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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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[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?"

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"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?"

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

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.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"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."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

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.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

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?"

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

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."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

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.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

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.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"You should totally try it, it is SO much fun," and hurt like a motherfucker afterwards, muscles and body all stretched out and worked out after trying to balance on a board on top of waves. "You'll have funnn," she hums to him in a sing song voice. "Don't be a stick in the mud," which is right up there with the phrase willy-nilly. Ha, where the ever loving fuck did that come from?

She will probably start using that and giggling every time she does. Old people say the cutest things. She doesn't have the heart to tell him that her friends probably wouldn't be jealous over the fact that she is going to hang out with her dad in Virginia beach. Leaning over she puts her cheek on his shoulder, rubbing against it like a little cat as she closes her eyes and enjoys the wind and his cigarette smoke. She won't even say anything about it this time, though she is coming to find him smoking after sex is oddly sexy. It then begs the question why he smokes afterward anyway. Is it just a normal craving for a cigarette or is it something more?

When he starts tickling her she laughs and squirms away from him playfully swatting at his hands until he stops. When he does she sinks back on to his shoulder and lets her eye close. "Long, boring, all I did all day is think about fucking you and it was really distracting, and I couldn't even be bothered to pretend to pay attention." She isn't even going to tell him, he doesn't need to know and this is no strings attached, and there was no one coming inside of her, so there's no need for their fun to get spoiled.

"Why do you smoke after sex?" That was the original question on her mind, she glances up at him. "Is there a particular reason why you do it?"

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

That gets a snort out of him. "We'll see, baby, I don't make any promises, though." He can already see how it's going to go. He'll try for two or three minutes, then, when he looks enough like a drowned rat, he'll crawl back to his towel for a beer and a throwback to all the times spent at pools when Salome was a little girl. 'Yes, baby, of course I'm looking, yes, that's very good how brave you are jumping in, great job.'

At the very least, no one can ever accuse him of being anything but supportive.

With a little leer, Richard bends to kiss the top of her head. "You shouldn't think such things at school, kitten, you're not going to learn anything. But I won't pretend I'm not flattered." And a little turned on. His grin widens, the scent of her very hair divine. Mouth-watering. Suddenly the idea of a crummy little hotel tonight doesn't sound so bad. They'll stop someplace to eat, first, of course, where he can publicly humiliate her by having the waitstaff sing happy birthday for her. Someplace in West Virginia so they'll have atrocious accents.

Trolldad never takes a vacation from his passion.

Her question gives him pause, and he examines the tip of his cigarette thoughtfully while he guides the car onto the highway and out of Columbus. "I don't really know. It's particularly satisfying then. Well--it's not, not really, you shouldn't smoke." So responsible. "But it's--I don't know. Sensual. Symbolic of all things decadent and pleasurable. Deadly temptation at its finest. And...yeah, it really is very satisfying, like a reward, almost."

Taking another drag, Richard holds it until he feels the sting, then lets the smog plume from his mouth in a curling cloud. "And I find that I am desperate to do things with my mouth before, during, and after a good screw. It just needs to happen. Whether it's talking, kissing, biting, eating you out, or smoking, I just--crave it. And cigarettes are a convenient outlet for that, I guess."

He grins a little, his cheek resting against the top of her head. "Good question. Why do you ask?"

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"You'll have fun," she murmurs up against his earlobe, teasing him a little because she knows that he'll get in his bathing suit, go out to the beach to enjoy the sites rather then the actual swimming and surfing. He will dip into the water and then he will go to stretch out on the beach. It is alright with her, she will get to see him stretched out on the sand in his bathing suit. Which is reward enough for her.

Though it makes her wonder what bathing suit her mother packed for her. Now where did that thought come from?

Cuddling up against him she continues to moves her fingers over the inseam of his slacks, stroking him idly as he kisses the top of her head and drives. It's very nice, being broken out of school and taken to Virginia beach for her birthday. What won't be cool is when all those hillbillies sing happy birthday to her in their little Waffle House accents. Which won't be pleasing at all.

Damn Troll dad.

"If I shouldn't smoke why do you smoke? You're sending mixed messages, dad, and I don't know where to go when you do." Yeah, she isn't going to start, it would probably limit her in the things that she currently does and plus it make people smell bad. Well the chain smokers anyway. "You're doing a really bad job not selling them to me, just so you know." Looking up at him she giggle and wiggles out of her shoes and socks, bending down to stuff her socks in her shoes and then toss her shoes in the back.

Turning in the seat she reaches for her bag to open it up and to find something she can find something to change into instead of her school uniform. "Oooh I like it when you do those things, I guess it makes sense, it's like an outlet for your oral fixation. I dunno I was just wondering."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Knowing Susan, she probably packed two. One that's a little more modest, and one 'for boys'. Either way, though, Richard is guaranteed to enjoy himself if he watches her from the shore, and enjoy himself even more if he does suffer the water with her. Hands drifting between legs, a brush here, a bump there. Gorgeous, and devious, especially in public.

