![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Toronto, Tuesday Fandom Time
Sparkle did not want to have this conversation. Sparkle did not fucking want to have this fucking conversation. But here was Raine, pushing for it, and here he was, taking a 'hard nope' stance as he stubbed his cigarette out on the patio railing in the backyard.
"What is the name of this street, anyway? It's like something out of fucking Pleasantville."
Raine gave him that incredulous look that she got whenever Sparkle gave her an answer that had nothing to do with the topic at hand.
"Mapleview Lanes..."
And before she could say anything more on the matter, Sparkle started laughing hysterically.
"That's hilarious!" And old news, of course. It wasn't like he didn't know the name of this stupid fucking street. But it was right there. It was easy to grab at. "Mapleview Lanes! Aaagh! I love it. I just love those names of any development built from the sixties on? Like, aaah, Fairfield Estates or Winchester Wood or -- or Birchmeadow Crescent all exclusive lifestyle living, EXcluding the likes of us, right?"
"Sparkle. You changed the subject."
Fuck.
"I know, let's colour our hair."
"Sparkle." Raine reached over and gave him a swat on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's do it. Let's find out the truth about the money. Don't you want to know if he's ripping us off?"
And there it was, out in the open between them. Raine had been talking to that old bint down in 207, who had put it in her head that Lewis made, like, tens of thousands of dollars a week to run this place, and now she wanted to break into his office and look at his records, or at least corner Lewis and demand her money and a pair of new Levis, or... or some stupid thing, and the only thing keeping Sparkle from marching down to Margaret's place to strangle the life out of her withered old body was his ability to keep Raine from bringing the whole fucking thing up.
He reached for Raine instead, hands closing tightly on her shoulders as he looked her dead in the eye.
"I love the man, Raine. You don't seem to understand... I mean for me we're living luxury I mean compared to what I grew up with? Hah! When Carla would like cook something in the oven? Like a frozen pizza? You could hear cockroaches exploding there was mice shit all over the counter every morning the toilet never worked, it was city housing, right? There was no heat, there were holes in the wall; Dad used to drag my mother by the hair and put her hand on the burner sometimes he got so bad we would all hide up on the roof? The five of us. He never thought to look there and we would be there huddled under blankets -- it was really fun, actually -- one night the Social Worker Karen walked in? And then we all got removed and Carla wept. She sat on the roof and wept and wept I will never forget the sight of her..."
He let go of Raine's shoulders abruptly as though he'd been burned, and pulled in a shaky breath.
"Oh Sparkle, that's awful--"
"Would be if it were true, huh?"
Raine stared at him, puzzled. And Sparkle just laughed. Laughed as he made his way inside and laughed his way up the stairs and into their room and laughed as he closed the door behind himself and leaned back against it and sat on the floor and laughed and laughed and cried.
------
Lewis just sat there in his office, staring down at the letter in his hand. He stared at it for a good, long time. He had a whole pile of them just like it. Another diatribe from a resident of the neighbourhood, protesting the house.
"I'm afraid this time," he noted, after a long pause. "You know that? I'm afraid we might lose this one."
"No," Sparkle countered, shaking his head. It wasn't like they hadn't been through this dance a hundred times before. "No way. You always win."
"These people are different," Lewis pointed out. "They got bigger guns, you know. Deeper pockets."
Sparkle didn't much care about their pockets. He leaned forward a bit. Smiled crookedly.
"You smell you nice. Like the dock, you know? Sort of Lake Ontario, and gasoline, and old wood and--" He glanced at the letter again as he leaned closer. Something about it caught his eye. "What..."
"Are you sure you didn't have anything to do with that b&e down the street?" Fuck. "Because if you did, so help me God I'll..."
"Oh please. You really think I want the pain in the ass of selling a hot PC or some old lady silver? That's for twelve-year-olds, Lewis. I've graduated far beyond simple b&e's."
No. He really hadn't.
"They all think it's one of you, of course."
