Sterling Boyce's Day Off



Scene Title Sterling Boyce's Day Off
Synopsis When Veronica disappears, not every incarnation of Sterling Boyce is loyal… or well behaved…
Date February 18, 2011

Veronica's Apartment

Veronica had left hours ago.

And Grayer Merck waited.

He tinkered with the cable hookup, tinkered with every electronic device in the house, and had taken apart one of Veronica’s clocks just to rebuild it for kicks. Yeah. He’s bored. He had touched nearly every single electronic device before laying down for a nap on the couch. Not that sleep came. He’d busied himself to not think about how long she’d been gone, with no access to his stash there was little chance he’d calm down enough to rest, but he’ll try regardless.

He stretches out, his arms cushioned under his head while his feet dangled upwards, angling his back slightly to support its small.

“But I’m not tired!” Boyce’s mouth whines as the blonde haired man twists off the couch, rolling rather than taking the adult route. “Wheeeeeeee~” he virtually sings as he hits the floor. His legs slide along it, like a soldier staying as low to the ground as possible. His voice becomes high pitched as he subtley peeks over one of the chairs in the living room, “Where.. are the toys.” His lips form a small ‘o’ shape of surprise as his eyes light up further. “Where are my dinosaurs?” his eyes shift from one side of the room to the other as he ambles to a stand, disappearing into the bedroom for a few minutes to find a pair of socks— blue and green coloured. Carter chose ones that don’t match.

Awhile Later

It had taken Carter time to find buttons, but he’d managed (where is anybody’s guess— potentially from other clothes, lucky Veronica). And the needle had been equally difficult. Sewing on the button-eyes at random and unprecedented angles. Of course, naturally the sock puppet game devolves into Carter making the puppets bicker at each other, mouths opening to bite and chomp on each other’s faces. Yes, he’s a boy.

“Rwaaaaaaar! RWAR!” one hand attacks the other only to—

“This is merely child’s play— “ the words are drawn out, cultured— each of the vowels rounded beyond a traditional New York accent, indicating some measure of refinement reserved for the upper crust in which Charles was raised. “I wonder how long Ronnie intended to be gone— “ he asks the others, not that they can answer. Not now. And not that Carter particularly cares; he’s safe right now, out of harm’s way, unlike those missions on which they send the Boyces.

Blinking hard, the socks are immediately rolled off Boyce’s hands. “Ridiculous child’s play,” Boyce mutters sourly as he uncrosses his legs on the floor. He straightens and smooths his t-shirt only to roll his eyes. “Grayer, goddamn slacker.” The grey shirt is regarded with disdain reserved for such silliness. “Agent Sawyer is at work and we’re here playing with Carter’s toys and taking apart electronics. Clearly your sense of duty is skewed,” Jack mutters sullenly as he trails to Boyce’s drawer. Maybe there’s something acceptable to wear in here. Something that doesn’t read Juicy.

Each article of clothing is examined disapprovingly through narrowed eyes and then cast aside into a neat little pile, discarded for some other schmuck version of Boyce to wear. Jack turns his head, a quick glance at the clock. Veronica still isn’t back. “Damned commies.” His lips press into a thin line as he marches, with regimental, nearly soldiered steps, to the kitchen to find a large chef’s knife. If he’s going to track Veronica he’ll need something.

The knife is taken, wrapped in a bit of leather cloth, and then pocketed.

“Maybe we could make a nice stew. I’m certain Veronica would appreciate it when she comes home,” there’s an unusual lilt to Boyce’s voice, merry and soft as worriedly he reaches for a different knife with which to cut vegetables. “Don’t be afraid, Carter. Shhhhh. Poor baby, so alooone… don’t worry, Melody’s here— “ he turns to the fridge and extracts several large red tomatoes, a carrot, an onion, and some garlic. Everything he needs to make a stew in a crockpot.

Finding no crock pot in the cooking supplies, he uses what’s available, turning the oven on to the lowest head setting possible. “It will be a good dinner and Veronica will be grateful for your considerate nature, Grayer. Just imagine how that’ll put you in her good graces.” Even if the others can’t respond, it’s in Melody’s nature to talk to them just the same. The vegetables are cut. The stove is on, and the stew is left to brew.

“I won’t even tell her it wasn’t you,” she smiles softly as she puts the last of the carrots into the pot before covering it. Next task: clean the kitchen. She begins to package the vegetables again, to hide them away in the crisper, only to freeze.

And then, dizzily. Woozily, Boyce turns to face the counter. His smile eases, his body becomes languid as he lazily steps away from the kitchen. The t-shirt is tugged over his forehead as he reaches into his stuff to remove a large button-up Hawaiian t-shirt. He beams as he stuffs it into his back pocket. He’ll need that later.

“My Ronnie lies over the ocean~

“Oh Ronnie lies over the sea~

“My Ronnie lies over the ocean~

“Bring back my Ronnie to me~”

The song turns to a whistle as Charles turns on his heel towards the door, Boyce’s lips extend into his most devilish grin. “Like a butterfly~” A hand is run over his hair, smoothed down before his break into the foray outside. “No reason to stay indoors— we will have an excellent time out there, I bet we can find some fast cars and loose women…” and with that? Sterling Boyce is out the door.


In New York.

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