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[sweetsalome]

Salome should be used to these little question sessions with her mother, they have been happening for as long as she was able to talk.  Just little sit downs, called, unexpectedly by Susan to talk about her favorite subject: Salome's father.  Sometimes she is incredibly annoyed by them, really, she gives no shits but if Susan wants so badly to know what is going on in Richard's life why doesn't she just bug his house and tap his phone like a sane woman?

It took Salome awhile to catch on, Susan can be subtle when she wants, and there was a certain bitter sadness when she put two and two together.  She didn't want to really hear about her boring day, she just wanted to hear about Richard.  At this point Salome has long stopped caring about her mother.  The reason why she is a daddy's girl is out of necessity, without him no one would pay any attention to her.

Her reaction to Delilah would probably have not been so violent if there was a more evenness in her life.  Oh well.

Whatever, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a soda she just doesn't want to have to answer any questions about the recent appearance of bite marks on her skin.  God damn, you'd think the girls on the swim team had never seen a fucking hicky before.

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[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Well, you'd think they had, but the novelty never wears off, does it? Particularly not with the size of the bite Richard left on her, which has hardly failed to escape Susan's notice. Sure, Salome can put concealer on it, but the old banshee's keen eye can spot a discolored patch of skin from a mile away. And though she's not particularly concerned with what the girl is usually up to--it's no business of Susan's, after all, the kid's almost seventeen, she can be trusted to attend to herself--she's insatiably nosy. Besides, even if they're not actually related, she still has some investment in the girl's development.

After all, Salome is the best ally, the finest weapon, the most reliable insurance, and the most useful spy that a woman could ask for.

While the coffee maker fills the oh-so-chic little kitchen with its murmur, Susan leans back against the counter with a broad grin. "So, are we excited for our birthday? Are you going to run around all over town with your little boyfriend? I hope you were careful about hiding that," she taps the side of her own throat, "from your father, I can't imagine he'd be pleased to know his pride and joy was sneaking out to get up to mischief with some unknown gentleman caller." Her green eyes curve with her grin, almost glowing in that Universal Studios horror movie monster way as she sits down across from Salome and leans in conspiratorially. "What's he like? Is he in your grade? Older?"

Her level of interest is almost ominous; even moreso because it's genuine. It's lucky you don't have an actual boyfriend for her to steal, Salome, because she's a terrible bitch of a mother like that.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

It's like the angel of death creeping over her, hovering over her ready to strike and suck all the life out of her, or in this cases all the information about Richard. Like a succubus, a vampire perhaps, yeah. Does the room get cold all of a sudden? Because it feels cold. At least a chill runs down her spine and she is left wondering if there is a sudden draft under the door. Burrrrrr.

Should moms be scary and creepy beyond all reason? Because Salome is pretty sure they shouldn't or at least her market research has indicated that they shouldn't. One day, one day, Susan is going to do something though, she is going to say something and she is going to end up on an episode of The First 48 or Unsolved Mysteries. Is that even on still?

"No, not really, I don't have anything planned." And a shoulder shrug as she reaches up to let her hair down to cover up her back and shoulders, yeah, that is something she should have done awhile ago. Nice call Sal. "I don't think dad really cares about what I get up to in my spare time." Yeah, no, that probably wouldn't be true but lets go with that. Since he's got that girlfriend and all, he's got his hands full. Unconsciously she leans back when Susan leans in, to escape her weird, unnerving sixth sense.

"He's nice," no he's not. "He's older then me though." Well that much is true. And a shrug as she looks down at her cell phone, fiddling with it.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Oh, no, no. Salome's safe. She's not a rich, fifty- to sixty-something gentleman who's so desperate for companionship and physical attention that he'll marry somebody like Susan. Where do you think all her money came from, drug wholesaling? That's just a hobby. There's a shiny red hourglass printed bold across her back; you just have to look hard enough for it.

She's a trifling friend, indeed. But, luckily, that means Salome doesn't have to worry about meeting a nasty end at her mother's hands. Probably.

Hands folding beneath her chin, Susan shoots Salome one of those terrible, knowing grins. "Oh, my, how much older? Eighteen? Twenty-one? Don't let him get you into trouble, Salome." The 'I don't want to have to bail you out of jail' is only implied. "Those older boys can be mischief sometimes, just ask me."

She tilts her head, observing the way the girl focuses on her phone as if unconsciously trying to avoid eye contact. This woman could make an FBI agent blush for as well as she's versed in the ins and outs of body language--it's how she's as successful as she is. The trick to manipulating people is reading their minds, and the trick to saving your own ass is knowing how to keep your body from telling the truth. She's made it out of more than one questioning with the cops due to those skills. Those acting classes she goes to are worth their weight in gold.

