"Can you PLEASE turn this garbage down?"
Roman scoffed, "You have no taste in music."
I could only roll my eyes in response. Almost as soon as we'd started moving Roman put in a CD that he'd burned himself with all his favorite rap songs. I had zero clue who any of the artists on the disc were; they all sounded so similar.
"You gotta broaden your horizons, strings," he said, tapping on the wheel to the beat of the song playing. It was obnoxious and bass boosted, and I think there was a guy saying...something over the garbled noise of the beat.
"My horizons are very broad, I'll have you know," I snapped, readjusting my gloves, "however, my extensive history with music allows me to differentiate what's garbage and what isn't."
Roman made a deep throaty noise, almost like a growl, "And who the hell are YOU to dictate what's music, strings?" his grip tightened on the wheel. Honestly, he was too easy sometimes.
I couldn't help but chuckle, "You know, Roman. You're pretty sensitive for someone with such a dangerous job."
That wasn't an exaggeration either. Roman Dolarhyde was the Ultimate Steeplejack.
Roman Dolarhyde
Ultimate Steeplejack
Being a steeplejack was a demanding job that required almost no fear. You couldn't be afraid of high places, of falling, and or of death.
And if there was one thing that I was sure of about Roman, it's that he rarely felt fear.
"Yeah, well I'm a human before I'm a steeplejack," he turned the car down a side road that was a bit off the beaten path, "and humans have feelings, Rumiko."
Uh oh, real name. That means he's actually mad at me.
"I'm joking with you, Roman," I said defensively, "What? You can dish it but can't take it?" I'll admit, I was trying to poke the bear a little. It wasn't often that I had Roman on the ropes, and I'd be a fool to not take advantage of it.
Roman didn't say anything, however. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, but he swallowed whatever he wanted to say and kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead of us. I studied his face, trying to get an idea of what he was thinking. I took everything in. His green eyes were squinted in focus. He knew he needed to wear glasses when he drove. And when he read. And when he...did pretty much anything. I'd told him countless times to wear his prescription glasses, but he fervently refuses every time out of fear of 'looking 'stupid'. I was with him and his mom when we picked out the ones he wanted for crying out loud!
My gaze moved from his eyes to the small horizontal scar on the bridge of his nose. It happened on his second day at my high school. He'd been in Japan for only a month or so. His game plan for popularity was to pick out the biggest, toughest guy and beat him up. Unfortunately, the biggest, toughest guy at our school was Haruki Saito; a notorious biker leader in our town. Their first interaction went about as well as you'd think it would.
"Hey! You Haruki Saito?"
"Yeah, that's me. And what exactly do you want?"
This short exchange was immediately followed by Roman hitting Haruki with a hard right hook. Unbeknown to Roman, however, the boys standing around Haruki weren't just his friends, but members of his gang. It took three teachers and two security guards to pry the five boys off of Roman. The beat down left Roman with a swollen eye, a broken rib, and the scar on his nose when one of the boys attempted to stab him. All things considered it could've been a lot worse.
I looked at his jaw. It was locked tight and slowly moving back and forth. He was grinding his teeth again. He only did that when he was really upset. I guess I actually got to him. Alright, Rumiko. Change the subject.
"It'll be good to network with other Ultimates." I said as we merged onto the highway.
"Oh please," Roman rolled his eyes, "it's just gonna be a bunch of suits waxing poetic about nothing and pretending to give a shit about each other's opinions."
I sighed, "Must you be so cynical? This is a good thing."
"For you maybe. As for me, I couldn't care less about a title. And being in a room with a bunch tightasses who think their shit doesn't stink because they're good at something is gonna make me wanna hang myself."
I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. I hated when he got on this high horse about Ultimate students. "Okay, Roman, if that's the case then why did you accept the talent scouts offer to come to Hope's Peak if you hate Ultimates so much?"
Roman turned to me with a crooked grin, "Because I thought it would get me laid."
