Au contraire, as the elder party I can and I say no Roman Legion.
The trash was five steps away and the fridge was right there. If we squeeze
it hard and make it do the farting noise we can probably still get a bit
out.
It's not a long walk and it's not really that bad out so therefore it meets any standard definition of 'a nice walk.' There is some dawdling however, but that's kinda common when it comes to Harry. A subtle teenage rebellion? Uncertainty? Not entirely certain he would be there anyway? People are complicated.
Two minutes after fifteen minutes the bell over the door jingles and the smell of sugar cones comes on strong. Last block was spent contemplating the best strategy for tackling the ice cream situation that would present itself. Soft serve? Toppings? The world is her oyster.
Maybe it was more like two blocks.
Anyway, she gives a look around, casual, breath held slightly, playing the part of someone who could completely care less about the person they're looking for. It's an act. Probably always will be. The heart is complicated.
I'm never going to win "Father of the Year" and if I do it's going to be preceded by the word "Worst". You don't get to claim that sort of award when you kill your little girl's mother after she got kidnapped by vampires who wanted to sacrifice her to end a grudge your mom started. I feel like if you can say any of that then you're most likely going to win the "Most Harry Dresden" award, which as the person who has been winning that award all his life let me tell you that you don't want it. But I do like to think I'd at least be in the running for "Dad Who Tries His Best In The Face Of Unusual Circumstances" if for no other reason that my Unusual Circumstances™ are really unusual.
And that's why I put on pants- jeans even- to go have ice cream with my daughter. Because damn it, I'm really trying here. Also, because there's a very solemn duty that comes with being a father I threw on a shirt that strikes the right balance between "this is hilarious" and "I hope I'm embarrassing my daughter".
In the ice cream store I tried to calm myself. "Be vanilla. Be cool. Be smooth. Be chill. You are the vanilla," I told myself. I'm not sure if it worked very well though because as soon as I saw her come in my heart and my stomach did that thing where they tried to get in a contest to see who could flop and flutter the most. Every time I see her I just want to run up and hug her tight. Instead I just give a little wave and a smile that I hope doesn't look too much like it says, "I'm sorry it's me here".
Yeah, he's not winning Father of the Year, but he would totally bring home the gold in his Unusual Circumstances category. And all of this knowledge doesn't even really make things easier for Maggie. Especially not for very little Maggie who was suddenly thrust into a new world with a new family and a father that was kind of there? Because when you're little there is the sad belief that the reason mom and dad aren't around is because of you, not because of them.
But there is a certain brutal self and world awareness that one gains when you go through a horrific trauma at a young age. Which allowed for a sort of relationship with Harry and the rest of the world. A facade of easiness and congeniality while having a conversation through the inches of an open door held by a chain. The paranoid, scared, woman in 3B. Ready to be slammed shut at the first sign of trouble or hurt.
Because Maggie gotta do Maggie.
She sees the wave and smiles, giving a nod of recognition and breathing a little easier: he's here, that makes her happy, a cautious band aid on a bruised heart. That shirt however makes her roll her eyes, but it's a good natured roll. Margaret makes her way through the spread of tables, long Harry Dresden legs, a smattering of Susan where it matters (let's be real). No clever shirt, but she is rocking the thrift store look: all black everything which probably gives her a more Harry look than Susan.
And she stands, awkwardly, because she is beyond that age where she feels comfortable running up to someone and throwing her arms around them regardless of response. So she waits for him to make the first move. "I have, like no idea what I'm getting ice cream wise. Abundance of choice always freaks me out, and after choosing I always feel like I like someone else's better."
When I looked at Maggie it was hard for me to not see Susan, especially when she smiled. For a while it hurt badly, especially because of the guilt I carried that would make Atlas hesitant to switch places with me. But after a while it changed. Not my guilt because I'm too much of a sad sack mess for that but because I realized this was a way that the rest of the world could still get to see a bit of Susan. And I think Susan would be proud of what Maggie is showing the world of her. I know I am.
"Well, choice number one was freezer-burned vanilla so if you have regrets here then you're always welcome to raid the back of my ice box," I said, standing when she came to the table. I wanted to hug her, I always want to hug her, but I'm not sure how to go about that. It should be simple, I just wrap my arms around her, or even just one arm. But it's unfortunately complicated and that damned guilt complex makes me feel like I don't have the right to ask for one. I could go for the first bump I guess but that seemed worse than nothing so instead I just gestured for her to have a seat across from me. So long as we didn't sit directly across from each other we should have enough leg room.
