As an apology for not updating much this week, here's a humorous little piece done for speedrent, challenge 58.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Jonathan Larson.
Benny was never one to waste time. "Where is he?" he asked after the necessary exchange of pleasantries.
Mark's hesitation told Benny that he knew exactly where Roger was. He did, too: Benny announced himself before coming in; Mark turned in time to see Roger's duct-taped sneaker disappear up the fire escape. "Um… do you… do you think that's a good idea?" Mark asked, wincing slightly as he spoke. He never could lie outright.
Benny tilted his head as he spoke. A square of light bounced off his bald dome, casting a shadow of vague brightness on the wall. "Yeah, actually, I do. Look, I know you always pick up the pieces," he said. The truth chipped at Mark's defenses. "I really do want to end this… this war with Roger."
"You mean you want him to stop hating you?" Mark remarked, immediately surprised at his sarcasm.
"Yes."
Mark took a deep breath. "Roger went up to the roof," he said. "He doesn't want to see you."
"Thanks." Benny turned halfway around, then remembered something and turned again to face Mark. "Oh, and, uh, look, I know you don't like me doing this but I want you guys to have this. Okay?" He pulled a fold of bills from his pocket. "Use it on heat or food or AZT. I don't care. No strings but that you take care of Mimi, too, because she won't come anywhere near me. So I'll just leave this here and if, when I come back, it hasn't moved, then I'll take it and we won't mention this again. Okay?"
Benny set the cash on the table and back away a few steps, then turned and strode out of the loft. Mark scoffed contemptuously at the money. He turned back to the stovetop, bit down on his left glove and tore it off, then pulled off his right glove. The water in his pot was boiling; Mark held his hands in the steam to warm his icy fingers.
His eyes were drawn to the cash on the table. Things had been tight lately, and Roger was never exactly careful with his health.
No. No, Mark did not need charity. He made enough to cover the cost of the AZT, and if Roger needed something more then, well, they would find a way to manage. They always did.
Mark barely knew he had moved before the cash was in his back pocket, his heart twisting shamefully.
---
Roger stood looking out over New York. The roof, a mire of ice and snow, provided a strange contrast to the grime and smoke of the city. He turned at the sound of his name and all but spat, "Benny. What do you want?"
"Actually," Benny replied in a measured tone, then he attempted to say, "I came to make peace." Unfortunately for Benny, halfway through the last word he stepped forward and slid on a patch of ice, resulting in a shout of, "Peeee!"
The entirety of Roger's gruff demeanor disappeared in an arc of giggles. He made his way over to Benny. "You okay, man?" he asked, offering his hand.
Benny took it and hauled himself up. "Other than a bruised tailbone and snowy pants, fine."
"So… you 'came to make pee'?" Roger asked, snickering.
Benny brushed the snow off his trousers, but to no avail: they were thoroughly soaked. "Yes…" He had little to no sense of humor about himself. "To make peace. With you."
"Not interested. Tell it to Muffy."
Benny sighed. "It's about her, actually. She wasn't always like that."
Curious against his will, Roger asked, "You mean yuppie?" Alison had lived with them for a few months; that was how Benny met her. She had always been strange, awkward, never honest. Roger hated her for being a liar. He hated her for the lies.
"I mean…" Benny took a deep breath, letting the air slash at the tender inside of his throat. "This ice," he said, "up here on the roof. It's nice." He wandered, cupping snow in his hands and packing it as he spoke. "The crystals, they're beautiful. They look soft, almost like… almost like clouds taken a physical form. The truth is, though, that they're so sharp they cut flesh." The perfect snowball he crumbled between his fingers. "And the ice… I think we both know about the ice."
Roger offered an appreciative smile.
"Anyway," Benny continued, "Alison is very much the same, once you get to know her."
Roger shook his head. "She lived with us five months--"
"She came into the city after an operation," Benny went on, enunciating each word. "You see, Alison wasn't born Alison." He barely contained the wolfish grin at Roger's obvious interest, and revealed solemnly, "She was born Alistair."
THE END!
I know Alistair isn't a very popular name in this country, but it's a boys' name and it's the closest match I could think of. Reviews would be more appreciated than chocolate milk in the middle of summer.