sweetsalome | (no subject)

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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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"That's entirely possible, I suppose. I'm afraid that's the case with many of your traits, my dear."

Shame...ful? What is this 'shameful'? Christ, life's too short to take shame in anything. Don't like the way something turned out? Deal with it and move on without looking back. There's no reason to get too obsessed with something like guilt or shame or regret. What's in the past isn't worth worrying about, nor what's in the future. And even the present is in a permanent state of decay, but that simply makes it more delightful. A wealth of opportunities.

Richard would make a good Buddhist, if he weren't such a perverted, hateful sadist.

"Hey, it'd make a good replacement board depending on the state of it." He laughs at his own joke, waggling his eyebrows while they drive through one of those odd little trucker towns consisting of motels, McDonald's, family restaurants, hookers, and adult bookstores. "Rigor mortis would pose stiff competition to any balsa wood out there."

Making a rimshot noise from the corner of his mouth, Richard guides the car into the barking lot of one of the family steakhouses in the area and sniggers all the way into park, practically falling out of the car. He drapes himself forward as if his hip were a hinge, his back cracking viciously, the stiff bite of his leg a thousand times worse after time spent in the car.

Fuck, the first day in Virginia is going to be spent with him in a warm bed. Beach, what beach?

Rolling his shoulders, he makes his way for the door, smiling at Salome. "Let's get a table, then you can go ahead and wash up after all that time in the car." And he can inform the waitstaff of the fact that there is a birthday girl present among them. Sabotage.

"It's worse, I could be just like mom." For all they know she is, except Susan isn't her mom, some other lady is and perhaps that's where Sal gets her conscious and empathy from. Maybe it came from TV. Or from her friends or her friend's family, kids pick up a lot when they are growing, every place is a source of information.

That line? That line needs to go on a tee-shirt. Except it could be more general, I would make a good Buddhist, if I weren't such a perverted, hateful sadist. That shirt would probably sell like hot cakes. Not because there are a lot of hateful sadists out there but because it's funny and everyone is a pervert, deep down.

Shame is for people who are unable to enjoy life and feel that other people should be crippled with the same affliction.

"Oh dad that's fucking gross," seriously, what the hell? Salome makes a face and then laughs. "Don't, just don't think about that any more, let me give you a new mental image to chew on, not my stiff corpse." Phrasing. Her dad is so weird.

And it is going to be so nice to get out of the car and stretch her legs. Stepping out after he parks she does stretch, long, long, arms reaching toward the sky and she takes a deep breath in and then reaches down to touch her toes. That feels really, really good. Working those muscles before moving over to his side of the car to see if he needs any help getting out of the car. Poor old man.

She knows that his leg gets stiff when they are in the car for too long. "Yeah, I should really wash up." Inside the restaurant she spots the restroom sign and moves from his side to go use the ladies.

"Oh, God, don't even joke about that." He shudders at the very thought of there being more than one Susan--not that her royal highness would allow such a thing to happen. She would have foreseen it and smothered her successor before the babe even had a chance to crawl. Thankfully, though, if she takes after any mother, it's her real one, who, despite being a stripper and probably a whore, was a fairly sweet girl. Not the smartest, but still a decent lady.

If Richard knew the truth of Salome's origin, some things would make a hell of a lot more sense, that's for damn sure. Most significantly, her hair color, which is still the biggest mystery he's ever encountered, right up there with her empathy.

Her reaction to his joke is worth another burst of laughter all on its own. "You have only yourself to blame, babydoll, you leave yourself wide open for these jokes and expect me to not go for them."

Someday she'll learn that the pleasure of making terrible, horrible jokes is right up there with his penchant for murdering hookers.

Adjusting his shoulders and nick, Richard pats Salome in silent thanks for her sweet but wholly unneeded assistance. He's too proud for that. Really, he should probably use a walking stick on worse days, but he'd rather be crippled and silently pained than show any outward sign of weakness. Instead of completely accepting her help, he simply kisses the corner of her mouth, his lips lingering before he pulls away.

Of course, as soon as they're in the restaurant and she darts off, he drops himself into a booth with a relaxed sigh. Even this little hellhole is better than the car, and as the too-peppy waitress comes by to take his drink order, he points to the bathroom and sketches her a brief outline of the situation. That girl he came in with? Yes, it happens that it's her birthday. Do you do cakes and maybe sing? Yes? Wonderful. If you could bring it out once the entree is finished, that would be perfect.

