(no subject)
Who: Jacob Anser (MOTHER GOOSE) and Delilah Rousseau (LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD)
What: Delilah's glorious return, after having been bailed out for shoplifting.
When: Present (roughly four weeks after her disappearance)
Where: Jacob and Delilah's Apartment; the Pentamerone
Rating: PG13 for snark and swearing
Anser: Jacob Anser was not happy. He had not been happy to get a call informing him that his truant ward and AWOL assistant had been caught shoplifting. He was not happy to have to go down to the station and pick her up. He was not happy to deal with the skeptical and accusatory looks of the desk officer he dealt with. He was decidedly unhappy about all of this. So unhappy that he didn't even tear into Delilah when they left the station. He didn't even speak the entire way home. He simply led her back to the Pentamerone in silence, up the stairs to the fifth floor, down the hall, and through the door of their apartment. This seemed to be enough time for him to come to terms with his unhappiness and, somewhere along the way, decide the best way to deal with the entire situation was to just pretend it didn't happen. As such, after the lengthly silence, preceded by two weeks apart, the first words Jacob Anser muttered directly to his ward were:
"Chinese okay for dinner?"
Delilah: Delilah found the quiet merciful, really. She left for a reason, and that reason included never speaking to Jacob Anser again. He's kind enough to oblige her, for a time, and she and her dog just enjoy the wonders of central heating in silence. Wolf rides on her lap in the car, though he's grown about thirty pounds too heavy for it. Still, Delilah buckles the seatbelt around herself then wraps her arms around the dog.
She's been wearing the same clothes for a few days now, so when they arrive, her first thought is to change. Her second is to pack some fresh clothes, her third to get some canned goods and water bottles, and fourth to be on her way. So when her dog trots over to lie next to the couch and Anser asks about Chinese, she stops in front of the door to her room, and turns, and just sort of looks at him. There's a bit of a squint, a disbelieving sort of thing, and she says, "I'm just getting some stuff, then I'm leaving." She thumbs at the front door. "I promise not to get caught next time." She goes into her room.
Anser: Anser had already picked up the phone and was leafing through take-out pamphlets when Delilah started to speak, and he froze in place. His expression tightened and he let out a long, slow breath, which seemed to do little good in calming him. "Is that so?" He replies in a tone barely hovering around civility, skirting the edges of a shout. "Well, that's wonderful to know. I can't tell you how disappointed I am to find you've developed into a sub-par thief. Truly I've failed in my duties. I certainly hope that do find more success in your future five-finger discounts, so that I won't have to receive another call until they've found your body dead in a ditch!"
His tone finally explodes in this last phrase, rising into a bellow that had clearly been brewing since the moment he'd received the call, if not when she'd initially gone missing. He turned to her, redfaced, slamming the phone back down in its receiver with an unpleasant sound. "You think you're safer out there? You think you're better off freezing and starving to death? Is that truly how miserable you are in this apartment? Or is this just some vestigial Tale stupidity?" His hands flail about in angry gestures as he speaks, ending in a sarcasm-laden impression. "Gee, wandering off into the dark woods on my lonesome is, like, the bestest idea ever! I'm sure nothing bad can happen to me out there in the forest! It'll be super!"
Yeah, arguments made Anser's maturity level take a serious nosedive.
Delilah: "I don't think it's safer!" Delilah matches Anser for tone and volume, hand placed firmly on the frame of her door. "I think it sucks! I think sleeping on YMCA couches is cold and uncomfortable and public restrooms were gross and I was always hungry. But I also think you're acting just like my mom and I'm not going to just twiddle my fucking thumbs and take it so go to hell! I'd rather be miserable and frostbitten and with, like, some sort of horrible plague-like flu than have to put up with being treated like I'm helpless and incompetent and oh my god have to be protected for two more seconds!"
Though all this, Wolf sits at his place by the couch, ears perked, looking between the pair and twitching his tail in a sort of hesitant wag. When Delilah turns sharply, throwing her backpack into her room, however, he hops up, and follows, disappearing after her. There's the sound of angry rustlings-about as she collects supplies.
