Roxanne Ritchi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pluckyreporter) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
capeandcowllogs2011-12-25 12:24 am
pluckyreporter) wrote in capeandcowllogs2011-12-25 12:24 am
It's the season of scars and of wounds in the heart / Of feeling the full weight of our burdens
WHO Two friends (and a party crasher)
WHAT Trying to make it through the holidays
WHERE At Roxanne's house
WHEN Christmas Day.
NOTES None.
WARNINGS None.
The Ritchi house was remarkably still. She had, out of habit, gone to Midnight Mass at a local church, though her heart wasn't in it -- she at least tried. She'd fallen out of faithful habits years ago, but she hadn't wanted to be alone in her house -- especially after she'd sent the Brainbots to find their 'daddy' and stay with him. One of them kept coming back, for whatever reason, but she didn't-- feel right, trying to shoo it off or punish it. So it kept her company as the night faded into dawn once she'd come home; she had fallen asleep on her couch with it curled up next to her like some bizarre, glowing cat and risen the next day sore and unrested.
Treating herself to a hot bath to try and reach some semblance of 'human', Roxanne emerged less sore and more awake, if still troubled. She turned off her communicator, set aside everything that wasn't work related, and let the radio carole away for her as she decided that today she would remain in her comfiest of pajamas, drink eggnog -- eventually with Rum Added -- and resolve not to think about anything but her work and ignore the absence of friends and family. It was old habit, easy to fall into -- not like she hadn't spent several Christmases alone-- when she wasn't tied to a rocket sled, or... any other number of contraptions.
The morning turned into afternoon, the snow came down and Roxanne could not bring herself to do anything except notate CPS reports and listening to whatever came over the radio.
WHAT Trying to make it through the holidays
WHERE At Roxanne's house
WHEN Christmas Day.
NOTES None.
WARNINGS None.
The Ritchi house was remarkably still. She had, out of habit, gone to Midnight Mass at a local church, though her heart wasn't in it -- she at least tried. She'd fallen out of faithful habits years ago, but she hadn't wanted to be alone in her house -- especially after she'd sent the Brainbots to find their 'daddy' and stay with him. One of them kept coming back, for whatever reason, but she didn't-- feel right, trying to shoo it off or punish it. So it kept her company as the night faded into dawn once she'd come home; she had fallen asleep on her couch with it curled up next to her like some bizarre, glowing cat and risen the next day sore and unrested.
Treating herself to a hot bath to try and reach some semblance of 'human', Roxanne emerged less sore and more awake, if still troubled. She turned off her communicator, set aside everything that wasn't work related, and let the radio carole away for her as she decided that today she would remain in her comfiest of pajamas, drink eggnog -- eventually with Rum Added -- and resolve not to think about anything but her work and ignore the absence of friends and family. It was old habit, easy to fall into -- not like she hadn't spent several Christmases alone-- when she wasn't tied to a rocket sled, or... any other number of contraptions.
The morning turned into afternoon, the snow came down and Roxanne could not bring herself to do anything except notate CPS reports and listening to whatever came over the radio.
no subject
--no purple prose, no practice.
"Trust me, sometimes it's crazy-- but it's an enjoyable bit of madness," she said, sliding her hand through her hair. "And I know you're looking at me like I'm crazy in the plain old talk to statues way, but I'm -- I'm not. Trust me. A lot happens between watching you walk away in the rain... to now."
She's moving now, her steps light and silent in her slippers. "Just think with that big brain, spaceman! I know you can break it down. I wouldn't -- hurt you, just to hurt you. That's not the type of person I am -- and you know it. I banter, I snark, and I tell it how it is-- but I've never been needlessly cruel..." a pause, before she admits, "But for one moment, when I was very hurt and very, very angry. And -- I regret that sometimes, too, even if you'd really earned it."
Even if he had asked for it with his lies and deception.
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Except…he’s been at the butt of her jokes, her witticisms, and her stinging barbs for ten years. Her derogatory statements in regards to his inventions, his predictability, his lack of creativity, were not something he ever, ever forgot.
’Tacky. Cliché. Seen it!’
“You need me…for entertainment purposes,” he says slowly, smoothing at his cape as he keeps a wary eye on her. “I imagine you to be quite tired of the charade, Miss Ritchi. It must have seemed quite…endless, for you.”
That was, he knew, putting it mildly.
