madison janssen is smart but dumb (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} crossette) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} playout,@ 2020-02-25 13:33:00 |
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| Entry tags: | ! log/narrative, ms independence, pathos |
CHARACTERS: Clark Cooper and Madison Janssen
DATE & TIME: Around Thanksgiving, 2016
LOCATION: United Center, Chicago
RATING: PG with a tiny amount of language.
SUMMARY: How a fake couple with no life between them became best friends trying to do a little better for themselves.
WonderCorp’s second ranked hero for the year 2016 didn’t get vacation time. Thanksgiving’s visit home was more of a PR tour, Chicago’s (current) favourite Hero was invited to lead the pre-holiday season parade for the third year in a row. Mickey Mouse, Minnie Mouse, and Clark Cooper.
This time he had company, though, and he was endlessly thankful and resentful in one. A walk in the city meant headlines of “ARE MS INDEPENDENCE AND PATHOS SHOPPING FOR A RING?” Family dinner was “MEETING THE PARENTS” and even a trip to see the Bulls, the one thing that Cooper had chosen to schedule for himself, was a courtside photo opportunity.
To add insult to injury, his team were losing.
He touched Maddi’s arm lightly before silently offering her some of his popcorn. He could barely focus on the game, still dwelling on the awful that had been dinner with his brothers. Still dwelling on Mickey-fucking-Mouse, because at least that asshole had been allowed to take the mask off once the parade was over.
The clock was counting down. Halftime soon.
Maddi glanced at Cooper, then at the popcorn, then at the game, and back at the popcorn. She settled on a few kernels.
This wasn’t the worst arrangement she’d made. It helped that the two of them had established very quickly the things they had in common: a complete lack of time for their own dating lives, a reasonably positive attitude, and a die-hard love of sports that had caused a couple of disagreements over team loyalties, but largely meant their ‘alone time’ was spent catching up on the game. But sometimes, Maddi remembered they didn’t know each other like a real couple did. And now she wasn’t sure how to navigate it.
(PR was something Madison Janssen excelled at. Friendship was something she struggled with.)
“Careful honey. The wind changes, your face’ll stay like that.” She murmured under her breath, tossing popcorn discreetly into her mouth.
The idea was already in his head: Hey, let’s ditch at halftime. Grab a pizza, watch the rest from the hotel suite. The words didn’t make it out, simply remaining as nervous thoughts while Cooper eased gracefully into a good-natured smile. “Worse things could happen to my face,” he replied smoothly, before glancing in the popcorn bag so he could pick out a caramel piece.
He didn’t have to be an empath to note that the people behind them were, as he’d murmured to Maddi earlier, pretty fucking psyched to be there. Cooper was only just realising that perhaps it was over them rather than the Bulls. “Sorry,” he eventually said, the word a constant fixture in his week but still not said enough. “I thought this would be more fun. They couldn’t even pull out a W for this week.”
“I’m still having fun.” Maddi said, voice lowered. “It’s not like we get much downtime. And winning isn’t-“ she paused. “I’m thinking telling you winning isn’t everything might not be the greatest thing I could tell you right now.”
She shrugged, plucking another piece of popcorn from the bag. “But I still think it’s true.”
At that he smirked, his expression directed at the popcorn bag. He avoided the bright orange of the cheese flavour, still smirking. “You’d say otherwise if it was your team,” he told her, but the words had been enough to snap him out of the glum mood for a few moments. He resented Mickey Mouse a little less, or at least forgot about the oversized rodent for a moment. “Let’s see what happens if the tables are turned, yeah?”
He leaned back in the plastic seat a little, stretching his arms out in front of him. The idea was still there, not quite so easy to get rid of. “Question,” he started, glancing at her to gauge a reaction.
Maddi made a sound in the back of her throat to allow him to proceed. “Go ahead.” She said, anyway, glancing sideways with the slightest quirk of the brow.
He smiled, as though he were trying to anticipate answers but coming up short before the question had even been asked. “If you could be anywhere, right now, where would you go? What’d you do?” Invoking that foreign concept of free time was Cooper’s preferred way of gauging a person. “No time travel, though, that shit’s bogus.”
“Hmm.” Maddi pursed her lips, nodding as she thought to herself. Then: “The time is totally free? I’m not expected to do anything else, and me not going to something won’t let anyone down?”
“Totally free,” he insisted. “Weird, I know. But this is some alternate universe where we don’t have obligations or sensible interests.” He smiled down into the bag of popcorn. “Anywhere or anything.”