Anser: Anser lets out a loud snort of humourless, derisive laughter at this rant, ignoring the fact that their shouting match can likely be heard in the nearby penthouses. "Oh, I see how it is - the Fagans move in across the hall and suddenly you're a diva! Well, I've got news for you - you can stick around here and be plenty miserable! I can even get Nore right on that 'horrible plague-like flu' thing, I'm pretty sure its somewhere in her spellbook. Maybe if you're seriously ill you'll stay put for all of five minutes!" Although she can't see from her room, Anser spends his own rant pacing back and forth across the living room and waving his arms in wild gesticulation.
"And when the hell have I ever been overprotective of you!?" He shouts through the partially open door. "I didn't even want you to get that damn dog! Half the time I have to deal with the constant criticism from people accusing me of child labour. I don't think anyone has quite struck upon the notion of accusing me of coddling you just yet!"
Delilah: Delilah reappears, dog at her heels and backpack dangling in one hand. "Who the hell are the Fagans?" A pause, then she points with her free hand. "Don't change the subject! I'm one of few people who has half a brain or a modicum of sanity around here and the only thing you can say to me when all this magical stuff... stuff! hit the fan was 'stay out of it'. What, when I turn eighteen I'll suddenly gain wisdom and insight I never possessed before and be able to enter the adult world? Bullshit! I'm a ton smarter and more competent than most of the people looking for these things, let alone the ones you've actually assigned to do it. I mean, that Asian chick you sent after me? She gave me a fucking video game. It's like, 'Thanks, this'll prevent scurvy almost as great as a fruit cup.' Which, by the way, is what I was trying to get when the cops picked me up. A fruit cup!"
She seems about to say something, but something else occurs to her, and she reaches up to yank off her floppy hat. Underneath is inexpertly hacked-short hair, and she adds as an afterthought, "And some kind of lice-killing shampoo. A fruit cup and lice shampoo. So- go to hell, coddler! If you don't want my help just because I haven't hit some legal benchmark then I don't see why I should stick around."
Anser: Anser crossed his arms and settled in to listen to the litany of accusations, though his expression didn't exactly convey either patience of understanding. His brow furrowed doubtfully and every now and then he punctuated her words with a sharp scoff. The grand unveiling of her lice-ridden hair garnered a scrunching up of his nose and an enthusiastic playground-style, "Groooooss!"
However, this new depth of immaturity seemed to even out as some sort of plateau, and he dropped his arms heavily, his shoulders sagging. "Look," he began impatiently, and though he still wasn't exactly the picture of a 50's sitcom dad, he at least wasn't shouting anymore. "I never said you were an idiot. I never meant to imply you were one. I did accuse you of being fifteen, but I hadn't meant those two characteristics to be synonymous. What I had meant to convey was that these were potentially dangerous dealings, and as my ward its my state-appointed duty to try and keep your precocious ass safe. And," he made a little disgusted gesture towards her head, "presumably lice-free, so, failure on both counts, I suppose."
"For God's sake, Delilah, do you really think I treat you like a child? I employed you in a position that's typically supposed to at least require the employed be of voting age. I put you between myself and all those idiots out there because I know you of all people are capable of dealing with their bullshit with the best of them. But excuse me if I'm not keen on throwing you into the middle of a situation involving overtly dangerous magics." He paused, then added with a shrug, "That's what the expendable help is for."
Delilah: "I don't need you to protect me! Other than the lice - which itches like hell so just shut up okay? - I've done just fine on my own in way more dangerous situations without anybody. You know creepy pedophile man Easy Raub came looking for me? And now he's got a mangled arm to show for it." Not that that was entirely her doing, but she dares say she had a significant hand in it. Still, credit where credit is due, and she drops her hand to scratch behind Wolf's ears. The dog is still sitting at her side, sort of puzzled-looking but otherwise oblivious.
"If you think I'm so competent why's 'oh, dangerous magical objects, if I let her help she's going to try to tackle a flying monkey' your first thought? There are, like, a schmillion other things I can do that don't even involve looking at these things but no, it's too dangerous, better have idiots do a sub-par job and let all this dangerous things fall into the dangerous hands of people who'll do... dangerous stuff! But Delilah needs to put her hands over her ears and sing and pretend none of this is happening because I need her to work the fax machine." She turns, then, back into her room, having been not-quite-done packing when she came out to be face-to-face pissy with Anser. "Well if that's how you roll then you can learn to work your own damn fax machine. I'd rather be cold and miserable and a failure at life all on my own than be stuck here and told to sit on my hands while everything goes to shit."
