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 Posted: Tue Dec 01, 2009 10:37 am
Who: Milton, Byron, Adam, Genie
When: Afternoon
Where: Tuck E. Squeaky's
Weather: Probably dry and cloudless, but who cares? They're inside.
What: Who knows? "Come within five feet of me again, you odious whelp, and so help me, I will light you on fire."
Milton Fettua- wizard, scientist, comitted grump. His viridian gaze was unwavering and righteously venomous on the poor sap that got paid minimum wage for dressing up as an overgrown rodent mascot of Tuck E. Squeaky's. Milton didn't have anything against overgrown rodents, mind, but he had a lot against fun in general, and people. Also, this place was a horror house. Every time he breathed in, he smelled and tasted grease. Not even an hour ago, he had watched a child at the other end of the long table throw up on the floor and just bounce on as if nothing had happened, and he counted the time it took until one of the staffers came to clean it up. Even if it was technically gone now, it was still there in his mind's eye, and made him highly subconscious of the seat he had taken to endure the next couple of hours. Just what sort of filth was swimming on it, getting on his robes?
Dear god, why was he even here, subjected to see and smell the animals they call 'children' rushing all about, screeching for no reason whatsoever? Why was he paying money for this cardboard impression of pizza (which HE hadn't eaten, mind you, but his companions had) and sub-par coffee? Milton felt gypped and miserable here, despite the way he occasionally glanced to locate his housemates in the play area. There was something obscenely wrong about a grown man crawling around in plastic tubes like a gerbil, but the embarrassment Byron caused for himself wouldn't be falling on his shoulders. He caught sight of the man in the small portholes along the tubes, chasing after the clay-bound form of his adopted ward, Adam. They seemed like they were having fun (curse Adam for loving anyone who would give him a kind glance), but it did little to assuage his mounting sullenness. This was all Byron's fault, but since the man wasn't here right now, Tuck E. Squeaky was the strawman for all of that ire.
Whoever was in that costume, they got the message quick and high-tailed it out of the area, probably going to cry in the kitchen. Milton ignored him from then on, and considered the other people sitting at the tables. There was a party happening a small distance away, but most of the kids had scattered to blow their parents' money on the machines in the playroom. Now there were only the morose lumps of adults to talk amongst themselves, poor souls like him who were just counting the minutes until they could leave and trying to pass the time by attempting to relate. As long as they stayed away from him, things would be fine.
After an alloted time had passed, the curtains at one wall would part to display a wide away of mechanical figures that proceeded to put on a grating 'concert', and the wizard was doing his absolute best not to get the song stuck in his head after the third show. He sipped the sludge they called coffee and all the while imagined the circuits breaking and the stage collapsing into itself in a gout of flame. Glorious. Long fingers stroked over the wood of the staff that leaned against the table next to him, and Milton was about five seconds away from seeing how much of a b*****d he could get away with being. Four... three... two...
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2009 5:11 am
And just like clockwork at the count of one, perverse and cruel as it was, each animatron began to deteriorate into a flashing, clicking, and positively ghoulish mess of mechanical imperfection. Not as if anybody could say that their ratty faux pelts, and invasive smell of burning rubber was disingenuous of their quality... For the unfortunate staff, this was nothing short of routine. As small tots began to flee in abject terror of what had become of these malformed icons, a pock-marked employee sprinted towards the platform as if it were a national crisis, hands feverishly pawing at his name-tag. As Tuck E. himself spewed a generous stream of sparks, he began to shout, voice riddled with the train-wreck of puberty. At his summons, came a particularly surly woman who was but one greasy breadstick away from smacking him back to study hall.
"Genie, they're doing it again!"
"I'm underpayed, not blind, Reggie. Can't you take care of this? I've gotta bus the tables."
"I thought we got these things fixed weeks ago..." He whined from the back of his throat, as if something thick and round had lodged itself in his sinus.
"What're you hollerin' at me for!? I've been raising hell with the higher-ups for twice as long about giving up and replacin' them but they never seem to pull their thumbs out of their butts in time to stop the next firework show!"