"That's right, I almost forgot about his girlfriend." No she didn't, not even for a second. The whole weekend--well, not the whole weekend, there were things to do--but at least for most of it, and for most of Salome's time at home since, she's been waiting with bated breath to hear about this alleged lover of Richard's. Her head tilts, her brows lifting in utterly non-judgemental curiosity. "You got to meet her, didn't you? What do you think of her?"

Oh, how she just wants to cut to the chase and ask if she was a junkie, or maybe wealthy, or if she reminded Salome of Susan, herself. But no, no, these things are better approached delicately. Coaxed out bit by bit.

After all, this isn't some interrogation. Just a friendly little mother-daughter chat.

Perfectly normal.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Salome wants a lawyer. She wants immunity from prosecution and witness protection. Seriously, she is serious about all of that and if she doesn't get it then she is gonna bounce. For reals. If she ever gets sat down in front of a detective for some crime or some shit, she'll be cool, totally cool, because she has broken under a better mind then they could even dream about.

This is some Hannibal Lector shit up in here. Next thing you know Salome is swallowing her tongue and not thinking anything of it. How she isn't setting buildings on fire and watching bums burn to death is just a miracle of psychology. With a father like Richard and a mother like Susan it sort of boggles the mind that Sal didn't waterboard a fellow toddler on the first day of preschool. You know, just to see what their reaction would be.

Asking Susan follow up questions when she says just ask me is a trap and a vampire game. A vampire game is when there are two options for the player. To lose or to lose badly. This is one of the pure and true facts of life. "Eighteen," she decides because that seems close to her age, nothing too taboo about that. An eighteen year old could totally go for her. "I won't, he's fine, we just hang out not much else." She has been on a few dates in her day, she knows how these things go.

The face she gives you Susan? This is her I don't believe you face. CAN YOU READ THAT EXPRESSION, BIOTCH?

Another shrug, being a teenager is AWESOME it's like having a build in defense against the dark arts. "She's fine, really nice." Which is a pretty safe and true statement. "She bakes and stuff."

She-who-shall-not-be-named. Voldemort can suck it, Susan has got this block.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

That's how Richard kept the cops from catching on to the fact that he was the one responsible for the disappearance of his poor mother. Susan was the first person he thought to call as soon as the reality of what he'd just done struck him properly, and over the next week and a half he experienced a crash course in lying to the cops. Not that it was hard to do. Nobody misses a whore, let alone an old whore, and the boys in blue had better things to do than investigate the disappearance too hard.

But, still. All those conversations with Susan were a psychological boon when the curtain went up and the show began.

'Hang out not much else', uh-huh. And do you see this face, Salome? This is her 'I don't believe you' face. Please. No girl Salome's age is just going to 'hang out and not much else' with an older boyfriend. Any teenager who makes that claim had might as well confess to the fact that they're either having sex, doing drugs, or both. For a few seconds she feels like asking Salome where he gets his weed, because she could hook him up with much better, but she lets it go for now. There's a more interesting subject at hand, after all.

"You don't say?" A single brow arches and she chuckles at the mention of baking. "How...rustic. That's really very cute. Not your father's usual type at all as far as I was aware. Hm." Slithering up out of her seat, Susan pours herself a cup of coffee and shuts off the machine, contemplating the mug full of brew like a witch gazing into her cauldron.

"How long has he been seeing her, do you know?" Her eyes flicker back up to Salome's as she answers the question, fingers slipping into the handle of the ceramic mug. "How did he act around her? It must have been odd for you, poor thing."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Another shrug because she doesn't know of all his other "girlfriends" and by girlfriends Sal means chicks he banged and then dumped because that's how a Vasko rolls. Leaning back in her chair she takes a long drink of her root beer and checks her facebook page.

And, for the record, when she says "hangout" she generally means do drugs and fuck because that's what they actually do. Except it's not really a boyfriend, it's her father, but let's not split hairs. Anyway she knows Susan doesn't care if she has sex, now she probably would care if Salome got pregnant but that's not going to happen because they took precautions against that and Sal isn't looking to ruin her life with a baby. Yeah. No. Not going to happen. Not in this universe.

"Nope," Lana nope. She actually doesn't know how long they have been dating and she didn't really ask either. Looking up from her phone she shrugs, "I don't know, like an idiot I guess. I don't care, who he fucks is his business, not mine." Until he moves her in, and then she burns down the house, and when he marries her and she burns down ALL the houses.

ALL OF THEM.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Susan titters at what description Salome can manage. "Really, like an idiot? So he's really interested in her, you think?" Now that's a trip. This girl must have money, or be valuable to someone who has money, or something. She can't imagine Richard as being particularly lovestruck.