And of course it was.
"You look like a train wreck, by the way," Sparkle noted, reaching down to rub at Lewis' shoulders from behind. "Are you alright?"
"I just don't know if I have the energy this time," Lewis muttered, closing his eyes. "I'm tired, Spark. I'm gettin' old. My back is givin' out on me. Feel like an old man."
"Do I hear you say you are giving up?"
"You heard me say I was tired. Get outta here. I'm busy."
Sparkle didn't back away. Didn't so much as glance toward the door.
"You'll never give up," he decided. Lewis had pulled through for them before, after all. It wasn't like they could chase them off. What would they do? Buy the house back from Lewis? Bitch to the government about the poor little orphan kids stirring up shit? They could try, sure. But Lewis had danced this dance so many times before... "You're made for war, Lew."
"Oh." Lewis' voice sounded weirdly flat. It made Sparkle's mouth go a little dry. "Is that what I'm made for?"
"Oh yeah. Yeah! It's that IRA blood you have running through those veins of yours. Weren't you telling me your grandfather got shot in Bloody Sunday or something?" Lewis didn't move. Sparkle paused for a half-second, and then, possibly against his better judgement, he pressed on. Committed himself to it. "Men of courage are so sexy. You are so sexy."
"Listen to me."
"What."
"You know what."
"What."
"I've told you." Lewis' shoulders tensed a little under Sparkle's hands, now. "I find that talk inappropriate. Entirely, completely inappropriate. So don't... talk like that. Anymore. Now leave me, go watch cartoons. I have work to do."
Sparkle's stomach felt like it was dropping out of him. Like Lewis had taken an icepick and carved 'child' right into his lungs and then slapped him across the face for good measure.
Go watch cartoons.
"You like me," he protested, voice a little thick. "I know you do."
"Sparks, back off. Enough of that."
"You look at me," Sparkle countered, a little more fiercely. "I've seen you looking at me."
And now Lewis was standing, sliding away from Sparkle's touch and moving across the room, around his desk.
"You've seen what you want to see, Sparks. Now get out."
"With the hungriest eyes, have I ever."
"Darlene," Lewis called, making Sparkle stop in his tracks about a half-step around the desk to follow him. "Amir? Will you come in here for a minute, please?"
"Wait!" They would fucking kill him. They would step in here and if they saw him looking at Lewis like that they would fucking kill him. And if they didn't, they would talk, and somebody else would. Of course they would. "I'm sorry. I won't anymore. I was just teasing, Lewis. I promise. Please..."
"Look." Lewis' voice was terse as he reached for the letter, holding it up and shaking it at him. "I'm tellin' you I'm gonna lose this house and you think it's some kinda goddamn game, Sparkle. Will you wake up? Will you wake up?"
"What do you want from me?" Go watch cartoons. "I'm a kid. I'm only 18 and a half years old, like what do you want?"
He was older. Technically, he was older. That didn't matter, here. Back here in the real world, away from Fandom and its stupid fantasy bullshit where everything turned out for the best, even dying, and when people looked at you like they wanted to devour you with their eyes it meant something, and nobody cared. Nobody fucking cared where you had been, until it came back around to bite you in the ass and even then you got a second chance, didn't you? Even after Skywalker had handed Atton over to be dragged away, now they were friends. How was that for fucked up?
And here he was, and Lewis looked at him one minute and played pony rides with him like he was six years old all over again the next and which fucking was it??
"I want..." Lewis stared at him hard across the desk. "You..." And Sparkle's breath caught. "... to give a shit. You've been livin' with us for four years now, we've given you love we've given you food we've given you comfort I want you to care! Is there anything in this world you care about?"
Of course there wasn't.
Of course not.
That he made his way back to his room as quickly as possible for the second time that day and booked himself a portal to the island as he started packing an overnight bag meant absolutely fucking nothing.
Sparkle didn't care.
