Shine - Part Ten
This episode is part of a larger story, Soft Touch. If you haven’t yet, you can go back and read it from the beginning right here.
It’s easy for me to forget that Ripley is almost painfully shy, especially around strangers. He’s comfortable enough around us that it rarely ever shows anymore. I had remembered this potential problem during my shift at the flower shop today, when I was fretting about how tonight would go.
But it seems like Ripley’s pre-existing, extreme dislike of Ralph has overridden his shyness. Maybe because he doesn’t give a damn about what Ralph thinks of him.
His gaze doesn’t waver as Ralph comes nearer to him. His paint-stained hands stay right where they are, instead of lifting to fidget with the stud in his ear, like they do when he’s nervous.
Ralph seems calm, too. He walks to Ripley without breaking his stride, steady beneath the force of Ripley’s mistrustful glare.
He stops on the other side of the kitchen counter, and the two of them look at each other across it like two heavyweight boxers stepping into the ring.
Noah runs an anxious hand through his long hair, watching them. He starts to head over, then swiftly changes his trajectory. He makes for the back door of the house, working a pack of American Spirits out of his pocket.
Noah tends to smoke more when he’s feeling stressed out, but I think there’s a dual purpose to it, this time. He needs distraction. He clearly wants to go try and mediate this meeting between Ripley and Ralph, but he knows that there’s no point. They’ll decide what they decide about each other.
Raj and Aiden have already figured that out, too. Neither of them get up to join Ripley and Ralph. Raj hastily picks up an Xbox controller, and Aiden turns to talk to him, putting his back to the kitchen.
I hesitate, hovering halfway to the kitchen. I give some consideration to joining Noah outside, but - I break down and end up going over to stand beside Ralph.
He’s keeping it cool, looking perfectly at ease on the surface, but I know better by now than to think that means anything. And my persistent, unignorable natural urge to help won’t let me back off. Not unless Ralph or Ripley tells me to.
But neither of them even seem to notice that I’m there. They’re still eyeing each other warily, silently.
Ralph puts his elbows on the other side of the counter that Ripley is standing behind. He leans forward slightly, so that his face catches the light, but somehow part of it stays hidden in cool blue shadow.
“Um, Ralph.” I nervously twist the ring around my finger, glancing back and forth between him and Ripley. “This is-”
“I know who he is, Jamie,” Ralph cuts in, and then, to Ripley - “I know who you are.”
Ripley’s narrowed eyes are still fiercely fixed on Ralph’s face. “You don’t know anything about who I am.”
“Yeah, I do,” Ralph tells him calmly, and Ripley straightens up, starting to look seriously frustrated.
More than frustrated. Angry, actually.
I press my fingers to my cheeks, struggling for the right way to jump in, seriously considering going outside to put my burning face in the rain.
Ripley’s voice drops lower and quieter with anger. “The fuck are you-?”
“You’re that rogue street artist who keeps pissing everybody off with your giant, illegal public art projects.” Ralph cracks a tiny, warm smile. “Transgressive, right? Nice to meet you, man. Love your work.”
Ripley freezes, then draws back sharply, momentarily shocked into silence.
“You - what?” Ripley shakes his head, his eyes very wide, then turns to me with betrayal written all over his face. “Jamie, you told-?”
“No!” I protest instantly, but Ripley can already see from my startled expression that I have no idea how Ralph got this piece of information. Raj and Noah don’t even know about that.
“Figured it out on my own,” Ralph informs Ripley, who turns back to him, his jaw slack with disbelief.
“Wait, so you’ve just - heard of me?”
Ralph nods at Ripley, who stares blankly at him.
“I pay attention when new tags start going up. In my line of work, a new tag painted over an old one can pretty much mean a declaration of war. Although that’s something I usually need to watch for in bigger cities, not Ketterbridge.” Ralph shrugs his shoulders. “Could tell right away that Transgressive was doing it for the art, though. Now I’m only paying attention ‘cause I like it.”
Ripley shakes his head again, struggling to pull himself together. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to find any words.
“You’re just saying you like my art because you want me to like you.”
“No.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what do you like about it?”