After many a display of decorum and refined workplace-banter, it was apparent that her vacant co-worker was in need of a mommy to hold his hand through this tragedy, despite her persistent claims that there wasn't much other action to take than to pull the plugs, distract the kids with something fluorescent and edible, and call it quits. As if her thirty-plus years on the planet somehow warranted that she know how to shepherd children, fix animatrons, remember to scoop all the flies out of the hanging light-shades, and any number of idealistic tasks comparable to those of Wonder Woman without the invisible jet and revealing (albeit patriotic) undergarments. It was flattering that this gaggle of freshman weeaboos considered her to be the highest source in the Tuck E. Squeaky's food-chain when events went awry-- a play-place Yoda as it were, but she wouldn't stand for the attitude. They didn't pay her enough to.
"You've worked here HOW long and you can't even handle this?"
"Well s**t, Reggie, they didn't ask to see your advanced degree in mechanical engineering when you applied?"
"When are you ever gonna get your crap together!?
I should talk to corporate about how you steal the leftover mozzarella sticks at the end of every month! THAT'd straighten you right up."
"Oh c'mon, those things are mostly plastic anyway. That's...what...? Thirty cents off my next pay-check and a lecture from Mr. Gewicky? God forbid I can't afford a chocolate milk when I go through the lunchline on monday."
Scientists had ascertained, that the portion of the brain responsible for interpreting consequences for immediate action did not fully develop until a person's mid-twenties. This theory was about to become a wonder of human neurology in action. "That may be... But how about what your brother did to Marsha in the lockers? When her eighteenth birthday was still three months away no less."
Genie's face constricted in absolute dudgeon... Her lips were a tight, rosy line. She was completely, and utterly appalled that she was to be given such restive impudence, and it made her furious... Her outstretched hand gripped the boy by the starchy collar of his uniform. His cheekbone ricocheted from the closest tabletop. She held him there, fastened in an unshakable grip while her free hand retrieved the unattended tray from the next table over, sloshing with used napkins, sauce containers, and cold coleslaw. Her hand left the nape of his neck momentarily to yank the back of his trousers, so that she could empty the tray's contents straight down into the offending portal she created. She slung him out of her way after every little drop was securely nestled in his nethers, and with that, she was storming out to the back alleyway for her first smoke-break in six months. Sure it was bold, sure it was risky for her to treat a minor in such a way. But little did he know that she had quite the upper hand.
He may have uncovered knowledge of the dalliance between Lionel and Marsha via hearsay, but she knew full well from a clear perspective there was a very good reason Reggie was not to be trusted with emptying the register at the end of the night, and it was this golden nugget of information that would ensure that Reggie would get what was his, and could do little to retaliate over a few over-ripe cheese-sticks. If she weren't so angry she could spit, she would have been smiling.
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2009 8:14 am
For a moment, he literally thought he had acquired a subconscious level of summoning spells. The machines began to spark and sputter as if in some hellish little jaunt, and Milton could do little more than stare as a the 'entertainers' summarily killed themselves. When the pimple-faced youth went skittering out, the wizard sighed as he realized no, he did not acquire a new level of wizardry, as the boy refused to go headlong into the mess no matter how much he willed it.
And then there was a woman. It seemed like she was the manager, or maybe even the owner. For someone her age, she'd have to have some sort of status or else... or else that'd just be tragic. Then Milton remembered where he was, and decided that the woman was in a tragic situation no matter who she was. At least the boy might have the excuse of trying to work his way through college!
A new show was unfolding, infinitely more entertaining than the one that had just departed. The redhead listened in on the banter, all the while sipping his drink calmly. It was when the boy mentioned something about the woman's sibling that his rusty brow arched, long fingers reaching to pull at the hairs of his beard as he eagerly awaited the response. It was one of those make or break situations, and the woman nailed it. By the time she was done and storming off, Milton was laughing low in his throat, one of those dark, creepy chuckles that made the hero's skin crawl and mothers usher their children away very quickly. Oh yes, he was enjoying himself, until the smart-a** little b*****d looked at him.
"What are you looking at, boy?" He snarled, deadpan as he made to reach for the remnants of the pizza nearby. The kid caught on quick, and he didn't have to actually lay hands on the grease painted as food. After the youth was gone, Milton chuckled for another couple of seconds, undisturbed. His eyes trailed after where he'd seen the woman dash, then over to the play area. Byron was tossing Adam head-long into the ball pit, where other toddlers shrieked in horror. Maybe that woman had the right idea...