A pause. “Honestly?” Maddi became quiet. “I need my pyjamas, multiple pillows and a copy of the film dodgeball. And nachos. Oh! And my phone switched off.” She shrugged. “I don’t care about location, I just know that makes me happy.”
The answer came as a surprise, but a happy one. “Fuck, I love that movie. I had a gym teacher in high school exactly like Patches O’Houlihan. Real asshole, I bet he wishes he’d thought to throw wrenches at us.” The memory made him laugh, and he tried to cover the chuckle with his hand. “Would’ve made us run faster, for sure.”
The grin spread across her face before she could control it, and she heard the cameras flash. “Oh my gosh, really??” She squeaked. “I wish I had a teacher like Patches. Well I don’t, but I think I’d kind of like it.”
She folded her arms, cast a glance back to the match. “It’s my 3am ‘I cant sleep’ watch.”
“It’s my ‘cheer up and chill out’ watch,” he grinned, blinking at the light of the unexpected flash. “Fuck. I wish —” Cooper’s words trailed into nothingness. “Hey.” He was back to that idea, although now it was more of a fun idea and less of a desperate escape attempt. “How about we leave at halftime. The Bulls aren’t winning shit, Us Weekly will get a good rumour out of it, and we can just watch the movie back in the suite. I can’t leave town without having some pizza, and I bet we could get your nachos from room service.”
There was something daring about Cooper’s whispered explanation, not his usual play-it-safe way. “What d’you say?”
Maddi was silent. She stared forwards at the game, lips pressed together. This was not part of the plan. “I shouldn’t.”
The anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach began to develop: she couldn’t, she was working, and underneath, the panic at the idea of not necessarily being fun to hang out with when she wasn’t Ms Independence.
But, and the counterpoint came to her effortlessly: Cooper already knew that.
She spoke through a camera-ready smile, and made an unnaturally big deal of whispered to him. Another flash. “But...okay I want nachos, we’re leaving.”
He hid his smile of relief behind his hands for a moment, staring up at the score. To set her at ease — both of them at ease — wasn’t as simple a goal as it sounded. He regained a more neutral expression, took one last glance at the score. A few more seconds before the buzzer. “Teenage me would kick my ass for giving up courtside seats right now, but I’m not feeling it.”
Gently, hesitantly, he reached to offer his free hand to her for courage or perhaps just some kind of friendly support. “It’s a bold strategy, Cotton,” he smiled again, jokingly bringing it back to the movie, “Let’s see if it pays off for them.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and almost a frown, but Maddi took his hand and squeezed lightly. “I’ve got a good feeling it will.” She conceded, with an easier sort of smile.
This time he had company, though, and he was endlessly thankful and resentful in one. A walk in the city meant headlines of “ARE MS INDEPENDENCE AND PATHOS SHOPPING FOR A RING?” Family dinner was “MEETING THE PARENTS” and even a trip to see the Bulls, the one thing that Cooper had chosen to schedule for himself, was a courtside photo opportunity.
To add insult to injury, his team were losing.
He touched Maddi’s arm lightly before silently offering her some of his popcorn. He could barely focus on the game, still dwelling on the awful that had been dinner with his brothers. Still dwelling on Mickey-fucking-Mouse, because at least that asshole had been allowed to take the mask off once the parade was over.
The clock was counting down. Halftime soon.
Maddi glanced at Cooper, then at the popcorn, then at the game, and back at the popcorn. She settled on a few kernels.
This wasn’t the worst arrangement she’d made. It helped that the two of them had established very quickly the things they had in common: a complete lack of time for their own dating lives, a reasonably positive attitude, and a die-hard love of sports that had caused a couple of disagreements over team loyalties, but largely meant their ‘alone time’ was spent catching up on the game. But sometimes, Maddi remembered they didn’t know each other like a real couple did. And now she wasn’t sure how to navigate it.
(PR was something Madison Janssen excelled at. Friendship was something she struggled with.)
“Careful honey. The wind changes, your face’ll stay like that.” She murmured under her breath, tossing popcorn discreetly into her mouth.
The idea was already in his head: Hey, let’s ditch at halftime. Grab a pizza, watch the rest from the hotel suite. The words didn’t make it out, simply remaining as nervous thoughts while Cooper eased gracefully into a good-natured smile. “Worse things could happen to my face,” he replied smoothly, before glancing in the popcorn bag so he could pick out a caramel piece.
