Derek Miller (throughthemill) wrote in the_colony, @ 2011-01-20 07:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | ^ week 33, derek miller, louisa may smith, meghan callahan |
Week 33 - Sunday
Characters: Derek Miller, Meg Callahan, Louisa May Smith
Location: The Doc's trailer
Summary: Meg and Louisa surprise Derek with a birthday celebration
Rating: Strong PG-13 for language
Louisa May wiped her hands on the front of her pants as she bent to check the biscuits in the oven. The kitchenette was incredibly small, and carrying over the food and kitchen things she needed had been a hassle, but she really wanted to do something special for Derek, and she knew how much he enjoyed her food while he was staying with her. In addition to the biscuits, fried chicken was hissing in the pan, and she’d mashed up some potatoes and was keeping them warm in the pot. She wished she’d had some fresh corn or greens -- the canned stuff always tasted a little funny to her -- but she figured this would be enough food for her, Derek, and Meg. The biscuits looked done -- just a hint of brown on the edges.
The birthday dinner had come up after Louisa May had been organizing her medical records, and realized that Derek’s birthday would be that week. She figured he wouldn’t want a big fuss made, so she told the other person that he was fairly close to -- Meg -- and they’d decided a small birthday dinner would be the ticket. Meg’s pie was sitting on the small counter, and as she pulled out the biscuits, she popped the pie in and turned down the heat on the oven to warm it a little during dinner.
It was right about that time when she and the Doc had decided to spring the little ‘surprise’ birthday party on their unsuspecting victim friend. Meg and Sarge had scoured the house for him, eventually stumbling onto him after the third check of the library. Damnit if he wasn’t the quietest reader Meghan had ever encountered. The former DJ had cleverly lead him away from his books and to the Doc’s trailer with the simple ‘She needs to see you.’ ploy... also ignoring the questions of ‘why’ and ‘what do you need to be there for’ until they reached the trailer door, when Meg used her walking stick to knock.
Louisa May grinned. She took a moment to put the chicken on a plate with paper towels and turned down the heat on the burner. Then she pulled open the door to see Meg and Derek. “Come on in out of the cold, y’all!”
Derek gave Meg room enough to climb in and then followed after her. The Doc sure was cheery for needing to see him. A need to see him was usually important and somehow important things felt like they should be less welcoming. He still had no idea why Louisa sent Meg to go get him but the smell of the trailer was enough to make his mouth water.
“Damn, it smells good in here.”
“Yeah it does...” Meg agreed with a chuckle and a nudge to the massive guide dog to go lay down in the ‘living room’ (which he took up just about all of).
Louisa May was acutely aware of how little room there was in the trailer, and with three adults and a dog, it was pretty packed. Still, there was room for two on the couch and the dog on the floor, and she had her little stool to sit on.
“A little bird told me that today was your birthday. So me and Meg threw together a little somethin’ somethin’ for you. Happy birthday, Derek.” She gestured to the food. “I sure hope you’re hungry, cause I made fried chicken.”
Derek’s mouth dropped open and when he spoke, his voice was tight. “Today’s my birthday? You did this for me?” Honestly, he’d forgotten his birthday was coming up. The days ran together; morning spent working and nights guarding the house into a long stream of similarity. He was another year older and he definitely hadn’t expected anyone to do anything about it.
“Good enough excuse to make more food than usual,” came Meg’s reply as she grinned and nudged Derek with her elbow. It felt good to do something nice and ‘normal’ for friends, especially when it smelled so goddamned good.
Meg followed the line of the wall to the couch, holding it’s arm with her attention turned in Louisa May’s direction. “Need any more help?”
The look on Derek’s face was worth it, and Louisa May wished for a moment that Meg could see it. She smiled. “I was just gonna make up a little bit of gravy, shouldn’t take more than a minute or two, but other than that, everything’s done.” She moved over to the kitchen, pouring out most of the oil, and adding a little milk and flour to the hot pan, stirring briskly.
Derek nudged Meg back affectionately. “I see how it is. I can call you cupcake just because you want to eat. Do you want me to tell you if you get fat?” Meg snorted, but in good nature.
“Please do. So long as you don’t mind bein’ called Princess for the rest of your life.” The blind woman eased down onto the couch, and used Sarge as a lovable footrest.
“Nice,” Louisa May replied. “Course you ain’t never gonna be anything but skinny, Meg, so it’s a moot point.” She added some salt and pepper to the gravy, giving it a few more stirs before setting down her spoon. “Food’s up, let’s eat. Meg, I’ll fix you a plate, so’s you don’t have to move Sarge -- I think this thing’ll tip right over if he starts movin’ around.” Meg nodded, snickering lightly and making up to the mastiff with a good scratch behind his ears.
Derek served himself, fixing a plate heavy on gravy and taking two of the biscuits. “I’m on the left,” he told Meg, sliding into the trailer’s little dining booth.
“You want gravy?” Louisa May asked Meg, putting fluffly spoonfuls of potatoes and a chicken leg and breast on her plate.
“Thanks, that’d be great.” Meg settled back, noting on a subconscious level, the weight shift on the couch. “So. I don’t think you ever told me how old you were.” She said toward Derek.