The back door was pushed open and the wizard made his way out, ignoring any looks it got him on the way. The air outside was dry and a little chilled with the approaching winter, but his robes were thick around his shirt and trousers. He wouldn't even flinch. Shrewd blue-green eyes scouted the back alley of the building until he spotted her.
"Oh, good," He purred sardonically, looking her over once as if sizing her up, "Just a cigarette, not a shotgun."
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2009 2:27 pm
The air was crisp and pungent with the various smells of local businesses. A general aura of busy people with busy lives hung low in the mornings and afternoons like fog upon a murky lake. The wall at her back was scratchy. Subzero. In the alley across the way, a woman in curlers dumped a foul concoction out of her window onto the ground below. Light was just a wave unless perceived, and all she perceived was a reseda oblivion. There was no green here. No trees unyieldingly reaching outstretched limbs to the heavens or even a patch of grass that was not withered and crisp from having been subjected over time to the urine of a thousand neighborhood dogs. This pavement and cold, clincal, corporate nightmare was salt upon the earth, and Tuck E.'s was as briny as she could handle. But then again, a new lease on life could do wonders for a woman's disposition. This place could feel interesting and full of potential if she only saw it that way, counted her blessings.
Nah. Pain was interesting enough on it's own.
She wanted to enjoy the briskness, slipping her work-jacket off her shoulders to tie the sleeves around her midsection. It was the only cushioning between her back and the wall behind her, but that cold air felt nothing short of incredible on her peeling shoulders. She was still healing from a sunburn afterall. A rogue tress of hair drifted across the bridge of her nose, tickling it unmercifully as if she were wearing an uncomfortable pair of phantom eyeglasses, but she hadn't the spark to remove it. The cigarette was pinched in her lips, that familiar flavor a poltergeist that teased the tip of her tongue as she brushed it knowingly against the filter.
Should she or shouldn't she? Should she...or shouldn't she? One good...long...tasty drag and she was back off the wagon. She didn't want to go back to two packs a week, she was only just starting to get that smoky stench out of her furniture! She deserved it enough for having enough restraint not to pop that little zit like she knew she very well could have. Addiction was a cruel vice, alright... Her butane lighter trembled in her hand, and before she could stop herself, the calloused pad of her thumb began to caress the igniter. She flicked it once. Nothing. Flicked it twice. Still nothing. That tight snap echoed in the narrow space, and it sounded like the heralding of angels. If only she could get a spark-- she was getting rusty at this. She flicked it thrice. And like magic, the haunting lilt of the stranger's voice brought the desired result with the hiss of a warm heat in a frozen world. That voice made her rapt with a chary uncertainty, but she showed no fear. Just wasn't in her.
The flame met the lung-dart, and her mouth was filled with the heavenly satisfaction of a desire left unfulfilled. She took that damning drag, filling her lungs good and deep before expelling several smoke-rings. Her eyes swiveled to meet him, examining him in turn as the cigarette migrated to the corner of her mouth to make room for her reply, "What can I say, on my salary I can only afford one 'r the other and I didn't feel like wasting the trash-bags on a little punk like that." She smiled, the tobacco's exhaust billowing through her teeth, "Save that fer the night-manager." She looked out towards the street for a moment to see if there was anybody coming. It didn't hurt to have people around just in case this guy turned out to be some kind of creep.
"Hey, I don't know what you heard, but if you're back here lookin' for a little somethin' I'm not the gal to go to. That chica doesn't go on 'er lunch-break for another hour, but I don't mind shootin' the s**t with you in the meanwhile."
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2009 10:10 pm
Genie would get a scrutinizing look for the first retort, because Milton was trying to decide if she was serious or not. Not because he was at all concerned for this night manager, or whether or not this woman really did have homocidal tendencies, but simply because he was the sort of man who analyzed practically everything when meeting someone new. Granted, his judgements were usually off-base because he had very little experience with people outside of what chance brought to him, but they worked well enough for him. After a second, she would be awarded with a dry snort of air passed out of his nostrils.