He didn’t have to be an empath to note that the people behind them were, as he’d murmured to Maddi earlier, pretty fucking psyched to be there. Cooper was only just realising that perhaps it was over them rather than the Bulls. “Sorry,” he eventually said, the word a constant fixture in his week but still not said enough. “I thought this would be more fun. They couldn’t even pull out a W for this week.”
“I’m still having fun.” Maddi said, voice lowered. “It’s not like we get much downtime. And winning isn’t-“ she paused. “I’m thinking telling you winning isn’t everything might not be the greatest thing I could tell you right now.”
She shrugged, plucking another piece of popcorn from the bag. “But I still think it’s true.”
At that he smirked, his expression directed at the popcorn bag. He avoided the bright orange of the cheese flavour, still smirking. “You’d say otherwise if it was your team,” he told her, but the words had been enough to snap him out of the glum mood for a few moments. He resented Mickey Mouse a little less, or at least forgot about the oversized rodent for a moment. “Let’s see what happens if the tables are turned, yeah?”
He leaned back in the plastic seat a little, stretching his arms out in front of him. The idea was still there, not quite so easy to get rid of. “Question,” he started, glancing at her to gauge a reaction.
Maddi made a sound in the back of her throat to allow him to proceed. “Go ahead.” She said, anyway, glancing sideways with the slightest quirk of the brow.
He smiled, as though he were trying to anticipate answers but coming up short before the question had even been asked. “If you could be anywhere, right now, where would you go? What’d you do?” Invoking that foreign concept of free time was Cooper’s preferred way of gauging a person. “No time travel, though, that shit’s bogus.”
“Hmm.” Maddi pursed her lips, nodding as she thought to herself. Then: “The time is totally free? I’m not expected to do anything else, and me not going to something won’t let anyone down?”
“Totally free,” he insisted. “Weird, I know. But this is some alternate universe where we don’t have obligations or sensible interests.” He smiled down into the bag of popcorn. “Anywhere or anything.”
A pause. “Honestly?” Maddi became quiet. “I need my pyjamas, multiple pillows and a copy of the film dodgeball. And nachos. Oh! And my phone switched off.” She shrugged. “I don’t care about location, I just know that makes me happy.”
The answer came as a surprise, but a happy one. “Fuck, I love that movie. I had a gym teacher in high school exactly like Patches O’Houlihan. Real asshole, I bet he wishes he’d thought to throw wrenches at us.” The memory made him laugh, and he tried to cover the chuckle with his hand. “Would’ve made us run faster, for sure.”
The grin spread across her face before she could control it, and she heard the cameras flash. “Oh my gosh, really??” She squeaked. “I wish I had a teacher like Patches. Well I don’t, but I think I’d kind of like it.”
She folded her arms, cast a glance back to the match. “It’s my 3am ‘I cant sleep’ watch.”
“It’s my ‘cheer up and chill out’ watch,” he grinned, blinking at the light of the unexpected flash. “Fuck. I wish —” Cooper’s words trailed into nothingness. “Hey.” He was back to that idea, although now it was more of a fun idea and less of a desperate escape attempt. “How about we leave at halftime. The Bulls aren’t winning shit, Us Weekly will get a good rumour out of it, and we can just watch the movie back in the suite. I can’t leave town without having some pizza, and I bet we could get your nachos from room service.”
There was something daring about Cooper’s whispered explanation, not his usual play-it-safe way. “What d’you say?”
Maddi was silent. She stared forwards at the game, lips pressed together. This was not part of the plan. “I shouldn’t.”
The anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach began to develop: she couldn’t, she was working, and underneath, the panic at the idea of not necessarily being fun to hang out with when she wasn’t Ms Independence.
But, and the counterpoint came to her effortlessly: Cooper already knew that.
She spoke through a camera-ready smile, and made an unnaturally big deal of whispered to him. Another flash. “But...okay I want nachos, we’re leaving.”
He hid his smile of relief behind his hands for a moment, staring up at the score. To set her at ease — both of them at ease — wasn’t as simple a goal as it sounded. He regained a more neutral expression, took one last glance at the score. A few more seconds before the buzzer. “Teenage me would kick my ass for giving up courtside seats right now, but I’m not feeling it.”
Gently, hesitantly, he reached to offer his free hand to her for courage or perhaps just some kind of friendly support. “It’s a bold strategy, Cotton,” he smiled again, jokingly bringing it back to the movie, “Let’s see if it pays off for them.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and almost a frown, but Maddi took his hand and squeezed lightly. “I’ve got a good feeling it will.” She conceded, with an easier sort of smile.