Anser: "Wow, drama queen much?" Anser retorted dryly, in the sardonic tone he usually adopted when appropriating hip young lingo. He, at least, seemed to have calmed down a bit, and he crossed the living room to lean against the doorframe of her bedroom, looking in. "Tell you what: I promise that the next time everything goes to hell and the magical items are mysteriously distributed amongst the community, you'll be the first person I call. You'll be my go-to gal." Although his tone was mildly sarcastic - given that it's fundamentally impossible for him to say anything that isn't - it's a more placating sarcasm, rather than anything overtly biting or aggressive. The closest Jacob Anser could get to an olive branch. "Besides, that Richie kid I've got replacing you isn't going to last much longer. I think I actually saw his lip quiver the other day."
Delilah: When Anser braves the door to her room, he is greeted by a heartily-flung backpack. Thankfully it just has clothes in it, and though she whips it pretty fast it does less damage than it would have if she'd filled it with canned food, too. A few t-shirts spew out onto the floor and Delilah sits on the corner of her bed, glaring, Rottweiler at her feet. "Why do you always have to be such a major-league jerk?"
She puts a hand on her dog's head, and is quiet for a little while. Still frowning, mouth still drawn in a tight line, but at least quiet. "Anyway," she says at last. "It's not like you got everything back while I was gone. You still need my help."
Anser: Anser managed to catch the flung backpack in his hands, holding it loosely while he leaned against the doorframe. He smirked at the question, "Now what sort of an example would I be setting for you if I wasn't? Why, then there'd be a chance you'd develop into some sort of halfway tolerable human being, and boy would my street cred take a beating." The bag is dropped on the floor to his side and his hands shoved into his pockets.
"Sure, rub it in why don'tcha? I'll have you know we've got plenty back. But hey, if you want to apply your keen criminal mind to the case, I'd appreciate the input." He smiled benevolently, but couldn't resist from adding, "Then again, I don't imagine too many items manifested at the bottom of fruit cups."
Delilah: "You could always say it was despite your best efforts. I'm sure people would believe that sooner than they'd believe you could be a halfway decent human being." Delilah is less than kind, but now, at least, the volume and rage are gone from her voice, and her tone is just kind of a dry edge.
"Oh please. That's not even funny. What, does that Richie guy cry if you just look at him the wrong way? You're way out of practice."
What: Delilah's glorious return, after having been bailed out for shoplifting.
When: Present (roughly four weeks after her disappearance)
Where: Jacob and Delilah's Apartment; the Pentamerone
Rating: PG13 for snark and swearing
Anser: Jacob Anser was not happy. He had not been happy to get a call informing him that his truant ward and AWOL assistant had been caught shoplifting. He was not happy to have to go down to the station and pick her up. He was not happy to deal with the skeptical and accusatory looks of the desk officer he dealt with. He was decidedly unhappy about all of this. So unhappy that he didn't even tear into Delilah when they left the station. He didn't even speak the entire way home. He simply led her back to the Pentamerone in silence, up the stairs to the fifth floor, down the hall, and through the door of their apartment. This seemed to be enough time for him to come to terms with his unhappiness and, somewhere along the way, decide the best way to deal with the entire situation was to just pretend it didn't happen. As such, after the lengthly silence, preceded by two weeks apart, the first words Jacob Anser muttered directly to his ward were:
"Chinese okay for dinner?"
Delilah: Delilah found the quiet merciful, really. She left for a reason, and that reason included never speaking to Jacob Anser again. He's kind enough to oblige her, for a time, and she and her dog just enjoy the wonders of central heating in silence. Wolf rides on her lap in the car, though he's grown about thirty pounds too heavy for it. Still, Delilah buckles the seatbelt around herself then wraps her arms around the dog.
She's been wearing the same clothes for a few days now, so when they arrive, her first thought is to change. Her second is to pack some fresh clothes, her third to get some canned goods and water bottles, and fourth to be on her way. So when her dog trots over to lie next to the couch and Anser asks about Chinese, she stops in front of the door to her room, and turns, and just sort of looks at him. There's a bit of a squint, a disbelieving sort of thing, and she says, "I'm just getting some stuff, then I'm leaving." She thumbs at the front door. "I promise not to get caught next time." She goes into her room.
