Marina Savain prefers (redheels) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-05-26 17:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !dc comics, *log, marina savain, russ campbell |
log; marina & russ: daddy day care
It really was a last resort. Before everything had changed, Marina never would have had this happen. She was a woman that required options; she had enough shoes to open a secondhand store, and enough take-out menus that she could go her entire life without ever having to order from the same place twice if she didn't want to. In Las Vegas, she would have had many different people that she would have called before ever even considering this.. but this Gotham shithole wasn't Vegas and Marina didn't have the time, energy, or the welcoming attitude to go making new friends. Not the kind that she could exploit at nine pm, anyway.
Which meant that when work called her in for some late-night criminal enterprising, she needed to find something to do with her son. Even though Marina knew that there was only one option, she exhausted herself while tearing through her closet, trying to think of something-anything else. She cursed Ford while she put on her lipstick; why did he have to be off adventuring with the living dead when he could have been her babysitter? Why did she have to rely on Russ? He might have been Nathan's father, but the idea of asking him for a favor made Marina shudder with anxiety as she struggled into tight jeans and atypical flats on her way out the front door. Nathan followed along like a chipper duckling, accustomed to this type of thing so much so that it didn't make him worry that anything was wrong. Adventures after dark and French profanity spit at the sky essentially were Marina, and Nathan chattered on to her about Godzilla -- the latest obsession in his life -- as she fastened him into his car seat.
There was only one place for her to look for Russ. She didn't know where he was living now, but she knew where he worked. She knew he stayed late unless he was going to hit a bar, and when she cruised by through the parking lot, she saw that his bike was thankfully parked at the former rather than the latter. She threw the sedan -- one that was a whole hell of a lot nicer than anything she'd driven in Vegas -- into park and got Nathan out of the backseat along with a little blue Monsters Inc. backpack. Then she marched into the shop, kid on her hip, cigarette on her mouth. Nathan made a face at the smoke before she pulled it away in order to call role call while she surveyed steel and oil-blackened concrete. "Russ?" And in case he was intent on trying to ignore her, "I know you're here. I saw your bike."