Then again, she can't imagine Richard getting up to what he gets up to these days, either. As much as she'd like to think she knows 'her boy' backward and forward, Susan doesn't have a fucking clue about just how deep and disturbed his sadistic penchants run. Oh, she was vaguely aware that he liked to go out and take advantage of a girl now and again, but serial rape seems a far cry from the occasional torture-murder.

If she ever finds out, she might actually be a little appalled for a few seconds.

"Well, of course it's his business. I'm just saying it must be awkward getting to know somebody who has a chance of being your stepmother." Susan slides back into her seat, legs crossing beneath the cramped little kitchen table. "And if you look at it like that, then it really is just as much your business. This is your life his decisions are effecting, after all." She gives a little 'tsk' and shakes her head. "But, he can be selfish. I wouldn't expect anything less."

Taking a deep breath of the scent of the coffee before her, Susan takes a long sip and sighs, shaking her head again. "I just hope he doesn't spend less time with you because he's got some shiny new toy to play with. Poor thing, you already see so little of him, only, what, two, maybe three days a week? Frankly, I'm surprised that he's bothering to-- well." She offers that sly grin from behind the rim of her mug, singing out a little, "I shouldn't ruin it."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"I dunno, he's not really brought anyone home before. I don't know how he usually acts around his girlfriends," true story. "He acts differently around her then he does with you," because he hates your guts. She is pretty sure that Richard hates her mother, like, a deep kind of hate, the kind of hate that she felt for a split second that made her straddle his lap and strangle him in her clumsy, teenager way. To be fair one of her hands was busy in his hair, but her technique was sloppy, that's for certain.

Slouched down in her seat she stretches her legs out and puts them on the chair to the corner of her, not on Susan's seat for fear that the woman bite them off.

Salome makes a horrified and disgusted face at the sound of that. "Dad wouldn't get married, please, he's too self absorbed for that." Even she recognizes that. Of course what would a narcissist love more then a woman who fawns over his every move and thinks that he shits gold teddy bears? Ugh. "Whatever, I'll be out of here in like, two years anyway, so who cares what he does?" Well Susan does for one, and so does Salome but shhhhhhh.

"He won't, he wants me another day each week, he told me to tell you when I came home on Sunday night but I forgot." She looks up from her text and eyes her mother. It's another trap. If she presses for what her father is planning on doing she'll have to give up information in return. Her eyes narrow.

What a bitch.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

"True, but you never know." Especially if this girl does have money. Then he wouldn't be able to whisk her off to the altar fast enough. Oh, if that's really what this situation is, she might actually be a little proud of him. Her clever boy. Maybe he's finally ready for her to take him back after all.

Smiling fondly at the thought, Susan stands and stretches, checking this month's Gucci bag of choice sitting slumped upon the counter to make certain her keys are there. Coffee still in-hand, she crooks a finger for Salome to follow and makes her way out the side door, one foot resting upon the brick path of the historic German Village home as she holds the door.

Her smooth path to the car falters, her heel catching between the bricks for the space of a second that very nearly makes her trip. She rights herself with all the grace of a cat who fell from a kitchen table and totally meant to, simply moving on to the little red car that sits patiently waiting. "Really, an extra day?" She paws through her purse, drawing her sunglasses out and sliding them upon her nose like the magnificent shield they are.

Now what the hell is he planning? Why the sudden interest in Salome? Oh, sure, he's always been attached to the girl, always been surprisingly keen on the role provided by fatherhood, but he's always been just as keen on his time alone. Never in all the years Salome has been traded between them has he expressed interest in extra time with her, and now suddenly he wants her an extra day each week?

Something here stinks, but she doesn't know what. Her jaw tightens thoughtfully while she unlocks the car and slides in to take Salome to school, her mind now working as though to solve a trigonometry problem.

"Well," she offers cautiously after a gap of contemplation, "I don't see anything wrong with that, I suppose. I should probably speak to him about it of course, but...no, I don't see why we couldn't...arrange something." Then, when she realizes the tentative tone she's allowed to leak into her voice, she furrows her brow and frowns. "I just hate to have an extra day to miss you, but I don't want to get in the way of you spending time with your father. Did he say why, by chance?"

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

It's time to go to school. Oh man she almost forgot about that. Reaching down she picks up her bag and drop it over her shoulder, strap across her chest. Draining the rest of her soda she crushes it in her hand and burps out the remains of the quickly guzzled beverage before dropping the empty can in the garbage can before following her mother out the door.