He watches her pace and he fidgets, unable to keep still himself.
“I wanted…to tell you.” He mumbled lowly, shuffling a little and contemplating for the nth time making a break for the door and fleeing the situation. “But – how was I supposed to tell you something like that? You’d…never look at me otherwise. Normally – like I am right now, I’m little more than gum on your shoe, something to be scraped off and regarded with nothing but disdain.”
It’s been like that his entire life and into adulthood. Why stop now?
“You presented me with an opportunity, when you called. I…couldn’t help but jump on it. But – now you know, and…Forgive me, but it’s…difficult…to swallow that you of all people might need someone like me.”
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"Entertainment?" She gives him a sharp look-- thankfully, he keeps going. She stops, lets him get his piece out, staying still. She's-- well. He's got a point. She'll concede that, alright.
"How am I looking at you right now?" she asks, trying to keep steady; a little bit hurt, still nursing her hope-- and so damn happy to see him in the City after two months absent
She feels so silly, there-- it's not the first time he's busted in on her place while she was in her jammies and slippers-- at least this time she's got a robe-- but it's bringing back memories.
"I don't know how to prove myself," she says, feeling a little helpless. "I could-- tell you things we've shared but you'll think I've just dug deeper into your past. I can stand here and tell you everything you don't know about-- us, what happened, home--but it could simply be a story I've-- conjured up for-- some nefarious purpose!"
...okay that seems outlandish even to her. Like she has nefarious purposes.
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“Uncertain, perhaps? I don’t know. I’m not the most socially adept, surely you realize that – reading people is not my forte. I’ve never cared what other people thought before now.” He frowns at her, trying desperately to read her while doing his best not to let his eyes flicker anywhere other than her face. “But let’s face it, Miss Ritchi – you’re looking at a villain.”
A villain that deserved nothing more than a severe verbal thrashing and a long, lonely walk home in the rain.
“I…am not sure what to tell you, or what it is that you’re…wanting to hear, exactly.” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m…I’m not accusing you of some villainous deed but can’t you see it at least from someone else’s point of view other than your own?”
That was a difficult feat, he knew. Maker knew he had a one track mind and everything - everything - revolved around him.
But…through the months of courting Roxanne, he had…learned a few things. A select few, but a few nonetheless. And one of those things happened to be that it…wasn’t all about him. Not always. It was about her too - her happiness, because seeing her smile had prompted him to clean up a city he loathed, replace paintings, clean her park, keep the streets the safest they’d ever been.
It had all been selfish, of course – he’d done it all for her and her alone, hang the rest of those soft headed drones that happened to reside in the same city as her…but still. You didn’t walk away from that with nothing, did you?
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But she nods quietly, smoothing he hands over her sleeves, resisting the urge to hug herself protectively. "Must be scary. Confusing. To take your first-- risk at caring about somebody, have it blow up in your face... and then get told 'oh hey, you fixed it'. Especially when it probably seems impossible from where you're standing. 'How could I pull that off'. The numbers don't add up."
She gives a gusty sigh. "Which brings us full circle. I can tell you those things... but only if you want me to. Or you can-- start over. Fresh, and -- do what you think is right, for you, right now. And I'll--" she swallows, mouth dry. "I'll stand by your choices."
Even if she knows that it could take him right out of here, as he flees what frightens him.
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His fists relax; he hadn’t realized that he had been clenching them.
“My choices,” he says the words casually, eyes flicking back to settle on her, regarding her now with that cool stare he reserved for kidnappings only.
“Tell me, Miss Ritchi – and, correct me if I’m wrong, here – are you issuing me…an ultimatum, of sorts?”
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She turns sharply, heading back to the kitchen to collect herself, scrubbing at her face with the heel of her palm. Damned if she'll let him see her cry. Nobody gets her that on the ropes. She takes up her glass of water-- takes a few swallows of that, and sets the glass down with a clink.
"I'm trying to -- respect that you may not want to have your life dictated by events you can't remember," she says. "I'm not giving ultimatums! I'm trying offer you options!"
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Honestly, he hadn’t ever thought himself capable. She had never shown this particular amount of emotion towards him before. Megamind hadn’t even thought the woman was capable of shedding a tear.
Awkwardly, he steps up behind her and…hesitantly and with no small amount of frustration, touches her arm. He’s angry that some other version of himself shared personal, private information that he wouldn’t have ever, ever told a reporter, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.