The waitress gives a cheesy wink and scribbles something down while Richard orders a couple of sodas, constantly glancing between the woman before him and the door of the ladies' room. She bustles off, then, party to his conspiracy, and he settles back to let his eyes close for just sixty sweet seconds.

Everything is proceeding as he has foreseen.

"Yeah, I know, I creeped myself with that one too." It's like a cold chill goes through her at the idea of that. If she was like that she probably wouldn't know how horrible it was but since she isn't like that and can see her mother clearly, she knows how unpleasant that would be. Not only to other people in general but to her father and of course she is daddy's girl, hurting him is an impossible thing that would break her in two.

Except for when she wants to strangle the life out of him and beat him to death with something heavy and useful. Even that she is trying to forget. Thankfully he didn't take it personally, her wanting to hurt him like that, it would have been really bad if he had because then she would feel guilty. So, so guilty. In the end, he was right, it doesn't make sense to end his life, not when they have so much fun together. In the heat of the moment that wasn't what she was thinking though, she was thinking about how good it would feel and how the pain would all end if he was gone.

Causation or correlation? It could be that the reason why Carrot Top sucks so bad in his jokes is because he kills a lot of hookers.

He is too proud indeed, but she will try and take care of him whether he likes it or not, and she will dote after him because she loves him and tries to be a decent daughter. Once he is inside and in the capable hands of the hostess she takes some time to clean up in the bathroom, she is pretty sure her bra is inside out. After washing up she feels pretty much like a brand new person, completely unaware to the shenanigans her father is getting up to outside with the waitress.

Slipping into the other side of the booth she sighs and reaches for the menu. "I want to eat ALL the things."

Well, y'know. Teenagers, mood swings. One minute the daddy's girl is trying to give her father road-head, the next minute she's ready to choke him to death with his own belt. She'll probably level out eventually. He did, after all, even if he still has that build-up of rage and bile that needs to be released every once in a while. And in light of that, how could he possibly take it personally?

Now, if it happens again, he's probably going to be a little annoyed. But that's what fatherhood is about. Patience, and gently guiding one's rage-prone daughter through her homicidal urges. At least, when they're directed toward him.

Still, like a mildly retarded child with nerve damage, Richard can't help but put his hand repeatedly upon any hot stove he stumbles across. Susan is just such a stove, and if Salome took after her, he'd probably put his hand on her just the same. Granted, he's not exactly one to let his daughter push him around, so there would probably be a great deal of far uglier conflict in their lives, and Susan would be much fonder of her than she is now.

It's far better this way. He loves her sweet with the occasional hint of rabid fury. Even if the amount of energy she possesses is going to kill him just by proximity, like a star pulling in any comet that hurtles too close. Richard barely manages to lift his hand from his eyes when she bursts into the booth, peeking between his fingers to chuckle.

"Don't eat too much, baby, I don't need you getting carsick." Or failing to leave room for over-priced cake. Flipping page by page through the menu, he drapes his forearms upon the edge of the table and heaves a sigh. "Jesus, wake me up when we're in Virginia, you can drive the rest of the way. You've knocked me out, sweetheart."

Cradling his forehead in his hand, Richard shuts the menu and sets it aside to sit up and wait for the return of his co-conspirator, who flashes them both an extremely wide, knowing smile while she gives them their drinks and takes their orders. Luckily, it's the sort of grin easily mistaken for country hospitality.

The next time she gets like that she is going to try and learn from her father and what he told her, find an appropriate outlet. If she has a car she can go to the pool and swim it off, which probably be the least damaging of her options. More and more she feels that she would love to take it out on her mother. That seems like an appropriate target, not a very fucking smart one, but there are times that she would like nothing more then to make her hurt for all the shit she has put Sal and her father through.

It seems like a bad idea though, like kicking a pit bull, and then offering it your hand. It just seems like a really bad idea but one of those bad ideas that you should just totally indulge in. She would much rather do that then hurt her father even if he is doing something that is hurting or upsetting her.

"Really? Oh my god can I drive?" Because that's what every teenager wants for their birthday. She has been driving, got her learners permit and everything, and it's not like there is a lot of dangerous road between here and Virginia beach, mostly flat highway driving, Pennsylvania sucks but it's not that bad as long as you're paying attention and not groping your father.

