Another RPM fanfic
Apr. 30th, 2011 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drownedinlightNot sure what this is, but it might get revamped (to take out some unnecessary drama) once I have some time to work on it. But it's two thousand words long. I think eventually, it might involve a song and dance number. Meh, I'm tired.
Scott grumbled as he looked out of the passenger window of his father's jeep.
"You can grumble all you want, boy," the Colonel said from the driver's seat. "But I don't want you to spend another day in the house just mopping around not doing anything."
"I still don't understand why you are making me go to a godfather who I don't even remember that well," Scott said. "You could have just, I don't know, dropped me off at the library or something."
"Speaking of which, I expect you to show me some finished assignments by the end of the day," Mason told him. "And try not to strain yourself, you only just healed up and got out of the cast. Your mother would ride my ass if you got hurt again so soon after that." Scott wanted to make a witty remark about that statement, but could not do so without thinking of his parents in some sort of compromising position.
"How is Mom?" Scott asked, instead. "I haven't had a chance to talk to her since I had my accident."
"She sends her love and a whole lotta instructions," Mason replied. "I dunno what you're so worried about though. Jak's that guy that every kid wants to be his father. His son's not so bad either."
"Oh, come on, Dad, we've been stationed here for like three months, and even I've heard about how much of an outcast Ziggy Grover is."
"Zephaniah," Mason corrected, turning on to a dirt road. "And I was an outcast in school, so was your mother, your Uncle Jak and your Auntie Evi. We all turned out to be successful, well liked people, Scott. And did you ever think maybe he's being a little put out by hanging out with his godbrother who has such a piss pour attitude, he can't even bother to put aside prejudice and heresay until after they've met."
"All right fine!" Scott exclaimed sitting up in his seat. "I won't judge him until I meet him."
"I suppose it might be too much to ask for you not to judge him at all, at least until you get to know him?" Mason asked, turning onto a gravel drive.
"They live this far out into the woods?" Scott asked.
"Jak always liked a lot of land," Mason retorted, putting the car into park just in front of the house's garage. A tall, dark haired man came out of the front door and waved to them as they both exited the car.
"Mason, it's good to see you again," said the man, offering out his hand.
"You too, Jak," Mason said, shaking his hand. Out of the door also came a lanky young man, who if he was lucky, probably stood as tall as Scott's chin, or his father's shoulders, counting the inch his ash brown curls added to the top of his head. "Hello Zephaniah."
"Good morning Uncle Mason, hey Scott." He slid his hands into his back pockets as his father spoke up,
"Can I offer you two something, some coffee or a bit of second breakfast?"
"Just coffee, but I'll take a quickly temptation, I have to be to work in thirty," Mason said. Scott stood kind of awkwardly as the two older men walked inside of the house, talking about this and that.
"You wanna go in?" Zephaniah asked. "It's kind of nippy out still." The other boy's thin tee-shirt probably did not do much to ward against the cool morning air, so even though Scott wore his leather he said,
"Sure," and grabbed his back pack from the back of the jeep.
The house had the smell of most Scott had never been to before. It was a combination of different carpet, different paint on the walls, and things hanging there, different products used to clean the place. Mostly, it smelt the same as the ait outside, which was strange, because Scott had never been in a house so well aired it did not have a smell of it's own.
"Shoes off, please," Zephaniah said, as they entered. The smaller boy grabbed a towel and wiped his feet, which Scott now noticed had been bare when he stepped into the yard. He slid off his shows as Zephaniah asked, "So, would you like to put your stuff in my room, or in the living room. Or in one of the guest rooms?"
"I'm not staying the night or anything, Ziggy," Scott told him. Zephaniah blinked and looked up at him.
