Waiting
By Ms. Kinnikufan
Disclaimer: Sill don't own the characters.
Robin Mask went through his day with a sense of unusual anticipation. It was finally the third Thursday this month. It was the time that "it" usually happened.
But "it" wouldn't happen until later this night. So he had the rest of the day to attend to.
Things had gotten so boring during the last 27 years of peace, observed Robin. Even the sidewalk seemed to be more boring. Even the graffiti seemed to be more boring. Hell, even the punks seemed more boring then usual.
"Hey, Masked Man! Bite me!" one punk with bright orange spiked hair and several noticing piercings gave him an obscene gesture.
"Young Thomas, there is a great number of more productive things you could be doing with your life then flashing obscene gestures at me-and for good or for ill. Why don't you go do them?" suggested Robin.
"Freak, my name is Red Rockwell, not Thomas, you old fogy fagot!" the punk flashed another obscene gesture.
"Fogy fagot. How original." Robin's voice dripped with sarcasm. Even the punk's insults.
"Thomas. have you been bothering Mr. Mask again?" a sharp woman's voice was heard.
"But ma-" "Don't you ÔBut Ma!' me, Thomas. You are coming home right now!" Thomas's/Red Rockwell's mother dragged him home by the earlobe.
"Whipped." Robin muttered in the punk's direction, earning him yet another obscene gesture.
Robin made his way towards the local grocery store. Hell, it seem even the local grocery store had more excitement then he did. Why, just last week they had that busload of people from the nudist convention stop by.
Robin really didn't have many people to shop for, his wife was dead and Kevin was good-knows-where, and Warsman was in Russia. Robin lived alone, for he was fully capable of taking care of himself. He didn't see the need for servants.
"Alice likes this shampoo." It was a delicate rose colored shampoo, with a gentle floral scent. He tossed it in the trolley.
"Oh..." Robin remembered that Alice was dead and didn't need any shampoo on Earth. She probably had all the shampoo she needed in the afterlife. In fact, he secretly had a bottle of shampoo from when she was still alive. He still had everything that she had, even a broken hair comb. The broken hair comb still had some strands of her hair in it, so Robin felt justified.
With a shaky arm, he put back the shampoo.
"Kevin likes this type of digestives." Robin had found crumbs of strawberry yogurt digestives under Kevin's pillows. Robin personally found them gross and wonder what the hell McVities was smoking when they decided to release strawberry yogurt flavored digestives.
He was about to toss them in the trolly, when he remembered Kevin had left many years ago. Through he hoped otherwise, Robin know deep down in his heart Kevin wasn't going to come back. He put those back home too, because he sure wasn't going to eat them.
"Warsman probably needs more motor oil." Robin said to himself, veering his cart towards that section. In all his years of knowing Warsman, Robin still didn't know why Warsman need motor oil. Maybe he drank it, as disgusting that idea was.
Then he remembered that Warsman was in Russia, and was more then capable of buying his own motor oil.
Dejected, he went to pay for his few groceries.
3:00 p.m., He went to visit Alice's grave. He laid a bouquet of snapdragons (her favorite) upon her grave.
"Well nothing really happen today. Then again noting really happen yesterday or the day before yesterday or the day before yest...well you get the picture. I was in the store today and almost bought a bottle of your favorite shampoo. What was it called? Lady Demi? No Lady Demeter. What an odd name for a shampoo. I wish you were still alive. Hell, I know you wish you were still alive. We never really got to spend that match time together when you were alive. I was always off fighting the bad guys. Now we're apart, when we have the most time to spend together. Kevin's still gone. I hope he's safe and not injured, though sometimes I think that's hoping for too much. Sometimes Alice, I think I did something to piss God off. Or maybe my ancestors did something to piss God off." 6:00 p.m. Robin decided to see how Blocken. Jr. was.
"Hallo, ist dieses Haupt Blocken Jr's. I can't kommen zum Telefon jetzt oder zu I'm, das Sie weil Sie der won't Anschlag advoiding ist, der mich abhšrt. Auch ich haben mein vollstŠndig jetzt trinken unter Steuerung, also Wille, die Sie stoppen, Interventions fŸr mich zu haben. Und Anschlag, der mir jene verfluchten Flugschriften schickt. Lassen Sie sowieso eine Anzeige am Ton des Signaltons." Blocken Jr. still wasn't home (or not answering the phone). What could he be doing with his time? He said he had stopped his excessive drinking, but Robin doubted it. Addictions were hard to break.
Robin seat in his living room, all alone. He ideally stared into space. I wonder is this is how Grandpa Grande spends his days. His grandfather was currently the oldest of his family at 108 years old. He was an understanding man who respected decisions he didn't quite agree with. Kevin had been found of him. He was probably where Kevin kept getting those disgusting strawberry yogurt digestives from.
