Holy shit it's fic
Happy Halloween, everyone! Tell me what your costume is! Also, have this fic!
Title: The Routine
Characters/Pairing: Professor Utonium, no pairings
Rating: PG/K+, as if that rating matters
Disclaimer: The Powerpuff Girls do not belong to me.
Summary: This is the Professor's life now.
Notes: Settled down to try and write something creepy for Halloween '13 and it came out sad instead. WHY DOES MY BODY BETRAY ME SO? Un-beta'd.
The Routine
-sbj-
When the Professor woke up the dining chairs were at the table again, and he couldn't help but feel relieved. He ran his hand along them absentmindedly as he made towards the kitchen counter. Once he had his coffee brewing, he brought in the paper. He read the more interesting headlines out loud at the table while he ate breakfast, then finished off by reading the funny pages.
He loaded the dishwasher, which automatically started running once he shut the door.
“It isn't full yet,” he said, mentally chiding himself for forgetting. He canceled the cycle and opened the door, just a crack. He heard the television come on and walked into the living room, pausing as he watched the channels flip themselves before eventually settling on cartoons. That was his cue to go to work.
Before he retreated into the lab, he set out some crayons, blank paper, a few action figures, and a couple of chapter books. They were bored easily, and when they got bored they'd come down into the lab and bother him, and then he would let them, which was not good for him. He needed to work. He needed the balance.
There were messages on his phone; he deleted them without listening to a single one. When the mail came a couple of hours later-appearing on his desk when he returned from the bathroom-he fared better. Mostly junk, with one letter bearing City Hall's official stamp. He opened it up and read until he hit the words “Memorial Statue.” He ran it through the shredder.
It got quiet after that, save for the scratch of his pen against paper and the dim, faraway drone of the television upstairs. He wondered if they were having fun. Last week they had slipped him a newspaper ad for a new kids' film, its edges meticulously torn. The name of the movie couldn't come to him, and he bit his tongue to keep from yelling up the stairs and asking.
It was the first time they had requested something like that, at least since this whole thing had started, and he had paced the lab, a little panicked, wondering how that was supposed to work. He had settled for jangling his keys before going out the door, and then sat in the driver's seat of the station wagon until the radio had come on. He then put his keys in the ignition and drove to the theater.
It had been an early afternoon matinée during the school year, so the theater had been practically empty. He had not anticipated how difficult it would be to sit through a kids' movie without the laughter of any actual kids punctuating the funny moments. He had tried a laugh or two himself and then stopped. On the drive home, he had hit every light green and wondered if they were trying to cheer him up.
Work had come to a standstill. He sat back in his chair and stared at his desk. The television sounded even farther away now, like it existed in some other universe, beyond his reach. He put a hand over his eyes.
When he awoke it had been an hour. He cracked his stiff back, wincing. His mouth was cottony and his coffee was disgustingly cold, so he trudged up the steps for a glass of water.
The television was on the news. They were unveiling the statue. It was live.
Professor Utonium stepped over books and toys and the box of upended crayons and took the remote. The television went out just as they went to a closeup of the girls' granite facade.
He stumbled a bit on his way into the kitchen and had to lean on the counter for a second. Then he looked out the window and decided what he really needed was air. He stepped out the front door, ignoring the bouquets that littered the driveway and took a deep breath. Then a few more.
He heard steps-tiny ones-and he looked up, recognizing that little flicker of hope as futile. It was Robin, heading home from school. She paused at their mailbox when she spotted the Professor. Then she held up her hand and waved it a little. He managed a wave back.
Inside, the books had been neatly stacked and the crayons arranged back in their box. There was tea on the table for him. It was too sweet. It was always too sweet. He drank it anyway.
The rest of the evening didn't go any better. The television didn't come on again, and without its white noise filling the house he only felt more alone. He didn't taste dinner and had no sense of time passing. Nine o'clock was both a surprise and a relief. He pushed the dining chairs up against the wall so he could sweep under the table. He shut the dishwasher, now full, and almost instantly the program was set and running. He smiled his thanks. He gathered up as many toys and books as he could-he had to leave behind the crayons-and carried them back up the stairs, to their room. When he turned, the box of crayons was perched on their heart-shaped vanity.
He brushed his teeth by his lonesome in his own bathroom, then returned to the girls' room. Octi was nowhere to be found; he searched everywhere and made two trips downstairs before finally locating him under the bed.
“Very funny,” he muttered, and tucked Octi into place. He paused, the emptiness of the room suddenly dwarfing him, the shattered telephone in the corner-clumsily mended with tape-looming. He stared at the little purple octopus, swimming in a bed too big for it. The Professor kissed his hand, then settled it on the nearest pillow and held it there. Finally, he rose to his feet and shuffled to the door. He left the door cracked and the hall light on.
Professor Utonium climbed into bed, the full weight of his solitude coming down on him like a winter blanket, warm, heavy, suffocating. The only thing that kept it from crushing him was the thought that tomorrow, the chairs would be at the dining table. Maybe. Hopefully.
