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My Brother's Keeper (Final Cut: Mikhail/Kismet|Schuyler)
Okay, yes, it's a few days late. :-) But her party's this weekend and I can't be there - damn lack of matter transporter - so this is my contribution.
Especially for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dawnstar, (but the rest of you can read it, naturally.) I bring you a slice from the FinalCutverse. Happy birthday, hon.
The living room was a mess and it seemed like they'd never be finished unpacking. Just as soon as they broke down what was surely the last box three more seemed to leap out of nowhere. She had no idea where they came from, especially since they'd taken a vanful of stuff down to the Goodwill store after it was determined that Mik was moving in with them, just to get rid of the duplicate toasters and plates and worn-out towels. Kismet sighed and collapsed on the sofa, pushing her sweat-sticky dark curls out of her face. "I hope we're done soon."
Mik sat down next to her, gently massaging her shoulders and neck. "We will be, babe. I mean, this is like, the dregs."
"It would go faster if Schuyler actually helped." she replied, a trace of bitterness in her voice. "Where is he anyway?"
"Went to take Juanita for walkies, I think." Mik shrugged.
Kismet stared at her boyfriend incredulously for a moment. "It's a car. Juanita's a car."
"Yeah, I know. Boss-man thinks she's people, or at least a dog, so I just kinda let it go, you know? Yeah, he's probably out at the beach or some shit scouting out locations for Hazing Milk. That guy is a fireball, man, he never stops working. He's a goddamn genius."
She took a drink of water and started picking through a half-open box of what could really only be called 'junk', even though it was marked 'office'. Plastic frisbee-disk film canisters, meticulously labelled in Schuyler's block-printing - 'Evil I Live' footage, reels thirteen through eighteen. Staples. Bags of airline peanuts, a lanyard from the Sundance festival a couple of years ago, three odd socks in various pre-washed degrees of faded black, and a tangled mess of papers. Sighing, she picked them up and started putting them in order. "He might be a genius, but he's sure messy, anyway."
"You want something to eat, babe?"
"If you're getting something, sure." Kismet leaned over to kiss him, catching his hand and letting it go lingeringly. Mik grinned and massaged her fingers for a moment before he vanished into the kitchen.
Something fluttered to the floor, and she leaned down to pick it up.
It was a photograph, slick-shiny on one side and curling slightly around the edges; a little girl with wispy blonde curls and a baby-toothed smile, dressed up for some occasion in a pink dress and white Mary Janes, lightly scuffed at the toes. She was reaching out toward the photographer, holding out a stuffed bear by one leg.
Kismet squinted and looked at it again.
Those eyes. Big green eyes with long lashes. And something about the slightly pointed chin, the upswept curve of an ear just behind the ribbon-laced alice band...
She had those eyes, that chin.
Schuyler had those eyes.
Kismet looked up at Mik as he came into the room with a couple of nectarines in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. "Who's this?"
Mik traded her a nectarine for the photograph and sighed, shaking his head and sending his dreadlocks into clicking perpetual motion. "Look, Kiz ... why don't you just forget all about this, 'kay? Just put it back in the box an' leave it."
"Fine." she wrinkled her lip delicately. "I'll just ask Schuyler about it when he gets home."
"No! No, no, jeez, Kizzie, you don't want that, okay? Just ... aw, shit, Kiz, you've got me in a real bad spot, 'kay?" He sank down in the aging recliner chair and sighed again, still staring at the photograph. "Shit, I remember that day, man."
"What happened? Who is it?"
"Kiz, I'm not supposed to tell."
"What, you're not supposed to tell that my brother had a baby girl?" she snapped and turned away, taking a savage bite out of her nectarine.
There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Kizzie ... aw, goddamnit. All right ... I'll tell you."
Kismet turned back, wiping her hands on the knees of her jeans before taking the photograph from his hand again.
"You've gotta promise not to say anything." Mik replied seriously. "I mean it. He doesn't wanna talk about it."
"I promise."
"Swear?"
"I swear." She traced the line of the baby's blonde curls with a short-nailed fingertip. "How old is she in this picture?"
"That was about a year and a half ago ... she's about four now."
"What's her name?"
"Audrey." Mik sighed, popping the top off his beer and taking a long drink before he began.