Ralph pauses, running a thoughtful finger beneath his wristbands.
“It has power,” he finally says, speaking slowly. “It’s brave. Unapologetic, in a good way. And I respect it when people take their game serious. I can tell from your art that you do.”
Ripley stares at Ralph, then lowers his eyes to the stone countertop, looking dazed.
“It’s also just sick,” Ralph adds.
Ripley blinks, then lifts his eyes to Ralph in a suspicious glare again. “How’d you know it was me?”
“Aiden and Noah took me to see that exhibition you guys did together when we hung out the other night. Bright Future. I remembered the unsanctioned ad-spot that Transgressive turned the bus station into for that same exhibition. Put it together.” Ralph pauses, then casts Ripley a small, shadowy smile. “And I recognize a fellow outlaw when I see one.”
Ripley stares at him, stunned and silent. The fiery outrage that had been in his eyes is completely snuffed out, and as I watch, a faint, pleased smile begins to turn up his lips.
He drops it as soon as he realizes what he’s doing, as soon as Ralph starts to smile back at him. He shrugs, all casual, despite the expression that was just on his face.
“Did you not know you had a name, Transgressive?” Ralph asks, quirking an eyebrow.
“Nah, I knew. I’m the one who started it.” A bright, thrilled glow rises in Ripley’s eyes. “Just - didn’t realize it was actually catching on. That’s pretty cool...”
Ripley fades off as he suddenly seems to hear the change of tone in his own voice. He stops, pulling himself back to the present. His smile falls, and he looks at Ralph with all the suspicion back in his eyes.
Ralph doesn’t miss it. He hesitates, then slowly runs a hand over the back of his neck.
“Yeah, I know you, Ripley. But you don’t really know me, huh?”
I can almost see the burst of protective loyalty for Noah move through Ripley’s eyes.
He folds his arms over his chest, a flare of anger rising in his voice. “I know that you spent years running Noah down every time you got the chance, and-”
Ripley cuts himself off, blinking hard. Ralph is standing with his head slightly bent, but the guilty, ashamed look that just flashed across his face wasn’t lost on anybody.
“Not gonna make excuses for that.” Ralph straightens up and braces his hands on the counter, all without meeting Ripley’s eyes. “But, just - haven’t you ever done anything you wished you could take back?”
Ripley still looks thrown off. He uncrosses his arms, drops his hands to the counter. “Yeah, but not to Noah.”
Ralph lets out a heavy breath. “Then I’m jealous of you, man.”
The expression in Ripley’s eyes has changed completely again. He looks startled, not sure of what to think.
“Guessing you’ve got questions for me, huh?” Ralph makes himself look up at Ripley. “Go ahead.”
“Okay…” Ripley looks uncertainly at Ralph from across the counter. “Noah says that you and him are brothers?”
Ralph casts a swift, affectionate look at the door that Noah went out through. “Not the same blood, but yeah. We are.”
Ripley takes in the expression on Ralph’s face for a moment before he asks his next question.
“Nobody will tell me exactly what it is you do for work.” Ripley narrows his eyes at Ralph. “But I’ve sorted it out. You’re some kind of gangster, yeah? I expected you to have a lot of Gothic-script tattoos.”
Ralph lets out a soft laugh. “Ketterbridge is gangster country? I never knew.”
“Noah told me that you don’t lie anymore.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You deflected.” Ripley levels his piercing stare on Ralph. “And Ketterbridge does seem like a good place for an underground kingpin to hang out, actually. A smart one, anyways. One who recognizes the benefit of living somewhere off the grid, where nobody wants a piece of him.”
Ralph pauses, caught by surprise, then lets out another quiet laugh. He straightens up and spreads his hands against the counter. Meets Ripley’s eyes, but doesn’t say anything.
Ripley tilts his head to the side, clearly reading this as an answer.
“So what, are you part of a cartel, or something?”
“No. Those guys do some real dark shit. And cartels tend to be organized by race, which pretty much narrows down my options to the Aryan Brotherhood. Which, you know. No fucking thank you, I’d rather die.”
“Then who do you work for?”