Speaking of, the teasing, drifting hand between his legs gets a low sigh out of him. His mind works out compromises--a little further up, a little further, nobody's going to crash the car, there's no harm. He ignores it, though, tucking away the pangs of desire. Later, later.

"I smoke because I'm addicted, baby, and that's the only reason. Cigarettes do nothing but feed the addiction, they don't make me high or reward the user in any real way." He tosses the burned-down filter out the window and breathes a sigh of faint relief when her hand vanishes, but why, why is the very act of her taking off her socks and shoes and wiggling around in the passenger's seat alluring. It's the sheer girlish un-selfconsciousness about it, perhaps. His teeth grind to see that pert little ass in the air while she digs around. He wishes she'd been more innocent when he'd gotten his hands on her, although ruining the last vestiges of her purity are good enough for him.

"And, yeah. Outlet. Little smartass." Richard grins teasingly and bends his head to kiss her hip, his fingers drifting along her waist and under her blouse to ghost against her stomach. "Oh, God, my little naiad. I can't wait to watch you play in the water, baby. Kiss you in public, run my hands over you in sight of other people. Just think, all those people seeing a father and his daughter and not even knowing it."

He exhales sharply, his hand dropping back down, his heart pounding with sudden anticipation. "And of course we can hit some decent restaurants, some stores, you can run around on the trolley and do whatever as long as you don't get into trouble..." Smiling, he drums his fingers along the wheel and gazes out into the road, adjusting the mirror to watch the curve of her back and the droop of her head while she searches. "I think I'm as excited about this as you are."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Yup, two bathing suits, right on top, what, no condoms and roofies? Jesus, mom. Smirking to herself she pushes through the fabric to find her shorts and a tank top.

"You shouldn't be addicted to cigarettes, it's a dirty habit." All the other ones he has, the prescription meds, the controlled substances, and fucking his daughter? Those are okay. So funny, thirty, forty years ago everyone smoked, doctors, nurses, all socially acceptable, now there is a definite change in opinion on that topic. All of his other addictions are fine, it's the cigarette smoking that really bothers her. Clearly a child of the twenty-first century.

"What if you get lung cancer? I don't want to lose you, dad, you should take better care of yourself." Don't worry, she is going to go back to teasing his thigh with her little fingers and they can crash into a cement barrier and they'll die cancer free.

Sagging back into her seat she giggles at his little description. "You're horribly naughty, good thing we don't look similar, right? No one will ever know what a horrible, dirty pervert you are." Said the pot to the kettle. She starts working on the buttons of her blouse certainly not caring that they are in the car or he is right next to her. He has seen her completely naked and begging, undressing in front of him ain't no thang.

Blouse being tossed in the back she leans over, brushing against his arm, hand between his legs. "I think you just might be a little harder then me though, daddy."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Well, she's got a point. After all, it's not like the needles he uses for his dilaudid aren't clean, and it's not as if he doesn't know where his drugs are coming from. And it's not like they're passing diseases back and forth to each other. He's fairly hygienic about murdering people and cleaning up after, too.

But still, he snorts mildly. "Yeah, yeah, that's what I hear. I've already cut back for you, baby, let a man have his post-fuck cigarette and the occasional one during a roadtrip or in times of stress. I'm not going to die of lung cancer, trust me." No, he foresees a bloody demise for himself, either murderous or sanctioned by the government. But that's still an abstract, for all he knows he'll die at eighty after a long and comfortable life of evil. It's not worth speculating about, as far as he's concerned.

Though it's adorable, how concerned she is.

Lip curling back into a half-grin, Richard offers a helpless shrug. "You get it from me, kiddo. They'll probably have some idea, though. After all, a nubile young girl who might or might not be eighteen on the arm of a man who is--clearly older than that. I'm sure that'll be enough to make it apparent that I'm a creep, if nothing else." The entire time, he seeks to see her better in the periphery of his vision.

Then, of course, she brushes up against him, and he grips the wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white as her hand paws between his thighs. "I should hope so." Richard chuckles, his right hand lifting to graze over the smooth flesh of her stomach, his eyes darting over the highway. Traffic's nothing too bad yet, they might very well make it out of the outer belt and onto the proper road before rush hour. And that makes him feel slightly better about his shirtless daughter feeling him up and making his already nagging hard-on that much worse.

His hand slips around to her back, his fingertips twisting the latch of her bra. Arm draping around her, his palm slides under the wire to cup and squeeze her breast, his eyes flickering between the road and his daughter and that infuriating little hand. "Naughty kitten, you shouldn't get daddy worked up like this. People on the road might see. We could crash. A cop could pull us over."