Anser: Anser had already picked up the phone and was leafing through take-out pamphlets when Delilah started to speak, and he froze in place. His expression tightened and he let out a long, slow breath, which seemed to do little good in calming him. "Is that so?" He replies in a tone barely hovering around civility, skirting the edges of a shout. "Well, that's wonderful to know. I can't tell you how disappointed I am to find you've developed into a sub-par thief. Truly I've failed in my duties. I certainly hope that do find more success in your future five-finger discounts, so that I won't have to receive another call until they've found your body dead in a ditch!"
His tone finally explodes in this last phrase, rising into a bellow that had clearly been brewing since the moment he'd received the call, if not when she'd initially gone missing. He turned to her, redfaced, slamming the phone back down in its receiver with an unpleasant sound. "You think you're safer out there? You think you're better off freezing and starving to death? Is that truly how miserable you are in this apartment? Or is this just some vestigial Tale stupidity?" His hands flail about in angry gestures as he speaks, ending in a sarcasm-laden impression. "Gee, wandering off into the dark woods on my lonesome is, like, the bestest idea ever! I'm sure nothing bad can happen to me out there in the forest! It'll be super!"
Yeah, arguments made Anser's maturity level take a serious nosedive.
Delilah: "I don't think it's safer!" Delilah matches Anser for tone and volume, hand placed firmly on the frame of her door. "I think it sucks! I think sleeping on YMCA couches is cold and uncomfortable and public restrooms were gross and I was always hungry. But I also think you're acting just like my mom and I'm not going to just twiddle my fucking thumbs and take it so go to hell! I'd rather be miserable and frostbitten and with, like, some sort of horrible plague-like flu than have to put up with being treated like I'm helpless and incompetent and oh my god have to be protected for two more seconds!"
Though all this, Wolf sits at his place by the couch, ears perked, looking between the pair and twitching his tail in a sort of hesitant wag. When Delilah turns sharply, throwing her backpack into her room, however, he hops up, and follows, disappearing after her. There's the sound of angry rustlings-about as she collects supplies.
Anser: Anser lets out a loud snort of humourless, derisive laughter at this rant, ignoring the fact that their shouting match can likely be heard in the nearby penthouses. "Oh, I see how it is - the Fagans move in across the hall and suddenly you're a diva! Well, I've got news for you - you can stick around here and be plenty miserable! I can even get Nore right on that 'horrible plague-like flu' thing, I'm pretty sure its somewhere in her spellbook. Maybe if you're seriously ill you'll stay put for all of five minutes!" Although she can't see from her room, Anser spends his own rant pacing back and forth across the living room and waving his arms in wild gesticulation.
"And when the hell have I ever been overprotective of you!?" He shouts through the partially open door. "I didn't even want you to get that damn dog! Half the time I have to deal with the constant criticism from people accusing me of child labour. I don't think anyone has quite struck upon the notion of accusing me of coddling you just yet!"
Delilah: Delilah reappears, dog at her heels and backpack dangling in one hand. "Who the hell are the Fagans?" A pause, then she points with her free hand. "Don't change the subject! I'm one of few people who has half a brain or a modicum of sanity around here and the only thing you can say to me when all this magical stuff... stuff! hit the fan was 'stay out of it'. What, when I turn eighteen I'll suddenly gain wisdom and insight I never possessed before and be able to enter the adult world? Bullshit! I'm a ton smarter and more competent than most of the people looking for these things, let alone the ones you've actually assigned to do it. I mean, that Asian chick you sent after me? She gave me a fucking video game. It's like, 'Thanks, this'll prevent scurvy almost as great as a fruit cup.' Which, by the way, is what I was trying to get when the cops picked me up. A fruit cup!"
She seems about to say something, but something else occurs to her, and she reaches up to yank off her floppy hat. Underneath is inexpertly hacked-short hair, and she adds as an afterthought, "And some kind of lice-killing shampoo. A fruit cup and lice shampoo. So- go to hell, coddler! If you don't want my help just because I haven't hit some legal benchmark then I don't see why I should stick around."
Anser: Anser crossed his arms and settled in to listen to the litany of accusations, though his expression didn't exactly convey either patience of understanding. His brow furrowed doubtfully and every now and then he punctuated her words with a sharp scoff. The grand unveiling of her lice-ridden hair garnered a scrunching up of his nose and an enthusiastic playground-style, "Groooooss!"
