[fic] The Benefits of Gossip
title: The Benefits of Gossip
warnings: Profanity!
word count: 690
summary: They’re people watching today, or observing animalistic rituals, as Simon likes to call it. Sometimes, she has to remind herself that this kid is their future.
notes: Another original that I did instead of sleeping, augh. Set in a post-alien-invasion type of world where aliens (temporarily dubbed as 'bugs', hello Orson Scott Card influence) have reign over the planet, forcing humans to move below ground. How's that for clichés? Btw, boss, I made this not-exactly-happy but not sad for you. NOW STOP THROWING THINGS AT ME
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He’s chewing gum, not because he likes it, but because the smacking sounds and bubble pops annoy the hell out of her.
“People these days are so stupid.” He’s being what she calls an elitist bastard again, because he needs it, needs this condemning and putting down of people. It gives him a sense of power, and he likes power.
She only snorts, doesn’t even grace him with an answer. They’re people watching today, or observing animalistic rituals, as Simon likes to call it. Sometimes, she has to remind herself that this kid is their future.
“Milling around like a bunch of useless animals,” he chews. “Don’t they ever notice any of the shit that goes on around them? Water shortages and power-outs and negative updates on the bugs, and all they ever care about are food and sex.”
There is a bam as Irina snaps, her fist connecting with the table. “You”-there’s a swift kick to his legs, but he sees it just in time to narrowly dodge-“need to learn to shut that dumb mouth of yours”-she aims for his foot, and this time she gets him, worn boot stomping hard on worn boot-“and listen, once in a while.” He winces, but barely lets it show, because he loves making her mad like that.
“Nothing worth listening to,” he whines anyway, and pops a bubble.
She rolls her eyes this time, settles back into her seat. “Open up your damn ears, brat.” She pauses, listens herself. “That table over there.” She points to a young trio a few feet from them, heads close together in urgent conversation. “They’re talking about our last mayor.”
Simon scoffs. “Oh, that idiot-”
“Them, there.” She points again, and this time it’s a couple of older women, with darting eyes and leaned-in poses fit for gossiping. “They’re badmouthing you. They don’t seem to like how you’re popping bubblegum while half the city goes hungry, and would rather have you working up in your lab than see you here at all.” Pop, and Simon’s typing something on his wireless phone. Irina’s eye twitches. “You’re not angry? At all?”
“I don’t see why I should give a damn what people say about me, is all,” Simon drawls, and slouches even lower in his chair. “I experiment and research for them all fucking day, it’s only right that I should at least get some fucking gum as a reward.” He turns, trains his glare on the women until they notice, and, uneasy, quickly get up and walk away.
Irina scowls, then turns toward the last group of people outside the little run-down café. “And them.” They’re a pair of young, roguish men, casually dressed in fringed shirts and khaki pants, sipping coffee and tossing conversation at each other. “You’d think they’re anything but trouble. But in reality-”
“But in reality,” he interrupts, “they’re two smartass juvies who think they can beat the money system, and have arranged to meet up with someone else to do it.” Simon laughs at the shocked expression on Irina’s face; chortles really, and stands up from the desk. “Never underestimate me, Irina,” he coos, holds out a mocking hand to her to pull her up. “I’m not called our genius for no damn reason. Now come on, get going. The situation’s going to be taken care of, and I don’t want to get involved.”
The laziness in his voice irks her, and only thing she can think to do is to take his hand and crush it with her fingers, hard. She enjoys the pain that flickers across his features before he can hide it, because he damn well did deserve that.
But she gets up anyway, because somewhere down the street there were black-suited men approaching, and even a moron knew that they were never good news.
So she does what Simon says, and follows him out of the café and up the street. And though she didn’t particularly want to acknowledge his win by stumbling along after him, she didn’t really have much of a choice: He is still holding her hand, after all.
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lulz, all I could think of was the cardcrusher CRUSH! orzorz
warnings: Profanity!
word count: 690
summary: They’re people watching today, or observing animalistic rituals, as Simon likes to call it. Sometimes, she has to remind herself that this kid is their future.
notes: Another original that I did instead of sleeping, augh. Set in a post-alien-invasion type of world where aliens (temporarily dubbed as 'bugs', hello Orson Scott Card influence) have reign over the planet, forcing humans to move below ground. How's that for clichés? Btw, boss, I made this not-exactly-happy but not sad for you. NOW STOP THROWING THINGS AT ME
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
He’s chewing gum, not because he likes it, but because the smacking sounds and bubble pops annoy the hell out of her.
“People these days are so stupid.” He’s being what she calls an elitist bastard again, because he needs it, needs this condemning and putting down of people. It gives him a sense of power, and he likes power.
She only snorts, doesn’t even grace him with an answer. They’re people watching today, or observing animalistic rituals, as Simon likes to call it. Sometimes, she has to remind herself that this kid is their future.
“Milling around like a bunch of useless animals,” he chews. “Don’t they ever notice any of the shit that goes on around them? Water shortages and power-outs and negative updates on the bugs, and all they ever care about are food and sex.”
There is a bam as Irina snaps, her fist connecting with the table. “You”-there’s a swift kick to his legs, but he sees it just in time to narrowly dodge-“need to learn to shut that dumb mouth of yours”-she aims for his foot, and this time she gets him, worn boot stomping hard on worn boot-“and listen, once in a while.” He winces, but barely lets it show, because he loves making her mad like that.
“Nothing worth listening to,” he whines anyway, and pops a bubble.
She rolls her eyes this time, settles back into her seat. “Open up your damn ears, brat.” She pauses, listens herself. “That table over there.” She points to a young trio a few feet from them, heads close together in urgent conversation. “They’re talking about our last mayor.”
Simon scoffs. “Oh, that idiot-”
“Them, there.” She points again, and this time it’s a couple of older women, with darting eyes and leaned-in poses fit for gossiping. “They’re badmouthing you. They don’t seem to like how you’re popping bubblegum while half the city goes hungry, and would rather have you working up in your lab than see you here at all.” Pop, and Simon’s typing something on his wireless phone. Irina’s eye twitches. “You’re not angry? At all?”
“I don’t see why I should give a damn what people say about me, is all,” Simon drawls, and slouches even lower in his chair. “I experiment and research for them all fucking day, it’s only right that I should at least get some fucking gum as a reward.” He turns, trains his glare on the women until they notice, and, uneasy, quickly get up and walk away.
Irina scowls, then turns toward the last group of people outside the little run-down café. “And them.” They’re a pair of young, roguish men, casually dressed in fringed shirts and khaki pants, sipping coffee and tossing conversation at each other. “You’d think they’re anything but trouble. But in reality-”
“But in reality,” he interrupts, “they’re two smartass juvies who think they can beat the money system, and have arranged to meet up with someone else to do it.” Simon laughs at the shocked expression on Irina’s face; chortles really, and stands up from the desk. “Never underestimate me, Irina,” he coos, holds out a mocking hand to her to pull her up. “I’m not called our genius for no damn reason. Now come on, get going. The situation’s going to be taken care of, and I don’t want to get involved.”
The laziness in his voice irks her, and only thing she can think to do is to take his hand and crush it with her fingers, hard. She enjoys the pain that flickers across his features before he can hide it, because he damn well did deserve that.
But she gets up anyway, because somewhere down the street there were black-suited men approaching, and even a moron knew that they were never good news.
So she does what Simon says, and follows him out of the café and up the street. And though she didn’t particularly want to acknowledge his win by stumbling along after him, she didn’t really have much of a choice: He is still holding her hand, after all.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
lulz, all I could think of was the cardcrusher CRUSH! orzorz