"I promise I will throw up everything I eat before we get on the road," serious nod as she scans the menu till she finds what she wants. So she orders a coke and a medium rare steak with the steamed veggies and salad to start. It's a small cut of steak so she can probably manage at least most of what she ordered. She is a growing teenager!

If Richard ever heard that, it would take all the self-control in the world to keep from encouraging her. Maybe once they've managed to net her more time with her father than with her mother, he will. Or once he's finally lost what's left of his sense of self-preservation when it comes to Susan.

If things get worse--say, if Susan figures out what's going on between the two of them, which he's certain she won't--then Salome's desires to lash out against her mother may prove a useful weapon, indeed.

Oh, God, he was joking, he wasn't really serious about letting her drive, but she's so cute when she's excited about something like this. And he'll be in the passenger's seat and everything, so she just needs to not get them pulled over, or crash the car into one of the many oh-so-sightly farms littering Ohio and West Virginia. When they get through certain areas of Appalachia, he'll probably insist on switching back, but there's no harm in letting her drive for an hour or so.

Probably.

"Oh, yeah, sure, babydoll, you can drive for a bit." Usually the point of having other people drive is to relax. Sadly for Richard he doesn't see that in the cards. "Just be careful."

With a grin, he places his order after hers--which he describes to the waitress as a steak he wants cooked 'as rare as you can without violating a health code or killing me'--and then turns to her with an arched brow. "A medium rare steak? Why, but I thought you were a vegetarian! Some poor cow died and you're just feasting on its corpse. Tsk." Chuckling, he sips his drink and says, "Just save room, we might get desert. The sign in the front claims the pie here is good."

"Of course I'll be careful, I am always careful, dad." And she squeals and claps her hands in excitement, bouncing around a little bit in her seat. Yay! Driving! She is at that age where driving is actually a fun thing and she wants to be able to drive and get her proper drivers license. The freedom that goes with that will be amazing in her opinion. She can't wait to be able to get out of the house whenever she wants, and to be able to drive to school sometimes and then take herself to and from practices. It will be so much nicer then having to depend on someone all the time. That seriously sucks.

She rolls her eyes at him when he makes a comment about the dead cow. "It's my birthday and the cow is already dead so I may as well enjoy it and honor it for it's noble sacrifice for my belly and deliciousness." Because a well cooked steak, properly seasoned is a gem to be prized and worshiped.

Seriously, all tender and juicy, the perfect amount of pink in the middle. It's wonderful. Plus she'll have a salad and veggies so it will all balance out in the end.

She sips her coke when the waitress comes back with it, and begins to drizzle dressing over the rather plain house salad that is set down in front of her. Stretching her legs out she puts her feet on either side of him and smiles.

"I know, kitten, I just don't want us crashing or being pulled over, I'm obligated to say it." Aw yeah, that's another point in the awesome dad side of the scoreboard. Look at that reaction, he couldn't ask for better. It's too bad he doesn't have his phone out to take video yet, although he will once the main course is finished. Because sometimes a reaction just needs to be immortalized, like when hillbillies sing you happy birthday. Maybe the next time she misbehaves he'll put it on Youtube for her friends to see.

Christ, if he'd known last year that all Salome wanted for her birthday was to drive a little and get laid, it might have saved him a shitload of money on presents. It's like all those times in her early childhood where a cardboard box was as exciting as the thing that came in it.

Grinning, Richard reaches across the table to pat her hand. "I'm so glad you're coming to your senses about the vegetarian nonsense. That's the spirit, babydoll."

Those feet appear on either side of him and he laughs, his hand resting upon one of her ankles. "Goddamn, Salome, what could possibly have you in such a good mood?" He waggles one theatrical, teasing brow while giving her ankle an affectionate squeeze. "I mean, it's not as if you like your birthday or anything. Why, I seem to recall you saying to Delilah that you made an effort of not getting too excited about it. So what could get you behaving so adorably, hm?"

"Oh well let's not go that far, I still think meat is unhealthy and immoral, but I am also of the belief that you should partake in the culture of the people that you're around." Clearly steakhouses are now considered a foreign culture. It's kind of like going to China and asking for a cheeseburger at every meal, that's just rude and you'll be missing out on so many things. You can't go to a steakhouse and order a veggie burger, well you probably could but the chef would probably spit in it. And then you'd have hillbilly HIV and there is just no bouncing back from that. Plus, there is something really nice about a well cooked steak. It's a special occasion.

