lucas. (roasting) wrote in cosmologies, @ 2011-05-14 19:36:00 |
|
|||
With one hand, Lucas flipped the pancake in the skillet with a practiced flick of his wrist; with the other, he stirred the pot of soup and dipped a spoon in for a taste. After contemplating for a second, he sprinkled a pinch of salt and a handful of scallion into the mix and flicked off the burner. He then ladled the soup into a bowl over a neat mound of rice and stacked the pancakes, a bottle of whiskey tucked under one arm, and balanced it all out into to the living room, where Margo sat, making faces while flipping through a book or tying her hair into knots or something else Margo-ish. Lucas deposited the plates on his coffee table and sank into the couch. “Lemon ricotta pancakes for milady,” he said, “and for me...” he failed to finish his sentence, and instead uncapped the bottled of whiskey, toasting the air before throwing some back into his throat.
Margo stopped what she was doing the moment Lucas entered the living room and sat up straight, watching him (and the food) wolfishly. She hadn’t eaten at all that day (in fact, she wasn’t sure when the last time she’d eaten was -- sometimes she just forgot for ages) and felt like crying tears of joy when she noticed just how good it smelled. As Lucas sat down on the couch she scampered off of it, kneeling in front of the coffee table. She looked up at him briefly, wrinkling her nose. “Thank you. Now do me a favor and tell me you’re planning on consuming something else with a little more sustenance.” She turned back to the food and started to eat. She had to stop herself from wolfing it all down at once -- where were her table manners? She chewed, swallowed.
“Man cannot live by whiskey alone,” she said, leaning against the couch and looking up at him. “I tried. It doesn’t work.”
He smirked and placed the bottle on the table, then reached for the bowl of soup. “Maybe because you’re a woman,” he postulated, taking a bite. He watched Margo eat for a while, occasionally partaking of his own serving, but mostly just looking pleased that she was enjoying his concoction. “Hungry? You look like you haven’t eaten in years.” Not that he was one to talk, what with those dangerously pointy hipbones.
“You’re the woman,” she informed him in between bites. She ate complacently for a while, but stopped when he spoke to her again. She nodded enthusiastically while she swallowed. “Yes. And I don’t remember the last time I ate.” She paused to think about it, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling. “Maybe on Tuesday. I might have had some carrots.” She shrugged. “I forget. But whatever, this is like the best thing I’ve ever eaten. You’re amazing, Lucas,” she told him, turning to smile at him. Her smile faded as she seemed to remember something and she went back to her food, picking at it now. “So...” she pulled apart one of the pancakes but didn’t eat it. “How are you?”
He shook his head and laughed, eyes darting to the sides of the room, at her estimate and then her compliment. It made him just a little uncomfortable. “They’re just pancakes,” he said quietly. Noticing the shift in her gaze, he took a few bites of soup and leaned back into the sofa. He kicked off his boots and stretched his legs out in front of him, alternating between flexing each one, heel pushing forward to tug pleasurably at his shin muscles and then back again. He sighed. “Shiny, good as can be.”
She stopped even picking at her food, though the cutlery was still clutched in her fingers. “Sorry,” she responded even more quietly than Lucas had. Her gaze wandered away and she stared at a spot on the wall for a moment before dropping her spoon. She looked down at her fingernails and began to scratch at her cuticles nonchalantly, only stopping when one of them began to bleed. She popped the finger in her mouth to stop the bleeding. She felt embarrassed now, and uncomfortable -- and though she was far too familiar with both feelings, she never exactly knew how to handle herself. Obviously. After a few seconds she removed her finger from her mouth and silently got back onto the couch. She paused, then leaned her head against Lucas’s shoulder. “Okay. If you say so.”
Lucas watched her intently, frowning as she picked at her fingers. He was worried--they were usually comfortable, and the tension was rubbing off on him. He placed his bowl on the table when she moved back onto the couch, and his free arm snaked up to pet her gently on the head. “And you, love?” He pursed his lips. “You seem less than happy. And you didn’t even get robbed.”
“I’m not unhappy,” she told him, and gently sunk her teeth into his shoulder. She let go after a moment, wiping her mouth. “Sorry. Bad habit.” She probably should have sat up, put a little distance between them, but she was bad with boundaries and didn’t know whether or not snuggling counted when it came to exclusivity. God, relationships were hard. She blew out a sigh and simply squirmed closer, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m sorry you got robbed. I feel weird.”
