He hears farm and thinks of the miles and miles of uniform white tents on gray, wasteland sands in northern California. He knows it's not what Jesus means, but like the biome in reverse, he can't really picture it.
"Tell me about it?" Then, remembering that he's seen at least part of it, and remembering how Jesus had reacted outside the Listening Room: "If you want."
"We had cows and horses. We were the first place for more than a day's drive that did. We grew our own crops, corn and beets and turnips. When I first moved in I liked to wake up early and walk around. I could smell the dew on the leaves and it smelled different than waking up in the forest."
He's homesick and it hurts, but he swallows it down for the chance to share the imagery with someone who lived behind walls, away from anything remotely green.
K sighs gently, a slow deep inhale and a soft exhale as he thinks about it. Pictures it, or tries to anyway. He has no idea what corn and beets and turnips smell like; he's only just getting used to dew on leaves.
But Jesus is leaning against him and he feels that hitch of movement, and his fingers squeeze ever so slightly around the other man's shoulder.
"I've never seen a real horse. Or cows, but -" The horses catch his attention. "I used to see them in movies. I always thought I'd like seeing a living one."
"I wish we could leave the city. I'd stay in the program, maybe I'd even have an easier time with it, if they'd let us get out into the country." The noise and the crowds make him jumpy sometimes where they never did before. He doesn't want to think about it right now or it will start him listening for trouble where there is none and he knows there is none.
"You like Westerns?" He's not sure how many other types of film feature horses.
"I know someone who has a home outside the city. He let me stay the night there when I first arrived." It had been the most miraculous, unlooked for blessing, even if it would have been too quiet for him to sleep if he hadn't been half dead still.
"Yes. Westerns." Not that he'd forgotten the name but he wasn't sure it would be recognized the same. "They're very dramatic. I like the animals in them."
"My friend lives out there. It's beautiful, his house and the land. I almost wish I could contract with someone who had that freedom." It might make all this a little more bearable.
"I wouldn't want to get him in trouble even if he could contract with me. I'm waiting on someone who won't be collateral when I get into trouble." Or who will be acceptable collateral, rather.
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"I was born there. I grew up there. But before this, I lived in a small farming community. ...I think you would've liked the farm."
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"Tell me about it?" Then, remembering that he's seen at least part of it, and remembering how Jesus had reacted outside the Listening Room: "If you want."
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He's homesick and it hurts, but he swallows it down for the chance to share the imagery with someone who lived behind walls, away from anything remotely green.
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But Jesus is leaning against him and he feels that hitch of movement, and his fingers squeeze ever so slightly around the other man's shoulder.
"I've never seen a real horse. Or cows, but -" The horses catch his attention. "I used to see them in movies. I always thought I'd like seeing a living one."
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"You like Westerns?" He's not sure how many other types of film feature horses.
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"Yes. Westerns." Not that he'd forgotten the name but he wasn't sure it would be recognized the same. "They're very dramatic. I like the animals in them."
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What he focuses on though is, "Why couldn't you?"
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Just to be sure he's not missing anything.
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"Are you talking about Vrenille?" he asks instead.
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"That's the person I was talking about, too," is all.
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"If you still want to, when you have the resources in line."