"Where did you hear that name?" Scott opened his mouth to explain, but nothing came out to mix with Ziggy's hurt and embarassment. "Nevermind, don't worry about it. You can call me Ziggy if you really want to, though dad and my friends call me Zeph, but ah, anyway, I was just trying to give you some of your own space, so you don't have to feel like you have to hang around me while you're here, because I get that you really don't want to be." Ziggy's ramble died suddenly, him examining the tiled floor. "You hungry? I haven't had a chance to finish breakfast."
"Sure," Scott agreed again, leaving his bag under the coat hooks, and following Ziggy into the house. Almost right across from the door was the small dining room, which had four chairs sitting around the table, and two off to the side.
"I dished you up some food, Scott," Jak said. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, but Mason said that you like hasbrowns and sausage, and there's some coffee too." As Ziggy took his seat in one of the only two set places Scott took the other one, saying,
"Thank you," as he did. Ziggy gulped down his orange juice, and Scott turned his attention towards him as Jak turned to answer a phone call inside of the kitchen, and Mason followed to listen in. "You don't drink coffee."
"Strictly for principle reasons," Ziggy said after he had swallowed. "I always get way too hyper when I drink coffee. Which is weird, because I have naturally high amounts of energy. Some people even think I have ADHD when they first meet me, but I've been tested for it a few times, and I really do have no trouble focusing on something. Anyway, it doens't calm me down like it does some people who are naturally hyper."
"So what does work for you then?" Scott asked.
"Tea," Ziggy said. "Like it helps most normal people."
"Hey guys," Jak said appearing at the other end of the kitchen. "I just got called in on a clean up job. The kind I can't say no to. And, Scott it sounds like your dad might be on the phone about the same thing, which means we both might be gone for today and tomorrow. Zeph I know you're used to spending time here by yourself, but will you be all right Scott?"
"Actually, Jak, if you don't mind, I would like it if Scott staid anyway," Mason said. "Just so he's around someone. And in any case we don't really have time to drop you off before we're needed on base." Scott tried to protest about what he and Ziggy would do for food, and that he was going to need some changes of clothes at the very least.
"That's fine with me," Jak said, grabbing a jacket off of the back of a chair. "Zeph, help Scott out would you, if he needs something. And call, if you need anything, I will find a way or a person to come and help you. You know everything else?"
"Yeah, Dad, I do," Ziggy said.
"Good," Jak said, pulling a set of car keys from his pocket. He reached out and pulled Ziggy into an embrace. "I love you son."
"I love you too, Dad," Ziggy replied. Scott turned to find Mason squeezing his arm.
"Will you be all right here?"
"Don't look like I have much of a choice now do I?" Scott asked. Mason made a small grin.
"Yeah, you'll be fine. Take care, son, and be nice." Mason squeezed Scott's shoulder, leaving Scott and Ziggy to watch as they both exited the house.
"Well, now we're alone with nothing to do, nothing in common and no place to go," Ziggy said. "I'm going back to bed, if you don't mind. You can take the red guest room next to mind. From the looks of it, you could use the the sleep. Plus Dad mentioned you shouldn't really be stressing yourself, so an morning nap might be nice for both of us." Scott blinked at Ziggy's abrupt shift in demenour.
"Wait, just like that?" he asked, standing up from the table, trying not to put too much pressure on his leg (it was giving him a bit of a pain. He might actually need to take a pain killer and pass out). Ziggy turned and shrugged at him.
"Well, you believed the rumors about me, just like that," Ziggy said. "So, yeah, besides, you really do look like you could use some sleep. So pop your pill and go lie down. I'll wake you if you sleep past lunch." Ziggy sauntered down a hall way into a green covered room and flopped into the bed. Scott winced, but made his way over slowly to his bag, and took out an orange bottle filled with pills, putting one under his tongue before going back to the table to swallowed it. The relief would not be instantaneous, but he would really have liked the bed now. He hobbled down the short hall to the red room, where a bed was already made up. Scott collapsed, and fell right to sleep.