"Please. I--" The following comment would cut him off, and there was that look again. "I beg your pardon?"
The redhead felt heat in his face as tiny blood-vessels ruptured just beneath the surface of his cheeks, spreading to the tips of his ears. "You're referencing to sexual exploitation," He noted, somewhat tersely, and his blush spread a little farther. The thing about being pale was that everything like that appeared on his face whether he'd have liked it to or not. Was this woman referring to some latina girl? Because she was most certainly white from where he was standing, and thus had no business of calling anyone 'chica'. That was beside the point. "I assure, that most certainly was not my intention!"
And as if to verify this, he quickly flipped open the pouch on his belt and drew out a long-stemmed pipe, about a foot long and crafted out of some ornate and polished wood. The wizard was immediately made uncomfortable, as most 'reference to sexual exploitation' did, but the only other choice here was to turn about and duck right back into the grease-ball he perceived Tuck E. Squeaky's to be. He'd take his chances out here. Bad come to worse, he'd tell her in no uncertain terms to shut up and that would be that!
"I couldn't linger in that little spot of dystopia any longer," He grumbled while stepping away from the door, which meant stepping closer to the stranger. It was clear enough that he did not expect to be her bosom buddy, or to so much as touch her inappropriately as he kept a good five or six feet between them. The pipe was passed between his lips, and he worried the end with his teeth unconsciously for a moment before he lifted the wooden staff he carried with him. A simple tap to the end was all it took, and the bowl was suddenly smoking with evidence of a tiny flame. Milton inhaled slowly, his eyes not looking at Genie as he did lest he be forced to be reminded of what she had dared to assume earlier and be sent to sputtering. The end of the pipe crackled with tiny sparks as whatever was within was slowly being burnt. When he exhaled, the smoke was blue, then shifted to green, then yellow as it wafted up into the dim air of the alley, sparkling with magic. He really didn't belong here, Milton thought as he watched it go.
"I hate this place." He grumped, not giving half a damn if it offended her.
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2009 11:16 pm
She nearly choked on the laugh that burped up at his reply. Genie wasn't trying to be condescending or judgmental as that smokey laugh would lead certain thin-skinned individuals to believe. It was just...he said it so.... So eloquently. Too eloquently, like some sheltered academic who spoke with no passion or poetic proclivity. Only diction and definition. Suddenly in vivid remembrance, she thought back to being thirteen years old, never privy to grownup conversations. The way her distant aunts would fuss and fit about spicier topics when in her presence, when she had heard all five brothers use every name in the book for a woman's anatomy (more tragically still, in context or otherwise.) and could probably list each by the dewey decimal system by the time she was ten. It had been a long time since she had seen such an expression of shame and discretion on a grown man's face.
It was on this note that she couldn't quite determine which was worse. Her for being so crass and so jaded as to embarrass him that way, or him for not knowing any better. She shook her head, running her free hand across her hair-line and over the slope of her skull to tussle the ravenous black mop that cradled her neck. "Well you're an original, ain'tcha." She watched with a leisurely intent as he too began to produce a smoking apparatus. For a moment, it looked quite...different. Something suspicious a frat-boy would keep under the floorboards in a shoebox, and the Fantasia-esque colors that spilled from it's tip did little to disperse this theory. But hey, worse things had gone on in that self-same alley, and he didn't seem to have any intention of provoking nor harming her. Merely a kindred spirit retreating from the bile of that place to take a break from it all. Why rock the boat?
"There you go, big guy, cool off. Yer' in good company-- just wanted t'make sure you knew what's what."
Like anybody knew what-was-what anymore, but assuming one knew was the closest she could get to any type of closure on the matter. As she watched him, she began to continue with the formation of smoke-rings, vauntingly pouting her lips to push them along in a hazy stream, one by one as if challenging him to do the same with his own peculiar device. The one that looked too remarkable to be from this world. He himself on closer inspection proved to be a different sort of drifter as well, passing through her dismal existence like a ship in the night. He barked a cold remark with a severe conviction; it too echoed within the alley. She was not offended. Only wrought with the truth of it all.
