Ride It Out - Ferris Wheel
Inspiration: Ferris Wheel
Characters: Jerome and Angela
Word Count: 883
Summary: Jerome and Angela's relationship has its ups and downs.
Rating: PG-13 because I am generally not good at deciding what is or is not kid-friendly stuff
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Jerome hates heights. He hates how his feet are so far off the ground, hates the knowledge that the only thing to cushion his descent towards the solid, unforgiving ground is a great expanse of nothing.
He doesn't mind the landing so much. Having the consistency of taffy means he'll be none the worse for wear upon impact. Oh he'll be more than a bit sore and banged up, but it's nothing a week in a Plumber hospital bed won't fix. His human-suit, on the other hand, makes for quite a mess. And really it's the mess that bothers him: A great big splatter of meat, bones, and blood spread out on concrete.
Cleaning it up is going to be expensive, finding a replacement human-suit is going to be a nightmare, and don't get him started on the paperwork he's going to have to file.
No, Jerome would much rather keep his feet firmly on the ground. But presented with the rare opportunity to snack on his favorite client, well, he'll settle with having both hands gripped tight around Angela's arm.
Angela, on the other hand, loves heights. She loves the view, the freedom, the solitude that comes from being so high up. It affirms her belief that humans by design are such inferior beings. And it distracts her, briefly, from the reality that she's so dependent on these inferior beings.
She can fly, which explains why she doesn't fear falling. Or crash landings. She's confident enough in her abilities and experience. Of course there is the minor problem of having to keep her abilities a secret. She's learned that humans don't take too kindly to individuals who are particularly unique.
And for all her prejudice and bias against humans, she's afraid of them. Of their number and their tendency to mob and swarm anyone, anything that they deem too different. What can she do against strength in numbers?
Not to mention the headaches the end-result will be for the people in PR and Legal. She already owes them more than she'd like. Especially the man currently cutting circulation off of her arm.
"Jerome, stop embarrassing yourself," Angela chides, eyes staring wistfully up at the beautiful blue mid-morning sky that's always just out of reach.
"We're the only two up here, Sparkles, and I already know what you think of me. So I'm milking this for all it's worth," Jerome smirks and inches closer to her. He stops when he catches her glaring at him from the corner of her sharp eyes, but his grip never goes slack.
"Be grateful Eugene has no fondness for these sorts of events. Otherwise-"
"Yeah, yeah, I wouldn't have the pleasure of being your date," Jerome shrugs, amused at the sudden spike in the woman's temper. He enjoys the taste of her anger, it's the kind of spicy that you taste in your throat rather than your tongue. And there's a strange sweet aftertaste, like thin strands of cotton candy.
"Chaperon," She corrects him with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. And Jerome finds he doesn't quite like the acrid taste she's radiating, like eating with freshly polished silverware. Still, he holds on as she continues how "Our relationship is merely one of professional convenience. And you really ought to ease up on my arm. what would people say when they see your hand prints?"
"They'll probably say something like: Man is he whipped!" Jerome grins, then adds with a suggestive waggle of his brows "Or You know what they say about men with big hands."
"Oh if only you were a man," Angela's lips twist into a sneer. "But regardless, you know I would never cheat on Eugene."
"He is your meal-ticket," Jerome nods. Literally. going unsaid.
They fall silent.
Once again, Angela's gaze returns to the blue, blue sky. She smiles, and if Jerome was anyone else he'll think the faint halo shimmering around Angela a mere trick of the light.
But he knows who she is and more importantly what she is.
When he feeds on her rare display of happiness a myriad of flavors explode in his mouth. Sweet, tangy, bitter, rich, sharp, acidic, base, conflicting, complementary, there's so many he can hardly keep track. They merge, they separate, they war, they blend, and they come to an abrupt stop.
He ignores the disapproving glare she shoots him to whine, "I wasn't done eating."
"And I wasn't done feeling happy," She hisses, eyes suddenly aglow.
Jerome finds himself wanting to pout like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. But he knows where he is and where he stands with Angela, which is usually as far away from each other as possible. He knows who Angela is, what she is, and more importantly what she's capable of.
Reluctantly he lets go of her arm but stays close. Not because his dislike for heights trumps his dislike for her energy blasts but because he knows her too well. She's not likely to risk revealing her abilities over something as petty as feelings.
So he fixes his trademark smirk on his lips and he contents himself with the memory of her taste.
