Nicholas D. Wolfwood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fullofmercy) wrote2007-05-17 09:33 pm
fullofmercy) wrote2007-05-17 09:33 pm
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This is not how this was supposed to go.
"You're so nice!" she'd crooned at him, all smiles and sparkling eyes. Standing outside in the sun, while he dusted off his jacket, she clasped her hands together and bowed slightly, so that he could see a little purple glint off her hair that made him laugh, because if there was anybody this lady wasn't like, it was that chick Faye back at the asteroid. "It was so kind of you to stop and help. I don't know what I would have done."
From behind his mother, her son stood with crossed arms, three foot five of childish distrust and intimidation. Wolfwood raised a hand to wave and grin at him, but the kid's only response was a deepened frown.
Cute.
He'd leaned on the Punisher, regarding her over his dark glasses, and that was right where he'd made his first mistake.
"I'm happy to help anyway I can, lady."
Yeah. Right there. And the second one wasn't all that far behind.
"So, what's going on with those charming individuals, anyhow?"
Two for two, without even breaking a sweat.
That's how he'd found himself here, behind the counter, Punisher leaning up against the wall behind him. After all, he needed both hands to cook the damn rice, right? He sighs, and then grins back at the smiling face beaming out at the world from the spare apron she'd been able to find for him.
Hell, it's not so bad, is it? There are worse things to do with yourself than serve food. Loaves and fishes, and all that, right? Still...
"Hey, Neil."
The kid, loaded down with dishes, ignores him, so Wolfwood tries again. This time, he adds in a few steps so he's blocking Neil's path, and gets a glare for his trouble. "Leave me alone."
Wolfwood lifts his hands and laughs, all innocence. "Neil, come on, don't be like that! Let's be friends, okay?"
One long measuring look later--damn but that kid can really see right through you--and Neil shrugs, pressing the dishes into Wolfwood's arms. "Fine. But you'd better not be up to anything. And you'd better stay away from my mom."
How straightforward does he need to be? Jeez, he's just a kid, for Chrissakes! "Hah," Wolfwood chuckles, a little weakly. "Don't worry. I'll be on my best behavior, promise. I just want to chat for a second."
Neil gives him a look, and he amends, fast.
"Uh....after I do these dishes."
In the end, it was just as he'd suspected, and Neil had only given confirmation. This place is just barely staying afloat, even with Neil working and his volunteering--there just aren't enough customers, isn't enough money for all the debtors sniffing at the lovely proprietor's heels with her husband off gallivanting through the desert. Those two thugs from earlier were just the beginning; pretty soon they'd be beating down the door.
They've got to do something, and they've got to do it quick.
Sure, and maybe I can wish all this sand into gold and pay off all her debts. He shakes his head, cigarette in hand. The door is closed, and outside he can hear rowdy carousing at a bar down the row. Neil and his mother sit together at a table, his head against her shoulder--the poor kid's wiped out. They don't even look up when he walks by, or when he opens the door to go sit out on the porch, where his cigarette glows lin the shade. The problem keeps turning and turning in his mind--not enough money, not enough people. How the hell do you pay off all those wolves, and keep them off? It's impossible.
It's not like it's his problem, anyway. He's got enough damn problems of his own, and he's not going to make any money for the orphanage out here, working without pay just because some lady can't pay her bills. He doesn't need another kid to look after; he's not Neil's degenerate father.
He ought to just go, get out of town and maybe back to the Outpost...but instead, he sits and smokes and thinks. There's no need to turn around and look through the window at the woman, slumped at the table, her forehead in her hand and her son asleep on her lap.
No need at all, but he does anyway, and as he turns, his eye is caught by something else--a piece of paper tacked up on the doorframe. He can read the block letters clearly, even from here: 3rd Annual Quick Draw Tournament.
"...Huh."
"You're so nice!" she'd crooned at him, all smiles and sparkling eyes. Standing outside in the sun, while he dusted off his jacket, she clasped her hands together and bowed slightly, so that he could see a little purple glint off her hair that made him laugh, because if there was anybody this lady wasn't like, it was that chick Faye back at the asteroid. "It was so kind of you to stop and help. I don't know what I would have done."
From behind his mother, her son stood with crossed arms, three foot five of childish distrust and intimidation. Wolfwood raised a hand to wave and grin at him, but the kid's only response was a deepened frown.
Cute.
He'd leaned on the Punisher, regarding her over his dark glasses, and that was right where he'd made his first mistake.
"I'm happy to help anyway I can, lady."
Yeah. Right there. And the second one wasn't all that far behind.
"So, what's going on with those charming individuals, anyhow?"
Two for two, without even breaking a sweat.
That's how he'd found himself here, behind the counter, Punisher leaning up against the wall behind him. After all, he needed both hands to cook the damn rice, right? He sighs, and then grins back at the smiling face beaming out at the world from the spare apron she'd been able to find for him.
Hell, it's not so bad, is it? There are worse things to do with yourself than serve food. Loaves and fishes, and all that, right? Still...
"Hey, Neil."
The kid, loaded down with dishes, ignores him, so Wolfwood tries again. This time, he adds in a few steps so he's blocking Neil's path, and gets a glare for his trouble. "Leave me alone."
Wolfwood lifts his hands and laughs, all innocence. "Neil, come on, don't be like that! Let's be friends, okay?"
One long measuring look later--damn but that kid can really see right through you--and Neil shrugs, pressing the dishes into Wolfwood's arms. "Fine. But you'd better not be up to anything. And you'd better stay away from my mom."
How straightforward does he need to be? Jeez, he's just a kid, for Chrissakes! "Hah," Wolfwood chuckles, a little weakly. "Don't worry. I'll be on my best behavior, promise. I just want to chat for a second."
Neil gives him a look, and he amends, fast.
"Uh....after I do these dishes."
In the end, it was just as he'd suspected, and Neil had only given confirmation. This place is just barely staying afloat, even with Neil working and his volunteering--there just aren't enough customers, isn't enough money for all the debtors sniffing at the lovely proprietor's heels with her husband off gallivanting through the desert. Those two thugs from earlier were just the beginning; pretty soon they'd be beating down the door.
They've got to do something, and they've got to do it quick.
Sure, and maybe I can wish all this sand into gold and pay off all her debts. He shakes his head, cigarette in hand. The door is closed, and outside he can hear rowdy carousing at a bar down the row. Neil and his mother sit together at a table, his head against her shoulder--the poor kid's wiped out. They don't even look up when he walks by, or when he opens the door to go sit out on the porch, where his cigarette glows lin the shade. The problem keeps turning and turning in his mind--not enough money, not enough people. How the hell do you pay off all those wolves, and keep them off? It's impossible.
It's not like it's his problem, anyway. He's got enough damn problems of his own, and he's not going to make any money for the orphanage out here, working without pay just because some lady can't pay her bills. He doesn't need another kid to look after; he's not Neil's degenerate father.
He ought to just go, get out of town and maybe back to the Outpost...but instead, he sits and smokes and thinks. There's no need to turn around and look through the window at the woman, slumped at the table, her forehead in her hand and her son asleep on her lap.
No need at all, but he does anyway, and as he turns, his eye is caught by something else--a piece of paper tacked up on the doorframe. He can read the block letters clearly, even from here: 3rd Annual Quick Draw Tournament.
"...Huh."