Fic: Running With Scissors, part 28
Running With Scissors, part 28
Sunny was sitting with her head on the conference table, eyes closed, listening to the endless rehashing. It’s what these people did when they weren’t out whacking things. Her sleeve was damp with drool. Great. She changed arms, and felt Angel’s thigh brush hers as he shifted on his chair, but she didn’t open her eyes.
Turned out that Gunn had got a mystical-medical mental boost to make him a lawyer. Sunny wondered vaguely if they’d faked the bar license or spent a lot of money to change the state computer listings.
“Why Gilbert and Sullivan?” she asked, eyes still closed.
“What?” Wesley asked.
“Why operettas?” she asked. She raised her head. “I mean, why add that to the lawyer package? Why not golf”---Gunn cleared his throat---”or a passion for tassel loafers and drinking single-malt Scotch and collecting baseball cards? My father was a lawyer, you know. Singing Gilbert and Sullivan isn’t necessary for being a lawyer.”
“Huh,” Angel said. “Go on.”
Sunny almost blushed. She scraped the hair from her hot face and said, “Well, it seems to me that if there was one that you whistled a lot, like The Mikado that there would be some kind of clue in the lyrics. Or a spell.”
“HMS Pinafore,” Wesley said immediately. “That’s the one I hear most often.”
“Worf tribute?” Sunny asked. “The Senior Partners don’t strike me as…” she trailed off. “Never mind.” She looked at Fred, on her other side.
Fred took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Well, I think it’s somethin' worth lookin' into. There could be a spell, or anything at all in the lyrics."
Gunn sat up. "Yeah. Pinafore is my favorite, actually."
"Google it," Sunny said to Fred in an undervoice, while. "Or Wiki it."
"I don't think Wiki can be entirely trusted for accuracy," Fred said.
"Yeah, but it gives you a quick summary. You can disagree." Sunny leaned in and looked at the laptop. "Gotta love high-speed."
They both looked at the screen. Sunny pointed.
"The rise of unqualified people to authority," Fred said, in a louder voice.
"That's the theme," Sunny said. "Can I go to bed now?"
::
"I'm interested in how your mind works," Angel said, over the drone of the Weather Channel in the next room. Sunny was in the bathroom, squinting at the mirrorless wall. How tactful, she thought.
"I don't like talking here," she said, drying her face.
"At last, someone more paranoid than I am," Angel said. He leaned in the doorway. "What made you think about it?"
"My father, and all the lawyers he knew in Atlanta, wouldn't have spent any time singing in choral groups. It doesn't fit the profile of high-powered big city lawyers," she said. "He played racquetball when it was the thing to do, then he went to gyms and did free weights. If he was still alive, he'd probably be power yogaing or something. They put everything in Gunn for a reason, and they had it fade away for a reason. To see what he'd do with it. He signed off on shipping in the Illyria box. Fred nearly died."
"It's actually a good insight," Angel said, arms still crossed over his chest. "Why don't you jump in more often?"
She rolled her eyes at him, and tossed the towel on the countertop. "If everyone, everywhere, believes that I'm only interested in protecting you, then why do you ignore that this entire building creeps me out and makes me miserable?" She wedged her hands into his crossed arms, tugging. "Did you know that I was once a princess and I had a pretty, pretty pony? In Georgia?"
He half-smiled. "Pony as in polo or shetland?"
"Horse. Small horse. Only got to ride her a little bit before we moved to California." He let her pull his arms loose, and she stepped up to him. "It was a big tragedy."
"I rode to hounds, back in the day," Angel said. "But everyone rode, back then."
He put his arms around her, and held her. "What is it that you think will happen?"
She whispered, "I told you once. That the necro-tempering will disappear. That you'll be caught." You're already caught, she did not say, but he smiled anyway.
"No," he whispered back. "Cordelia came back to get me back on track. Then you turn up, to keep me on it."
"Which means you should listen to me more," she said, her eyes closed.
"Let's go to bed," he said. "It's late, and you have a job, right?"
"If I still have it," she said gloomily. He walked backwards, pulling her into the enormous bed.
"Auntie Prem said that you do," Angel said, unguardedly.
Sunny sat up. "Wha--she called?"
"Well, several times," Angel said. He pulled her back down, and pointed the remote at the plasma television, putting it on classical music. "She says to come back alive." He patted her butt.
"We have zombies that come in every so often. Did you know that they don't really eat brains?"
Angel groaned loudly. "Go to sleep."