* * *
"Boss-man met Jenny-Lyn down at Redondo Beach, if you can believe it. We were down there drinkin' slurpees and checkin' out the surfbabes - I had a thing going with a little blonde named Alisha May, an' we were gonna go out for chinese. We parked, we were waitin' for her - the waves were hot that night an' Alisha was still out - when this chick walks by."
"Was she pretty?" Kismet asked.
"Oh, fuck yes, she was gorgeous - she had legs that you would not fucking believe, Kiz, she was wearin' short-shorts and a halter top and her hair was wet, she looked like Miss America. Boss-man's sitting there with his feet up on the dashboard drinkin' a slurpee an' smokin' a cohiba - he used to do that, sometimes; hasn't for a long time. Looks like fuckin' Jimmy Hoffa, or whatever, one of those mob guys.
Now you gotta understand that on any other night he woulda just stared and drooled an' let it ride, you know? But this was the night that Six Minutes of Silence - that was his junior project - he found out that he'd won the film department award, you know? So he was walkin' on fuckin' clouds, that night. Just looked at me, grinned and got out of the car and walked over to her, like Babe Ruth callin' the fences, you know? Whatever he said it must have worked, 'cause twenty minutes later Alisha May an' her and the boss-man an' me were headed into town, an' she went home with him that night.
She wanted to be a model, and she had half a shot - she came from a little podunk town in Tennessee where she was the most gorgeous thing for a hundred miles. Sure, yeah, she was spoiled like bad milk but boss-man fell head over heels for her even if she did treat him like shit."
"Oh?"
"Oh yeah, she played him like a cheap harmonica. You know - the little touch-on-the arm thing, the tears thing, the big-pout thing, the buckets-of-guilt you don't love me thing? She had him so far aroun' her lil finger that she hardly needed the damn engagement ring he went into fuckin' hock for, but she took it anyway, not that it mattered to her. An' they got married - City Hall wedding, little thing - and then Audrey was born."
"How long were they married for?"
"Three years. They broke up 'round the time that picture was taken." Mik sighed, taking it back from Kismet.
"Was it ... bad?"
"Depends." he replied evasively. "You think finding your wife in bed with another guy's bad?"
"Ow." Kismet bit her lip, blinking back an eyeful of salt tears.
"Yeah. Some Cinemax VP doin' the horizontal mambo with mommy while Audrey was havin' her nap-nap in the next room. An' she had the fucking ... she had the balls to blame him for it. I mean, guy is workin' three jobs an' she's sittin' around not botherin' showin' up at her casting calls an' it's his fault?" Mik muttered something dark under his breath, black Soviet curses that probably had to do with the rotting corpse of Lenin, and loosened his grip on the beer bottle before continuing. "Yeah. So they split up."
"Where ... where is she now?"
"Audie? She's with her mama. Jenny-Lyn spun some shit at the custody hearing about boss-man being a drunken bastard an' got full custody. Broke boss-man in two. He didn't talk for six days after that. Somethin' broke inside, man." He sighed and took a long drink of his beer, putting the empty bottle down on the table. "You see? That's why he doesn't wanna talk about it. I mean, he still sees 'em around sometimes. They still live in the city."
"She won't even let him see his own daughter?"
"Yep. It's a fuckin' farce, innit?"
"But ... that's not fair!"
"Life sucks, Kiz." Mik craned his neck and peered out the window, jumping out of the recliner and over to the sofa. "Remember. Don't say nothin', okay? I'm not supposed to tell nobody."
"I won't." Kismet shook her head, taking a final look at the picture before shoving it back into the bottom of the box under the rest of the papers.
The doorknob rattled for a moment and pushed open; Schuyler set down the paper tray in his hand, tossed his dark glasses onto the coffee table and flipped his sweaty blonde hair up underneath his baseball cap again. "It's like Death fucking Valley out there."
"Oooh, slurpees." Kismet chirped, eyeing the tray.
"Don't say I never did anything for you." Schuyler collapsed into the recliner and lay back, eyes closed. "Yours is the red one. Oh Sundance, do we have vodka?"
"Yeah, sure, boss-man." Mik replied, zipping a finger across his lips silently before he darted into the kitchen. "Lemon, or raspberry?"
"Surprise me."
Kismet cleared her throat and took a sip of her red frozen drink, eyeing the tall black-clad figure of her brother sprawled out in the chair. "So ... where'd you go?"
