Briar-Rose King (tribal_rose) wrote in astor_ridge, @ 2011-02-07 15:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | joe, joe and rose, rose |
Who: Joe and Rose King
What: Typical night in the King Household
Where: Their apartment
When: LAST Friday
Status: Complete
Briar-Rose loved Fridays--especially this semester. Last term, she’d been so excited for the start of her college career that the tattooist’s daughter had completely forgotten the part where she needed to sleep at some point during the day, when it came to her schedule. Twenty-four credit hours in a week, on top of her nightly rehearsals and weekend workshops and performances? Bad, bad, bad idea. At least she had learned from it. This semester, she had only one class on Fridays, and that was in the mid-morning, followed by rehearsal at two to five.
She and a few of the other girls in the troupe decided to start the weekend off right, and headed straight for Destiny Falls’ affluent three-story shopping mall after practice. A few hours of window-shopping (both for clothes, and boys) plus a healthy dose of sugary Mountain Dew Icee rendered Rose giggly and unable to resist the temptation of the gorgeous trinkets in the Piercer’s window. On a whim, and along with the cheers of her girlfriends, the spindly redhead sat in the leather dentist-chair looking apparatus she’d grown up around, thanks to her Daddy’s career, smiling as a mechanical gun added a hole to her face.
Her nostril, to be exact--where now sat among Rose’s freckles a tiny, but very glittery diamond stud. Sure, it hurt, but no more than the time she had accidentally put her hand down on a bee earlier that summer. Rose was actually quite proud of the dull, lingering heat that could no longer be called ‘pain’, and glowed in the various looks she fetched on the bus on the way home. Somehow they felt different than the usual casual once-overs she was used to receiving.
After saying her happy-hellos to the cute blue-eyed security guard at the desk in the lobby, the younger of the King twins kicked off the fur-lined winter boots at the door of their home, dropped her bag and coat on top of them (leaving on her white wool beanie), and made a bee-line for the fridge.
“Hi Daddy,” she quipped distractedly, noting the man’s big presence on the other side of the kitchen without really seeing him. Her attention was focused dead on that left-over piece of lasagna.
Joe was hunched over the island reading the newspaper when he heard his daughter come in. He knew it had to be her because no one else in the family stepped that heavily, including him. It never ceased to amazing him that such a slim whip of a girl could make so much noise when walking.
She blew into the kitchen on a breeze of floral scented air and raided the fridge like it was her job.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said, eyes tracing the last couple of sentences before closing the paper and leaning back. She still had her head inside the fridge when he looked up. It was a pose he was very familiar with. Sometimes he felt like every time he came into the kitchen he was greeted with her backside poking out of the refrigerator. “How’s your day been?”
“Gooooood,” the teenager mused, finally scooping up the Tupperware and foil-wrapped garlic bread beside it in both hands, leaving a frayed-denim hip to bump the fridge closed. She gave him the first direct smile of the day (even if it was well after eight p.m.), spreading her recycled meal on the island counter in front of his newspaper. “I got a B on my Anthropology quiz,” the rubber-esque lid popped as she pried it open--the cold tomato and garlic smell of sauce seeped into the air. “And Giuseppe says our first recital’s in March, in New York.”
Rose pivoted and stretched up into the cabinet for a plate, sweeping her hair back from both shoulders with her free hand, so the ends didn’t end up painting her shirt with marinara sauce. “You want any?” This asked with a glance over her shoulder, since she was still in the cabinet and all.
Joe saw it as soon as she turned to smile at him. His first reaction was to tell her to take it out right that second and throw it in the trash but he forced himself to say silent, count to ten. He barely heard what she said as he tried to formulate a calm way to ask her about the new piercing but she was his daughter, dammit! She was barely out of diapers! What reputable piercer would pierce and underaged kid without parental consent? When he found this guy, Joe was going to rip him a new one so wide...
He could feel the vein in his forehead thrumming with his heartbeat and forced himself to take another breath and remind himself that Rose was eighteen. Jesus.