“It’s okay,” he said, and swallowed loudly. He almost felt ashamed at the way he was reacting to the whole situation, like he should be angrier, more upset, or at least sadder. Numbness was more or less his state of mind, followed by the inexplicable need to go see the place again, get to work immediately. It had only been open since December--thinking that, he felt a little more of a pang. But he shrugged it off. “I’ll fix it back up soon enough.” A beat. “Or maybe I’ll just burn the whole place to the ground.” He laughed, but it wasn’t really a funny joke.
Margo didn’t laugh. “Normally I’m all for setting things on fire, but that’s not a good joke.” She chewed on her bottom lip momentarily, thinking. “Lucas? I know that what you’re going through is a lot more important than my own problems, but could I talk about them for a minute?” She moved away just enough to look at his face, but kept her arms around him. “Just for a minute. Please.”
“It’s not more important,” he said, but the way she was looking at him made him nervous and a little worried. He just wanted to smoke the joint in his pocket and kiss her on the cheek and be done with it. But that wasn’t what good friends did. This seemed important. “Go ahead. Of course.”
“It is,” she insisted. Nevertheless, she changed the subject. “You know that cop I’ve been fucking? We’re exclusive now. Or something. I wanted it.” She paused, then moved away from him completely, slumping into the sofa. “And,” she drew out the word, starting to pick at her skin again, “as I said, I feel weird. Caring about people is weird. Wanting monogamy is fucking bizarre.” She stopped herself, not wanting to bleed again, and crossed her arms. “I think I’m different.” She frowned. “Do I look different?”
Lucas’s brows knit together as Margo spoke. He knew already, since Gia had told him unceremoniously online, but he kind of flinched when she said “cop”--and again at “monogamy”--and felt even more awkward as she plunged forward into the conversation. “You don’t look different,” he started. “But you seem a bit so, I’d say. Yeah. Bit different.”
Margo rubbed her hands over her face, groaning. “I don’t like it. This needs to... not be.” She shook her head and twisted her fingers into her hair. “Is it bad? Bad different? Do you dislike me now?” She looked at him and her bottom lip trembled momentarily. “Because I sort of dislike me now. More than usual.” She looked away and down at her shoes.
He didn’t respond to her for a while, instead playing with the hem of her skirt between his thumb and forefinger and scratching slightly at the skin of her lower thigh. “I don’t dislike you.” He smoothed the skirt out on her leg and let his hand rest on her knee. “Why does that make you feel that way? Not to be a fuckin’ shrink or anything.”
She put her hand on top of his and entwined their fingers. “Because I do things I normally wouldn’t. I didn’t go out and play with the rioters because he wanted me to stay home.” She sighed. “He was worried about me, and I about him. And I feel things. And I know it’s just going to end badly because neither of us is programmed for -- whatever this is.” She let go of his hand and rubbed the back of her neck. “Why am I so stupid?”
He rubbed her knee with his index finger for a moment. “Fuck programming,” he said. “Is it worth it to change yourself if he makes you happy?” Lucas asked, avoiding looking at her, instead affixing his gaze to a threadbare spot on the chair across from them. “And you aren’t stupid. Just...” he trailed off, and moved his hand away from her, shifting slightly towards the far end of the sofa. “You’re just becoming clouded by your emotions.”
She missed his touch the moment he drew away, but didn’t say anything. What could she say? Instead she folded her hands in her lap and looked at him, something close to a smile on her face. “You’re right, I’m not stupid. And I guess he does make me happy.” She sighed loudly, leaning back and closing her eyes. “Whatever. I guess I’ll just keep on doing this until I get unhappy. That’s what I always do, anyway.”
Lucas didn’t really know how to respond--not that he normally did, but this was a unique kind of speechlessness, the kind where you know what you want to express, but not how, and not necessarily if you should. Instead, he stood and fished in his pocket for the joint and lighter, but paused, hovering over her, and finally crouched down in front of her, holding her chin in his free hand, and kissed her on the mouth. “To hold you over,” he mumbled, and then stood up. “I’m going to smoke this. Might have some fat juicy pills waiting in my jewelry box, too. You in?”
It was Margo’s turn to be speechless. She stared at him, her heart beating fast. She wet her lips and stood up clumsily, stumbling into his back. She sniffled and hugged him from behind, burying her face into his shirt. “I hate you.” Which, of course, really meant ‘I love you’. Detaching herself from him, she swiped at her nose and looked down at the ground. “I’m always in.”
“Good.” He smiled widely, or as wide as he could, and wrapped his arm around the small girl’s shoulders as they walked towards the back porch. “Let’s just get fucked up.”