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[sweetsalome]

Is he sleeping?

He sleeps a lot, even during the day! 

Doesn't he know only babies nap?  Guess not.

Wee Salome learned at a tender age not to make too much noise, well, ever.  Not that she was ever a very loud child but it was easily apparent even to her that loud noises weren't something enjoyable around the house.  Outside was fine, but inside she had to be quiet. 

It's really, really, really, hard to be quiet.  Really, really, really, really, really hard.  Especially when there is nothing to do.

Bear ear between her teeth she does a slow crawl up to the couch and slowly, or as slowly as she can manage, inch up to peer over the edge of the cushion at her dad.  It's all in the eyes, if he opens his eyes then he is not asleep and she can climb up with him and try and get him to do something.  Or at least put a different video in.

She isn't allowed to play with the VCR.  Any more.

Taking the bear from her teeth she lifts it as well and lets it's floppy little legs dangle over his arm and up to his chest till Richard Vasko is nose to muzzle with stuffed bear face. 

WAKEY WAKEY MOTHERFUCKER.

Comments

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Certainly, he was already mellowing by the time Salome got to him--Delilah's influence, no doubt, and murder's--but the simple fact of the matter is that, when one's own garden bears the sweetest fruit in the neighborhood, why bother plundering the neighbor's trees for a few paltry crab-apples?

And as to stealing drugs from old people, well. If the opportunity arises, he won't say 'no', but it's not as much a part of his life in 2012 as it was when he was occasionally volunteering to help them in his younger years. He has bigger, bloodier fish to fry when it comes to doing illegal things.

For now, though, his bad habits are moderately small, excluding a night or two every year when he gets a certain urge. The fact that these things are small makes them easy to hide from his daughter, whom he would prefer not to grow into a criminal. Not that he's concerned about her growing up to be something necessarily constructive or helpful to society, but it might be nice to see her successful for herself. She's rather well-adjusted at the moment, anyway, so why fuck it up?

Aside from things like clown-related trauma, of course.

He's probably dragged Salome volunteering with him, or attempted to, anyway, because there's nothing old people love more than tiny children who they can mistake for their own grandchildren who are by now twenty years old and disinterested in visiting. Why she threw such a fit about coming with him, he'll never know (though he has some small idea, the elderly are rather dull) but it was important she come at least once or twice.

Looks are important, but Richard would rather have an elephant girl with a genius IQ than oh, say, Kim Kardashian, who is not that attractive in the first place.

"You're much too cute, Salome." Richard chuckles at her little joke, then shares a roguish grin with that cooing girl behind the counter. Yeah, without a couple of drinks in him he wouldn't fuck her, but he'd let her give him a blowjob any time. He's picky as hell.

With his free hand, Richard extracts his wallet from his back pocket and flips it open. "It has, look at that! Thank the nice ladies, now, Salome."

It's a delicate juggling act. Wallet, child, malt shake. Somehow, he manages, and notices the girls seem to have forgotten the charge for Salome's cone. Clearly the actual manager is not about. He flashes a glinting smile and drops the cost of the cone into the tip jar as he chuckles to his daughter. "You see, you claim to be afraid of monsters. Think how terrified of you that poor ice cream cone is."

She's like ice cream Hitler, that child.

Sipping on his malt, Richard makes his way back outside. He sets her down and places a hand upon the back of her head to keep track of her, saying, "You know, I think I might still have him someplace, yes. I'll look around, you can meet him." He's not much one for keeping sentimental shit from his childhood, but he's pretty sure there's a couple of boxes of stuff he ended up saving when Salome came into his life because hand-me-down toys are still excellent toys. "I'm sure he'd love to be your friend, and friends with Bear, too. They can wreak havoc on all your other little stuffed friends."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

He's got so much swag he might as well have invented the concept. This child, though, is like the ultimate swag accessory. He loves her for other reasons, of course, but that fact is a marvelous bonus he will never be able to complain about.