Her feet rub up against his thighs as she lifts her eyebrows at her father. Generally it is considered bad manners to use a teenagers words against them because it makes the moody and cranky, but then again everything makes a teenager moody and cranky. "I am delirious with hunger, clearly my euphoria is a sign of immanent death. Like when people suffer from hypothermia get really really warm and feel like they should take off all their clothes to cool down. Also: got some sex on the way here so clearly my brain chemistry is all off. Basically I'm insane and not in my right mind, and it's all your fault."

'Unhealthy and immoral,' hah. But, he supposes most teenagers go through a holier-than-thou phase. All he can do is ride it out and hope she'll get over it by the time she's twenty. Until then, he'll bare his teeth in a way that looks like a smile and say, "Well I'm glad that you're so open-minded that you'll at least have a bit if the situation calls for it."

If she gets cranky he's going to fall back on his old strategy of tormenting her until she's so annoyed she loops back around to a good mood again. T'ain't no way he's getting in a car to drive however many more hours with a pissy teenager, no ma'am. Particularly not when he's counting this trip as part of his birthday celebration, too. Cranky pants are a strict violation of birthday week dress code.

As Richard leans forward with a smirk, his voice drops to a low murmur. "Ah, is that what it is. So it's my fault that you decided to get frisky in the first place, little girl?" His fingertips tickle up the back of her calf and then down again, tracing around her Achilles' heel. "Now, I'd agree that I'm partly responsible for your insanity, but that, my darling, is just genetics, and it hardly differs from day to day." His grin widens. "However, if you truly insist on being so not-excited for your birthday, then I am more than willing to be excited for you. I'll see if there's a dollar store around here that sells party hats so I can wear one for you all the way to the beach."

Don't worry, she'll snap out of it. Meat is delicious, it's just through a phase and she feels good trying to fit in with the morally superior vegetarian mob. Yeah, clearly this is just for show, she is going to destroy that steak and it will be fucking delicious. Even with her phase she tends to be one of those people who just eats what is in front of her. "Oh, well, yeah, they just don't know any better really." Oh my god, one day she'll look back and hopefully be a little embarrassed that she was this big of a twat.

Teenagers.

"It totally is, everything is always your fault," she is not even remotely being serious with this, and that should be obvious by her bad attempt at not smiling at him. His fingers tickle her and she starts giggling, wiggling her feet against his thighs as she squirms in her seat. "Nooooo I don't want you wearing a party hat, I won't ever go near you when we're out if you put one of those silly things on! You wouldn't even dare, you'd be too afraid that it would mess up your hair." That perfect, slightly mused look that he has going on, dark locks of sex. Seriously, she wishes she was dark haired like him.

She stabs a bite of salad on her fork and offers it over to him with a grin. Somewhere in her formative stage she got the idea that if she could be fed then she should feed other people as well. This habit has not faded apparently.

At least she hasn't gotten into veganism. That would probably drive Richard insane. Although right now he's being driven plenty insane as it is--they don't know any better? Though generally he tends to agree that most other people are stupid and don't know any better, in this context, that statement includes his own carnivorous tendencies. However, considering the date, he's willing to let it slide. For now.

"Oh, I know, I'm a brute. The source of all your life's woes." Richard laughs, his grin widening as her giggling fills the air. Those feet wiggling against the sides of his lap are as adorable as her voice. "Come on, kiddo, this is my birthday vacation, too, we need to celebrate. We could glue streamers to the car and stick balloons on the top." Haha, yeah right, like he'd do that to his baby.

She has a point, though, he's too vain to mess up his hair, so, grinning, he reaches up to smooth it back. A strand slides back out of place immediately and he flicks a glance at himself in the nearest reflective surface. "You're right. If it has to be messed up, I'd rather have you do it than a party hat."

With a crooked smile that's wicked as he is, Richard leans forward to let her feed him, sliding the bite of salad from the fork with a sly look in his eyes as he leans back. Of those strange, random little moments that feed the flames of desire seemingly senselessly, this is somehow one of them. Maybe because it's so charming, her little habit. But whatever the reason, he gives her calf an affectionate squeeze and only lifts his hand when the steaks finally come out.