When he woke up, he had been tucked into the bed's sheets and blankets. He sat up to the smell of cooking ham and butter floating into his nostrils. He blinked a few times to get the tired feeling away from hsi eyes, before he rolled over to the side of the bed, and stepped out, waling into the hall, and then into the kitchen.
Ziggy stood over a griddle making grilled ham and cheese sandwiches.
"Sorry about earlier," he said with a frown. "I get a little touchy about that name, and well, I didn't mean to take it out on you."
"It's fine I guess. How long did I sleep?"
"Almost four hours. Are you hungry?" Scott's stomach rumbled.
"Starving." Ziggy--Zeph, Scott corrected himself, because he really didn't want to be called Ziggy--loaded a plate with two sandwiches and handed it to Scott who muddled over to the table.
"Are you feeling better, at least," Ziggy said, taking the other two sandwiches from the griddle.
"Yeah, sometimes the pain just comes up on me really bad, but it helps to take a pill and go to sleep, so I stay still and relax it," Scott explained, taking a bite out of the sandwich as Ziggy placed a tall glass of apple juice in front of him. Suddenly, Scott felt increadibly thirty and reached for it.
"So, ah, what happened?" Ziggy asked. "Dad just said you were in an accident."
"Oh, I broke my leg right before Dad and I moved here," Scott said. "Well, not right before, a couple of months before. When I finally got the cast off a while ago, I worked it to much and strained the muscles and tendoins. My Mom was pissed as all hell with me, and she threatened to get me back in the cast again, just so I wouldn't do anything more. I think she knew that I would need to excercise them eventually though, and she didn't want me stretching the other ones. Now if I so much think about exercising, she and Dad pounce on me. Marcus too, when he was visiting."
"He's almost done at the academy, isn't he?" Ziggy--Zeph--asked, licking some cheese off of his finger.
"It's his last year now, right before I go in," Scott said. "I'm almost glad Dad moved me around for all of high school, because I know when I get there, all I'm going to hear is, 'It's Marcus Truman's little brother,' or 'Mason Truman's son.'"
"So don't go," Zeph said. "I mean it's not like they glued you to the AFA or even that they've accepted you yet. Hell, don't apply."
Scott grumbled as he looked out of the passenger window of his father's jeep.
"You can grumble all you want, boy," the Colonel said from the driver's seat. "But I don't want you to spend another day in the house just mopping around not doing anything."
"I still don't understand why you are making me go to a godfather who I don't even remember that well," Scott said. "You could have just, I don't know, dropped me off at the library or something."
"Speaking of which, I expect you to show me some finished assignments by the end of the day," Mason told him. "And try not to strain yourself, you only just healed up and got out of the cast. Your mother would ride my ass if you got hurt again so soon after that." Scott wanted to make a witty remark about that statement, but could not do so without thinking of his parents in some sort of compromising position.
"How is Mom?" Scott asked, instead. "I haven't had a chance to talk to her since I had my accident."
"She sends her love and a whole lotta instructions," Mason replied. "I dunno what you're so worried about though. Jak's that guy that every kid wants to be his father. His son's not so bad either."
"Oh, come on, Dad, we've been stationed here for like three months, and even I've heard about how much of an outcast Ziggy Grover is."
"Zephaniah," Mason corrected, turning on to a dirt road. "And I was an outcast in school, so was your mother, your Uncle Jak and your Auntie Evi. We all turned out to be successful, well liked people, Scott. And did you ever think maybe he's being a little put out by hanging out with his godbrother who has such a piss pour attitude, he can't even bother to put aside prejudice and heresay until after they've met."
"All right fine!" Scott exclaimed sitting up in his seat. "I won't judge him until I meet him."
"I suppose it might be too much to ask for you not to judge him at all, at least until you get to know him?" Mason asked, turning onto a gravel drive.
"They live this far out into the woods?" Scott asked.
"Jak always liked a lot of land," Mason retorted, putting the car into park just in front of the house's garage. A tall, dark haired man came out of the front door and waved to them as they both exited the car.
