InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "attack of the killer tomaotes"

Declan suffered some (setbacks) wrote in rooms,
@ 2015-06-23 22:54:00

Entry tags:

!marvel comics, *log, clementine murphy, declan murphy

quicklog: declan and clementine, marvel
[The night was an inviolable promise at his back, dreams lost to the sugar glaze of rising dawn, chewed up cherry pit red, well on its way to striking gold. His coffee sat black with contrast, landfill dark in a paper cup that made assurances on common man's simplicity, even if it was secretly an import of Indonesian Luwak. Declan enjoyed small pleasures, but sometimes those small pleasures were three hundred dollars a kilogram. Fly fishing, flannel, and inheritance to spare.

It was nearly six when Declan parked his truck aat the firehouse. Alongside the bricks and facing the street, he slumped his seat back to admire a glowing dawn still on the rise. Declan suspected that he would be waiting on Clementine for awhile, and he cut the engine off after letting his driver's side window down. The breeze was subtle without the stickiness that would come closer to noon. He let the weightlessness of it coax between his empty fingers. He drank strong coffee to combat the morning grogginess that came with prescription pills. It helped, he thought, although he couldn't account for the occasional tired strain to his eyes.

As it occurred to him, Declan pulled on the edge of the rearview mirror, assessing his reflection for any signs of weakness. The caffeine helped with his color as well. The Siberian blue of his eyes looked alert rather than drained. He was wearing faded cotton white and dark blue Dickies. Even when he wasn't on rotation at work, most of his clothing seemed to function in a similar spectrum of blues. He hadn't bothered to shave, and he ran some fingers up the underside of his chin with consideration of the prickle before giving a fresh glance out to the street. He'd give Clementine five more minutes before deciding that she'd slept in. He was still trying to decide if that called for dialing her number or just driving off altogether.]

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Re: [declan and clementine, marvel]

setbacks
2015-07-03 04:49 am UTC (link)

[Memory served Clementine on silver platters and good china, special occasions with crinoline curling like cumulus from under the hem of her skirts. After a certain age, Declan's school years were spent in Connecticut, where it was cold like old money and just like home in that way. Summer months were sticky warm with a lemonade tang, the Clementine season. Those months when school was out and a family of fractured perfection was reassembled at the great house. Paper dolls patched together with scotch tape. And hadn't the southern belle always seemed to hold herself in such high esteem while amongst them? Separate, but equal. An angel to crown the Murphy family tree(if Chloe would let her).

The summer was Declan's deserved homecoming as much, and perhaps more so, than it was Clementine's. He'd had no other home, no mother heralding from a southern plantation. All Declan had was the grand house and the power plays with his siblings(when he actually ventured to engage with them). So while Clementine was an outsider made by the distance of an ocean, Declan was one by his own choosing. And some things never changed, like the way he now secluded himself at a wooded lake on the weekends. Nothing and no one, just the lap of water on the dock.

He didn't protest when she plugged into his dash's radio, but the set line of his mouth spoke disapproval as he steered them toward the nearest freeway onramp. Country music was outside his familiarity. He had vague concepts of it, ideas perpetuated by Hollywood and the persistent whine that carried through from one song to another. The look he gave Clementine was brief, but it clearly conveyed, "Really?" Although, he wasn't one for music at all on most days, so maybe he was an unfair judge.]

Obeying the speed limit doesn't make me aged. [His eyebrows knit with the argument, the only sign that he was bothered by the idea. Well, not the only sign... as the truck made for a middle lane on the highway, the odometer put them nearly ten over the limit. He had a general impatience with other drivers, but rarely bothered to push past them. His style of driving was coasting and controlled, smooth with one hand propped on top of the wheel. He leaned back in his seat and cruised, like it was him and not her who came from the comforts of the lazy South.]

You really listen to this stuff? [He finally had to ask.]