Oh, that cute baby. Such a horrible scene of gore he's never observed with his own two eyes, not since butchering his own mother in a bathtub; he laughs, trying his best to look faint as Salome eliminates the ice cream. Thank God he grabbed some napkins on the way out, damn, what a mess. "Oh, the humanity!" Dair-manity? "It had an ice cream family! Kids to sprinkle!"

With the way he is bound to obey her every beck and call, he'd might as well be calling her Mein Fuhrer. Jaysus. He chuckles, though, and leans down to steal a lick of her cone, then straightens up with a thoughtful look. "Hm. Perhaps you're right, the deliciousness is worth the cruelty."

Again, his pace is forced to slow as the girl clings tight to his black jeans. He keeps an eye on her as he sips his malt--oh, so delicious, those girls put extra powder in, fuck yeah, who needs blowjobs when there are malts this good--and says, "Don't they? I was always lead to believe they did. Well, perhaps they'll surprise you, it can't hurt to give it a shot. I'm sure Onyx would like to play with you, and would be willing to overlook any animosity toward Bear to do it."

Traffic is slow, but it doesn't stop him from keeping a firm hand upon her as he ushers her across the street, turning another corner. Walking always makes an opiate high so pleasant, it's like the ground is rising to meet him with every step, like the world is a treadmill just taking him wherever he needs to go. A malt in one hand, his daughter in the other--this parenting thing isn't so bad. Exhausting, maybe, and a drain on the wallet, sure, but whatever. He's got means. There's always more money, and as far as that sort of thing goes, he's fortunate.

Even if one of the reasons for that fortune has him on the end of a fucking leash.

"Anyway, you never know if two people--or animals--will be friends until they meet each other. They might very well surprise you."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Yeah, that was...that was just great. That dog was the happiest goddamn dog ever, and Salome had a good time. He's thought about getting a dog before, but it seems fiscally unwise, and like it'd be a bit of a pain. Too bad, he likes the animals (more than he likes cats, anyway). Maybe someday, though. Some big guard dog to keep Salome safe when he isn't looking.

Maybe it's her choice of words--'this wolf'--or the fact that Bear only condescends to meet with some who request his audience, or the fact that Salome is apparently his agent in these matters, but whatever the reason, he cracks up. His eyebrows lift to the middle of his forehead and knit while he stares down at Bear. "Is that so? Why, Mister Bear, I had no idea you were so very influential a gentleman."

"'That's 'cause you gotta be in the know to know, bub.'"

That bear is awfully abrasive at times.

That little song just about kills him, it's so cute coming from her. "Just so, clever girl." He gives her hand an affectionate squeeze and helps her back up onto the curb, eyes tracing over the colorful foliage dotting the sidewalk.

"So, princess, what do you want to be for Halloween this year? Any ideas yet?" Speaking of invisible men, she's about old enough to show her the old Universal Horror films. Fuck yeah, they're going to have a good time this month. "I'll have to decorate the house soon."

Halloween at the Vasko house is an all out affair. Some people get all into Christmas with the lights and the big blow-up figures of Santa and Frosty. Richard's preferred holiday tastes are somewhat spookier than that, and he has recently begun going to great lengths to make his house the most badass on the block. By the time he's in his thirties, it will become notorious as 'that awesome house' around every Halloween.

Because Richard only likes other people's children when he has an excuse to scare the everloving shit out of them.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Perhaps for Christmas, there will be a dog. One never knows what Santa will cram under that tree, after all.

He chuckles at Salome's suggestion to Bear, nodding. "Exactly, Bear, you'd ought to thank me."

"'Yeah, sure, whateva. Thanks, Richid.'"

With an 'oh, you' sort of look on his face, Richard shakes his head and smirks. Bear can breathe in the washing machine because magic, that's why. Stuffed animals are magic, they can breathe anywhere no matter what. That's stuffed toy 101.

Her intended costume has him fighting back laughter again; a little bit slips through and he grins. "A whale, silly girl. Wouldn't you rather be something exciting, like a little monster of some sort? A little vampire, a werewolf? A dragon? Perhaps a Disney character?" Be careful, Richard, she'll pick the whale from Pinocchio.