"Yeeeeah..." She sighed from the husk of her voice, shutting her eyes while taking one more fatal drag from her loosey prior to flicking the butt casually into the street. "My advice would be to count yer' blessings. Least you don't have to propagate filthy places like this with the best years of your life... I may be stuck-- if only for the time being. What's your excuse?" She grinned with the sort of face that knowingly added without words nor reservation, 'You don't belong here.'
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Mon Dec 07, 2009 12:15 am
Indeed, his shoulders did stiffen up remarkably beneath his robes as she laughed. His lip, coated over with a smattering of orange bristle, began to curl like an animal affronted. If she hadn't continued to talk, he may very well have said something scathing to defend himself, despite not knowing exactly what about him she was laughing at. Milton did not like laughing. It reminded him of a crueler time in his life, one he wished to forget and never would. It had shaped him.
"I suppose you've never seen a wizard before." 'Typical.' his tone seemed to add. There was a silent warning in these words.
He grunted in return to being referred to as 'big guy', somewhat mollified by the way he subtly straightened. He was tall, at least, and even if he was skinny in the standards of men, he was still bigger than her, the fairer sex. He watched her smoke rings for a moment, perhaps tempted, though for now he only puffed the multi-colored smoke out of his nose in a draconic stream. Pink, purple, blue.
"No, I don't," He agreed to the statement. He'd been spoiling himself, living in the countryside for about a decade. The air here was sour, and the people generally boorish or, like Genie, crass. Milton was only thankful that he had a home in the hills that he could run back to, while everyone in the city would have to continue to squander to keep living. "I've a ward," He explained tonelessly, allowing himself to blow a wide ring of smoke before he shot a straight stream through it. "It is his birthday and Christmas present, of a sort. As you may have noticed, I am regretting it." The redhead was careful with his words, that much was for certain. He did not like to be considered as any sort of a father, as he tended to dislike children and it made people think he was softer. At least this way it seemed less endearing.
"What you did earlier; that was well-executed. Do you suppose that you will be 'stuck' here for much longer? Or is putting prepubescents in their proper places one of your staff perks?" He would not ask how she got here, or what she had really wished to aspire to- he didn't care, and wouldn't pretend to. He would ask what interested him, and right now his mouth was sharp with the hints of a nasty smirk.
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Posted: Mon Dec 07, 2009 1:36 am
She replied with unbridled frankness, "Well...that's kinda repugnant, don'tcha' think? I mean, yeah this probably isn't yer first choice for a night on the town r' anything, but how much can he enjoy himself here if yer' standing around lookin' like ya' just sat down and span on a big ol' crowbar, yeah? Little kids r' pretty good about that kinda thing." She wagged her finger in a matronly sort of way; loutish and unrehearsed to emphasize her point. Clearly...she really wasn't intimidated for her to throw her two cents into the matter in such an unfettered way, only made more evident by the fact she did not even choose to acknowledge his subdued remark about his being a wizard. As far as she was concerned, he was no bigger or smaller than she, and she would not be moved by him.
Either she was extremely unintelligent, or had just made peace with the fact that her life couldn't go too much further downhill from here to worry about witches and warlocks conducting oogie spells upon her person for a wry remark hither and thither.
Yet again, she couldn't help but laugh demurely as she slid her back down the wall so that she could nicely hunker down without having to actually sit on that putrid ground; tainted with the litter of society's own refuse. "You saw that, did ya'?' She reiterated from his statement. "Yeah...I guess you could say those are the highlights. But," her voice lingered, the 't' proceeding to a light, supererogatory hiss as she paused, something like an 's' but in actuality a sound only forged when one's front teeth barely grazed upon each other in preparation for the rest of what that person had to say, "no. Not that it's really your concern, but I won't be here too much longer, specially if I keep bending these little ankle-biters over my knee..."
She looked dreamily towards the horizon in a confident, pure frame of mind as she imagined things to come which for once weren't soured by her naturally rebarbative way of thinking, "I've got some big things in the works. Too big to keep throwing any more pearls before this hog-house." He had most likely been expecting her to go on a long, seething expose' about how much pleasure she got from the misfortunes of others, which included but was not limited to dumping a vile tray down the back of some poor boy's britches. His smirk had implied this. But despite her candor and her callousness, if all she cared about was being vindictive, she doubted she'd have any joy at all, nor be of much value to anybody else. Underneath the sorrow and the shame was a glimmer, an eddie of hope for better things for herself, and for others. Call it the feminine-ideal buried underneath a mountain of sarcasm. The only difference between her an a hapless, impractical idiot was that she was just enough of a b***h to put wheels into motion, which was precisely what she was doing now at this turning point in her life.
