from the lanky blonde, eyes wide and shocked. Not so much from the pain, though there was quite a bit, but from the very idea that Bobby BLUTARSKI had just HIT him. The lunchroom froze. All eyes on the trio. The voices down to mumbles. Bobby began to back away, crawling back into his safe armor. . . "Yeah! Dat's mah Boy!" Bobby suddenly felt an arm around his shoulder, a small fist pounding into a bicep. "Damn straight! Youse mess with Jay, youse mess with big Bob here. He'll fuck your ass UP!" Bob felt a grin cutting into his face, watching as the defeated boy slinked away. Big Bob . . . yeah, he liked that. He liked that a lot. Can an object know pity? Bob dozed lightly on his best friend's bed, the teen finally put off by Jay and . . . Melissa? Marie? . . . M-something, did it matter? Well, the two's constant dry humping on the couch. The AC was on full blast, and he pulled his knees up into the nest of his coat. The room was dark and lonely. . .he felt secluded, and a bit abandoned. Jay was HIS best friend . . . he'd been over at the house first . . . He mentally scolded himself. Jay was enjoying himself; no need for him to get involved . . . "Heh heh . . .come here little Jay-bird. . . ." The door opened, a rectangle of yellow light silhouetted the girl, pulling a very drunk and stoned Jay behind. Jay laughed wildly at the play on his name, falling with her onto the bed. Bob froze, shocked and terrified at the two began to get friendly less then six inches from him. He pulled his coat over his head, hiding the sight of the woman's pale breasts, he own labored breathing doing little to mask the grunts hitting his ears. Neither one seemed to notice his presence. The bed shook lightly and erratically, as Bob whimpered, trying desperately not to think about the visual of the two humping like animals. It didn't take long, for a drug induced Jay it never did. The girl seemed to immediately slip into a narcotics coma, a light buzzing snore escaping her. Bob turned at the sound, the relief that had begun to hint his features quickly fading as he saw his friend. Jay was staring at him. Not an angry or surprised stare. Not his normal wild-eyed stare. Just staring. Bob coughed lightly, pulling his coat closer around his shoulders, protecting himself from either the explosion or the jeers, whichever Jay went for first. But neither came. After a few more moments of this dark staring contest, the younger boy simply slid off the unconscious girl, landing between her and Bob. His breathing steadied almost instantly, his head resting on Bob's arm. Bob lay that way for what seemed like an eternity. His coat no longer the only comfort in the shadowy place, Jay's warmth now added to it, even if he didn't know it. Can an object know pride? Bob sighed lightly as nimble little teeth nipped at his throat, purpling the flesh. Thin fingered hands roamed all over, tugging at clothing. The coat slipped easily off the man's broad shoulders, no longer a shadow, but the man. It crumpled to the floor soundlessly, lying on the worn carpet. The knight may don his armor to protect himself and others. A knight may don armor to hide, a helmet making him a faceless warrior. But those that matter, those that have the true eyes to see always know. The coat knew. The coat had eased a boy through life, birthed him into a man. A man with a man's wants, needs, strengths. A man who would love, protect. Did the coat feel abandoned? Discarded to the floor? Does a mother feel such when the child leaves home? Can an object know love? You tell me. End.