Now, Grandpa Grande spent most of his days heavily sedated so "as not to cause trouble". Robin was disgusted with the way his father (Robin Knight) treated his grandfather. It was a constant legal battle with his father for custody of his grandfather. But for every lawyer Robin had, his father had three. Robin's father was 84 years old and Robin often wondered why the government ever listen to him.
Robin wondered if lousy father/son relationships were a genetic thing in his family 1:13 A.M., Friday.
Robin waited in the dark fighting back the natural sleepiness that had come to him in his old age. He waited. If "it" didn't happen tonight, there would be great despair in the Mask household (as melodramatic as that sounded)
The phone rang.
"Hello?" Robin answered.
"Is your refrigerator running?" Kevin's slurred voice came from the other side of the connection.
"Kevin, I'm afraid not. It's standing still as usual." Robin responded, tears of relief pouring down his face. Kevin was okay. Well maybe not okay, but he was still alive and breathing. How else could he drunkenly crank call him in the early morning?
" I'm not Kevin! My name is...errrrr. Help me out here guys! (Robin heard a voice whispering ÔMike Rotch') Mike Rotch! Yeah that's my name!" "Whatever, Mr. Mike Rotch." "Dude! Dude! Dude? Like he said it guys! I got him to say it! He said My Crotch! (Robin heard two other voices drunkenly giggle) Ha Heh Ha! Like, dude I got you to say My Crotch!" "So you did, Kevin."
"Whatever. And my name isn't Kevin. It's Kevin. Oh damn! I just gave my real name! I'm not suppose to give my real name or I'll get sued or something. (Robin heard a voice in the background say ÔHang up man!') Ummm... someone else has to use the phone. Remember my name isn't Kevin. It's ummm...Monty Burns. Yes, Monty Burns!" Kevin hung up, ending the phone call.
Robin was left once again sitting alone in the dark. ÔIt' had happen again: Kevin drunkenly crank calling him at 1:13 a.m., Friday/Late Thursday. It was the only communication he and his son had. He didn't know where the hell was Kevin was or how he had been doing . Kevin kept typing in some sort of code that kept Robin from finding out his whereabouts.
It was sad, but for now it would have to do.
It would have to do.
Author's note: The english translation of Blocken Jr.'s answering machine message:
Hello, this is Blocken Jr's home. I can't come to the phone now, or I'm advoiding you because you won't stop bugging me. Also I have my drinking completely under control now, so will you stop having those interventions for me. And stop sending me those damn pamphlets. Anyway leave a message at the sound of the beep.
Robin Mask went through his day with a sense of unusual anticipation. It was finally the third Thursday this month. It was the time that "it" usually happened.
But "it" wouldn't happen until later this night. So he had the rest of the day to attend to.
Things had gotten so boring during the last 27 years of peace, observed Robin. Even the sidewalk seemed to be more boring. Even the graffiti seemed to be more boring. Hell, even the punks seemed more boring then usual.
"Hey, Masked Man! Bite me!" one punk with bright orange spiked hair and several noticing piercings gave him an obscene gesture.
"Young Thomas, there is a great number of more productive things you could be doing with your life then flashing obscene gestures at me-and for good or for ill. Why don't you go do them?" suggested Robin.
"Freak, my name is Red Rockwell, not Thomas, you old fogy fagot!" the punk flashed another obscene gesture.
"Fogy fagot. How original." Robin's voice dripped with sarcasm. Even the punk's insults.
"Thomas. have you been bothering Mr. Mask again?" a sharp woman's voice was heard.
"But ma-" "Don't you ÔBut Ma!' me, Thomas. You are coming home right now!" Thomas's/Red Rockwell's mother dragged him home by the earlobe.
"Whipped." Robin muttered in the punk's direction, earning him yet another obscene gesture.
Robin made his way towards the local grocery store. Hell, it seem even the local grocery store had more excitement then he did. Why, just last week they had that busload of people from the nudist convention stop by.
Robin really didn't have many people to shop for, his wife was dead and Kevin was good-knows-where, and Warsman was in Russia. Robin lived alone, for he was fully capable of taking care of himself. He didn't see the need for servants.
"Alice likes this shampoo." It was a delicate rose colored shampoo, with a gentle floral scent. He tossed it in the trolley.
"Oh..." Robin remembered that Alice was dead and didn't need any shampoo on Earth. She probably had all the shampoo she needed in the afterlife. In fact, he secretly had a bottle of shampoo from when she was still alive. He still had everything that she had, even a broken hair comb. The broken hair comb still had some strands of her hair in it, so Robin felt justified.
With a shaky arm, he put back the shampoo.
"Kevin likes this type of digestives." Robin had found crumbs of strawberry yogurt digestives under Kevin's pillows. Robin personally found them gross and wonder what the hell McVities was smoking when they decided to release strawberry yogurt flavored digestives.