“I don’t want my life dictated to me at all, Roxanne,” his voice was soft, sad – filled with remorse and emotions even he doesn’t know how to identify. “Not by…predetermined events, not by a City, not by Metro Man and not…by you.”
At this point, Megamind had put a lot of stock in fate and destiny – things always seemed to fall right into place to push him further and further away from anything remotely resembling normality but now he’s just..so sick of it he doesn’t want anything or anyone telling him what to do anymore.
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She pauses, and then glances back; he called her by name. That was-- something. She'll take what she can get, for the moment.
Watching him for a moment, Roxanne considers -- wishing she could help him -- but this was probably beyond what she could fix. Time would have to take care of some things, while he'd simply have to learn to accept others-- or refuse, and crush what they'd built in another time and space.
"So-- what do you want? Right now, I mean. In this moment, what is attainable- that you want, right now?" she asks, managing to keep her voice steady.
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"I am...not sure what is attainable at the moment." He faces her properly, raising his other hand to rest on her opposite shoulder. "Time, maybe. To think, to try and...figure out what exactly is going on. There's not a lot I'm sure of right now which is..."
Unnerving.
He shrugs.
"Work through the confusion." That would be a start.
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"There's a lot you could do in the City. Ignore the whole superhero thing if you felt like it. There's -- the school, there's the 9 to 5 that us schlubs pull, there's-- options," she says, giving it a thought. "Might be daunting. But you have time. There's also waiting to go home... but there's a lot of numbers and averages to crunch there. You could be lucky and be here only a few weeks or you could be here years. The Porter moves with no rhyme or reason."
She-- isn't really sure on that. She's seen people come and go-- some within days or weeks of arrival. It doesn't make any sense, but -- there it is.
"You know about the MAC, and that sort of thing?"
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"I am not getting a desk job, Miss Ritchi." The look he gives her is flat and even. "How I spend my time here will be determined on...how events fall, I suppose. But I can promise you that I will not be letting anyone dictate me or my actions." This is directed at her, too.
This conversation just feels like something he's...watching on television, one of the giant monitors in the lair. It feels like the emotion was sucked right out of the room and it was...
Sad. It made him sad, because it felt like she was looking at him like a project, something she could fix.
He sighed.
"I do." He won't be staying there, though. Not his cup of tea.
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"You were here once before," she says simply. "I know-- that seems crazy, but all of this does. I took care of your things after you-- left. Put them in storage, for-- when you'd come back. Your bike's there, and-- I don't even know about all the rest that's in those boxes, really. But that'll give you a head start."
There. You're one step closer to being outfitted, Megamind. For good or for ill.
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He blinks down at it, staring at the little brass key in his hand and rolling it between his fingers.
"Bike?" He looks from the key to her and back again. "I had a bike?" That would help - especially when he went to set up shop. He has to wonder what else is in the unit, and he clenches a fist around the small object.
"Where is the storage facility?"
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Her lips twisted into a wry smile, and she fell back into banter. It was safe. Easy, familiar, and just like old times. "Happy Christmas, I guess. If you can call giving you your own stuff a gift, anyway."
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"I can imagine - anything built by me is not likely to be small or easy to handle." A hoverbike would be one of those things.
He held the key up before it too disappeared into the folds.
"...Thank you." He took a step back, and glanced over his shoulder, towards her door.
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She stops, regains her thoughts, shutting down anything personal. She has only one more thing to give him-- and it's for his own safety.
"Hal is willing to kill you," she says quietly. "And he probably will if he gets the opportunity. He's not like Metro Man. He won't just haul you to jail. He thinks it's in his best interest, he'll go out, no holds barred. He already nearly did once. Have a Plan B ready if you deal with him. Don't rely on copper. It won't work on Hal."
She'll just-- be here, quietly worrying.
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"Splendid. I'll be on the look out, then."
He backs away and bows with with flourish in an attempt to hide the look on his face. He'd opted out of knowing anything about his future, and here she insisted on feeding him just enough tidbits to keep him wondering, wanting to know, guessing.
She didn't play fair, even now.
"Until we meet again, Miss Ritchi."
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And doing very little. She let him see himself out, before she secured the door behind him.
Alone, she had the sense to shelve the bottle-- drinking alone wasn't healthy-- and spent a little time moping and looking at the flowers--before she sighed, and trudged up stairs to bury herself in her work.