“A lady never reveals her age,” he joked. “I’m, uh, twenty-six. Didn’t even remember today’s my birthday.”
Louisa May passed Meg her laden plate, and got a plate for herself, settling down on her stool. “Well, good thing you got us around to remind you how old you’re getting,” she replied. “Hell, this rate, you’re practically forty.” She dug in, savoring the crisp crunch of the chicken skin and warm, moist meat underneath. It was pretty damn good, and she gave herself a mental pat on the back.
“Look who’s talking, Grandma,” Derek answered back
“Ooooeee, below the belt,” Louisa May replied back, laughing. “I may be old enough to be a grandma, but at least I’m good lookin’.”
“Sure. ‘Til the relaxer runs out.”
“Don’t bite the hands that braid your hair.” Louisa May shook her finger at Derek. “Seriously, though, this time next year I’m gonna either have to start shaving my head, or just go full afro. Or I could wear a turban and rock it like Erykah Badu. That girl was fierce.”
“I’m gonna have to take you guys’ word for it.” Meg chimed in, her mouth only partially full of potatoes.
Louisa May chortled a little. Of course Meg wouldn’t have any idea what they were talking about. Unless she’d had the opportunity to feel up a variety of African-American scalps, that is, and the visual image of Meg going down a row of black women, touching their heads like a wine connoisseur doing a tasting, well, that made her laugh even louder. She stopped to explain. “She was a musician, used to wear these crazy wraps on her head -- they must’ve been at least a foot and a half high, made her look like a conehead. She pulled it off, though.” Naturally, as soon as she’d said it, she realized that Meg probably didn’t know what a conehead looked like either, but she could probably guess.
Meg snickered right along with them. She knew who Eryka Badu was, but her radio station wasn’t the breed to play the songbird’s genre. The Loop catered more to Alice Cooper and Metallica.
“I think you should braid Meg’s hair,” Derek suggested. “Call it a late response to Black History Month.” That pushed Meg’s eyebrows up high, as expressive as she could get with her immobile eyes.
She cracked up, though. “Braid, like.. Pippi Longstocking or Coolio? And don’t ask how I know about those.”
“Hah! I got two things to say about that,” Louisa May replied, holding up her fingers as she counted them off. “One. Bo Derek. Two. Monica from Friends. I believe these examples speak for themselves, thank you very much.” She held up her entire hand, as if anticipating protest from Derek. “And if you even start to talk about how fine Bo Derek was, I’ll just say that you sure weren’t looking at her hair.”
Derek laughed. Bo Derek was fine, but a little old for him. When it came to girls with braids, he would rather have Alecia Keys. Of course, Alecia Keys was black, which was pretty much Louisa’s point.
Meg was having a little trouble working through her mashed potatoes, given that swallowing and laughing at the same time was a little dangerous. “S’not gonna hurt, is it? I’m a big pussy when it comes to my hair.”
“You get used to it,” Derek shrugged. “Why? You actually thinking about it?”
Meg snorted in his direction. “What, I gotta choice now?”
“Because up to now you’ve been so accommodating and open to suggestion,” Derek answered. “Ask Louisa, she’d probably be the one doing it.”
“Let’s just say that your first time around, it feels like your hair is being pulled out,” Louisa May replied. “And if you’ve got a tender head, you probably wouldn’t like it. But if you ever want me to do your hair, even if it’s Pippi braids, you just let me know.”
Meg made a face in good humor. “Sounds tempting.. with the pulling and the pain. I’ll have to think about it.”
“It’s our own special way of suffering for beauty,” Louisa May replied, smiling. “Gives us somethin’ to complain about, too.” Shamika had braids -- beautiful, swirly works of art that took hours and hours to do at the beauty shop, even if she did hide them under a policeman’s hat for most of the working day. The sudden memory made her smile a little, and reminded her about how much she missed her, and how much Mika would have enjoyed this. Painful memories required a change of topic, so she stood up, holding her mostly cleaned plate.
“Before I forget, we got ourselves some pie courtesy of Meg,” she said, clearing her throat. “Who’s up for dessert?”
“Long as Meg tested to make sure she had the sugar and not the salt.” Derek sopped the gravy off his plate with the last of his biscuit. He wished he could drink; he was happy and relaxed in a way that having a drink could only make better.
“Fuck you too, Birthday Boy.” Meg snickered and kicked at his leg rather accurately. Derek flipped her off.
“Children, please,” Louisa May retorted, serving up thick slices of pie -- apple, from the looks of it. She handed the plates around, collecting the dirty ones and putting them in the small sink for the time being.
The pie was wonderful -- tart and sweet -- and Louisa May hummed with happiness as she swallowed her first bite. “Nicely done, Meg,” she said, saluting the other woman with her fork before remembering that she couldn’t see the gesture.
“Thank ya, thank ya much,” the other woman said around her own bite of pie. She had that too-full feeling, like she hadn’t had in a very long time. It was only a matter of time before the sleepies set in.
“Thanks,” Derek echoed. “It’s good pie.” He always did like pie better than cake. “And thanks - thanks for this.”