Author: Chippewa Livingston
Archive: Please ask
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.
An Unauthorized Genetics Experiment: Host
"So what are you going to spend all that money on?" The food in front of me tasted much better than it had any right to. As often as not I passed up my chance to gag down diner food at lunch. Eventually, I knew I'd have to stop skipping meals and get over it. It's not like I haven't chewed the fat before.
"Paying rent on time." He said, pushing food around with his fork. That would be something to celebrate. I made $2.15 an hour plus tips. "Yeah." I mimicked him, playing with my food.
Welding. Out here that was something to be proud of. It required some skill and a degree of intelligence. If I could only adopt enough of Roxanne's perspective to be content with that.
I had to push down the frustration though. He'd heard what I thought enough times by now. Telling him again that he shouldn't have come with me would be a waste of breath.
It would be better now, I told myself. I'd hated seeing him burn through the multitude of odd jobs with an accepting smile for my benefit. It was all such a waste of what he could be.
That's probably the real reason I never let him come to the diner. We both knew what a hypocrite I was being but it was bearable as long as he never saw.
"Maybe we can get one of those heating units." I suggested. It wasn't exactly cold yet but it wouldn't be long. Buying something like that was out of our budget and it would make this situation seem... permanent. I didn't want to think about that.
"I got a job offer today too." I said. Leaving dead air in this apartment was never pleasant.
"Really?" He noticed the look on my face. I knew what it was. I'd had quite frequently- before. Bloodthirsty. "Do I want to hear this?"
I didn't smile, not even smirk. That expression was one Roxanne used too much. "This guy, in one of the booths, he was being all sweet and polite." But it was syrupy sweet. Sticky and wrong. "So I was trying to avoid him but he kept asking for this and that. The jerk couldn't order a meal all at once he had to go through the whole menu in pieces."
"It's that uniform."
I rolled my eyes and pulled at the collar. "So he kept talking to me then he said, 'Roxanne, that name should be in lights'. Gave me his business card and said I could even keep my white uniform." I gave him the card.
He took one look at it and somehow pulled off an expression that was a scowl and a smirk. "You just wouldn't be keeping it on."
"Right." I dropped my fork. I would've adjusted his jaw for him. It would have made me smile for real to hear bone crunch and cartilage pop. But not Roxanne, she was used to that kind of thing. Unfortunately for him sometimes bits of me leaked through the Georgia girl mask. "Spilled his next cup of coffee in his lap. Wasted the coffee and lost myself a patron but the woman in the booth behind him gave me a nice tip."
I stood up. "Eat." He commanded, like it was part of our routine. It was no use telling him that I'd eaten at the diner. Or offering the truth, that it would sit in my stomach like a rock.
I swallowed a few more mouthfuls and washed the bowl out. At night the water ran clear instead of the rusty brown that flowed for the first ten minutes in the morning.
Maybe next week I'd have an appetite. Maybe next week the world would make sense again.
Archive: Please ask
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.
An Unauthorized Genetics Experiment: Host
"So what are you going to spend all that money on?" The food in front of me tasted much better than it had any right to. As often as not I passed up my chance to gag down diner food at lunch. Eventually, I knew I'd have to stop skipping meals and get over it. It's not like I haven't chewed the fat before.
"Paying rent on time." He said, pushing food around with his fork. That would be something to celebrate. I made $2.15 an hour plus tips. "Yeah." I mimicked him, playing with my food.
Welding. Out here that was something to be proud of. It required some skill and a degree of intelligence. If I could only adopt enough of Roxanne's perspective to be content with that.
I had to push down the frustration though. He'd heard what I thought enough times by now. Telling him again that he shouldn't have come with me would be a waste of breath.
It would be better now, I told myself. I'd hated seeing him burn through the multitude of odd jobs with an accepting smile for my benefit. It was all such a waste of what he could be.
That's probably the real reason I never let him come to the diner. We both knew what a hypocrite I was being but it was bearable as long as he never saw.
"Maybe we can get one of those heating units." I suggested. It wasn't exactly cold yet but it wouldn't be long. Buying something like that was out of our budget and it would make this situation seem... permanent. I didn't want to think about that.
"I got a job offer today too." I said. Leaving dead air in this apartment was never pleasant.
"Really?" He noticed the look on my face. I knew what it was. I'd had quite frequently- before. Bloodthirsty. "Do I want to hear this?"
I didn't smile, not even smirk. That expression was one Roxanne used too much. "This guy, in one of the booths, he was being all sweet and polite." But it was syrupy sweet. Sticky and wrong. "So I was trying to avoid him but he kept asking for this and that. The jerk couldn't order a meal all at once he had to go through the whole menu in pieces."
"It's that uniform."
I rolled my eyes and pulled at the collar. "So he kept talking to me then he said, 'Roxanne, that name should be in lights'. Gave me his business card and said I could even keep my white uniform." I gave him the card.
He took one look at it and somehow pulled off an expression that was a scowl and a smirk. "You just wouldn't be keeping it on."
"Right." I dropped my fork. I would've adjusted his jaw for him. It would have made me smile for real to hear bone crunch and cartilage pop. But not Roxanne, she was used to that kind of thing. Unfortunately for him sometimes bits of me leaked through the Georgia girl mask. "Spilled his next cup of coffee in his lap. Wasted the coffee and lost myself a patron but the woman in the booth behind him gave me a nice tip."
I stood up. "Eat." He commanded, like it was part of our routine. It was no use telling him that I'd eaten at the diner. Or offering the truth, that it would sit in my stomach like a rock.
I swallowed a few more mouthfuls and washed the bowl out. At night the water ran clear instead of the rusty brown that flowed for the first ten minutes in the morning.
Maybe next week I'd have an appetite. Maybe next week the world would make sense again.