Treecko's Daily Soapbox Brendan x Wally (Loverivalshipping)

Wally's Reading Hour: "The Crucible"

Me: *Makes a series of unwise life decisions...Now owns a copy of The Crucible by Arthur Miller that has pee on it...Opens mouth to explain self...Closes mouth...*

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*Wally's POV*

"Proctor," I read aloud to myself experimentally, peeking up from the page at Brendan, "You are the high court, your word is good enough!" my eyes return to the page for the next line, "Tell them I confessed myself; say Proctor broke his knees and wept like a woman; say what you will, but my name cannot—"

I glance up at Brendan again. He's sleeping in the breakroom—in the chair under the wall clock—while we wait for May to finish her latest attempt at radio. Or at least he seems to be sleeping. His arms are crossed over his stomach, and his neck is bent forward at an uncomfortable angle, hiding his grey eyes.

I look to the page once more and read, "Danforth, with suspicion," I narrow my eyes at Brendan for a moment, "It is the same is it not? If I report it or you sign to it?"

Brendan breathes in evenly and unhurried, his glossy, brown hair catching the harsh fluorescent lighting and reflecting it. The plunging neckline of his t-shirt—entirely ostentatious—shifts smoothly with the motions of his respiration.

I ease back in my chair, relaxing, more convinced now that he's actually asleep, and I begin to read again, but with more emotion now: "Proctor—he knows it is insane: No, it is not the same! What others say and what I sign to is not the same!

"Danforth: Why? Do you mean to deny this confession when you are free?

"Proctor: I mean to deny nothing!

"Danforth: Then explain to me, Mr. Proctor, why you will not let—

"Proctor, with a cry of his whole soul: Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul; leave me my name!" I shout, then look up suddenly at Brendan, startled by my total absorption with the play, startled to remember he's listening—or could be listening. Brendan restlessly lifts his neck more towards his shoulder, though it's no more comfortable of an angle, and shows me his eyes. They're closed, and his lips are parted with sleep.

I breathe more heavily than is normal for a minute and then press on urgently—I'm at the climax of the play—"Danforth, pointing at the confession in Proctor's hand: Is that document a lie? If it is a lie I will not accept it! What say you? I will not deal in lies, Mister! Proctor is motionless," I whisper breathlessly, checking on Brendan once more, who also lies still, only breathing, "You will give me your honest confession in my hand, or I cannot keep you from the rope. Proctor does not reply," Brendan is quiet, "Which way do you go, Mister?

"His breast heaving, his eyes staring, Proctor tears the paper and crumples it, and he is weeping in fury, but erect." My own eyes prick with tears.

"Danforth: Marshal!

"Parris, hysterically, as though the tearing paper were his life: Proctor, Proctor!

"Hale: Man, you will hang! You cannot!

"Proctor, his eyes full of tears: I can. And there's your first marvel, that I can. You have made your magic now, for now I do think I can see some shred of goodness in John Proctor. Not enough to weave a banner with, but white enough to keep it from such dogs. Elizabeth-" I struggle to get the next words out, crying openly now, "in a burst of terror, rushes to him and weeps against his hand. Gi-!" I have to stop. How awful. How beautiful the words. How awful the subject of description.

I look towards Brendan again, during my pause, already expecting the sight of his prostrate figure-

And he's staring at me. His posture is no less slumped over, but his eyes are wide open. He doesn't startle at my gaze. "Give them no tear," he prompts, somehow knowing the next line, though it's understandable—if there were a line to remember...

I'm too shocked to continue, but my tears flow, unchecked by the change in emotion, the ducts already swollen and leaking and taken to the act of crying.

"Tears pleasure them," he continues when I do not.

"...Show honor now," I mutter at last, not at all the way the words were meant to be spoken, all timid like this, "show a stony heart and sink them with it!" My voice rises only slightly for the exclamation mark, and I sniffle, clutching the play with sad hands. Maybe some of the things Brendan knows for his show aren't so stupid and annoying after all.

He suddenly smiles, and it occurs to me that he has a face for television. "Tears pleasure me," he suggests happily.

"What?" I splutter, feeling my body temperature spike dangerously quick.

"Heeeeyyyy!" May abruptly bursts into the room then, slamming the door open and making me jump, "Treecko's Daily Whorehouse team! What's up?" she chirps, immediately heading over to the refrigerator and rifling through it.

"I'm guessing that means we're on in five?" Brendan says, sounding less than impressed. She is, after all, the reason why we have to come in even earlier than usual all the time.

But that's not what I care about right now.

I stand up quickly, shoving my chair back across the linoleum flooring with a grating squeal. "How dare you." I say to Brendan, scowling at him in outrage—not quite sure what he was just suggesting but not liking it at all. May straightens up, clutching a chilled water bottle to her breasts and watching me with wide eyes. Brendan blinks. "How dare you talk about a serious work of literature, regarding very serious themes, like persecution—how dare you talk about it like that! Like you were some cheesy romance novel that thought yourself worthy of paraphrasing from it," I mutter in disgust because I think that's what he was getting at.

May looks to Brendan, brows raised, and Brendan opens his mouth to say something, but that's all I have the stomach to stand there and listen to, so I rush from the room, my cheeks still wet, hastily grabbing up the play and some paperwork.

"What did you do?" May snaps at him.

"I was just teasing! He said I couldn't grab his ass anymore!" I hear a shout of protest behind me, and I shake my head derisively. Damn him. Damn those people who say things so lightly without ever thinking at all—without ever having to think.

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Me: *Smiles* "Aaaand that was a Wally's Reading Hour chapter! Did ya like it? I promise there will be less dramatic ones in the future." *Taps fingers lightly against lips* "Maybe even really cutesy ones."