[OOC: More Habitat! And yeaah, here's about the point where canon starts getting good and messy and a bit squirmy. Open for texts and phone calls, otherwise Sparkle will be around to thread with in person in time for the BDE.]
"What is the name of this street, anyway? It's like something out of fucking Pleasantville."
Raine gave him that incredulous look that she got whenever Sparkle gave her an answer that had nothing to do with the topic at hand.
"Mapleview Lanes..."
And before she could say anything more on the matter, Sparkle started laughing hysterically.
"That's hilarious!" And old news, of course. It wasn't like he didn't know the name of this stupid fucking street. But it was right there. It was easy to grab at. "Mapleview Lanes! Aaagh! I love it. I just love those names of any development built from the sixties on? Like, aaah, Fairfield Estates or Winchester Wood or -- or Birchmeadow Crescent all exclusive lifestyle living, EXcluding the likes of us, right?"
"Sparkle. You changed the subject."
Fuck.
"I know, let's colour our hair."
"Sparkle." Raine reached over and gave him a swat on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's do it. Let's find out the truth about the money. Don't you want to know if he's ripping us off?"
And there it was, out in the open between them. Raine had been talking to that old bint down in 207, who had put it in her head that Lewis made, like, tens of thousands of dollars a week to run this place, and now she wanted to break into his office and look at his records, or at least corner Lewis and demand her money and a pair of new Levis, or... or some stupid thing, and the only thing keeping Sparkle from marching down to Margaret's place to strangle the life out of her withered old body was his ability to keep Raine from bringing the whole fucking thing up.
He reached for Raine instead, hands closing tightly on her shoulders as he looked her dead in the eye.
"I love the man, Raine. You don't seem to understand... I mean for me we're living luxury I mean compared to what I grew up with? Hah! When Carla would like cook something in the oven? Like a frozen pizza? You could hear cockroaches exploding there was mice shit all over the counter every morning the toilet never worked, it was city housing, right? There was no heat, there were holes in the wall; Dad used to drag my mother by the hair and put her hand on the burner sometimes he got so bad we would all hide up on the roof? The five of us. He never thought to look there and we would be there huddled under blankets -- it was really fun, actually -- one night the Social Worker Karen walked in? And then we all got removed and Carla wept. She sat on the roof and wept and wept I will never forget the sight of her..."
He let go of Raine's shoulders abruptly as though he'd been burned, and pulled in a shaky breath.
"Oh Sparkle, that's awful--"
"Would be if it were true, huh?"
Raine stared at him, puzzled. And Sparkle just laughed. Laughed as he made his way inside and laughed his way up the stairs and into their room and laughed as he closed the door behind himself and leaned back against it and sat on the floor and laughed and laughed and cried.
------
Lewis just sat there in his office, staring down at the letter in his hand. He stared at it for a good, long time. He had a whole pile of them just like it. Another diatribe from a resident of the neighbourhood, protesting the house.
"I'm afraid this time," he noted, after a long pause. "You know that? I'm afraid we might lose this one."
"No," Sparkle countered, shaking his head. It wasn't like they hadn't been through this dance a hundred times before. "No way. You always win."
"These people are different," Lewis pointed out. "They got bigger guns, you know. Deeper pockets."
Sparkle didn't much care about their pockets. He leaned forward a bit. Smiled crookedly.
"You smell you nice. Like the dock, you know? Sort of Lake Ontario, and gasoline, and old wood and--" He glanced at the letter again as he leaned closer. Something about it caught his eye. "What..."
"Are you sure you didn't have anything to do with that b&e down the street?" Fuck. "Because if you did, so help me God I'll..."
"Oh please. You really think I want the pain in the ass of selling a hot PC or some old lady silver? That's for twelve-year-olds, Lewis. I've graduated far beyond simple b&e's."
No. He really hadn't.
"They all think it's one of you, of course."
And of course it was.
"You look like a train wreck, by the way," Sparkle noted, reaching down to rub at Lewis' shoulders from behind. "Are you alright?"