Oh God, no that would be horrible, that's like, where you don't eat anything, right? Because you are so filled with guilt and belief in your own awesomeness that you refuse to behave like a normal human being? No, Salome loves cheese way too much for that to even be an option. She will just stick to being mildly annoying when it comes to her eating habits, and really it's not so bad unless he starts teasing her about it and then she ends up looking like a douche.

"True, true, I'm glad you said it and I didn't have to," except she did. His comment about the car makes her laugh even more and then she shakes her head. "You'd never, if you did you would have to be totally sedated, I can't even imagine you putting anything on that car that wasn't factory approved of first." Like his hair, his car is apart of him, about of his image, that he would do something to ruin that would probably ruin him a little bit.

"I like holding on to your hair, it's just like when I ride my pony," and that statement is accompanied by a rather wicked look. He better nap in the car when she is driving because she is going to tackle him as soon as they get into that hotel room. Actually if he wants to sleep through that she'll be okay, only a certain part of him needs to be awake for that.

He eats a bite and she giggles helplessly, it's funny for some reason and probably not unlike her initial reaction when she first fed him all those years ago. She finishes off the salad and wipes her mouth before taking a long drink of her pop and pushing the bowl aside for the steak. Smells delicious.

Self-righteousness is so powerful that it can sometimes kill the need to eat because the ego can simply give the body all the calories it needs. Unfortunate side effects include forcing your opinions on people who don't give a fuck, and being a piece of shit.

He laughs, guilty as charged. "You can't blame me. Jezebel was my, ah-- she was a gift, I'm twice as obligated to take care of her. I don't want tape chipping off her paint."

Now that's one hell of a statement. His mouth opens silently, then closes and transmutes itself to that dark, roguish grin. In an instant his mind is gone, consumed by only the filthiest thoughts, and he glances askance while taking a sip of his drink.

Unfortunately for him, he's probably not going to be able to nap in the car. He's going to be alert as possible to try and micromanage her driving just in case something goes wrong. Not that he doesn't trust her, but, well--this is his baby driving 'his baby', the latter one being full of many important things including but not limited to clothes, an expensive surfboard, and some drugs. Therefore, he feels the need to keep an eye on her driving.

It'll be fine, though. That's what letting her ride him is for; he can relax and enjoy while she puts on a glorious show for him.

No matter how turned on he is, though, it doesn't stop him from teasing her--hell, it probably only encourages it. He watches her, and the very moment she starts cutting into his steak, he starts making sad little 'moo' noises from the corner of his mouth.

That is one hell of a weight loss system. It's like the human version of bullshit fusion. A person, not unlike a star can last for millions or billions of years on it, depending on what kind of human they are. Unfortunately the biggest douche bags tend to last the longest.

"That is the craziest thing I have ever heard. That paint was probably created to withstand years and weather, it could probably handle a little tape. I mean this is industrial strength car paint, what kind of tape were you planning on using?" Oh man she could tease him forever about his love of his car. "I should be jealous of the car, clearly that's your first love," forget burning down his house, she'll take out the car. And of course it's named Jezebel. Is he sure that Susan named him and he didn't?

Richard, speechless? Yup, that's a point for her. She will savor that silently, that look that he gives her, she is pretty sure that his eyes just got darker and that just makes her smile more smug. The trip couldn't have come at a better time actually, she just got waxed, legs, neither parts. Not that she was out of control before, but for some reason riding lessons reminded her of recent sacrifice to the regime of beauty.

What - what - she looks at her steak and then up at her father, lips pursing slightly. That look she gets when she is really trying not to laugh at his bad behavior. This shouldn't be encouraged. "You're behavior is not appropriate for the dinner table, do you want to go wait in the car while I consume this noble animal?"

"Yes, it was, and yet I still keep her in the garage." He chuckles, that mischievous grin having a hard time leaving his lips. "Don't be jealous of your older sister--if it's any consolation, if you were both in danger and I had to save one, I'd pick you. But don't tell her that, she'll get upset and stall on us." It was actually the car's original owner who named her, but Richard found it fit very well, indeed.

If she goes anywhere near that car as a matter of vengeance he's going to have an aneurism and strangle her. So, you know, clearly it would be an effective strategy.

He noticed that in the car, or at least caught a hint of it through the bliss that comes with touching her. No doubt he's looking forward to seeing her tonight. Hell, he's probably already seeing it now, those eyes of his could burn a hole straight through her clothes.