"I don't know why you don't just get that fixed," or not wearing high heel that could take someone's eye out. It's like a tradition, her almost tripping on that crack day in and day out every day on the way to school. Say what you want (and Salome will) but her mom is pretty good at being up in the morning to take her to school, sometimes anyway, there are days she misses of course but at least she doesn't have to take the bus or anything disgusting like that. "Why do you sound so surprised? Yeah, I know, who would want me for an extra day?" She rolls her eyes and walks around the back of the car to the passengers side door and slips into the seat like she always does, bag between her legs before reaching for her seat belt.

"Does he need to have a reason why he wants to see me for an extra day? Some people do like to spend time with me, I know it's hard to believe." She's not bitter or anything. Nope.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Oh, what a delight, her little Salome. How she loves this sort of behavior first thing in the morning. "I love spending time with you, sweetheart, I'm just surprised. You said it yourself just now, your father is self-absorbed." She shrugs, her hands spreading before she starts the car and pulls out of the driveway. "I'm just pleased to see he's becoming mature enough to take a little more time out of his oh-so-busy schedule to spend an extra day with you. Surprised, but pleased."

Of course Richard needs a reason why he wants to see Salome an extra day. This is Richard they're talking about. Any other father on the planet and maybe her little line about maturity would be sincere--but she somehow doubts that's even in the top two or three reasons for this. There has to be some kind of ulterior motive. She just has to dig through all the mounds and mounds of his bullshit in order to find it.

But oh, she will. Now that she's sure it's there, she will. Maybe he's started running his mouth about her. That wouldn't shock Susan at all--the only surprise there is the fact that he hasn't started the habit sooner.

She's not as paranoid as Richard, necessarily, but she certainly strives to be.

But, fuck it. If he wants the little brat an extra day a week so badly, he can have her. Salome's not exactly a cakewalk to have around the house and mommy dearest could use an extra day to herself, anyway. She'll just work out a little deal with him--the price of an extra day of Salome, as it were--and that will be that.

Two blocks out from the house, the brick-paved streets of the Village turn into the properly-paved ones that run all over downtown, Susan sipping her coffee as she navigates through traffic, seeks to divine her on-again-off-again hate-lover's motives, and deal with a surly teenaged 'daughter' all at once. At the first stoplight, she grins over to Salome and lifts her eyebrows above her sunglasses.

"So, I know it's kind of lame of me, but I'm not going to be able to give you your birthday gift today. It'll be next week." Her grin grows wider, though, her nose wrinkling in an attempt at playfulness. "But you'll know why this afternoon, so don't worry too much about it, all right?"

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She needs a target and at the moment she doesn't have any. Her father is off limits and the worst she can get away with when it comes to her mother is some back talk. Some days she hates them both, fuck both of them for being miserable and irresponsible for making her. Some mornings it is just really hard to be a teenager. Really, really hard. Whatever, just a few more years and she can find herself some college to go to and waste more of her life on finding a major and finally getting a degree.

Ugh. That sounds even more horrible then what she currently has. Getting out of Ohio is just prime objective number one, somewhere far away. Some people are morning people, Salome is not one of them. She is just tired, if she could only sleep in once and awhile. All the dramatics in her head! She has actually stopped listening to her mother and let her head fall down on the window, eyes closed thinking that she could get in at least a few more minutes of sleep before having to pay attention.

Sometimes she tries. Susan, and Salome never knows what to make of that when she does try because her heart gets all tentative and hopeful about everything, and then she gets forgotten at some lesson or some practice and she is sort of crushed all over again.

"You didn't need to get me anything," her voice is quiet and she smiles a little over at her mother. "Thank you, that's really nice of you. The day doesn't matter to me." Because she could have gotten her nothing at all, she isn't too spoiled to realize that.

"Dad got me a surf board, we'll have to go somewhere to try it out, huh? Like when we went to California that one time."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Yeah, man, adults just don't get it. They don't know how hard it is. Such assholes, God.

Of course, that last bit is probably true, but Richard, at least, makes a small attempt to direct his dickishness to sources outside of Salome. Susan exercises far less care in that arena, but enough that she might still be able to use Salome against her father if push came to shove. Which is part of the reason why she strongly dislikes the idea of him getting more time with the girl, but there's always ways to handle that.

Salome's private school is naturally bustling at this hour, and so while Susan waits in the traffic to even get onto the road that leads past the front entrance, she reaches over to pat her daughter's hand. "Don't thank me yet, sweetheart, you haven't even seen it yet! But oh, I can't wait until you do. The look on your face is going to be just beautiful."

Oh, yes, the car is absolutely going to trump any silly little trip Richard could hope to arrange. After all, what teenaged girl wants to go to the beach with her father for her birthday? And a father protective as he is, hah. He'll keep her on a leash the entire time, and then she'll come crawling back to Susan, whining about how terrible and disappointing the whole week was, and oh, look, mommy got you a car, baby, now who's the favorite parent?

