Original of the Species
Upstairs, the bar area is closed off during the day, the room turned over to private functions. Today, of all days, that is a Birthday Party. Phyllis, the Assistant Manager, pulls her hand down over her face, eyes the assembled troops.
“You know the normal party drill - We get a dozen screaming rug-rats on a sugar rush, tearing the place up and tossing their cookies all over the furniture. At least one of 'em will wet themselves, and there's always some little sweetheart wants to kick the crap out of another one.”
“Does someone have to wear an...Outfit this time?” Terry asks nervously. There is a collective shudder.
“Nah. 'Fraid we've got a clown.” Claps her hands over the groans. “Usual OT scale for the clean-up today. Stations.”
0000000000
Sheldon has been told NOT to greet the customers, after the third party come through the door, come face to face with that...smile, and turn around again. One small child has burst into tears. In fact, he has been told to just collect the trays, and not to talk to anybody if he can help it. Banned from the sanitary facilities, the office computers, the kitchen and the common staff areas, he has quite a limited area to work within.
The imminent party does mean that his erstwhile friends have departed, Leonard and Raj foregoing their mockery of him to mock Howard, who has severe coulrophobia. The respite has given him a chance to organize his thoughts, and he feels that he has a handle on the solution now...
The sounds of small people creating havoc filters down from above. Sheldon remembers this particular form of purgatory from his own childhood. Being forced to participate in moronic jollity with those of his peer group, a mutual loathing exacerbated by proximity. So he's really not surprised to find a child hesitating on the stairwell. There is something in the set of the shoulders that resonates. He pauses, clears his throat.
“Are you...going to be unwell? Because I would ask that you use the washroom if that is the case.”
“I don't like clowns.” The child says, looking up the stairs.
“Few sensible people do.” Sheldon agrees. He has been subjected to the experience, the inane grin and the gormless antics. It is better than having your face pushed into your cake at your own eighth birthday party, but not by much.
“I wanted to stay home and read my book. It was about dinosaurs.”
“Jurassic or Cretaceous?”
The child looks puzzled. Sheldon huffs, fishes in his pocket for a pen.
00000000
Five minutes later, another child peers down the stairs.
“Why are you drawing on the wall?”
Sheldon looks up the stairs, smiles in recognition.
“Rebecca. You like monkeys.”
“You're the man from the bookstore.” She smiles back.
“Do you wish to join us? Early primates would be about...here.” He indicates a step, holds out another pen. “You may draw some monkeys if you like.”
0000000000
By the time Penny's spider-sense has told her that Sheldon has been out of her sight for more than his regulation bathroom break, there are half a dozen children quietly and carefully drawing dinosaurs and cavemen and knights and rockets on the wall, while Sheldon strides up and down the stairs, correcting things and talking busily.
“...and about here would be when the Egyptians built the pyramids...” Spiders down into a crouch and begins sketching.
Penny claps a hand across her mouth.
“Shel-don.”
“Hello, Penny.” He says cheerfully. (Several small voices parrot the greeting.)
“What are you doing?”
“We are creating an approximate time-line to demonstrate the evolutionary process.”
“You can't...”
“Hey, hey, hey, little people...”
Pogo, becoming aware that his reluctant audience is shrinking, has come to reclaim his victims.
One of the girls squeals, and darts behind Sheldon, and he can feel a hand clutching his pants leg. Looking up at the creature at the top of the stairs, he is not sure that he blames her. Wild hair, clothing that even Sheldon finds a little too garish, brandishing handfuls of squeaking, germ-filled rubber.
“...you want to come back, watch Pogo make balloon animals? Everyone likes balloons.”
Thrusts a deformed...thing at Sheldon's face. Sheldon stares at it. Then he moves his pen decisively.
“I don't, particularly.” He says. “And I don't think anyone else here does, either.”
The man shakes stinging fingers, bites back a curse, aware of the interested faces watching him.
“You really don't want to come and watch Pogo? You'll make Pogo sad.” Mimes an unhappy face, which Penny thinks is actually scarier than Sheldon's smile. Two more children edge behind the first.
“I think it is your presence which is making them sad, Mr...Pogo. You may return to making your asinine little creatures if you wish, but we will be furthering our education here. Good-day to you, sir.”
Penny is all set to kick Mr Creepy out on his ass if he takes a pop at Sheldon, but the man looks around, throws up his hands.
“Meh, I got paid in advance for this gig.” Shrugs. “You little horrors would rather scribble on the walls than watch me, I'm not caring, y'know...”
“We are hardly 'scribbling'.” Sheldon says, crossly. “Granted, the standard of the artwork is variable, but it is after all a rough diagram, and not intended as a true representative image.”
“Whatever. Enjoy, buddy. I'm gone.” Shoulders past the indignant scientist, already digging in his pants pocket for his cigarettes. The children relax, turn back to the wall. Most of them, anyway.
Sheldon's hand hesitates, gingerly pats the small head still buried in his side.
“There, there.” He manages. “The unamusing individual has departed.”
Turns wide helpless eyes on Penny. She badly wants to laugh, but she squats down.
“Yeah, the creepy clown has gone. You can let go of Sheldon now.”
The child reluctantly detaches herself. Hell with it, Penny thinks.
“You wanna sit with me, and we'll draw something....” Grins suddenly. “We'll go to the top of the stairs, draw Sheldon.”
Wishes she was a good enough artist to capture the expression on his face, at the enthusiastic responses from around her.
“Right at the top of the stairs.” he instructs her. “I am, after all, the pinnacle of evolution.”
Because sometimes, just sometimes, the astronauts win...
0000000000
The last child has been collected by bemused parents. Sheldon is still squatting halfway up the stairs, muttering to himself. He's progressed to equations, now. Penny twists her hands in her apron, wonders how she's going to explain this.
“Considerin' what we normally hafta mop up, scrubbing down a wall is no big deal.” Phyllis grins. “Just get him outta here before the Manager comes in.”
Sheldon turns a delighted smile to Penny, as he takes a last camera shot of his work.
“I might venture to say - Eureka.” Deep satisfaction.
(Penny herself takes one picture. A long stick figure, drawn with a stripy top and crossed arms, surrounded by crazy little greek symbols, letters and numbers, and something that could be an atom, but if you look at it another way, might just be a flower-blossom...)