Participants:
| Scene Title | Nothing But Yourself and Your Attitude |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Amadeus is there for Daphne whether she wants him or not in a time of need. |
| Date | May 1, 2011 |
It's dark in the apartment when Amadeus enters the unlocked door; Daphne is not on the couch or the kitchen, and she doesn't come out in a blur of motion to greet him when the door closes (or to make sure it's him and not some stranger breaking into the house — whichever way one chooses to read the daily greeting that tends to transpire. Daphne would say it's the latter, Amadeus would probably like to think the former).
There's a light from her bedroom, though at just around curfew, it's much too early for Daphne to sleep.
Closing the door behind him, Amadeus has a bag of music he's managed to acquire for her from yet another list, and more Chunky Monkey. He walks to the bedroom, knocking with his forehead due to full hands, then slowly pushes it open. "Daphne? You cool and not braless?" He of course doesn't wait for confirmation before poking his head all the way in.
The speedster was asleep, though not bra-less; by the time she's drifting awake, it's too late to yell for him to leave her alone before he's in her room.
So she yells at him to leave her alone when he's in her room.
"Go away," she snaps, rolling to face the door and Amadeus. She's still in the clothes she wore during the escape from robots with Koshka and Sable; the telltale green of grass stains her shirt and knees and even her tennis shoes. She puts one arm over her eyes to block out the light, and the underneath of the pale forearm is "roadrashed" from where she went sprawling.
"Just leave me alone for a while," she adds, words muffled.
"No fuckin' way." Amadeus says in a serious tone for once, going out to put the ice cream away, then coming back with a warm rag. He sits the bag of CDs on the floor, then stares down at her as if trying to figure out just what he should be doing with the rag. "What happened to you? Someone hurt you? I'll kill the fucker!"
Daphne snorts, rolling back away. "Not exactly. I don't wanna talk about it, all right? I did something stupid, and now I'm paying the price. By the way, don't go through the fence if you have an anklet, all right? Be careful. You can't outrun them. And they're smart. So be careful."
The words pour out despite saying she doesn't want to talk and after telling him to go away. A moment later, she waves a hand at him. "Leave me alone," she adds again grumpily. "Shut the door on your way out."
"I ain't goin' anywhere. And escape ain't the way to get out on good behavior." Amadeus notes as he crouches down in an attempt to try and carefully wipe her knees. "It ain't like I think less of you just 'cause you got caught and stuffed back in here. But I ain't gonna let you just sit in here and drown in pity or whatever."
His words make pink spots rise in her cheeks and she pushes him away with swatting hands because she can't kick him away.
"I'm not wallowing in self pity, okay? I can't walk, not until the negation shit wears off, all right? And I don't want your pity or your nursing skills to remind me how screwed I am, so you can just have the rest of the house to yourself until I can get up and kick your ass off the couch on my own two feet," she babbles, reaching to grab the blanket's edge and folding it over her legs so he can't keep dabbing at them with his wet cloth. "They're skinned knees — I'm not gonna die from them," she snaps.
"I'd be doin' this even if you could walk, and even if you did kick me in the face for it." Amadeus moves to sit on the floor and lean back against the side of the bed just under her legs, sitting the rag aside. "And I don't have any pity, you tried to break out, it's your own damned fault, but I'm still gonna help you out until you're up and movin' again. It's what friends do, you'd do it for me."
Daphne's brows rise. "You think so?" she asks — perhaps unkindly, but it's a sincere question, not a rhetorical one.
"I'm pretty much 'look out for numero uno,' Amadeus. Or historically, that's been true… things keep kinda shaking up my whole world view and all, where once in a while I get a bit more philanthropic. But you shouldn't count on me too much to be a good friend. I'm selfish. I'm rash. I get scared. I do dumb shit all the time. And I don't really try to make any one else's life a better place unless I think I owe them. And I don't want to owe you."
She heaves a sigh, and reaches down to push his head lightly. "So knock it off."
"You know how many chicks, even ones I was bangin', gave me that same shit? Tough chicks ain't any different from tough guys. Yeah, you fuck up an do dumb and selfish shit, but you just think you're gonna get through the world with nothin' but yourself and your attitude." Amadeus' head is pushed to the side a bit, then his body springs back up into its sitting position, staring at her while he continues to speak in that harsh yet sincere tone. He clearly cares about how she feels, but he's also not going to hold back from saying what he believes needs to be said.
"I did three fuckin' years. Unless a dude was just some balls to the wall gangster, all those fuckin' guys want is their families and wives and girlfriends and kids. They put up all that tough shit until they're in their cot sobbin' about all the people they're missin'." He sighs, reaching over to lightly touch her hand. "I'm your friend, you don't owe me, I like bein' around you and I don't like seein' you like this. I don't mean your legs, I mean like this, with your attitude, tryin' to push me away when all I wanna do is help. If sittin' here quietly is gonna help, then I'll sit here quietly, but I ain't goin' anywhere, and you better fuckin' believe I'm gonna cook dinner or die tryin'."
Her brows knit as she stares at him for a moment before turning her head toward the ceiling. From the side, it's harder, though not impossible, to see the tear slip out of the corner of her eye before it runs into the pillowcase.
Her jaw twitches and for a moment it looks like she might argue, but finally she sighs. "Fine."
Daphne swallows, audibly. "You can cook me dinner, but you're not gonna give me a spongebath or help me into my jammies. You may be a genuinely nice guy, Chronic, but I'm pretty sure you' still try to cop a feel."
Her hand moves out to ruffle his hair. After a beat, a more quiet and subdued "Thanks" is uttered.
"S'what I'm here for." Amadeus doesn't specify if it's copping a feel or being a nice guy, instead standing up to head out of the room. "I'm gonna get the Chunky Monkey I picked up, you can go through these." He picks up the bag and lightly sits the CDs into her lap, then he's stepping through the door again.
She wipes her eyes when she thinks he's out of the room, then pushes herself up, leaning against the wall. She begins to flip through the CDs, making a pile of what order she'll listen to them in.
She picks up the forgotten cloth and begins to dab at her knees, finishing the job he started. "Sorry," she whispers, too quiet to carry to the kitchen.
One day she'll learn to be kind to those who only seek to be kind to her. How many falls will it take?
Probably at least one more.