It's entirely possible that the majority of Susan's gestures and interests in Salome are driven almost completely by competition. It's not Salome she cares about, so much as sticking it to Richard. Especially now that he's got some little tramp of a girlfriend he's parading around.

Not that she's jealous.

"Oh, did he?" Susan makes an attempt to sound pleasantly surprised, smiling sweetly from beneath her sunglasses. "That sounds like a lovely idea! Maybe we could go back in the next couple of months, I've been hoping to visit some friends out west, anyway." She smiles wider, squeezing Salome's hand as the car comes to a stop, then leaning over to kiss her cheek.

"Now, you have a good day at school. And be good." She taps the girl's nose, winking from beneath her sunglasses as she leans back in her seat to leave Salome to a birthday spent at school that will no doubt be more or less normal as all her other birthdays, until she receives a request to swing by the principal's office after sixth period.

Then it might start to get a little unusual.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Like the philosopher W. Smith once said: sometimes parents just don't understand. And that is sooooooo true.

"It's not the gift it's the thought of the gift," because that is what she thinks about but when you have psychopaths as parents it's kind of like trying to describe Ode to Joy to the deaf, or the color red to someone who can't see. That doesn't stop her from trying anyway because she doesn't yet understand how damaged her parents truly are. She just thinks that they are being normal, annoying, if slightly twisted parents. At some point in time all teenagers have to think that their parents suffer from some mental illness, and Salome has but at no point did she think that was actually true.

That will all change, sooner or later, probably sooner.

But really she is going to flip the fuck out when she sees the car if only because it means one thing: freedom and that will be so, so fucking sweet. Sometimes parents fighting over you and trying to compete with one another isn't a bad thing, not at all. Especially when they are showering you with gifts that most kids never even get.

Yup, life is pretty fucking sweet.

"That would be really awesome, it would be nice to spend time with you." Well, not really, but maybe, sometimes. Depending on the circumstances. She is trying to be a good daughter here.

Unbuckling her seat belt she nods and opens the door before stepping out on to the sidewalk. "Thanks for the ride," she shuts the door with her hip and puts the bag back over her shoulder to head into the building.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Ah, indeed. There was also once a trio of great minds who urged teenagers to fight for their right to party, as well. A cause worth digging one's heels in for, to be sure.

Ahaha, the thought of the gift, oh, she's cute. Susan will keep that one in her pocket all the way home to giggle about, because it really is adorable. She's heard people say that but there's not a single person on planet earth who believes it, surely. That statement has never made sense and will never made sense.

Once home, she'll pick her way through Salome's room and pack her bags for her--clothes, make-up, towels, pillowcases (since you never do know what revolting things are on hotel pillows), some books, various little travel accoutrements--and call her father to come and pick it all up. And he'll arrive, and find himself trapped, pestered by Susan's urgent need to know why he wants Salome an extra day, and fine, if he really wants her, then he can earn it, and he'll tell her to go fuck herself and spend the day wrapping up the rest of his errands.

That's the big pain in the ass about being a dealer, is keeping in touch with your customers to let them know you're going out of town, and then hearing them whine. It's good if you want them to spend a lot of money at once, though. He really does need to find a better business, though. Right now he's thinking tattoo artist--he doesn't have any of his own, but it's interesting to him philosophically to use living flesh as a canvas. Besides, lots of people seem to be turning it into legitimate artwork, so why can't he?

But the whole day, no matter how busy and annoyed he is, he finds himself glancing to the clock with increasing anticipation. The past few days without Salome have been lovely, of course, same as always, and it's given him time to adjust to the strange new reality of his situation, which seemed all the more glaringly apparent to him in her absence. But now, on the verge of seeing her again, he's edgy with delight at the idea of her, and it makes the time grind miserably slowly even when he visits Delilah at lunch to grab a bite with her and tell her good-bye until his own birthday.

Then, finally around two, he makes sure the car is packed--surfboard in the backseat, suitcases in the trunk, books stacked up in case her majesty deigns to lower her smartphone and read during the trip something instead--and prepares to speak with the school school, practicing only his most solemn expression. He realizes before he leaves that he should make himself cry, but that seems impossible, so instead he smokes a joint out back where the smell won't stick to his clothes for that genuine red-eye effect, and makes to pick her up an hour and a half early and speak to the sweet old ladies in the administrative office, who always seem so pleased to see Mister Vasko on the rare occasions he drops by for whatever reason, but know today that something must be amiss.