However, this new depth of immaturity seemed to even out as some sort of plateau, and he dropped his arms heavily, his shoulders sagging. "Look," he began impatiently, and though he still wasn't exactly the picture of a 50's sitcom dad, he at least wasn't shouting anymore. "I never said you were an idiot. I never meant to imply you were one. I did accuse you of being fifteen, but I hadn't meant those two characteristics to be synonymous. What I had meant to convey was that these were potentially dangerous dealings, and as my ward its my state-appointed duty to try and keep your precocious ass safe. And," he made a little disgusted gesture towards her head, "presumably lice-free, so, failure on both counts, I suppose."
"For God's sake, Delilah, do you really think I treat you like a child? I employed you in a position that's typically supposed to at least require the employed be of voting age. I put you between myself and all those idiots out there because I know you of all people are capable of dealing with their bullshit with the best of them. But excuse me if I'm not keen on throwing you into the middle of a situation involving overtly dangerous magics." He paused, then added with a shrug, "That's what the expendable help is for."
Delilah: "I don't need you to protect me! Other than the lice - which itches like hell so just shut up okay? - I've done just fine on my own in way more dangerous situations without anybody. You know creepy pedophile man Easy Raub came looking for me? And now he's got a mangled arm to show for it." Not that that was entirely her doing, but she dares say she had a significant hand in it. Still, credit where credit is due, and she drops her hand to scratch behind Wolf's ears. The dog is still sitting at her side, sort of puzzled-looking but otherwise oblivious.
"If you think I'm so competent why's 'oh, dangerous magical objects, if I let her help she's going to try to tackle a flying monkey' your first thought? There are, like, a schmillion other things I can do that don't even involve looking at these things but no, it's too dangerous, better have idiots do a sub-par job and let all this dangerous things fall into the dangerous hands of people who'll do... dangerous stuff! But Delilah needs to put her hands over her ears and sing and pretend none of this is happening because I need her to work the fax machine." She turns, then, back into her room, having been not-quite-done packing when she came out to be face-to-face pissy with Anser. "Well if that's how you roll then you can learn to work your own damn fax machine. I'd rather be cold and miserable and a failure at life all on my own than be stuck here and told to sit on my hands while everything goes to shit."
Anser: "Wow, drama queen much?" Anser retorted dryly, in the sardonic tone he usually adopted when appropriating hip young lingo. He, at least, seemed to have calmed down a bit, and he crossed the living room to lean against the doorframe of her bedroom, looking in. "Tell you what: I promise that the next time everything goes to hell and the magical items are mysteriously distributed amongst the community, you'll be the first person I call. You'll be my go-to gal." Although his tone was mildly sarcastic - given that it's fundamentally impossible for him to say anything that isn't - it's a more placating sarcasm, rather than anything overtly biting or aggressive. The closest Jacob Anser could get to an olive branch. "Besides, that Richie kid I've got replacing you isn't going to last much longer. I think I actually saw his lip quiver the other day."
Delilah: When Anser braves the door to her room, he is greeted by a heartily-flung backpack. Thankfully it just has clothes in it, and though she whips it pretty fast it does less damage than it would have if she'd filled it with canned food, too. A few t-shirts spew out onto the floor and Delilah sits on the corner of her bed, glaring, Rottweiler at her feet. "Why do you always have to be such a major-league jerk?"
She puts a hand on her dog's head, and is quiet for a little while. Still frowning, mouth still drawn in a tight line, but at least quiet. "Anyway," she says at last. "It's not like you got everything back while I was gone. You still need my help."
Anser: Anser managed to catch the flung backpack in his hands, holding it loosely while he leaned against the doorframe. He smirked at the question, "Now what sort of an example would I be setting for you if I wasn't? Why, then there'd be a chance you'd develop into some sort of halfway tolerable human being, and boy would my street cred take a beating." The bag is dropped on the floor to his side and his hands shoved into his pockets.
"Sure, rub it in why don'tcha? I'll have you know we've got plenty back. But hey, if you want to apply your keen criminal mind to the case, I'd appreciate the input." He smiled benevolently, but couldn't resist from adding, "Then again, I don't imagine too many items manifested at the bottom of fruit cups."
Delilah: "You could always say it was despite your best efforts. I'm sure people would believe that sooner than they'd believe you could be a halfway decent human being." Delilah is less than kind, but now, at least, the volume and rage are gone from her voice, and her tone is just kind of a dry edge.
"Oh please. That's not even funny. What, does that Richie guy cry if you just look at him the wrong way? You're way out of practice."