“Myself. I have my own business.”
Ripley nibbles his lip, absorbing all of this. I think he does have an idea of the scope of Ralph’s business, but before now, he didn’t know that Ralph built it all and runs it all.
“You know my name,” Ripley says, after a moment. “What’s yours?”
Ralph’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Um - Ralph?”
“No, not the name someone gave you. I mean the one you’ve earned.” Ripley looks at Ralph with barely-disguised curiosity. “You have one, I bet. I’ve heard enough to know you’re in the big leagues. What do other people in the game call you? Not just Ralph, I know that much.”
Ralph bites his lip, then waves a hand at him. “Aw, man, fuck those dumb nicknames. That old-school mobster shit is lame. I don’t even-”
“Talking about Ralph?” Noah asks, coming to a stop behind Ripley, his dark hair damp from the rain. “He’s the Warlord.”
Ralph makes a face like it’s stupid and annoying, but Ripley seems impressed, in spite of himself. He glances at Noah over his shoulder, then drops his gaze back to Ralph, who meets his eyes through the shadows that fall across his face.
“Warlord, why?”
“Because a king inherits,” Noah explains, shrugging out of his jacket, heading for the living room again. “A warlord has to fight their way to the throne.”
“Unlike you, I didn’t get to choose my name,” Ralph tells Ripley, looking exasperated. “Somebody called me that during an, um… negotiation, and it stuck.”
Ripley looks back at him, chewing the inside of his cheek, then lifts a hand and starts fidgeting with the stud in his ear.
“Well,” he says, and I’m startled as hell to hear the tentative, jokey tone of his voice - “Now I’ve got all the information I need, in case I decide I don’t like you. You’ve got enemies, right? What would happen if I post the exact location of the Warlord?”
Ralph gives it a moment of thought.
“Someone would probably kill me,” he tells Ripley, in a very matter-of-fact voice. “And somebody else would probably kill you.”
Ripley’s eyes go perfectly round. “What - really?”
“Nah. Not really.” Ralph breaks into a teasing grin, then looks at Ripley very seriously. “Please don’t do that, though. That does have the potential to cause an avalanche of problems for me. I’d have to move, for one thing, and I just figured out the place in my house where my plant gets the best sunlight.”
“What-?” Ripley lets out a burst of startled, indignant laughter. “Oh, my god, dude! Fuck you, and fuck your plant, too!”
“Okay, get mad at me if you want, but leave the plant out of it.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Ripley laughs, then stops, his eyes blinking up over Ralph’s shoulder.
I turn to follow his gaze, realizing that the living room fell silent when Ripley started laughing. Raj, Noah, and Aiden have paused in their conversation. They’re all looking hopefully over at Ripley and Ralph.
I realize at the same time that I’m standing there with my fingers pressed over my mouth. I quickly drop them, and Ripley shakes his head, as if he only just noticed that he’d been laughing.
He pushes his hand through his green curls, then turns away from Ralph. He snatches up a bottle of root beer, and heads for the living room.
“Are we playing, or what?” he asks, reaching for one of the Xbox controllers.
Ralph watches him go, running his fingers around the inside of his leather wristbands. He lets out a slow exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath for a long time.
“You alright, man?” I ask quietly, and Ralph nods.
“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, then sets off with me back towards the couch. “I’m good.”
I smile to myself, relieved to find that I believe him.
Noah, Raj, and Aiden all stop talking and glance up at Ralph searchingly, just like they did when Ripley joined them. Noah’s grey eyes flit back and forth between the two of them.
Whatever he senses seems to fill him with warm relief. It shows as a brief flash of silvery happiness in his eyes.
He quickly drops his gaze back to what he was doing, which was rooting around in his stash-box.
“Shit!” He looks up, making a pouty face, showing us all the empty glass jar in his hand. There are only a few crumbs of green on the bottom. “No smoke tonight, boys. We’re dankrupt, and my backup stash is so old, it probably harshed out.”
“I’ve got some.” Ralph nods at his jacket, which is hanging up by the door. “Nice strain, too. Cinderella 99.”