"I'm afraid it's Salome's grandmother," he tells them solemnly, his expression tight. "She's--ah, she's--" And his lips tense further, and they touch his hand and coo understandingly, oh, poor man, he's just lost his mother, but even so he bravely fights on, clearing his throat as he continues hamming it up for them. "I'm afraid that Salome is going to have to miss some school over the next week, and we need to leave as soon as possible to make it on time to, ah-- attend to the arrangements."

Oh, of course, of course, they'll have her in the office to check out of school straightaway, and don't worry about her missing a couple of days, she's a good girl, she'll make it up. And while Mister Vasko offers a brave smile and a grim, "Thank you," the women discern which class Salome is in, and a runner goes to her class with a note that she's to come to the office immediately and bring her things with her.

Damn, Salome, called to the principal's office today of all days? Some fucking birthday, shit.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

This shouldn't be a surprise to anyone, but she doesn't want to be in school today. She doesn't want to be in school any day, but this one seems the worst. It's just so long and she doesn't want to deal with any of it, the concentrating the paying attention and the Herculean effort not to look as bored as shit through each and every class. It's a combination of a lot of things for this lack of attention. The fact that she is tired, the fact that it's her birthday and of course the weird ass conversation with her mom this morning.

There is the whole matter of having a sexual affair with her father as well, which is weighing more heavily on her mind then anything else for some reason. It is becoming apparent that is what it is, a sexual affair, it's not a boyfriend and girlfriend thing, it's sex. It's really good sex actually, but that's just what it is. So when she is missing her father over the long days between visits she is slowly learning to train herself to think of it as just really needing to get laid. It's work, to get over that emotional attachment, and somewhere, in the back of her mind, she still sees it as something that will lead to something more - like some relationship of some sort. It's a hard balance for as much as she wants to view him as a boyfriend it is much, much more fun viewing him as her father.

It's those thoughts that actually get her seeking out her sometimes fling in the hallway between classes. When she finds him, she lets him lure her out to that space outside, in between hallways and classrooms, tucked away from the prying eyes of classmates and teachers. He pushes her up against the wall with his body and kisses her, his hands roaming all over her till one slips up and under the hem of her skirt. He is fumbling and awkward, his fingers know nothing compared to her father's but she is wet and thinking of him while being pawed at by a boy.

Her partner of course thinks all the excitement is because of his suave, Casanova efforts and she gets a lot of wet, muffled, "fuck you're wet, baby." Whatever, she puts her hand on top of his to show him how to move till she gets off, gasping and sighing with pleasure. It's decent, she can't really complain, but she doesn't return the favor, which she is sure leaves her partner dissatisfied.

Whatever again.

So when she is called down to the principle's office she is, needless to say, a little paranoid. Maybe someone saw them, maybe her partner in passion snitched on her? Why the fuck would he do that is beyond her but boys are stupid and they do stupid things. Her trek down the hall with her bag is a little unsettling and she isn't sure how it is going to go.

When she spots her father in the office she nearly has a heart attack. Her heart stops. For real. She is dead for at least a second or two before she manages: "Dad? What's wrong?"

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

It's hard sitting in that office, and he starts to feel a little paranoid, himself. What if the wind didn't do a good enough job of keeping the smoke away? What if they know he's high? Jesus, that shit was strong, he should have stopped halfway through, he is really flying high right now, wow, fuck, if they get suspicious this could go bad.

Fuck it, though, she's his daughter, he has a right to take her out of school for whatever fucking reason he feels like. This isn't some public hellhole after all, his mother pays good money to keep her locked up in here during the day. He can whisk her off on vacation if he wants to, fuck them.

Jesus, his mouth is dry. By the time he's finished refilling his little water cooler cup and chugging it back a third time, he hears that voice--for an instant, he almost smiles at her, and finds himself fighting it back very hard when he looks at her, his eyes sweeping her head to toe while he struggles to maintain his solemn look. Richard places a firm hand upon the back of Salome's neck, saying, "We'll discuss it when we get in the car, sweetheart. You're going to have to miss a bit of school, but everything should be-- all right."

With another brave nod to the ladies behind the counters, Richard bends his head over the sign-out sheet to scribble his signature, and then, with the hard workers of the school office telling them to take care, he guides her out to the car.

The minute the glass door of the building is closed behind them, he cracks a grin and gives her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Then he pulls her close to plant a sharp, exaggerated smooch upon the temple of her forehead, saying, "Happy birthday, babydoll, guess where daddy's taking you?"

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"Wait, what?" She has no idea what is going on and now she is beginning to panic! What if she gets suspended from school? Kicked out and told never ever to come back! Holy shit her parents would be so furious. Though her father would be looking more furious at her when she stepped into the room. There is a look that he gets when he is really, really mad, like his eyes are made of dark matter. She should know, she has seen it recently enough, just last weekend actually.