At her threat, Richard smothers a grin of his own and gives her a look of pure-as-the-day-he-was-born innocence, his eyes big and his brow furrowed in honest confusion. "What behavior is that, Salome? I'm only enjoying my steak. Besides, you're the one with your feet up." He smiles, reaching forward under the table to squeeze her knee. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm behaving perfectly well."

Glass lifted to his lips, he once again assumes that innocent look, about the same time there's another, pained little 'moo'. Off behind Salome's head at the other side of the restaurant, their waitress waves until Richard spares her a glance without turning his head and indicates ten minutes with her fingers. He nods imperceptibly as soon as he can without drawing Salome's suspicion, and the woman vanishes back into the kitchen.

With the greatest nonchalance imaginable, Richard removes his cell phone from his pocket and gives a little hum as he glances down to it, then sets it aside on the edge of the table as if to ignore it properly.

You see? He's behaving so well he won't even answer the text message or whatever it was he just allegedly received, too busy focusing on his daughter. And his mooing noises.

"Oh right, I bet you tell her something completely different when you're alone with her. I know how you work dad, caressing her, purring to her how she is your one and only. Please." Men and their cars she doesn't understand it at all, it's just a machine. Though it does run well and gets them where they need to go so she certainly can't complain. What she will do is give him a hard time about his obsession with an inanimate object. And he will give her a hard time about her steak.

"You keep that up and I'm not going to eat this and then you'll be mad, do you want to be mad? Because you'll be so mad." And then she'll have to kick his ass. Actually she won't but the next time he moos at her she is going to pinch him with her toes. She can do that, there is a gap between her big toe and second toe and it is really useful for a number of things. Picking things up from the floor, peeling bananas and of course pinching people.

He is totally killing her carnivore boner and she hasn't even taken a bite yet. JERK!

She looks over at him when he fiddles with his phone as she starts poking his thigh with her big toe and finally cutting into the steak. If she caught the little exchange between her father and the waitress she doesn't let on, mainly because she didn't catch it. He was being quiet and it was the perfect moment to actually cut a bite off her steak and take a bite without hearing him have to moo like he just swallowed one of those noise making toys.

Tsk, now. It's more than just a machine; it's a memento, and a partner. Something to that he takes care of, and in return, it takes him where he needs to go. And it never complains. A better partner than that, he couldn't begin to imagine. "You can't blame me for my love affair, princess, the lines of her body alone are irresistible."

Of course he'll be mad--or annoyed, anyways. Although he'd happily finish it for her if she's going to outright reject the thing. But then she takes a bite, and he reacts with a theatrical gasp, his hand landing on his heart.

"Are you going to be okay? I don't need to take you to the hospital after a bite of steak like that, do I?" He laughs, swatting her poking foot and tickling the sole before finally attending to his own steak, which is a purple-red horrorshow of practically-raw meat. This is a steak that had the word 'fire' whispered at it before it was put on a plate and served, and he groans. "Oh, God, who needs women? A man just needs steaks cooked like this and a car and he can die happy."

Chuckling, Richard chews up his bite and swallows it with a sigh. "Beautiful. You will never find a salad as delicious as this. The immorality makes it all the more magnificent."

This is clearly the case with many things in his life.

"But it's not real, I mean you can't have a conversation with it, you can't make love to it. It's just a machine." Oddly enough she doesn't want to think about her father getting hard over a car. Him getting hard in the car and then fucking her, well that's just fine and dandy, apparently sexual arousal over a car is just a line that she is not willing to cross because she has standards. Or something like that.

Chewing thoughtfully she narrows her eyes at him. "You might have to, because I am going to stab you with my steak knife if you don't stop teasing me." Ah, a reoccurring motif in their relationships, a steak knife. It's like Chekov's gun, introduced in act one, might make use of it in act two. Though lets hope not, because last time that happened Salome got cut, and really steak knives are great for cutting into already dead things but not live human beings.

"You need women," she reminds him. "There are certain things that dead meat and cars just can't give you, and I hope you know that, dad." She won't admit it out loud, but this is a delicious steak, and there are some really good salads out there but it's hard to hold a candle to this right here. The seasonings are just where it's at and it's just perfectly cooked through.

Not that she is going to admit that to him.

She tries to maintain her position none the less, sniffing and looking down her nose at him playfully, "Mr. Vasko I don't know how you sleep at night." And then she giggles, because she knows just how he sleeps at night.