She was looking at him over her shoulder, the stud in her nose catching the light. He pointed at her face.
“What the hell is that?” It came out a little closer to a growl than he’d wanted, but he was still impressed that he’d managed to stop from yelling.
This is where Rose could either own-up or play dumb, and her hesitant silence was evidence to her mental back-and-forth deciding just that. Blame the knee-jerk reaction to the very familiar wolfish growl in her father’s voice.
Amber-green eyes blinked once, then twice before a smaller version of her earlier smile spread across simply glossed lips. Rose reached back into the cabinet, putting the second plate back. Clearly he didn’t want any pasta.
“I got it today.” Obviously. She bellied up to the island counter again, keeping her hands busy by scooping out a portion of lasagna, occasionally meeting his gaze, but unable to keep it too long. He had a tendency to look like a damn thundercloud. “I think it’s pretty.”
“You think it’s pretty?” he parroted. “Dammit, Rose, do you pay any attention? You see how people treat me for the ink I got. You think it looks pretty now but it ain’t gonna be so pretty the first time it loses you a job! And,” he stopped because just the thought of the kind of boys that would be attracted to his pretty daughter now that she had face candy made him a little crazy.
“Take it out,” he demanded, his tone booking no protest.
So much for her Friday. Rose already knew where this conversation was going. She blatantly ignored his order (for now), and instead dragged them back to logic--at least, logic how she saw it, resting a palm flat on the counter with the other braced on the flare of her hip.
“They treat you like that ‘cause you look like a bull on steroids--and you expect them too.” There. Now that that was out in the open, Rose felt the need to pay much more attention to her meal than see the static charging behind his eyes, though she could feel it in the room around her. But she still wasn’t giving in.
She’d just be passive about it. “Besides, who cares what they think.” Motto of the young, free-thinking, and naive.
Joe’s nostrils flared at his daughter’s words. "You've got a lot to learn about life, little girl,” he said, the pitch of his voice dropping into the dangerous territory. He had her pinned with his gaze but she could only glance up at him briefly before dropping her gaze back to where she was mutilating the leftovers with her fork. He wanted to grab her and hold her close and hide her away from all the pain that was waiting in the world. He didn’t ever want to see her hurting.
Sometimes it took his breath away, how much he loved her and how fierce his love was. But he didn’t know how to get that across to her. He didn’t know how to keep her close when it seemed like all she did lately was push back.
“You’re right, though. Who gives a shit what they think? What about me, though? Your mom? We see a lot farther than you. I know you don’t think it’s true, but we do. And god dammit, Rose, this is bigger than just some jewelry in your nose!”
The guilt aspect was usually the best tactic against his daughter: self-absorbed as any teenager is expected to be, Rose still, for the most part, favored her family above herself. She was unaware of the way her lips pressed and pursed in reaction, but she still didn’t look at him. Only sighed quietly and took her pasta laden plate to the microwave.
“How is it bigger,” she finally asked--or rather, cynically requested information, after pushing the quick-start on the panel and turning to face her father. The counter dug into the small of her back, bouncing with the weight shift of two spindly arms folded across her middle, pinning down the lengths of copper hair. Seriously--you’d think she got a tramp-stamp or had herself branded. This was like an earring... and she was sure Baz would like it.
Outwardly, Joe’s jaw remained cleched tightly, but inwardly he gaped at his daughter’s question, mostly because he had no answer ready for her. He crossed his arms over his broad chest to buy himself some time but he knew he’d backed himself into a corner. And now that he’d gotten over his inital shock he was starting to realize that he’d overreacted.
“There’s things in life that got to be considered,” he said and then sighed because it sounded lame even to him. Rose’s brows pushed down a little, clearly not following how that had anything to do with it. Joe continued, “Where’d you get it done? Tell me you didn’t let someone use a gun on you.”