Aiden suddenly sits up on the couch, shaking his head.
“Nah,” he rumbles, his deep voice firm and inarguable. “No need, man. We don’t need you to supply our kickbacks.”
Ralph arches an eyebrow at him, confused. “You sure? It’s fine, honestly. Noah, didn’t you tell me that Cindy is in your top five favorite strains?”
Noah’s grey eyes are lingering on Aiden, silently following his train of thought.
“Nah, forget that. You can supply the green when we hang at your place, Ralph.” Noah puts his piece back in the stash-box, then closes it up. “We don’t need to smoke tonight. Besides, I’ve heard you can revive harshed-out weed in a slow cooker, if you get it real good ‘n steamy in there.”
“Are we sure we want Melanie to come home to find a ganja-sauna happening in her slow cooker?” Ripley snickers, dropping down to sit on the rug.
“She’s found stranger things than that in the slow cooker, dude, believe me.”
Aiden’s eyebrows lift in obvious alarm. “I’m scared to ask what that means, Noosh.”
“We told you that we tried to bake Mel’s dream wedding cake ourselves, didn’t we?”
“The slow cooker was involved in that?” Ripley laughs, pressing his fingers over his mouth.
“Noah had an idea,” Raj begins, then stops, his eyebrows knitting. “I’m finding it hard to follow our line of reasoning now, though. What the fuck were we thinking, actually? And how did we not die?”
“Funny, I think I’ve spoken that exact series of sentences before, in that same order,” Ralph says. “More than once.”
He blinks in surprise when this gets a collective swell of laughter from the group, including Noah, who looks at him affectionately.
“Sit down already, man,” Noah says, and pushes him towards the armchair.
Ralph does, still looking a little taken aback. But I can see him smiling, even with the shadows falling over him.
He looks around at the room, taking in the low, warm lighting. The deep, colorful rugs. The half-folded pile of baby socks and onesies and blankets on the couch, still warm from the dryer, giving off the faint scent of laundry detergent. The soft crackling of the flames in the fireplace, which is a cozy sound against the rush of rain against the windows.
Ralph seems to finally absorb some of the atmosphere. He sinks back more comfortably in the armchair, his chest slowly rising and falling in a deep breath. His grey-green eyes roam slowly over everything, and I get the sense that this is the first time he’s actually felt calm since he got here.
“Who wants to play first?” Noah asks, holding up one of the Xbox controllers. “Ralph?”
“Not a military game, is it?”
“Nah, I know you don’t like those. Here, give it a shot. I would play, but I’m so good that I’d put you fools to shame-”
“Okay, we all saw a firsthand demonstration of your so-called skills, Noah,” I groan, and Aiden huffs out a laugh.
“Yeah, matter of fact - someone get Alix on the phone, ‘cause I want to issue a press release. Local Tattooed Buffoon Embarrasses Himself With His Lies, Promises Endless Orgasms But Delivers Only Sadgasms-”
“What?” Ralph laughs, his eyes flitting to Noah. “Who’d you promise endless orgasms to, man?”
“Everyone,” Raj answers helpfully.
“Listen, I got a rare achievement, Aiden! Adjust that press release, tell Alix to say - Supreme And Uniquely Gifted Hunk Pulls Off Exceptionally Sick Move, To General Rejoicing.”
Ralph hesitates, then blurts out - “Sorry, who’s Alix?”
I didn’t expect Ripley to answer anything Ralph asks, so I blink in surprise when he does.
“Alix is my girl. She works at the press department at City Hall.”
“Text her both headlines, let her pick the best one,” Raj suggests, nudging Ripley’s shoulder. “She should choose, anyways. She’s the expert.”
“I’m - pretty sure she’s gonna say that neither of those things are headlines.”
“If she does say that, she should definitely find another line of work,” Ralph puts in. “Because both of those are just objectively good.”
Ralph draws back in surprise when this draws another burst of laughter from everyone. He pushes a hand through his blonde hair and looks around at us, blinking hard. Suddenly I can see so very clearly how nervous he is. He looks bewildered, unsure, shy.
But his smile is shining right out through his sage green eyes.
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