"Ah-ah, of course you could have sex with a car. What else is the tailpipe for?" He cracks up at that one and buries his face in his hand, sniggering like a schoolboy. Then, cradling his cheek in his hand, he grins across the table at her. "I love teasing you, it's just the best hobby. You make it too easy for me, sweetheart. If you don't want me teasing you, don't ask for it."

Ah, victim blaming. Just as easy as actually teasing her.

Richard reaches beneath the table and pinches her calf at that one, arching a brow. "Ah-ah, there shall be no stabbing of your father, young lady, nor joking about doing so. I don't want to have to ground you for the rest of your life." And by 'ground her', he of course means 'lock her in a cellar'. Suddenly there's that wicked look in his eyes again. "Knives are only toys in special circumstances."

Considering the fact that she was overcome with the urge to stick a paintbrush in his neck last week, he'd rather head future stabbing urges off at the pass. And that includes jokes about stabbing him. No matter how oddly sexy he finds them. Granted, his attempts probably won't do much good to quell stabby urges, but hey, at least he's trying, right?

"Well," he says, his grin returning with just a hint of a leer, "maybe you should pay attention tonight, babydoll. Then you can find out."

In the back of the restaurant, one waiter trails into the kitchen, and then another, and it's almost go-time. He glances innocently down to his phone, fingertip swiping across the touchscreen. "Speaking of, I need to find some motels and call them to make sure they have rooms. Ones we can be at by...oh, let's say nine or ten."

Yeah, totally looking up maps. That's exactly what is happening right now. He's not getting ready to start up the camera. Nope. Lookin' for places to stay.

Oh my goodness, the eye roll that earns him. "You better not have had sex with that car, we should get you tested." For car HIV, apparently everything has HIV these days. No, she knows that he is teasing her and it kills her a little bit that he does it so well. Parents are the best trolls ever. Everyone on the internet can't hold a candle to troll parents, they are just born with something deep down, a sense that allows them to know how to perfectly troll their child. It might be a little easier in Salome's case because she is just precious with her delicate sensibilities. A good liberal youth were everything is an offensive to everything.

She is like a walking white whine. Though not that bad, she does have rational moments. He spoils her but she would like to think she doesn't act like a spoiled brat - all the time.

That makes her eyebrow lift, "what kind of special circumstances are those?" Because inquiring minds would like to know, and would like to know when they are appropriate and when they aren't. He will probably show her one day and she will be a great many things physically and emotionally when he does. Like when his fingers wrapped around her throat and started to squeeze. Sometimes when she thinks back about that night she is only surprised she wasn't upset about it afterward.

"I'm pretty sure you sleep at night because you're too tired to stay awake after you fuck my brains out, dad." A bite down on her bottom lip and she runs the side of her foot up the length of his thigh and then back down again, caressing him with long strokes of her foot. No matter what they are talking about it always seems to wind up back with sex. She can't help it, he's triggered something inside of her, any man she is with after him better have the sex drive of a rabbit.

"Make sure whatever hotel you pick isn't terrorized by crazed serial killers, I would like to enjoy the rest of the week with you and not hiding in a closet covered in blood." Where does she get her imagination?

Well, he's had seventeen years to know exactly how to tease, torment and otherwise embarrass her. A talent that has been developed and nurtured, and will continue to be expanded until the day he dies. Besides, he can't help but take advantage of those delicate sensibilities, particularly when he has absolutely none of his own.

It's just a survival lesson, really. The more of his teasing she's able to survive, the thicker a skin she'll grow. She should thank him.

"Oh," he offers a sly smile, lifting his drink to his lips, "the kind of circumstances where two people trust each other a great deal. But it's not really restaurant conversation, darling girl." And other, more horrible circumstances, but she doesn't need to know about those.

Also not really restaurant conversation, nor restaurant behavior, that foot, and he exhales into his glass, his jaw clenching and clenching while his eyes never leave her. "You do have a way of taking it right out of me, babydoll, I'll give you that."

So now he can't stay at his own hotel! Technically he's not crazed, but still, it's the principle of the thing. Richard cracks up, lowering his glass and shaking his head as he slides through more screens on his phone. "I promise to make sure that the Bates family doesn't own any place we stay at."