He doesn't have it in his eyes now though, which is good, which means she can breathe a little bit easier - just a little bit, not entirely because she still has no idea what the fuck is actually going on. His hand is on the back of her neck and he is steering her out of the office and outside. He wouldn't pull her from school to just kill her, would he? Oh god. No, probably not, he's not that stupid.

Except he smells. "Ha, holy shit are you high?" The ladies in the office probably couldn't notice but she is right up close to his chest and there is a cigarette smell that masks most of it. "I have no idea, are you okay?"

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The panic on her face as he guides her outside is rich, just absolutely rich, and he's already giggling by the time she asks him if he's high. He still manages a gasp of mock offense, though, saying, "Young lady, don't accuse your father of such things when the school officer could be around any corner. Besides, how do you even know what being high is like, hm? What kinds of crazy reefer parties are you attending." He pauses, grinning as he gets the passenger's side door for her. "And why aren't you inviting me."

Sniggering, Richard closes it after her and slides into the driver's side. Here, Salome, have your father at the most empathetic and sweet he'll ever be without taking MDMA or LSD. "Yeah, princess, of course I'm okay, I'm great. Groovy, if you will. Why don't you check out what's in the back and tell me where you think we're going." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward the surfboard tucked in the backseat at an awkward angle.

"You're going to have to settle in, it's a bit of a drive. I told the fine ladies of your office that your grandmother died, so when you're back in school next week, remember to act morose." Ladies and gentlemen, responsible parenting tip number three hundred and two. Really, he needs to sit down and write a list of them, the book would sell like wildfire.

You know, from the satire section of the store.

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"Because you smell like green," that's a pretty good way to describe it, maybe herbal, depending on what you got. Some of it just smells like shit but she can't imagine him lighting that up, he's not a sixteen year old boy. "Plus, if I invited you to all my crazy reefer parties someone might think that there is something up between us." It would be creepy, Richard, and obvious and you're better then that. Though she does know that he is just kidding, she isn't that dense, but she can't imagine him at her parties, mainly because her mother has traumatized her when it comes to introducing her friends to her parents.

Frankly she doesn't want her dad fucking her school friends. Call her jealous like that.

In the car she drops her bag between her legs and looks over her shoulder at the board stuffed behind her. "Are we going to the beach?" Where is there a beach around here? To the lake? "Florida?" Maybe, California would be a really fucking long drive that's for sure. Turning back around she pulls on her seat belt before looking over at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Who's side, your or mom's? I need to know these things so I know how sad or not I should act."

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Yeah, Richard would not enjoy a crazy teenybopper party, not for more than five minutes and a couple of drug deals. Teenaged girls don't really appeal to him as a general rule, anyway--present company aside--and teenaged boys deserve to be punched in the face, particularly for looking at his daughter, which he's sure most of them are at any given moment.

Besides, he prefers bigger spenders than high school kids when it comes to selling his drugs. Although her suggestion that people might think there's something between us gets him grinning darkly as he starts the car.

"Not quite so long of a trip. Virginia Beach. Now, I know it's not Florida, but there's some kind of...big...surfing thing going on this year over the next couple of days, and I thought that was good timing with your birthday. This way you can spend more time at the beach and less in transit." And Florida is a humid hellhole full of dying elephant skin suitcases looking to wring as much out of the rest of their lives as they can.

"My mother, since she's already dead, and your mother just emerged from the mist without distinct origin." He chuckles. "I saw her today when I picked up your clothes for the trip, she was--she said that the whole extra day thing would be cool." This gets another smile from him, uncannily genuine for him, and he pulls out of the school with a salute in its direction while he drives past.

"I think pretending to be sad for a day or two next week is worth a nice handful of days at the beach, don't you?" Richard grins. "It'll be a good time. Good food, good swimming, good company. And just imagine, baby. We'll be among strangers. For a few blissful days, we won't have to worry about hiding a thing unless we want to."

And that's a goddamned good birthday gift, if you ask him.

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She bounces a little in her seat, clapping her hands together as she squeals. "Yayyyyy! That is going to be so awesome, thank you! Thank you!" Leaning over she kisses his cheek over and over till she forces herself to sit back down and relax. Yeah, she probably shouldn't be bouncing around in her seat with her grandmother just recently dead. Whatever, they get paid to teach not to give a fuck. He could have told them straight up that they were going on a trip for her birthday and he might have gotten hard looks but really, no one would give a fuck. As long as she wasn't gone for too long, because there is a waiting list.