"But other than that I think it's hard to go wrong with a banana split."
[Thanks! Makes it easier for me to get the voice.]
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Hey there!
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Dying of dysentery is a special right that every child has to go through.
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how are you able to stand this?
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Because it builds character, puts hair on your chest, walk it off, run some dirt on it, and all those other fatherly sayings.
Would ice cream help?
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um. yes. 100%
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One-man-polka-band kind of weird or therapy kind of weird?
Ice cream it is.
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will i have to put on a coat for this? actual pants?
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Okay, I’ll back off then. You’ve got enough therapy fuel as it is.
I will be the same level of pantedness as you. So decide accordingly.
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excellent point. i mean are we going out or staying in?
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Set the well on fire. That’s the Dresden way.
I have half a carton of vanilla that has freezer burn that would cut Mab in the back of the icebox.
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grosss. you have any chocolate sauce?
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You’re young, you don’t get to command the Roman Legion yet.
Yes. Well, I have a bottle of it. An empty bottle I put back in there once it was empty.
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OMG WHY ARE YOU SUCH A MONSTER?
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Au contraire, as the elder party I can and I say no Roman Legion.
The trash was five steps away and the fridge was right there. If we squeeze it hard and make it do the farting noise we can probably still get a bit out.
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fine. i'll go out and get some.
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Why don’t we meet somewhere, my treat?
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Alright, see you soon, kiddo. Try not to get into trouble on the way.
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[ooc: u down to play out or nah? i would be interesting in playing it out but if you're not feeling it, it's all good.]
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[ooc: I'm up for it, let's do this!]
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Two minutes after fifteen minutes the bell over the door jingles and the smell of sugar cones comes on strong. Last block was spent contemplating the best strategy for tackling the ice cream situation that would present itself. Soft serve? Toppings? The world is her oyster.
Maybe it was more like two blocks.
Anyway, she gives a look around, casual, breath held slightly, playing the part of someone who could completely care less about the person they're looking for. It's an act. Probably always will be. The heart is complicated.
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And that's why I put on pants- jeans even- to go have ice cream with my daughter. Because damn it, I'm really trying here. Also, because there's a very solemn duty that comes with being a father I threw on a shirt that strikes the right balance between "this is hilarious" and "I hope I'm embarrassing my daughter".
In the ice cream store I tried to calm myself. "Be vanilla. Be cool. Be smooth. Be chill. You are the vanilla," I told myself. I'm not sure if it worked very well though because as soon as I saw her come in my heart and my stomach did that thing where they tried to get in a contest to see who could flop and flutter the most. Every time I see her I just want to run up and hug her tight. Instead I just give a little wave and a smile that I hope doesn't look too much like it says, "I'm sorry it's me here".
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But there is a certain brutal self and world awareness that one gains when you go through a horrific trauma at a young age. Which allowed for a sort of relationship with Harry and the rest of the world. A facade of easiness and congeniality while having a conversation through the inches of an open door held by a chain. The paranoid, scared, woman in 3B. Ready to be slammed shut at the first sign of trouble or hurt.
Because Maggie gotta do Maggie.
She sees the wave and smiles, giving a nod of recognition and breathing a little easier: he's here, that makes her happy, a cautious band aid on a bruised heart. That shirt however makes her roll her eyes, but it's a good natured roll. Margaret makes her way through the spread of tables, long Harry Dresden legs, a smattering of Susan where it matters (let's be real). No clever shirt, but she is rocking the thrift store look: all black everything which probably gives her a more Harry look than Susan.
And she stands, awkwardly, because she is beyond that age where she feels comfortable running up to someone and throwing her arms around them regardless of response. So she waits for him to make the first move. "I have, like no idea what I'm getting ice cream wise. Abundance of choice always freaks me out, and after choosing I always feel like I like someone else's better."
[omg first person prose, love it!!!]
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"Well, choice number one was freezer-burned vanilla so if you have regrets here then you're always welcome to raid the back of my ice box," I said, standing when she came to the table. I wanted to hug her, I always want to hug her, but I'm not sure how to go about that. It should be simple, I just wrap my arms around her, or even just one arm. But it's unfortunately complicated and that damned guilt complex makes me feel like I don't have the right to ask for one. I could go for the first bump I guess but that seemed worse than nothing so instead I just gestured for her to have a seat across from me. So long as we didn't sit directly across from each other we should have enough leg room.
"But other than that I think it's hard to go wrong with a banana split."
[Thanks! Makes it easier for me to get the voice.]
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