"You didn't see any particular evidence that he would listen to you in the moment that everyone's tempers were high and others were ignoring what he tried to say in equal measure? I can't imagine why."
That's snapped far less evenly. He takes a slow breath. "You calibrated it wrong. Because you have no idea what his life has been like. You have no idea how much trouble he has talking to people, how hard he tries, and how little he gets rewarded for that effort. I saw his file during that swap flood. The one that talks about how he got the scar on his lip when a pack of kids harmlessly pushed him around a circle mocking him until he tripped and hit his face on a bench and started bleeding heavily enough that they all ran away. The one that mentions the kid who locked him in a closet for three days, in which he almost died, and faced no consequences for it, because he's the son of a murderer and this kid found out. The one that says he had exactly one friend when he was younger, who he bonded with because both their fathers were in prison--the one friend who, when his father was released, broke off the friendship."
He straightens away from the wall, itching to pace and keeping himself from doing it, barely. "That harmless fucking prank is just another sparkly reminder of how few people give him a chance when they see him slip once. A dozen other people on board, they can bully, show casual cruelty, have no interest in their actual duties, celebrate their own sadism--but the guy with shitty communication skills and a good heart gets landed on with everything this place has got every time he makes a mistake. And even when he's not being landed on--" Neal gestures at the glittery laundry "--people find new ways to make sure he knows he doesn't belong and never will, even if he apologizes for his mistakes. He took it in stride, because that's been his life. I don't. Because it shouldn't be."
Jedao is quiet for a lot time. Ten, twenty seconds. He breathes, slowly. My father once killed a million people in one day, he thinks, and doesn't say. Like hell is he going to call Shuos Jedao his father out loud for the first time for this. There's an urge to laugh. That won't be helpful. He closes it up and sets it aside, like the laundry.
"What's your goal in this conversation, Neal? Do you want me to feel guilt, sympathy, admiration? Do you want me to give him a chance? Because telling me how his life has been so terrible, and everyone has always been against him, and he still hasn't learned the emotional self-control to put the phone down when he's in a temper actually impresses me quite a lot less than I was before. I'm entirely willing to give him a chance, but it's going to be about his actions, not his history. Is it him, reading all his trauma confirmed into a small act of pettiness, or is it you?"
"Fuck it." Neal runs a hand through his hair, flashes Jedao a tired smile, and gestures at nothing. "Fuck it! Just leave him alone, and maybe if you have an issue with him, take in the context in which it's come up, and talk to him when that context has passed. I'm not here to compare injuries or to say he's innocent, I'm here because he's learning, he's in the process of learning, I'm not shielding him, he doesn't even know I'm here."
He spreads both arms wide. "So, is this stupid score settled or should I be investing in further security to protect my underwear?"
"Do you think I didn't? The context is that he's a warden, Neal. I've had a lot learn, too, but I don't take it out on inmates no matter how gutted I am."
He tilts his head back against the dryer, eyes closed for a moment. Jedao waves a hand. "The point of this was to be minor, so no, I'd be an immense hypocrite if I were mad about a roll of my own dice. I've no further plans for petty aggravation. But I think I will talk to him."
Since Neal is clearly incapable of giving a reliable answer to his question.
"I would actually prefer you didn't, if it's just to tell him what he already knows. He's already had someone rally at least two other wardens that I know of to stick their noses into his behavior, so I think he has those bases well-covered at this point, and it might be less helpful than not."
He shakes his head, breathing out a laugh. "I don't know what I wanted from this conversation, honestly."
"We've already established that I resorted to this because I didn't think telling him things people have already told him would have any useful effect," Jedao points out, faintly wry.
"But no, I'm going to. I have questions that I don't believe you can answer for me. If he tells me to fuck off than I will. Would you like me to give you a few hours to get your story straight?"
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That's snapped far less evenly. He takes a slow breath. "You calibrated it wrong. Because you have no idea what his life has been like. You have no idea how much trouble he has talking to people, how hard he tries, and how little he gets rewarded for that effort. I saw his file during that swap flood. The one that talks about how he got the scar on his lip when a pack of kids harmlessly pushed him around a circle mocking him until he tripped and hit his face on a bench and started bleeding heavily enough that they all ran away. The one that mentions the kid who locked him in a closet for three days, in which he almost died, and faced no consequences for it, because he's the son of a murderer and this kid found out. The one that says he had exactly one friend when he was younger, who he bonded with because both their fathers were in prison--the one friend who, when his father was released, broke off the friendship."
He straightens away from the wall, itching to pace and keeping himself from doing it, barely. "That harmless fucking prank is just another sparkly reminder of how few people give him a chance when they see him slip once. A dozen other people on board, they can bully, show casual cruelty, have no interest in their actual duties, celebrate their own sadism--but the guy with shitty communication skills and a good heart gets landed on with everything this place has got every time he makes a mistake. And even when he's not being landed on--" Neal gestures at the glittery laundry "--people find new ways to make sure he knows he doesn't belong and never will, even if he apologizes for his mistakes. He took it in stride, because that's been his life. I don't. Because it shouldn't be."
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"What's your goal in this conversation, Neal? Do you want me to feel guilt, sympathy, admiration? Do you want me to give him a chance? Because telling me how his life has been so terrible, and everyone has always been against him, and he still hasn't learned the emotional self-control to put the phone down when he's in a temper actually impresses me quite a lot less than I was before. I'm entirely willing to give him a chance, but it's going to be about his actions, not his history. Is it him, reading all his trauma confirmed into a small act of pettiness, or is it you?"
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He spreads both arms wide. "So, is this stupid score settled or should I be investing in further security to protect my underwear?"
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He tilts his head back against the dryer, eyes closed for a moment. Jedao waves a hand. "The point of this was to be minor, so no, I'd be an immense hypocrite if I were mad about a roll of my own dice. I've no further plans for petty aggravation. But I think I will talk to him."
Since Neal is clearly incapable of giving a reliable answer to his question.
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He shakes his head, breathing out a laugh. "I don't know what I wanted from this conversation, honestly."
But maybe he should have expected what he got.
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"But no, I'm going to. I have questions that I don't believe you can answer for me. If he tells me to fuck off than I will. Would you like me to give you a few hours to get your story straight?"
Shuos courtesy.
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