Well, whatever. Whatever she ends up picking, he'll do it, although he'll certainly try to talk her out of it, or at least make it interesting. If she really persists on the whale line of thought maybe he'll go with something like 'a whale that's just eaten a seal'. Or he could talk her up to shark, maybe. They smile, they smile a lot.

Though the fact that she thinks whales are really happy is so fucking adorable. This is how she gets away with so much, and why he spoils her rotten, because she just absolutely strangles him with how cute she is.

"Don't worry, baby, I won't put any clowns in it. But yes, I'm going to make it very scary. And awesome. Lots of headstones and cobwebs and maybe some scary monsters." He laughs at her little statement and pats her. "I'm sure you would do a fine job eradicating the clown menace, baby, everyone would be very proud and maybe they'd give you a medal."

She's creative, his little Salome.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, girl, are you eating that ice cream or finger painting with it?" He laughs, squatting down before her to extract the dripping cone from her hand and wipe her hand and face mercilessly clean. Ignoring the playing children, he assaults her still-vaguely chocolatey cheek with smooches before leaning away to appraise the squealing children that clamber over the playground toys like bacterium wiggling over a men's room door handle. Eugh.

Oh, fuck. That little prick is here. God dammit. And of course his mother is nowhere in sight. She lives only a block away, but five is too young to just stroll la-dee-dah to the park by oneself. But a few other parents are about, at least, and so are a few of Salome's bearable friends, so it's not a total disaster in the making.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

A little snerk of a laugh is produced when his five-year-old daughter uses the word ''tude'. "Indeed, he does, quite the 'tude." One can hear the quotation marks around the half word, see them in the smirk on his face. Bear's 'tude is just part of Bear, and he wouldn't do a thing to change the little animal.

As she expounds upon the glory of whales and all that infectious enthusiasm comes through in her words, he chuckles. "Well, I suppose I need to learn more about whales to be as excited about them s you are. You know, they get even larger than ships. they're really tremendous things."

Yes, the happiest little killer whale in the world. Kill you with cuteness, she will.

"A whale person, that's a brilliant idea!" Please, like he'd ever let her run around in an outfit that bared anything, especially not on Halloween. She will be the most modest whalemaid ever. Modest and adorable. "We can give you little fangs, too, you can be a killer whalemaid. Very clever, Salome."

So adorable.

Indeed, Tommy is on Richard's shit list, and will be forever and ever. He laughs as she crams the bear into his hands, and he looks down at the little creature with a look of strange mutual understanding before turning to watch as his little daughter dashes into the squealing, yowling thick of it. Chuckling, Richard makes his way to the nearby bench and drapes himself in one end, nodding toward the ladies that gather talking to one side of the playground. He settles back, one arm draping upon the wood as he sips his malt, keeping an eye on Salome, and an even closer eye on that little bastard.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Fuck people's legs. Maybe he'll make the tail extra-hair so she can use it as a weapon. In all actuality, though, he'll probably go for gentle foam, because his legs are at peril, too. Half the fun of Halloween is designing his daughter's costumes.

Bear settles himself upon Richard's knee, the latter disposing of the ice cream cone in the trash. He and the stuffed animal understand each other very well. They are both very protective of their girl, and both happy to oogle the mothers who stand to the side.

Someday, that gross little bastard is going to grow up and live a life of being creepy and unlikable. The only women who will ever visit with him will be whores, in either a literal or metaphorical sense. But for the moment, the little bastard doesn't seem to be doing much, so Richard makes his smiling way over toward the chatting mothers when the youngest of the three waves to him.

"Mrs. Haze, Mrs. Trapp, Miss Violet." Smiling, he tucks Bear beneath the arms he crosses over his chest as he watches the children with them. "And how are you ladies doing this fine day?"

"Dick, we were just talking about you and little Salome. How have you been?"

"Fine, fine..."