While the camera application loads, he speaks without looking up. "I hope your steak isn't filling you up too much. It'd be a shame if you didn't have any room." It's about then that the restaurant lights dim, and Richard glances up with an evil grin, hitting the 'record' button on the screen and lifting his phone while all the servers march out en masse, chanting their public domain edition of 'happy birthday' and clapping in time like a group of inbred monsters ready to perform their annual human sacrifice. Somehow the gigantic slice of chocolate cake with the sparkler in it in lieu of candles only adds to the effect, and Richard struggles to keep from laughing too hard, intent on keeping the camera straight to capture Salome's every reaction.

They're coming to get you, Bar-- er, Salome.

That's called having an unfair advantage. Just watch it old man, one day you'll be weak and feeble and she'll have to put you in a nursing home. How you treat her now will how she will decide which one to pick. No, he could tease her and tease her and she would still take care of him till the day that he died. She just might hasten it with a pillow to his face. A pillow that reads: TROLOLOLOLOL.

"I like how you draw the line there when it comes to dinner conversation." It's probably a good stopping point, knife and blood play during sex is not something that is really suitable for the dinner table. Car fucking and incest clearly are, but then again it's pretty much how they've been spending their free time lately, so it's not so unbelievable that those topics of conversation are okay.

"I would appreciate that," she likes his laugh, she thinks he should laugh more actually. Maybe it just seems like a rare occurrence to her, maybe she just hasn't been paying attention. It seems like a long time since she got a honest laugh out of him.

Weird.

Wieirder.

Whoa, what, holyshit . . . If she looks surprised it's because she is, and maybe a little frightened. It's not something you want happening to you, lights going dim in a restaurant where a large number of zombies could be lurking about in the shadows. Hillbilly zombies which are really fucking scary if you think about it. When the shock wears off she is glad for the dim light of the restaurant because she is blushing and really wanting to just kind of shrivel up and die right there on the spot. There should be an emergency release button on this booth so she could just sink down into oblivion.

It's really kind of creepy actually.

Maybe a little sweet.

Totally embarrassing.

When they finish and all start clapping she watches the sparkler burn low on the little stick, is she supposed to blow it out or just let it run it's course? "Thank you, thank you, that was lovely . . ." because she wants to be polite before she dies of utter mortification. Someone with obvious missing teeth is totally going to come up to her and make a comment, she just knows it. The problem is, they are just being nice but it's just so creepy, it's hard to know what to do in situations like this.

Besides make a face at your troll dad.

Oh, yes, yes, this couldn't have been any more perfect. It's like he can taste her embarrassment in the air around her, he doesn't even need to see her coloring to know she's blushing. He'll drink in your humiliation like it's sustenance, Salome, and any time he needs to recharge he'll just watch the video again.

The cake is practically the size of her head--no shock there, going by the size of some of the other patrons of the fine establishment--and once the staff finishes singing and returns to their usual business, the lights come back up and Richard is left grinning ear-to-ear at his daughter.

"Now how could they have known it's your birthday! How strange." Richard attempts to assume a befuddled face but soon loses it to a spell of sniggering. Instead, he reaches across the table and plucks up her hand to draw her knuckles to his mouth for a lingering kiss. "Happy birthday, princess."

It's easier to be genuine before her, now. Richard may say that he feels as though he's learning all these new things about her, but it may simply be because, not only does he see her in a different light, but because she now has the chance to learn new things about him. Suddenly it's easier to relax around her, to give her glimpses of his true face, or a truer face than his usual. So it's easier to relax, easier to laugh genuinely, or as genuinely as it comes for him, anyway.

He is cruel, and vile, and completely irredeemable, but he has a soft spot for Salome that has expanded a great deal in the past week. This is a bad, horrible relationship, but that only makes it seem beyond good to him. After all--what love is purer, what relationship closer, more important, than that of a father and is daughter? He can't give her romance, no, and won't pretend to, but he can give her this. And having a father at this age is more important than receiving romantic closure.

Objectively, he is aware that he is a terrible bastard, a monster, a horrible father and a foul human being. But these are the opinions engrained in society, the mindset produced by slave morality, and he happily ignores them in favor of his own, far more enlightened moral perspectives.

In short: fuck the haters, he's never felt so close to his daughter in seventeen years. And that's something, because he always felt fairly close.

Grinning, Richard squeezes her hand, then releases it. "You're so adorable when you blush I can't even stand it."

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