Conspiracy of Impossibles, Daniel: i
This was written a while ago and I just uncovered it, and upon reading it, fell in love with it again. This was intended to be the start of the first chapter of Daniel's story in Conspiracy of Impossibles.
Warnings: sibling quarrels, lingering dead family, and ignorance. And much, much snarkiness.
The train skittered across the countryside and darted past scenic landscapes that Daniel had never known New York possessed. "I thought New York was supposed to be a cesspit," he said.
Magdalene had her headphones on, but her painted eyelids, bright solid red over lashes heavy with kohl, fluttered in response to this comment. She answered after a moment, "What, the whole state is supposed to be a great big city now?"
He hadn't realized there was intended to be a state beyond the great big city, but obviously there was and he was wrong. What a lawyer he would make, unaware even of the size of New York State. No, Your Honor, I assumed that this farmer was from New York City, begging your pardon, I mean, where else in New York is there?
"It's not even the capital," he remembered with dismay.
"I hear they have mountains too," Magda said. "Maybe they keep them in the parking garages or something."
Daniel sighed. "I hope Dad takes corporal punishment seriously," he told the window, loudly. Magda turned up the volume on her MP3 player until he could hear the angry strains of Bad Religion as clearly as if her head weren't, in theory, soaking up the noise.
With any luck, Eric Osborne wouldn't mind the recent acquisition of a slightly deaf daughter and somewhat unworldly son. Daniel wasn't sure where they'd go if Eric changed his mind and withdrew his welcome; he couldn't possibly make the sort of money necessary to keep his own apartment, provide for both himself and Magda, and still go to law school as he'd planned. And if he didn't graduate he might never be able to take care of them both.
If only Mom could've held on for just a few more years... he started to think, and then closed his eyes.
"Fucking A. How long does it take to get to Buffalo anyway?"
"We're not going to Buffalo," Daniel said seriously. "It's detouring to Toronto, and they're going to drop you and 'The American Jesus' at the border."
Magda saluted him with a finger, which she then twined into the wavy gold of her hair. His sister was a study in mismatched images: dressed all in black with hair of gold and lips of red; long voluminous skirt made out of patched denim swirling about clunky sneaker-clad feet; painted eyelids and naked fingernails. Daniel considered it one of the better results from a mostly despairing dream of teenage civility. He'd seen a lot of seventeen-year-olds who wore far less and used the simplicity of eyeshadow to mask their hungry staring at men who passed them by.
Whenever he began to wonder if his sister would ever learn to be nice, he reminded himself that at least the rudeness ensured he wouldn't have to deal with a nephew or niece until Magda had some poor bastard ringed.
Remember family, always, had been the words of Sarah Chambers. It's your responsibility, Danny, as the man of the house. You have to take care of your sister, since Papa can't do it himself. She never forgot family, and she never stopped smiling, even lifeless in a hospital bed, rendered white and surreal by dizzying halogen lights.
She never forgot about her husband, and that was where her children were going.
"Dad's a Leo, isn't he?" Magda said out of nowhere. Her eyelids fluttered shut. "I bet he's going to try to boss us around. He probably thinks he's fucking Caesar."
"He probably thinks he's fucking Calpurnia, if he thinks he's Caesar," Daniel pointed out. "Parts of speech and all. Verbs are funny like that."
She failed to appreciate his wit, as usual. "You only think it's funny. The rest of us find it annoying."
"Who is this us? Are there other people here? Do the people sitting behind us find verbs annoying?" Daniel made a show of craning back around to eye the slumbering pair in the next seats. Magda kicked him in the ankle, a quick dart of movement that sent dull pain shooting up his leg, and he scowled at her. The sneakers of doom retreated sedately beneath her skirt.
She adjusted her shawl and ignored him, but his attention was drawn to the absurd accessory, and he said, "So, what decade are you supposed to be from? The fashion timeline seems to have encountered serious distortion passing by your brain."
"I'm from a decade where people can dress themselves however they want, beach freak."
Daniel flattened the fabric over his stomach, feeling somewhat defensive. There was nothing wrong with board shorts and a t-shirt. The multicolored streaks he'd put in his hair in a fit of denial a few weeks ago were almost gone now, and his tan wasn't too pronouncedly surfer, even compared to Magda's milk-white complexion.