One eye never leaves the children, though, and he hides the sudden tension in his jaw as he sees Tommy weasel his way into their little group. Of course he's suddenly interested in them now that Salome's here. The little creep.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

The candy is great, sure. Nothing is better than picking over Salome's bag and taking out a few taxable items for himself, sugar fiend that he is. But the best is the challenge of driving all over to thrift stores and Halloween shops, of using costume make-up and gory prosthetics.

And goddammit, if she wants to be a whalemaid, he will make her into the coolest fucking whalemaid that ever flopped along land.

Tommy's arteries are going to be hard as rocks by the time he's fifty, and when his heart attack finally happens, it will be in a cramped little apartment with a depressingly low-watt bulb.

Unfortunately, Richard will never know any of this with certainty; he just sort of assumes it. For now, he doesn't even do that, getting wrapped up in flirting with Melinda Haze as he is. Sure, she's married, but that never stopped anybody from anything, least not of all him. He's already up close to her, almost touching but refraining for the sake of propriety while he engages in charming conversation with the other two, less interesting women.

But then that little pissant cuts in front of Salome, and Richard leans around the women to clear his throat incredibly loudly. "Let's wait our turn, now. That's what lines are for."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

His child has the most disturbingly small sweet tooth of any little girl her age. When he was a boy on Halloween he gorged himself until he was violently ill and fought all efforts on the part of his mother to in some way maintain her son's intake. Crazy. But her generosity is adorable, so he's not too concerned.

Yeah, funny that. Late sixteen, early seventeen seems an unnervingly good age for Salome. Wonder why. Either way, it just means Halloween that year is going to be awesome.

Back in the present, though, he quirks a little smirk as the child darts off. His narrowed eyes track the boy across the playground as the child clambers upon the merry-go-round. In his head, he loudly thinks, Yeah, you little son of a bitch, you do whatever you want. And so do I. So you had better hope what I want doesn't include giving you your first black eye.

Then, with a polite smile and a little 'pardon me' from the ladies, Richard disposes of his empty shake cup and makes his way over to Salome, one paranoid hand on her waist as she attempts the monkey bars. Bear peers up safely from the pocket of his coat like a fuzzy little tumor.

"You want to go on the swing in a little bit, baby? I can push you." Yeah, you creepy little fucker, when was the last time a responsible parent pushed you on the swing? Suck it.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Yeah, no, that shit goes in the trash. Or there was last year where the woman down the street gave them a literal bag of peanuts. Fucking nuts, who does that? That was almost on the level of that psycho who gives out Chick Tracts, whose house Richard still makes a point of stopping at every year because those things are fucking funny. He's got a little collection going by now, three years so far.

Unfortunately, yes, by seventeen the time for trick-or-treating has passed, which just about kills Richard's soul. But no doubt they'll manage to come up with something equally entertaining, or moreso.

At least Richard has enough self control to keep from actually beating the kid. He'll just think about it. Salome is good for him because she promotes a certain level of responsibility that keeps him out of jail, and (usually) prevents him from doing things in which he might be killed, maimed or further crippled.

"Good God, you're sticky." He laughs, holding her in his arms as he makes his way through the playground and over to the swings. Normally he'd put her on the tire swing, but he doesn't need his child puking up ice cream in front of the hot moms. Or puking up ice cream ever. That's generally something to avoid.

Instead, he settles her upon the swing and draws it back, telling her to hold on as he releases it with a little extra push forward. Start these things off gentle so as not to terrify her with immediate ultra-heights.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

There's something so wrong with his child. So, so wrong. When he was a boy there was nothing more bitterly disappointing than apples. Sometimes he feels like he should take her to the doctor and ask if she's crazy.

"Good lord, yes, yes you do. When we get home, little madam, you shall most certainly have one." He laughs, licking his thumb and swiping it across his own cheek. It's astonishing how quickly children end up absolutely filthy; one of those things of which he was aware, but which he didn't know consciously until Salome came along. One little ice cream cone and bam, an entire outfit shot to shit, an entire bath gone to waste.