“At the mall,” she answered matter-of-factly, though a hot feeling of guilt and shame pricked at the center of her gut at his second demand. She did know better--the piercers Daddy worked with never used a gun, but carefully pressured and sterilized needles. Not like she planned this, though... and the Pagoda in the mall was clean. The girl used gloves and Rose had watched as she sterilized the gun and stud with alcohol.
Rose sighed again, not hearing the beep of the microwave behind her, instead now watching the bristling beast her father could portray in his flustered anger-slash-protectiveness. It was time for a truce.
“If I take it out, can I have it re-done at Sabre?” The girl’s voice had gone up in pitch and down in volume: the flag of conditional surrender that matched the softness of her expression. Rose even unfolded her arms and pushed her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans. “Please?”
Joe’s brow drew down when she said the mall. He felt like those piercing pagodas were a personal insult, taunting him with the sweetness and light approach to piercing. And don’t even get him started on those damn guns.
“I can’t believe you’d go to one of those places,” he growled, starting toward his daughter. The guns could cause tearing and he wanted to make sure she was alright. He took her slight chin into one massive hand and tilted her head. “This is part of what I mean. You want to defy me, girl, I guess I can’t stop you, but at least do it smart. Going to the mall to have some hack do what you could’ve, should’ve, had done at Sabre...”
He released her chin and stepped back. “It looks alright so just leave it in. This does not,” he said, pointing at her again, “mean I’m happy about this. You live under my roof baby girl and that means my rules. No more body modification without talking to me about it first. Got it?”
“I wasn’t--” defying him, is what Rose was starting to say, but the action was slightly difficult with her chin being immobilized in his heavy paw. The teenager just shut up and huffed slightly, flaring her nostrils not unlike some petite, red headed dragon--under inspection. The freckles on the bridge of her nose wrinkled, resetting a sense of normalcy when he stepped back: she kept her hands pushed into her jeans pockets, though they had tensed considerably.
Even though she was being allowed to keep her new decoration, this still didn’t feel like a victory. She stared down the length of his finger with the same intensity in her eyes often seen in her mother when she had a point to make, but it faded quick enough when the girl nodded, and squeaked in compliance. “I promise, Daddy.”
“That’s my girl.” He reached for her again but this time to pull her close so he could plant a kiss on her forehead. He’d never been able to stay mad at her or deny her anything she really wanted. He did his damndest to stop her from figuring that out, though. “Now what’d you say about a recital in March?” he asked as he sat back down at the island.
Only when he backed away from her for the second time (in a seemingly much better mood) did Rose remember why she was smelling garlic. Also that she was damned starved. “Our first show’s gonna be in New York. I guess it’ll be an over night trip.” She twisted around and opened the microwave, fetching her meal on fingertips careful not to be burned, and set the plate on the edge of the island, not far from its original Tupperware housing.
“Giuseppe says we’re gonna stay at the Ritz, but he said that last semester too. And the whole Kenyon College Dance Company ended up staying in three Budget Hotel rooms in the Bronx, thanks to someone’s chronic procrastination.”
“The Bronx?” he barked. “What the hell am I paying forty k a year for? Not for you to stay in the fucking Bronx, that’s for damn sure.” He folded the paper roughly thinking of whose chain he’d have to yank and how hard to get things done right this semester. The Bronx was rough territory and he didn’t want his girl anywhere near it. “Anything like that happens again you call me and I will take care of it, alright?”
Jesus, he thought. Always gotta take care of everything damn thing myself. The thought was more weary than angry at this point. A lifetime of doing everything himself and made him expect it, but sometimes he just got so tired of it.
“And don’t forget, your momma’s having people over tomorrow night. She wants you and Baz there.”
Rose tried to keep her eye-roll to a minimum, and she didn’t goad her father by reminding him that her scholarship was paying her tuition, not him or Mom. She may be a little on the naive side, but she wasn’t stupid. So, she just nodded to the affirmative, sweeping her hair from one shoulder to the other with a hand to keep it out of her lasagna. God knows she didn’t want to spend a weekend in a Bronx budget motel either.