Characters: Jerome and Angela
Word Count: 883
Summary: Jerome and Angela's relationship has its ups and downs.
Rating: PG-13 because I am generally not good at deciding what is or is not kid-friendly stuff
--------------
Jerome hates heights. He hates how his feet are so far off the ground, hates the knowledge that the only thing to cushion his descent towards the solid, unforgiving ground is a great expanse of nothing.
He doesn't mind the landing so much. Having the consistency of taffy means he'll be none the worse for wear upon impact. Oh he'll be more than a bit sore and banged up, but it's nothing a week in a Plumber hospital bed won't fix. His human-suit, on the other hand, makes for quite a mess. And really it's the mess that bothers him: A great big splatter of meat, bones, and blood spread out on concrete.
Cleaning it up is going to be expensive, finding a replacement human-suit is going to be a nightmare, and don't get him started on the paperwork he's going to have to file.
No, Jerome would much rather keep his feet firmly on the ground. But presented with the rare opportunity to snack on his favorite client, well, he'll settle with having both hands gripped tight around Angela's arm.
Angela, on the other hand, loves heights. She loves the view, the freedom, the solitude that comes from being so high up. It affirms her belief that humans by design are such inferior beings. And it distracts her, briefly, from the reality that she's so dependent on these inferior beings.
She can fly, which explains why she doesn't fear falling. Or crash landings. She's confident enough in her abilities and experience. Of course there is the minor problem of having to keep her abilities a secret. She's learned that humans don't take too kindly to individuals who are particularly unique.
And for all her prejudice and bias against humans, she's afraid of them. Of their number and their tendency to mob and swarm anyone, anything that they deem too different. What can she do against strength in numbers?
Not to mention the headaches the end-result will be for the people in PR and Legal. She already owes them more than she'd like. Especially the man currently cutting circulation off of her arm.
"Jerome, stop embarrassing yourself," Angela chides, eyes staring wistfully up at the beautiful blue mid-morning sky that's always just out of reach.
"We're the only two up here, Sparkles, and I already know what you think of me. So I'm milking this for all it's worth," Jerome smirks and inches closer to her. He stops when he catches her glaring at him from the corner of her sharp eyes, but his grip never goes slack.
"Be grateful Eugene has no fondness for these sorts of events. Otherwise-"
"Yeah, yeah, I wouldn't have the pleasure of being your date," Jerome shrugs, amused at the sudden spike in the woman's temper. He enjoys the taste of her anger, it's the kind of spicy that you taste in your throat rather than your tongue. And there's a strange sweet aftertaste, like thin strands of cotton candy.
"Chaperon," She corrects him with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. And Jerome finds he doesn't quite like the acrid taste she's radiating, like eating with freshly polished silverware. Still, he holds on as she continues how "Our relationship is merely one of professional convenience. And you really ought to ease up on my arm. what would people say when they see your hand prints?"
"They'll probably say something like: Man is he whipped!" Jerome grins, then adds with a suggestive waggle of his brows "Or You know what they say about men with big hands."
"Oh if only you were a man," Angela's lips twist into a sneer. "But regardless, you know I would never cheat on Eugene."
"He is your meal-ticket," Jerome nods. Literally. going unsaid.
They fall silent.
Once again, Angela's gaze returns to the blue, blue sky. She smiles, and if Jerome was anyone else he'll think the faint halo shimmering around Angela a mere trick of the light.
But he knows who she is and more importantly what she is.
When he feeds on her rare display of happiness a myriad of flavors explode in his mouth. Sweet, tangy, bitter, rich, sharp, acidic, base, conflicting, complementary, there's so many he can hardly keep track. They merge, they separate, they war, they blend, and they come to an abrupt stop.
He ignores the disapproving glare she shoots him to whine, "I wasn't done eating."
"And I wasn't done feeling happy," She hisses, eyes suddenly aglow.
Jerome finds himself wanting to pout like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. But he knows where he is and where he stands with Angela, which is usually as far away from each other as possible. He knows who Angela is, what she is, and more importantly what she's capable of.
Reluctantly he lets go of her arm but stays close. Not because his dislike for heights trumps his dislike for her energy blasts but because he knows her too well. She's not likely to risk revealing her abilities over something as petty as feelings.
So he fixes his trademark smirk on his lips and he contents himself with the memory of her taste.