But, yeah, Susan came out of some ooze, some dark ceremony between the base Gods or some shit like that. Needless to say no human being birthed her. She is like a dark hole, created by some massive supernova. And ten times as scary.

"Oh," she didn't think of that, she didn't think of that at all and all of a sudden their trip is so much better then just a birthday get away for the two of them. It makes her heart race in her chest, a frantic vibrating beat and she reaches up to touch her chest, as if that could calm her down.

"So, if we wanted to, you could kiss me in public? Or if I wanted to hold your hand?" That's probably not so weird, fathers and daughters hold hands all the time. Just not when their daughters are sixteen. Yeah this trip is going to be really hard to top because - hot fucking damn. "We can pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend? I mean, I know that's not what this is, but we can pretend and behave like that?"

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Her reaction could make his heart swell, and as she leans to kiss his cheek, Richard grins and drapes an arm around her waist. He squeezes her until she leans away, laughing, saying, "You're welcome. I'm glad you're so excited, Salome, I thought you'd enjoy the opportunity to get away. What, you thought I was going to let you break in your present in some hellhole like Lake Erie? Fuck no."

Smirking, Richard catches the way she lifts her hand to her heart from the corner of his eye. "We can pretend to be whatever you want, baby. You could pass for eighteen, I don't think anybody's going to say anything. People tend to mind their own business, anyway." He smiles fondly at a stoplight, his hand running over her wrist and forearm. "As long as you remember, know for certain that it's all a game, that you and I are playing, then I see no harm in it at all. It's going to be a lovely time. Just think of it." He leans over, brushing his lips over the curve of her cheekbone, his voice a hot murmur. "A hotel room, just you and I. Daddy and his darling daughter pretending to be something they're not to let the world catch the barest glimpse of the lovers they really are."

Richard grins, settling back in his seat as the light turns green. "I was planning to take you to the beach anyway, but considering the, ah...change in circumstances that has recently come upon us, well. As your mother would say, 'it's like the universe is sending us a sign.'" His voice reaches a mocking falsetto when he mimics Susan, his free hand waving while he does.

Laughing at himself, he rolls down the window and bends his head to light a cigarette. "Jesus, kiddo, I'm sorry, daddy's baked. I needed to make my eyes red like I'd been crying, was not expecting this to happen."

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When he describes what is waiting for them in Virgina beach she finds herself biting into her bottom lip and shifting on the car seat, hips nearly arching as his hot breath moves over her cheek. He is teasing and tormenting in and half of her hates it the other half of her loves it. All of her wants to get out of this fucking crummy town so she can kiss him full on the mouth and thank him properly, however she is aware that they are in public and as such can't really display proper physical affection for one another.

Smiling over at him, she rolls down her window for the smoke for his cigarette before reaching over so her hand can ghost along the length of his inner thigh. "I think I will like this a whole lot, thank you for the awesome present I am so excited to be with you, and see all those waves." Because really as long as there are waves you can surf, the quality and temperature are sort of second and third place for this activity.

"You know, you probably didn't need to lie, they wouldn't care I don't think. Lots of kids get pulled out for various trips and stuff sometimes. I think you just wanted to get high." Why not? Getting high is wonderful.

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His fingers tighten around the steering wheel at the touch of her hand, his nostrils flaring with smoke. The little minx. "I think you'll have a good time. You'll have to forgive me, of course, if I resign myself to simply watching. I'm not sure how well it'd turn out if I actually tried surfing. But if you're lucky I might at least get my ankles wet."

Never been a beach person, Richard, but he's willing to make sacrifices. This is as much a birthday gift to himself as it is to her, and he doesn't care where he spends the trip so long as he's well away from home with Salome at his side.

"Yeah, well, I get the feeling that shit annoys teachers. And your little girlfriends won't get jealous, I know how girls your age are." Short answer: crazy. "Plus, this way I don't look irresponsible for pulling you out of school all willy-nilly," did he really just say that oh God he's so old, "in the first couple of weeks of lessons. I have an image to maintain."

Indeed. Affectionate parent, regular attendee of Salome's swim meets and performances, and sometimes school volunteer. As a wise woman once taught him, responsibility is the best shield.

Plus, it's an excellent way to meet cougars, which was the initial draw to volunteering at all. It's not Salome's friends she has to worry about with her father, it's her friends' mothers. Rawr.

He smirks and reaches over to squeeze and tickle her ribs until she squeals. "No, I didn't just want to get high, you don't know how paranoid I was in that office. If I wanted to get high, I'd just get high and wouldn't try to excuse it to my daughter. So how was school today? Break any hearts?" His hand relaxes back to its proper place and he smiles, blissfully unaware of what the girl has been up to today. If he were, well--and you think Salome's scary from time to time.