He was about to toss them in the trolly, when he remembered Kevin had left many years ago. Through he hoped otherwise, Robin know deep down in his heart Kevin wasn't going to come back. He put those back home too, because he sure wasn't going to eat them.
"Warsman probably needs more motor oil." Robin said to himself, veering his cart towards that section. In all his years of knowing Warsman, Robin still didn't know why Warsman need motor oil. Maybe he drank it, as disgusting that idea was.
Then he remembered that Warsman was in Russia, and was more then capable of buying his own motor oil.
Dejected, he went to pay for his few groceries.
3:00 p.m., He went to visit Alice's grave. He laid a bouquet of snapdragons (her favorite) upon her grave.
"Well nothing really happen today. Then again noting really happen yesterday or the day before yesterday or the day before yest...well you get the picture. I was in the store today and almost bought a bottle of your favorite shampoo. What was it called? Lady Demi? No Lady Demeter. What an odd name for a shampoo. I wish you were still alive. Hell, I know you wish you were still alive. We never really got to spend that match time together when you were alive. I was always off fighting the bad guys. Now we're apart, when we have the most time to spend together. Kevin's still gone. I hope he's safe and not injured, though sometimes I think that's hoping for too much. Sometimes Alice, I think I did something to piss God off. Or maybe my ancestors did something to piss God off." 6:00 p.m. Robin decided to see how Blocken. Jr. was.
"Hallo, ist dieses Haupt Blocken Jr's. I can't kommen zum Telefon jetzt oder zu I'm, das Sie weil Sie der won't Anschlag advoiding ist, der mich abhšrt. Auch ich haben mein vollstŠndig jetzt trinken unter Steuerung, also Wille, die Sie stoppen, Interventions fŸr mich zu haben. Und Anschlag, der mir jene verfluchten Flugschriften schickt. Lassen Sie sowieso eine Anzeige am Ton des Signaltons." Blocken Jr. still wasn't home (or not answering the phone). What could he be doing with his time? He said he had stopped his excessive drinking, but Robin doubted it. Addictions were hard to break.
Robin seat in his living room, all alone. He ideally stared into space. I wonder is this is how Grandpa Grande spends his days. His grandfather was currently the oldest of his family at 108 years old. He was an understanding man who respected decisions he didn't quite agree with. Kevin had been found of him. He was probably where Kevin kept getting those disgusting strawberry yogurt digestives from.
Now, Grandpa Grande spent most of his days heavily sedated so "as not to cause trouble". Robin was disgusted with the way his father (Robin Knight) treated his grandfather. It was a constant legal battle with his father for custody of his grandfather. But for every lawyer Robin had, his father had three. Robin's father was 84 years old and Robin often wondered why the government ever listen to him.
Robin wondered if lousy father/son relationships were a genetic thing in his family 1:13 A.M., Friday.
Robin waited in the dark fighting back the natural sleepiness that had come to him in his old age. He waited. If "it" didn't happen tonight, there would be great despair in the Mask household (as melodramatic as that sounded)
The phone rang.
"Hello?" Robin answered.
"Is your refrigerator running?" Kevin's slurred voice came from the other side of the connection.
"Kevin, I'm afraid not. It's standing still as usual." Robin responded, tears of relief pouring down his face. Kevin was okay. Well maybe not okay, but he was still alive and breathing. How else could he drunkenly crank call him in the early morning?
" I'm not Kevin! My name is...errrrr. Help me out here guys! (Robin heard a voice whispering ÔMike Rotch') Mike Rotch! Yeah that's my name!" "Whatever, Mr. Mike Rotch." "Dude! Dude! Dude? Like he said it guys! I got him to say it! He said My Crotch! (Robin heard two other voices drunkenly giggle) Ha Heh Ha! Like, dude I got you to say My Crotch!" "So you did, Kevin."
"Whatever. And my name isn't Kevin. It's Kevin. Oh damn! I just gave my real name! I'm not suppose to give my real name or I'll get sued or something. (Robin heard a voice in the background say ÔHang up man!') Ummm... someone else has to use the phone. Remember my name isn't Kevin. It's ummm...Monty Burns. Yes, Monty Burns!" Kevin hung up, ending the phone call.
Robin was left once again sitting alone in the dark. ÔIt' had happen again: Kevin drunkenly crank calling him at 1:13 a.m., Friday/Late Thursday. It was the only communication he and his son had. He didn't know where the hell was Kevin was or how he had been doing . Kevin kept typing in some sort of code that kept Robin from finding out his whereabouts.
It was sad, but for now it would have to do.
It would have to do.
Author's note: The english translation of Blocken Jr.'s answering machine message:
Hello, this is Blocken Jr's home. I can't come to the phone now, or I'm advoiding you because you won't stop bugging me. Also I have my drinking completely under control now, so will you stop having those interventions for me. And stop sending me those damn pamphlets. Anyway leave a message at the sound of the beep.