I tried to resist the urge to groan, but it was too powerful. I made a sound that was a healthy mix of defeat and disgust. Roman could only shrug at me, "You asked." he said.
I looked up at him, my anger was probably showing on my face. "You know what? It's MY fault for thinking better of you. How dare I have a hope that maybe you'd be able to show a little respect to fellow humans."
Roman was checking his teeth in the rear view mirror, "Empathy and respect slows me down, strings. I'm a lot more productive when I'm an asshole."
I hate him. So. MUCH. I never understood his mind set. It's almost like he prided himself on his toxic, oafish behavior. Why he'd be so content in being so horrible escaped me, but then again, I wasn't him.
I put my head in my hands, doing my best not to smudge my makeup, "Why do I hangout with you?"
"Because you're afraid of being alone," he stated matter of factly as he pulled a toothpick from his jacket pocket, "you have a shit home life and zero friends so you figure that being around someone you hate is better than being around nobody." Without much heed for the road Roman started mercilessly picking at his teeth, leaving me to stew on his words.
It was cute that he thought he knew me. Roman loved doing this. He loved thinking he was in peoples heads, when in reality the truth was actually the opposite. He wasn't a master manipulator, and he wasn't a suave conman. He was Roman Dolarhyde: Ultimate Steeplejack, and Ultimate Inferiority Complex. You know the type. A guy who claims to not care what people think and then immediately lashes out and breaks down at what he perceives as negative feedback. It was all too common. Roman's a scumbag don't get me wrong, but he's ultimately harmless.
"I see you brought your violin," he said, flicking his toothpick out his window, "you gonna play at the party?"
I nodded, "That was the plan. Mr. Akihara said that Mr. Volkov specifically asked for me to perform." I said smugly. What could I say? I was excited to have my talent acknowledged.
"AAAH." Roman whispered, as if having an epiphany. "So, that's why you're so excited, right? You're gonna go up on a stage and make all your dreams come true. Kazimir Volkov is gonna drop to his knees and give you his oil empire on the spot; saving you from that shithole you live in."
I frowned at him, "You can't just be happy for me?"
He shook his head, "No, I'm happy for you. I just think you might be putting too much stock into a performance at a party."
I folded my arms, "I haven't even told you how I feel. You're making assumptions."
He turned his head away from the road and towards me, his eyebrow arched, "Am I really that far off?"
Maybe he wasn't, but he wouldn't stop me from being excited. "You know a FRIEND would be supportive of me."
"It's just funny to me that you think you'll be the only Ultimate performing tonight." Roman chuckled. He was right. I wouldn't be the only performer to take the stage tonight. There'd been multiple Ultimates, new and old, on social media talking about their invitation onto The Royal Wing. Kuniko Fujita: the Ultimate Drummer, was one of them. Raizo Yagami: the Ultimate Tuba Player, was another. And that was only two fish plucked from a sea of talented individuals looking to impress Kazimir Volkov. Myself being one of them. Though those other performers didn't matter. Once the Ultimate Oil Baron heard one of my solos he'd never look at music the same way again.
"I wish I had a sellable talent like playing an instrument." Roman turned off of the highway onto the exit that led to the airway. We'd be there in about twenty minutes now.
"Like, what am I gonna do? Hop on top of the zeppelin to show how cool being a steeplejack is?" he sarcastically continued, "I'm good at my job but I'm not stupid."
I rolled my eyes, "You're a little stupid." I smirked.
"And you're plain looking. Looks like we both have our faults, don't we?"
This is the same guy who got defensive over his rap music…
With a "friend" like Roman, why would I need any enemies?
Hi. I'm still alive and I'm still writing. This took me awhile (and honestly probably didn't need to be so long) but it's done now. This is just supposed to be a little update to bump DZ back up to the list so people can see it. I haven't received too many submissions yet, so I can't say what character types I need specifically. If you have a character to send in, then send them in. Just keep the rules in mind.
Until next time, I guess.