She continued, "My old man used to tell me that no decent person is entitled to complain for any reason unless they lack the gumption to change things or muscle through them." She glanced to him with a tart smile, "You know, in other words, 's**t or get off the pot', right?" A delighted snort that was oddly charming in it's delivery followed.
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Mon Dec 07, 2009 12:14 pm
A brow arched itself at such a bold statement, which he took as an insult toward his demeanor. Span on a big ol' crowbar, indeed! "Madame, I don't do nights on the town. That is a recreational activity for dullards who crave a social stimulation while getting s**t-faced, as you might term it. I have no interest in this 'town' or its denizens and I certainly do not have a need to verify my existence by participating in such a barbaric ritual. It was, assuredly, not my idea to come to this... place." He would deadpan at her, tilting his chin somewhat to put his sharp nose at a higher angle. It was hard for him to explain to her that his attitude was simply what he was like, cynical, measured, and scientific. He had never loosened up or let himself go wild a day in his life since he hit adulthood, because that was, as he saw it, what an adult was supposed to be. Or, more aptly, that was what a wizard should have to be. This response was as close as he would ever come to admitting he was doing something selfless, something that he had been told would please Adam. That was why he was here, gritting his teeth and trying to keep himself in line. He could have truly gone all his life without ever having set foot in Tuck E. Squeaky's.
"As to my ward, he has a... playmate with him. It isn't necessary for me to be involved, thus, my mood is irrelevant. I'm footing the bill." He added as an afterthought. It was hard to describe what Byron was at the moment, and the term he'd used felt somewhat sticky on his tongue. Honestly, though, he didn't KNOW what Byron was supposed to be. He was supposed to be moving on with his life (and more importantly out of Milton's house), so it didn't seem necessary at the moment to really bother thinking on it.
He didn't know what he was expecting her to say back in response to his question, but a recalling of more of those sort of incidents wouldn't be ignored. However, the woman went on with vague statements about how she was going to move up, going to get out. Milton knew that the city was a wasteland, where dreams and hopes went to die and there was always some sort of compromise or sacrifice being made. He didn't know if he could believe the other woman or not with that in mind. She was clearly older, older than even him, but she wasn't too old. It might not be too late. He verified this much in his mind, the only show of his thought being the casual way he stroked his beard. Further analyses would not be needed- it was none of his concern, whether she succeeded or failed. He would not ask what she had in mind, which probably conveyed this sentiment well enough.
"Hmm..." The wizard mulled in response to her father's words, sighing multi-colored smoke. "No one likes a whiner. Everything that is living will struggle in some manner. Sometimes, however, it is not the mere lack of propensity to pursue that keeps an individual from achieving a goal. The constraints of evolution and environment more often than not will act as the true stumbling block of endeavors. However..."
Milton reached out with his staff and tapped a patch of the street before him. For a moment, there was nothing, but slowly, a crack began to split the asphalt around the bottom of the instrument, spreading like a great weight was put upon it. It was only about a foot in diameter, but the effect was obvious, as shoots of green began to push their way up into the dusty light, so unnatural in this wasteland. It was not a flower that raised itself high upon a stalk in the middle of that patch of green, but the white and fuzzy head of a dandelion. Just a common weed. However, the wizard's eyes on it were almost gentle, and he drew the staff away to allow more of its kind to raise their sleepy heads. Obviously, it was what he expected.
"There is always some that find a loophole and persist far beyond what seems possible, or find a way to break through the constraints, if given the means." With that, he flicked the remnants of whatever it was he was smoking out on the pavement below, and returned his pipe to the pouch on his hip. No, he thought, he was not a romantic, simply explaining the fact of a possibility. He tried to look up at the sky, but it was rather fruitless in this area. "Do you have the time?"
