You're In Ruins
Title: You're In Ruins
Pairing(s): None
Summary: His brain was full of static, and sad little girls, and he was tired.
Rating: PG-13 for cursing, I guess?
Disclaimer: I own the universe, obviously.
Word Count: 1,004
(This is my first time posting to live journal, so please tell me if I posted this incorrectly somehow; also, tell me if there's anything I can improve on or anything that's worded/grammatically odd, and if you flame, please give a reason for said flame. 'This sucks dick because I say so.' is not a reason.)
The radio buzzed, it buzzed and buzzed and buzzed and buzzed. All day and all night. It drove Show Pony mad sometimes. Usually when he hadn’t slept in a while, or had popped one too many nitros. Those things kept him going for days, but they sent his senses haywire, and when he came home everything would be so god damn loud.
He wondered sometimes how the doctor could deal with it. The man slept in that static filled room some nights. Whenever Show Pony found him like this, he would just click his tongue and throw a blanket over him, but he really did worry that one day everyone’s beloved death defying doctor would wake up deaf.
Show Pony rubbed at his eyes, his helmet resting next to one of his roller blade clad feet, and leaned forward on the bench he was sitting on, resting his elbows on his knees. Dr. Ds gruff voice- slipping commentary and the day’s news in in-between songs- was the only thing really keeping him awake at this point. He knew once the broadcast ended though, the static would wake him right up. Show Pony also knew that in the three minutes it would take for his brain to become alert to his surroundings again, Dr. D would either have passed out, right there in front of his broadcasting station, or would have gone to get a beer (well, a shitty, overly fanatical, Zone runners attempt at beer). He really hoped Dr. D would go to get a beer; there were things Show Pony needed to talk with him about, and his brain just wasn’t stringing the words together at the moment.
The next twenty or so minutes all blurred together into a mash of the doctors voice, some indiscernible songs that never got quite picked up, and his vision trailing from his shoes to the bottom of Dr. Ds chair and back again. The static kicked in, just like he expected it to, but he still couldn’t quite string his thoughts together as fast as he wanted to. When he looked up from his shoes the doctor hadn’t left the room to get a beer, nor was he asleep. He was staring at Show Pony, like he knew what Show Pony wanted to talk with him about, but he wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.
“We…what are we supposed to do with her?” Show Pony said softly, and he hoped he didn’t sound as depressed as he though he did, because he really wasn’t, he was tired. That’s all.
“You suggesting we lay her off on someone?” Dr. D replied; his tone wasn’t accusatory, or harsh, but Show Pony felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
“No, no, no…” Show Pony murmured “It’s just…she’s…She’s sad, she doesn’t show it but she is and-”
“Everyone’s sad these days Pony.” The doctor said solemnly, cutting Show Pony off.
“But she’s just a kid.” Show Pony winced slightly, his voice noticeably cracking on the last word. “I know, that it’s post-apocalypse fucking 2019, but she’s just a little kid, and she should be allowed to be happy. She shouldn’t be expected to deal with all this bull crap, just because we’ve chosen one extreme over the other.” Show Pony was now physically on the edge of his, and he was sure he looked like he was pleading over a lost cause, but it didn’t matter now. What mattered right now was that that little girl’s family had been blasted into oblivion, right in front of her eyes, twice now. “And I know, you believe that killjoys never die, that those assholes will find some magic way to surpass even death, but right now-they haven’t- and that poor little girl won’t be satisfied putting bs letters into that mail box forever.”
Dr. D sighed, and gripped the sides of his chair, forcing his legs to hold his weight, and hobbled over to Show Pony on the bench. For whatever reason, Show Pony had given up guessing, the doctor had decided it was smart to throw his cane out of Hot Chimps van the day they were rescuing the Killjoys motorbaby from BLI; so, naturally, Show Pony had to get up and help the man he was about to get into screaming match with sit down.
Once both their bodies were firmly planted against the bench and the wall, the doctor let out the breath he’d been holding and rubbed the knee of his bad leg before saying
“You think I don’t understand that she’ll eventually realize that shiney, magic mailbox isn’t really magic?”
Show Pony dragged his teeth across the overly dry skin on his lower lip, feeling a lot like a little kid he knew he was about to get scolded, and inhaled hard.
“Pony,” Dr. D started “do you really think there’s anything we can do to make her pain magically disappear? We’re doing the best we can to make her as happy as she could be given the time and situation, and to promise her anything more than that would be cruel. Besides, grieving is an age-old process. She’s a strong kid; she’ll be back on her feet before you know it.” Dr. D then patted Show Pony’s hand, as the conversation trailed off; the static being the only noise pervading the room now.
Maybe, it was because Show Pony was so use to always being on the move, that he hadn’t realized it before, but when everything was still, when nothing was going on, the silence was thick, and almost painfully stifling. Maybe that’s why the doctor left the static so loud, when he wasn’t conscious enough to spin records, because he had been a man who was always on the move, resigned to this room (even though the location often changed the essential set up of the room and its equipment was always the same, and it was always, none-the-less, a room with around four walls) and its stifling silence when the static stopped.