Of course, all these possibilities only make him harder, so, you know. Take the psychopath's warnings with a grain of salt.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She is serious about the lung cancer thing, just like she was serious about the thought counting with the gift. Sometimes though, sometimes it feels as though she is raising them and not the other way around and it's not something that she is totally conscious about. People are just interested in the thought of the gift. People will be really upset if someone they loves gets sick and suffers horribly before dying. Yes, Richard and Susan there are real feelings in this world that you just mimic with extreme skill.

Salome just thinks her parents are weird. In an eye rolling way. Sometimes.

"Well they wouldn't be wrong," she tells his shoulder, her fingers still playing with the bulge of him through the fabric of his pants. "You are a creep, but that's okay, dad, I love you because you are." She glances around at the road from her position and then back up her father as his knuckles tighten around the wheel. Nice, very nice. She likes getting those reactions out of him. Pupils expanding, nostrils flaring, and breathing a little harder, oh yeah, she likes that a whole lot.

When his hand reaches around to put the moves on her she whimpers and wiggles a little, her teeth sinking into his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt as he gropes such a sensitive part of her. "Should I suck your cock, daddy? That might make it a little better right, making it up to you for getting you so worked up?" Because it's always a good idea to blow your father on the road. It's totally a legit idea.

She would put a shirt on first, so that might make it mildly better. Her hand continues to paw and rub at him, marveling a little at how unbelievably hard he can get. "That sounds a little dangerous though," reconsidering this idea. "Maybe we should wait or something, I don't want us to get in trouble."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

In many ways, Richard is trapped in adolescence. Risk-seeking, lack of empathy, proneness to boredom, no sense that the future will ever really happen. Feelings aren't real, they're just silly chemical processes that weaker people allow to cloud their senses. Like pixies, but scientific.

He's felt grief, though, once, fifteen years ago, when his father figure was dying. It was strange, all that feeling, and done in a day so that when the death actually came he was fine. But still--he felt it, and sometimes he still thinks of Linus, and how he could have been a part of Salome's life, maybe an actual, good influence, and it twists his gut a little with something undefinable.

Not that the experience will get him to, say, relate to Salome's fear of losing him in any real, sincerely compassionate or empathetic way. But still. If she ever gets him to talk about his old tutor, it might be a good place to start a conversation about how feelings really are legitimate.

Of course, right now, none of that crosses his mind. He's too busy trying to focus on the road, trying to restrain himself while his daughter calls him a creep and fondles him through his pants. He grinds his tongue against his teeth, then clenches his jaw at the sound of her whimper. It's the feel of her teeth, though, that gets him to moan, and her statement that gets him hard as a diamond to consider.

"Oh, Christ, baby. And to think you call me a creep--the unbelievable shit that comes out of your mouth, you wicked little minx." He rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head to speak against the temple of her forehead in a lips-parted, tender kiss.

And then she starts to back out. No, Jesus, no, who the fuck's supposed to be the stupid one who doesn't give a rat's ass about risks? "Salome, kitten, sweetheart, you can't tease a man like that." His pelvis rocks back to let his bulge press up against her hand, the pressure making his heart speed. "Why would you be so cruel to your poor old man? But if the idea of attracting attention makes you nervous," he adds, grinning slyly, "you could always just use your hand. That way, no suspicious heads in laps. And besides, I love the sound of your voice, baby, you can't even imagine."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"You just like it when I talk dirty to you, and you can't do that when your cock is down my throat." Her fingers go to his fly, he is painfully hard, she can feel the heat and the heavy of him all the way through the fabric of his slacks, he needs this quiet clearly. If she doesn't do something about it he is going to be uncomfortable for so much of the trip. Poor guy.

She is getting a lot better at undoing his pants too, at unzipping him with one hand and fishing his cock out for easy access. Leaning down she does actually give him head, just a bit, wetting the head of him, pushing what she can of him into her mouth and humming happily at the taste of him. There are few things that she likes better in the world then going down on him or playing with his cock. Probably not unlike the enjoyment he gets out of a post fuck cigarette.

Stroking and caressing him with her tongue she carefully pulls her head back, leaving a mound of saliva on the head of him so she can work it into the rest of him when she lifts her head from his lap, grinning at him.

"I love sucking you off, I think we should spend some serious time doing that this weekend." Her hand works him as she talks, moving up and down the length of him, squeezing, keeping her fist tight as she tugs. "See if you can fit down my throat, see how much of your come I can swallow." A kiss to his throat.

"I like it when you come inside of me but wouldn't you like to see how much of you I could swallow in one day? Hmmm you get so hard so quickly too, I bet it could be a lot." Another kiss and then another, up to his ear. "Doesn't every dad want to know how much come their daughter can swallow?"