"Mason, it's good to see you again," said the man, offering out his hand.
"You too, Jak," Mason said, shaking his hand. Out of the door also came a lanky young man, who if he was lucky, probably stood as tall as Scott's chin, or his father's shoulders, counting the inch his ash brown curls added to the top of his head. "Hello Zephaniah."
"Good morning Uncle Mason, hey Scott." He slid his hands into his back pockets as his father spoke up,
"Can I offer you two something, some coffee or a bit of second breakfast?"
"Just coffee, but I'll take a quickly temptation, I have to be to work in thirty," Mason said. Scott stood kind of awkwardly as the two older men walked inside of the house, talking about this and that.
"You wanna go in?" Zephaniah asked. "It's kind of nippy out still." The other boy's thin tee-shirt probably did not do much to ward against the cool morning air, so even though Scott wore his leather he said,
"Sure," and grabbed his back pack from the back of the jeep.
The house had the smell of most Scott had never been to before. It was a combination of different carpet, different paint on the walls, and things hanging there, different products used to clean the place. Mostly, it smelt the same as the ait outside, which was strange, because Scott had never been in a house so well aired it did not have a smell of it's own.
"Shoes off, please," Zephaniah said, as they entered. The smaller boy grabbed a towel and wiped his feet, which Scott now noticed had been bare when he stepped into the yard. He slid off his shows as Zephaniah asked, "So, would you like to put your stuff in my room, or in the living room. Or in one of the guest rooms?"
"I'm not staying the night or anything, Ziggy," Scott told him. Zephaniah blinked and looked up at him.
"Where did you hear that name?" Scott opened his mouth to explain, but nothing came out to mix with Ziggy's hurt and embarassment. "Nevermind, don't worry about it. You can call me Ziggy if you really want to, though dad and my friends call me Zeph, but ah, anyway, I was just trying to give you some of your own space, so you don't have to feel like you have to hang around me while you're here, because I get that you really don't want to be." Ziggy's ramble died suddenly, him examining the tiled floor. "You hungry? I haven't had a chance to finish breakfast."
"Sure," Scott agreed again, leaving his bag under the coat hooks, and following Ziggy into the house. Almost right across from the door was the small dining room, which had four chairs sitting around the table, and two off to the side.
"I dished you up some food, Scott," Jak said. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, but Mason said that you like hasbrowns and sausage, and there's some coffee too." As Ziggy took his seat in one of the only two set places Scott took the other one, saying,
"Thank you," as he did. Ziggy gulped down his orange juice, and Scott turned his attention towards him as Jak turned to answer a phone call inside of the kitchen, and Mason followed to listen in. "You don't drink coffee."
"Strictly for principle reasons," Ziggy said after he had swallowed. "I always get way too hyper when I drink coffee. Which is weird, because I have naturally high amounts of energy. Some people even think I have ADHD when they first meet me, but I've been tested for it a few times, and I really do have no trouble focusing on something. Anyway, it doens't calm me down like it does some people who are naturally hyper."
"So what does work for you then?" Scott asked.
"Tea," Ziggy said. "Like it helps most normal people."
"Hey guys," Jak said appearing at the other end of the kitchen. "I just got called in on a clean up job. The kind I can't say no to. And, Scott it sounds like your dad might be on the phone about the same thing, which means we both might be gone for today and tomorrow. Zeph I know you're used to spending time here by yourself, but will you be all right Scott?"
"Actually, Jak, if you don't mind, I would like it if Scott staid anyway," Mason said. "Just so he's around someone. And in any case we don't really have time to drop you off before we're needed on base." Scott tried to protest about what he and Ziggy would do for food, and that he was going to need some changes of clothes at the very least.
"That's fine with me," Jak said, grabbing a jacket off of the back of a chair. "Zeph, help Scott out would you, if he needs something. And call, if you need anything, I will find a way or a person to come and help you. You know everything else?"