The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was him saying, "And I hate your haircut."
Sunny was sitting with her head on the conference table, eyes closed, listening to the endless rehashing. It’s what these people did when they weren’t out whacking things. Her sleeve was damp with drool. Great. She changed arms, and felt Angel’s thigh brush hers as he shifted on his chair, but she didn’t open her eyes.
Turned out that Gunn had got a mystical-medical mental boost to make him a lawyer. Sunny wondered vaguely if they’d faked the bar license or spent a lot of money to change the state computer listings.
“Why Gilbert and Sullivan?” she asked, eyes still closed.
“What?” Wesley asked.
“Why operettas?” she asked. She raised her head. “I mean, why add that to the lawyer package? Why not golf”---Gunn cleared his throat---”or a passion for tassel loafers and drinking single-malt Scotch and collecting baseball cards? My father was a lawyer, you know. Singing Gilbert and Sullivan isn’t necessary for being a lawyer.”
“Huh,” Angel said. “Go on.”
Sunny almost blushed. She scraped the hair from her hot face and said, “Well, it seems to me that if there was one that you whistled a lot, like The Mikado that there would be some kind of clue in the lyrics. Or a spell.”
“HMS Pinafore,” Wesley said immediately. “That’s the one I hear most often.”
“Worf tribute?” Sunny asked. “The Senior Partners don’t strike me as…” she trailed off. “Never mind.” She looked at Fred, on her other side.
Fred took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Well, I think it’s somethin' worth lookin' into. There could be a spell, or anything at all in the lyrics."
Gunn sat up. "Yeah. Pinafore is my favorite, actually."
"Google it," Sunny said to Fred in an undervoice, while. "Or Wiki it."
"I don't think Wiki can be entirely trusted for accuracy," Fred said.
"Yeah, but it gives you a quick summary. You can disagree." Sunny leaned in and looked at the laptop. "Gotta love high-speed."
They both looked at the screen. Sunny pointed.
"The rise of unqualified people to authority," Fred said, in a louder voice.
"That's the theme," Sunny said. "Can I go to bed now?"
::
"I'm interested in how your mind works," Angel said, over the drone of the Weather Channel in the next room. Sunny was in the bathroom, squinting at the mirrorless wall. How tactful, she thought.
"I don't like talking here," she said, drying her face.
"At last, someone more paranoid than I am," Angel said. He leaned in the doorway. "What made you think about it?"
"My father, and all the lawyers he knew in Atlanta, wouldn't have spent any time singing in choral groups. It doesn't fit the profile of high-powered big city lawyers," she said. "He played racquetball when it was the thing to do, then he went to gyms and did free weights. If he was still alive, he'd probably be power yogaing or something. They put everything in Gunn for a reason, and they had it fade away for a reason. To see what he'd do with it. He signed off on shipping in the Illyria box. Fred nearly died."
"It's actually a good insight," Angel said, arms still crossed over his chest. "Why don't you jump in more often?"
She rolled her eyes at him, and tossed the towel on the countertop. "If everyone, everywhere, believes that I'm only interested in protecting you, then why do you ignore that this entire building creeps me out and makes me miserable?" She wedged her hands into his crossed arms, tugging. "Did you know that I was once a princess and I had a pretty, pretty pony? In Georgia?"
He half-smiled. "Pony as in polo or shetland?"
"Horse. Small horse. Only got to ride her a little bit before we moved to California." He let her pull his arms loose, and she stepped up to him. "It was a big tragedy."
"I rode to hounds, back in the day," Angel said. "But everyone rode, back then."
He put his arms around her, and held her. "What is it that you think will happen?"
She whispered, "I told you once. That the necro-tempering will disappear. That you'll be caught." You're already caught, she did not say, but he smiled anyway.
"No," he whispered back. "Cordelia came back to get me back on track. Then you turn up, to keep me on it."
"Which means you should listen to me more," she said, her eyes closed.
"Let's go to bed," he said. "It's late, and you have a job, right?"
"If I still have it," she said gloomily. He walked backwards, pulling her into the enormous bed.
"Auntie Prem said that you do," Angel said, unguardedly.
Sunny sat up. "Wha--she called?"
"Well, several times," Angel said. He pulled her back down, and pointed the remote at the plasma television, putting it on classical music. "She says to come back alive." He patted her butt.
"We have zombies that come in every so often. Did you know that they don't really eat brains?"
Angel groaned loudly. "Go to sleep."
The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was him saying, "And I hate your haircut."