-fin-
Originally posted at http://essbeejay.dreamwidth.org/108751.html.
Title: The Routine
Characters/Pairing: Professor Utonium, no pairings
Rating: PG/K+, as if that rating matters
Disclaimer: The Powerpuff Girls do not belong to me.
Summary: This is the Professor's life now.
Notes: Settled down to try and write something creepy for Halloween '13 and it came out sad instead. WHY DOES MY BODY BETRAY ME SO? Un-beta'd.
The Routine
-sbj-
When the Professor woke up the dining chairs were at the table again, and he couldn't help but feel relieved. He ran his hand along them absentmindedly as he made towards the kitchen counter. Once he had his coffee brewing, he brought in the paper. He read the more interesting headlines out loud at the table while he ate breakfast, then finished off by reading the funny pages.
He loaded the dishwasher, which automatically started running once he shut the door.
“It isn't full yet,” he said, mentally chiding himself for forgetting. He canceled the cycle and opened the door, just a crack. He heard the television come on and walked into the living room, pausing as he watched the channels flip themselves before eventually settling on cartoons. That was his cue to go to work.
Before he retreated into the lab, he set out some crayons, blank paper, a few action figures, and a couple of chapter books. They were bored easily, and when they got bored they'd come down into the lab and bother him, and then he would let them, which was not good for him. He needed to work. He needed the balance.
There were messages on his phone; he deleted them without listening to a single one. When the mail came a couple of hours later-appearing on his desk when he returned from the bathroom-he fared better. Mostly junk, with one letter bearing City Hall's official stamp. He opened it up and read until he hit the words “Memorial Statue.” He ran it through the shredder.
It got quiet after that, save for the scratch of his pen against paper and the dim, faraway drone of the television upstairs. He wondered if they were having fun. Last week they had slipped him a newspaper ad for a new kids' film, its edges meticulously torn. The name of the movie couldn't come to him, and he bit his tongue to keep from yelling up the stairs and asking.
It was the first time they had requested something like that, at least since this whole thing had started, and he had paced the lab, a little panicked, wondering how that was supposed to work. He had settled for jangling his keys before going out the door, and then sat in the driver's seat of the station wagon until the radio had come on. He then put his keys in the ignition and drove to the theater.
It had been an early afternoon matinée during the school year, so the theater had been practically empty. He had not anticipated how difficult it would be to sit through a kids' movie without the laughter of any actual kids punctuating the funny moments. He had tried a laugh or two himself and then stopped. On the drive home, he had hit every light green and wondered if they were trying to cheer him up.
Work had come to a standstill. He sat back in his chair and stared at his desk. The television sounded even farther away now, like it existed in some other universe, beyond his reach. He put a hand over his eyes.
When he awoke it had been an hour. He cracked his stiff back, wincing. His mouth was cottony and his coffee was disgustingly cold, so he trudged up the steps for a glass of water.
The television was on the news. They were unveiling the statue. It was live.
Professor Utonium stepped over books and toys and the box of upended crayons and took the remote. The television went out just as they went to a closeup of the girls' granite facade.
He stumbled a bit on his way into the kitchen and had to lean on the counter for a second. Then he looked out the window and decided what he really needed was air. He stepped out the front door, ignoring the bouquets that littered the driveway and took a deep breath. Then a few more.
He heard steps-tiny ones-and he looked up, recognizing that little flicker of hope as futile. It was Robin, heading home from school. She paused at their mailbox when she spotted the Professor. Then she held up her hand and waved it a little. He managed a wave back.
Inside, the books had been neatly stacked and the crayons arranged back in their box. There was tea on the table for him. It was too sweet. It was always too sweet. He drank it anyway.
The rest of the evening didn't go any better. The television didn't come on again, and without its white noise filling the house he only felt more alone. He didn't taste dinner and had no sense of time passing. Nine o'clock was both a surprise and a relief. He pushed the dining chairs up against the wall so he could sweep under the table. He shut the dishwasher, now full, and almost instantly the program was set and running. He smiled his thanks. He gathered up as many toys and books as he could-he had to leave behind the crayons-and carried them back up the stairs, to their room. When he turned, the box of crayons was perched on their heart-shaped vanity.
He brushed his teeth by his lonesome in his own bathroom, then returned to the girls' room. Octi was nowhere to be found; he searched everywhere and made two trips downstairs before finally locating him under the bed.
“Very funny,” he muttered, and tucked Octi into place. He paused, the emptiness of the room suddenly dwarfing him, the shattered telephone in the corner-clumsily mended with tape-looming. He stared at the little purple octopus, swimming in a bed too big for it. The Professor kissed his hand, then settled it on the nearest pillow and held it there. Finally, he rose to his feet and shuffled to the door. He left the door cracked and the hall light on.
Professor Utonium climbed into bed, the full weight of his solitude coming down on him like a winter blanket, warm, heavy, suffocating. The only thing that kept it from crushing him was the thought that tomorrow, the chairs would be at the dining table. Maybe. Hopefully.
-fin-
Originally posted at http://essbeejay.dreamwidth.org/108751.html.