"Yeah, Dad, I do," Ziggy said.
"Good," Jak said, pulling a set of car keys from his pocket. He reached out and pulled Ziggy into an embrace. "I love you son."
"I love you too, Dad," Ziggy replied. Scott turned to find Mason squeezing his arm.
"Will you be all right here?"
"Don't look like I have much of a choice now do I?" Scott asked. Mason made a small grin.
"Yeah, you'll be fine. Take care, son, and be nice." Mason squeezed Scott's shoulder, leaving Scott and Ziggy to watch as they both exited the house.
"Well, now we're alone with nothing to do, nothing in common and no place to go," Ziggy said. "I'm going back to bed, if you don't mind. You can take the red guest room next to mind. From the looks of it, you could use the the sleep. Plus Dad mentioned you shouldn't really be stressing yourself, so an morning nap might be nice for both of us." Scott blinked at Ziggy's abrupt shift in demenour.
"Wait, just like that?" he asked, standing up from the table, trying not to put too much pressure on his leg (it was giving him a bit of a pain. He might actually need to take a pain killer and pass out). Ziggy turned and shrugged at him.
"Well, you believed the rumors about me, just like that," Ziggy said. "So, yeah, besides, you really do look like you could use some sleep. So pop your pill and go lie down. I'll wake you if you sleep past lunch." Ziggy sauntered down a hall way into a green covered room and flopped into the bed. Scott winced, but made his way over slowly to his bag, and took out an orange bottle filled with pills, putting one under his tongue before going back to the table to swallowed it. The relief would not be instantaneous, but he would really have liked the bed now. He hobbled down the short hall to the red room, where a bed was already made up. Scott collapsed, and fell right to sleep.
When he woke up, he had been tucked into the bed's sheets and blankets. He sat up to the smell of cooking ham and butter floating into his nostrils. He blinked a few times to get the tired feeling away from hsi eyes, before he rolled over to the side of the bed, and stepped out, waling into the hall, and then into the kitchen.
Ziggy stood over a griddle making grilled ham and cheese sandwiches.
"Sorry about earlier," he said with a frown. "I get a little touchy about that name, and well, I didn't mean to take it out on you."
"It's fine I guess. How long did I sleep?"
"Almost four hours. Are you hungry?" Scott's stomach rumbled.
"Starving." Ziggy--Zeph, Scott corrected himself, because he really didn't want to be called Ziggy--loaded a plate with two sandwiches and handed it to Scott who muddled over to the table.
"Are you feeling better, at least," Ziggy said, taking the other two sandwiches from the griddle.
"Yeah, sometimes the pain just comes up on me really bad, but it helps to take a pill and go to sleep, so I stay still and relax it," Scott explained, taking a bite out of the sandwich as Ziggy placed a tall glass of apple juice in front of him. Suddenly, Scott felt increadibly thirty and reached for it.
"So, ah, what happened?" Ziggy asked. "Dad just said you were in an accident."
"Oh, I broke my leg right before Dad and I moved here," Scott said. "Well, not right before, a couple of months before. When I finally got the cast off a while ago, I worked it to much and strained the muscles and tendoins. My Mom was pissed as all hell with me, and she threatened to get me back in the cast again, just so I wouldn't do anything more. I think she knew that I would need to excercise them eventually though, and she didn't want me stretching the other ones. Now if I so much think about exercising, she and Dad pounce on me. Marcus too, when he was visiting."
"He's almost done at the academy, isn't he?" Ziggy--Zeph--asked, licking some cheese off of his finger.
"It's his last year now, right before I go in," Scott said. "I'm almost glad Dad moved me around for all of high school, because I know when I get there, all I'm going to hear is, 'It's Marcus Truman's little brother,' or 'Mason Truman's son.'"
"So don't go," Zeph said. "I mean it's not like they glued you to the AFA or even that they've accepted you yet. Hell, don't apply."