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Posted: Thu Dec 10, 2009 4:43 am
Suddenly it was as if a whole flood-gate of indignancy cascaded into that claustrophobic space. He ranted, he raged. Frankly it was the first sign of any actual passion he had shown since he'd bothered to step out there, but in Genie it did not augur any sense or remorse or quiet reflection for stirring that within him. She was just happy to serve as a catalyst for it. The guy looked so uptight she figured if he didn't get to do that from time to time he'd off and bludgeon somebody with that staff. And if anybody was prone to doing the bludgeoning around here, she was the woman to do it.
She smiled coyly as he vented, reaching into her breast pocket for another cigarette only to remember that she was not to return to chain-smoking and irritably tossed it away towards the dumpster. Discipline was the biggest b***h of them all... It was this slight distraction that had caused her to miss the latter half of his fretful drivel to justify his attitude on this the day of his "ward"s birthday outing. With that kind of impassiveness, that boy would be no better, or happier than he. She would have pondered further, except...
There came the tap. That gritty noise upon the earth that seized her attention full-on. She watched with an intensity as that lifeless, ghoulish patch of earth produced a shoot of verdant surprise. So out of place, and peculiar, much like the person that had conjured them. Rapidly they grew, twisting, churning and in it's midst came something akin to a blossom... Right out of the blue.
It's achromic beauty was simple and unimposing. But it's brightness in the face of such shady, seedy surroundings somehow made it look all the better by contrast. Even if it was just a weed. It's fluffy little head like the wing of a gosling made her smile in a way that was guileless and child-like, as if rediscovering that hidden part of herself all over again. Something about that whispy offering of botanical splendor she thought could melt the hardest heart if presented the right way, and he had certainly accomplished this. However, she knew it wouldn't last more than a day in that alley. The ground was devoid of nutrition. The 'superior' race had stolen it all away. The sun would not touch it here. Bees could not pollinate it's offspring. People could not stop to enjoy it for it was out of the way of the sidewalk. It was a survivor on a barren island with no future to speak of, nor for it's following generations. So, she plucked it.
She grunted slightly as she leaned forward to get her fingers around it's stem, "When you end up here, it's safe to say that you don't have the time so much as time has you." She withdrew on a mournful sigh, the sticky white sap, the dandelion-milk as some would call it, clinging tenaciously to her fingertips in a way that was unpleasant, but minor.
She held it there, turning it nimbly in her fingers, examining it, indulging in it. Soon she was brushing the silken orb against her cheek like a common hedonist. When she'd had her fill, she began holding it up to him with an outstretched arm, "Don't want to waste a perfectly good wish, do ya'?" Her eyes rolled back somewhat, her tooth catching the corner of her lip in an impudent grasp. She was thinking. Finally, she felt she should add with a nod of the head as it lolled casually to the shoulder that held the arm outstretched, "A toast to...getting our time back, perhaps?"
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Dangerous Conversationalist
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Posted: Sat Jan 09, 2010 3:24 am
The wizard showed no offense when the woman reached to pull up his conjure. It was only a weed. She seemed softened for a moment, something Milton found himself a bit embarrassed to look at. It actually made him feel good, which translated to uncomfortable in a man far too used to casting life in a negative light. So he averted his gaze for the most part, taking small glances at the older woman out of the corner of her eyes. Her assertion about time made him snort. He could counter with the theory that there was no such thing as time at all, only what humans imposed upon the day and season, but he held his tongue.
When the bud was offered, his already-thin lips tightened with distaste. "I hardly think a common sporophyte is going to grant any wish. You'd be a fool to think as much," Said the man who made a wish upon a mechanical cabbage. An outright no hung on his tongue as he looked at the silly little head of fluff, his jaw shifting. After an awkward second or two of just staring at the other woman and the weed, he puffed a half-hearted breath out of the corner of his mouth, sending some of the seeds scattering. It sounded like an exasperated sigh.
The seeds drifted down the alley and picked up some invisible updraft, little white dancers spinning lazily on their way off to the unknown. Milton watched them go silently.
"Well, I suppose I will go and see if the children are tired enough to leave yet," He grumbled, trying not to seem like he was running away. Which he was. "Lovely meeting you." He finished, sardonic because he felt foolish. He lifted a bony hand to wave goodbye, or perhaps as a ward to keep her from following him as he went oh-so-casually for the back door.
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