"I just don't know if I have the energy this time," Lewis muttered, closing his eyes. "I'm tired, Spark. I'm gettin' old. My back is givin' out on me. Feel like an old man."
"Do I hear you say you are giving up?"
"You heard me say I was tired. Get outta here. I'm busy."
Sparkle didn't back away. Didn't so much as glance toward the door.
"You'll never give up," he decided. Lewis had pulled through for them before, after all. It wasn't like they could chase them off. What would they do? Buy the house back from Lewis? Bitch to the government about the poor little orphan kids stirring up shit? They could try, sure. But Lewis had danced this dance so many times before... "You're made for war, Lew."
"Oh." Lewis' voice sounded weirdly flat. It made Sparkle's mouth go a little dry. "Is that what I'm made for?"
"Oh yeah. Yeah! It's that IRA blood you have running through those veins of yours. Weren't you telling me your grandfather got shot in Bloody Sunday or something?" Lewis didn't move. Sparkle paused for a half-second, and then, possibly against his better judgement, he pressed on. Committed himself to it. "Men of courage are so sexy. You are so sexy."
"Listen to me."
"What."
"You know what."
"What."
"I've told you." Lewis' shoulders tensed a little under Sparkle's hands, now. "I find that talk inappropriate. Entirely, completely inappropriate. So don't... talk like that. Anymore. Now leave me, go watch cartoons. I have work to do."
Sparkle's stomach felt like it was dropping out of him. Like Lewis had taken an icepick and carved 'child' right into his lungs and then slapped him across the face for good measure.
Go watch cartoons.
"You like me," he protested, voice a little thick. "I know you do."
"Sparks, back off. Enough of that."
"You look at me," Sparkle countered, a little more fiercely. "I've seen you looking at me."
And now Lewis was standing, sliding away from Sparkle's touch and moving across the room, around his desk.
"You've seen what you want to see, Sparks. Now get out."
"With the hungriest eyes, have I ever."
"Darlene," Lewis called, making Sparkle stop in his tracks about a half-step around the desk to follow him. "Amir? Will you come in here for a minute, please?"
"Wait!" They would fucking kill him. They would step in here and if they saw him looking at Lewis like that they would fucking kill him. And if they didn't, they would talk, and somebody else would. Of course they would. "I'm sorry. I won't anymore. I was just teasing, Lewis. I promise. Please..."
"Look." Lewis' voice was terse as he reached for the letter, holding it up and shaking it at him. "I'm tellin' you I'm gonna lose this house and you think it's some kinda goddamn game, Sparkle. Will you wake up? Will you wake up?"
"What do you want from me?" Go watch cartoons. "I'm a kid. I'm only 18 and a half years old, like what do you want?"
He was older. Technically, he was older. That didn't matter, here. Back here in the real world, away from Fandom and its stupid fantasy bullshit where everything turned out for the best, even dying, and when people looked at you like they wanted to devour you with their eyes it meant something, and nobody cared. Nobody fucking cared where you had been, until it came back around to bite you in the ass and even then you got a second chance, didn't you? Even after Skywalker had handed Atton over to be dragged away, now they were friends. How was that for fucked up?
And here he was, and Lewis looked at him one minute and played pony rides with him like he was six years old all over again the next and which fucking was it??
"I want..." Lewis stared at him hard across the desk. "You..." And Sparkle's breath caught. "... to give a shit. You've been livin' with us for four years now, we've given you love we've given you food we've given you comfort I want you to care! Is there anything in this world you care about?"
Of course there wasn't.
Of course not.
That he made his way back to his room as quickly as possible for the second time that day and booked himself a portal to the island as he started packing an overnight bag meant absolutely fucking nothing.
Sparkle didn't care.
[OOC: More Habitat! And yeaah, here's about the point where canon starts getting good and messy and a bit squirmy. Open for texts and phone calls, otherwise Sparkle will be around to thread with in person in time for the BDE.]