......
Warnings: sibling quarrels, lingering dead family, and ignorance. And much, much snarkiness.
The train skittered across the countryside and darted past scenic landscapes that Daniel had never known New York possessed. "I thought New York was supposed to be a cesspit," he said.
Magdalene had her headphones on, but her painted eyelids, bright solid red over lashes heavy with kohl, fluttered in response to this comment. She answered after a moment, "What, the whole state is supposed to be a great big city now?"
He hadn't realized there was intended to be a state beyond the great big city, but obviously there was and he was wrong. What a lawyer he would make, unaware even of the size of New York State. No, Your Honor, I assumed that this farmer was from New York City, begging your pardon, I mean, where else in New York is there?
"It's not even the capital," he remembered with dismay.
"I hear they have mountains too," Magda said. "Maybe they keep them in the parking garages or something."
Daniel sighed. "I hope Dad takes corporal punishment seriously," he told the window, loudly. Magda turned up the volume on her MP3 player until he could hear the angry strains of Bad Religion as clearly as if her head weren't, in theory, soaking up the noise.
With any luck, Eric Osborne wouldn't mind the recent acquisition of a slightly deaf daughter and somewhat unworldly son. Daniel wasn't sure where they'd go if Eric changed his mind and withdrew his welcome; he couldn't possibly make the sort of money necessary to keep his own apartment, provide for both himself and Magda, and still go to law school as he'd planned. And if he didn't graduate he might never be able to take care of them both.
If only Mom could've held on for just a few more years... he started to think, and then closed his eyes.
"Fucking A. How long does it take to get to Buffalo anyway?"
"We're not going to Buffalo," Daniel said seriously. "It's detouring to Toronto, and they're going to drop you and 'The American Jesus' at the border."
Magda saluted him with a finger, which she then twined into the wavy gold of her hair. His sister was a study in mismatched images: dressed all in black with hair of gold and lips of red; long voluminous skirt made out of patched denim swirling about clunky sneaker-clad feet; painted eyelids and naked fingernails. Daniel considered it one of the better results from a mostly despairing dream of teenage civility. He'd seen a lot of seventeen-year-olds who wore far less and used the simplicity of eyeshadow to mask their hungry staring at men who passed them by.
Whenever he began to wonder if his sister would ever learn to be nice, he reminded himself that at least the rudeness ensured he wouldn't have to deal with a nephew or niece until Magda had some poor bastard ringed.
Remember family, always, had been the words of Sarah Chambers. It's your responsibility, Danny, as the man of the house. You have to take care of your sister, since Papa can't do it himself. She never forgot family, and she never stopped smiling, even lifeless in a hospital bed, rendered white and surreal by dizzying halogen lights.
She never forgot about her husband, and that was where her children were going.
"Dad's a Leo, isn't he?" Magda said out of nowhere. Her eyelids fluttered shut. "I bet he's going to try to boss us around. He probably thinks he's fucking Caesar."
"He probably thinks he's fucking Calpurnia, if he thinks he's Caesar," Daniel pointed out. "Parts of speech and all. Verbs are funny like that."
She failed to appreciate his wit, as usual. "You only think it's funny. The rest of us find it annoying."
"Who is this us? Are there other people here? Do the people sitting behind us find verbs annoying?" Daniel made a show of craning back around to eye the slumbering pair in the next seats. Magda kicked him in the ankle, a quick dart of movement that sent dull pain shooting up his leg, and he scowled at her. The sneakers of doom retreated sedately beneath her skirt.
She adjusted her shawl and ignored him, but his attention was drawn to the absurd accessory, and he said, "So, what decade are you supposed to be from? The fashion timeline seems to have encountered serious distortion passing by your brain."
"I'm from a decade where people can dress themselves however they want, beach freak."
Daniel flattened the fabric over his stomach, feeling somewhat defensive. There was nothing wrong with board shorts and a t-shirt. The multicolored streaks he'd put in his hair in a fit of denial a few weeks ago were almost gone now, and his tan wasn't too pronouncedly surfer, even compared to Magda's milk-white complexion.
......