“Whats she havin’ people over for?” she asked after swallowing her first bite, then leaned on her forearms, shifting weight from sock-foot to sock-foot. “I got practice ‘til five.” But they both knew that.
“Ah, y’know, something or another. I think it’s some of her friends from the museum board. Which means a lotta conversation over my head. But she wants us there and so we’ll be there, dressed up nice and pretty and with our best manners.”
He was glad that his wife had her own life, it was part of what made her so attractive to him, but when she felt the need to parade her family in front of her friends... he hated that. He always felt the subtle, and sometimes not so subtle, waves of disapproval coming from the people who’d been born with silver spoons in their mouths. It was occasionally fun to surprise them by displaying his agile mind, but most often, he just endured, making nice for the sake of his wife.
“Where is your brother, anyhow? Boy sneaks out before dawn and comes back late.”
Rose scoffed a little around her latest bite of food--a sound that may at one point have been an aborted laugh, but barely made it past giggle-status while she was eating. The only reason Baz left the house before dawn was if he didn’t go to sleep the night before. If he did crash, he was out til noon or later.
“He’s prolly with his friends,” she said after swallowing, pushing around another prepared bite. “I know he has class til seven, then he said he was going out.” Baz always said he was going out, and his sister believed him. As long as he told her a place he would be, Rose was comfortable and didn’t question.
“Hm,” Joe grunted. He didn’t worry about his son the way he did Rose, but still, a teenager out to all hours like Baz was equaled no good. Joe had called him a couple of times, trying to keep tabs, but it had gone to voicemail each time. His instincts were jangling that Baz was knee deep in something bad, but Joe hadn’t been able to catch him to confront him.
“If he misses this dinner he’s going to be in a world of hurt.” He shook his head and then looked back at Rose. “You going back out tonight?”
Rose was in the middle of digging her phone out of her back pocket, having put her fork down on her plate. Bits of her hair dusted the insides of freckled wrists as she punched out a text message to her twin--reminding him of what Dad had said, verbatim. “Dunno yet.” She hit send, closed the phone’s keyboard, pushed it back into her pocket and smiled curtly back up at her father. “Maybe a movie, then coffee,” she said with a half-shrug, and turned her attention back to her plate. “Might just stay here.”
“Oh yeah? Won’t it hurt your cred to hang out with your old man?” He fervently hoped that she would stay home. She was growing up way too fast and he wanted to hang onto her for as long as he could. “Mom’ll be home soon,” he said, checking his watch. “You know she wants to see that movie that just came out. With what’s his face. Are you cool enough to be seen in public with us?”
Rose rolled her eyes again, but it was a friendly sort of expression. She continued to poke and play with the pasta dish, having had four bites of the heavy meal, she was already starting to get full. “Nowhere near it.” Sarcasm? Of course, but it was warm.
She gave up and dropped her fork on the plate, turning for the fridge again--this time for a diet Pepsi. “Why don’t you and Mom go out?”
Rose’s back was turned to him so she didn’t see the private, slightly sad smile on his face.
“That’s a good idea, kiddo. I haven’t taken her out for a while and she’s been working hard. Maybe I should even clean up a little, take her somewhere nice.” He slid off the bar stool and stretched. Damn, but he wasn’t as young as he used to be. “Wait’ll Leslie gets a load of that piercing. She’ll probably love it.” He smacked her on the hip as he passed her. “No boys if you stay in. I’d like no boys if you went out, either, but I don’t suppose there’s any chance of that.”
The freckles on the girl’s nose wrinkled again, partially by instinct, partially because she’d heard the same exact order at least five nights a week since she was fifteen. Rose grabbed herself a can of soda and let the fridge close on it’s own, letting her head tick-tock in the same answer she’d given all those years. “I know, I know Daddy.”
Not that she’d really know what to do with one if she had a boy in the apartment alone. Of course, it wasn’t her ideas that her father was worried about.