It's an unnerving talent. Perhaps even more unnerving than the fact that she actually enjoys baths, but he's grateful, really. The only thing she seems to hate as much as other kids are naps. She's pretty good about fruit and vegetables, pretty good about baths, pretty good about sharing and plenty of other things, besides.

Of course, that's just how she is with him. He has no idea how she is with her mother.

"I did, that was very good, Salome. I'm very impressed, monkey bars are tough." Ah, those perilous bars, what memories they bring. Why, they were the very playground toy which finally pushed his mother to decide that perhaps it was better if her little boy were home tutored, away from the other children, who seemed helpless to defend themselves if the teacher wasn't around.

He still doesn't see what the big deal was. Boys will be boys, it isn't his fault that Jeremy landed on his arm like that. He didn't break the kid's arm, gravity and a poor landing did. People are so irrational.

His pushes send her a little higher, now, and he finds himself distracted by his adorable daughter's enthusiasm for his pushing to notice the approach of his child-nemesis like an annoying little shark.

Dun-nuh. Dun-nuh. Dun-nuh-dun-nuh-dun-nuh...

"Hey what's this!"

Richard glances down mid-push in time to catch that little shithead sticking his grubby hand into his jacket pocket in an attempt to get Bear. In the meantime, his tiny daughter is rocketing back toward him, and if he doesn't step away or pay attention to the swing, Richard is going to get his face smacked.

Instant karma for considering giving a child a black eye? Possibly. But he can't be bothered to protect himself from the swing when that little son of a bitch is trying to kidnap Bear.

It's on.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

He's had to resort to some creative tactics to get her to take naps over the years. Like the game 'Sardines', which basically consisted of the two of them being tucked tightly into bed like sardines in a can until she dozed off on her own.

Poor little Salome. Richard kind of figures that Susan is only kind of half-invested in the child's wellbeing; perhaps that's part of the reason why he never spends a second away from her when he gets the chance, why he plays with her and tries to show her a good time, that she's loved, and loved deeply at that, and not by some nanny hired by Susan to handle the child for the first few years of life. By now, such an employee has probably begun to be phased out, seeing as the child has school coming up soon, if not already.

It's all so slow-motion; there's Tommy's grubby little hand pulling bear out of his pocket, that's the shout of his daughter, and suddenly, there's the girl herself, bam, right in his solar plexus, and Richard huffs out air in shock at the little impact. Still, though, it doesn't stop him, and as he heaves for air, his hand snatches the boy's wrist.

Great, now when Richard gets home he's going to have to scrub his hands with a Brillo pad. That little fact possibly contributes to the dark-eyed look of quiet anger he gives the boy, who stares up at him with an open mouth. "You do not just reach into people's pockets and take things. And you most certainly do not touch Bear. Ever. I don't want you playing with my daughter if you can't behave."

Aw, it's like a preview of years to come. Proof that he was always crazy protective.

With a tense look, Richard releases the boy's wrist, brushes his hand off upon his own shirt and then shifts away to keep Bear from his line of sight. "I think you should go home now."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

It's only natural. Susan has occasional moments of tenderness, and she is moderately affectionate at times, when it suits her to be, so Salome isn't left completely wanting. But the affection she condescends to give is paltry, nothing next to the love Richard seeks to smother her with whenever his little girl is with him. He savors every second he gets alone, but he loves her visits, his good little girl.

That's some satisfying fear right there. He could subsist with that uncertain terror as his only nourishment for many years. He hates disciplining children which don't belong to him, it's annoying, but goddammit, if he doesn't do it then who the fuck will?

As the little bastard runs away, Richard sneers after him and watches, completely pleased with himself; he grimaces a little as she grips his leg, but then smiles down and strokes her hair. It's rather petty, but he enjoys feeling like a hero for rescuing a stuffed bear. Impressing this child will never get old. "Well of course I saved Bear, princess. I'm not about to let some grubby little creep put his hands on your best friend."

Bear emerges from his pocket and kisses her unsticky cheek (with Richard's hand helping him, of course), and declares, "'Don't worry, kiddo, I'da eaten him if he got any closer to me, anyway.'"