"Out." Schuyler replied shortly, not bothering to open his eyes. "Driving. Juanita and I ended up somewhere in San Bernadino."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Kismet, why would I not be okay?" He opened one eye, stared at at her through a suspicious green half-slit like a dragon someone had just poked with a stick. "What, you got me insured or something, you tryin' to kill me off?"
"No, no." Kismet replied quickly and took another drink. "Mom called."
"I'll call her back later." Schuyler replied, taking the bottle of vodka from Mik and pouring a dollop into his slurpee. "Or tomorrow. Sometime, anyway."
Especially for
dawnstar, (but the rest of you can read it, naturally.) I bring you a slice from the FinalCutverse. Happy birthday, hon.The living room was a mess and it seemed like they'd never be finished unpacking. Just as soon as they broke down what was surely the last box three more seemed to leap out of nowhere. She had no idea where they came from, especially since they'd taken a vanful of stuff down to the Goodwill store after it was determined that Mik was moving in with them, just to get rid of the duplicate toasters and plates and worn-out towels. Kismet sighed and collapsed on the sofa, pushing her sweat-sticky dark curls out of her face. "I hope we're done soon."
Mik sat down next to her, gently massaging her shoulders and neck. "We will be, babe. I mean, this is like, the dregs."
"It would go faster if Schuyler actually helped." she replied, a trace of bitterness in her voice. "Where is he anyway?"
"Went to take Juanita for walkies, I think." Mik shrugged.
Kismet stared at her boyfriend incredulously for a moment. "It's a car. Juanita's a car."
"Yeah, I know. Boss-man thinks she's people, or at least a dog, so I just kinda let it go, you know? Yeah, he's probably out at the beach or some shit scouting out locations for Hazing Milk. That guy is a fireball, man, he never stops working. He's a goddamn genius."
She took a drink of water and started picking through a half-open box of what could really only be called 'junk', even though it was marked 'office'. Plastic frisbee-disk film canisters, meticulously labelled in Schuyler's block-printing - 'Evil I Live' footage, reels thirteen through eighteen. Staples. Bags of airline peanuts, a lanyard from the Sundance festival a couple of years ago, three odd socks in various pre-washed degrees of faded black, and a tangled mess of papers. Sighing, she picked them up and started putting them in order. "He might be a genius, but he's sure messy, anyway."
"You want something to eat, babe?"
"If you're getting something, sure." Kismet leaned over to kiss him, catching his hand and letting it go lingeringly. Mik grinned and massaged her fingers for a moment before he vanished into the kitchen.
Something fluttered to the floor, and she leaned down to pick it up.
It was a photograph, slick-shiny on one side and curling slightly around the edges; a little girl with wispy blonde curls and a baby-toothed smile, dressed up for some occasion in a pink dress and white Mary Janes, lightly scuffed at the toes. She was reaching out toward the photographer, holding out a stuffed bear by one leg.
Kismet squinted and looked at it again.
Those eyes. Big green eyes with long lashes. And something about the slightly pointed chin, the upswept curve of an ear just behind the ribbon-laced alice band...
She had those eyes, that chin.
Schuyler had those eyes.
Kismet looked up at Mik as he came into the room with a couple of nectarines in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. "Who's this?"
Mik traded her a nectarine for the photograph and sighed, shaking his head and sending his dreadlocks into clicking perpetual motion. "Look, Kiz ... why don't you just forget all about this, 'kay? Just put it back in the box an' leave it."
"Fine." she wrinkled her lip delicately. "I'll just ask Schuyler about it when he gets home."
"No! No, no, jeez, Kizzie, you don't want that, okay? Just ... aw, shit, Kiz, you've got me in a real bad spot, 'kay?" He sank down in the aging recliner chair and sighed again, still staring at the photograph. "Shit, I remember that day, man."
"What happened? Who is it?"
"Kiz, I'm not supposed to tell."
"What, you're not supposed to tell that my brother had a baby girl?" she snapped and turned away, taking a savage bite out of her nectarine.
There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Kizzie ... aw, goddamnit. All right ... I'll tell you."
Kismet turned back, wiping her hands on the knees of her jeans before taking the photograph from his hand again.
"You've gotta promise not to say anything." Mik replied seriously. "I mean it. He doesn't wanna talk about it."
"I promise."
"Swear?"
"I swear." She traced the line of the baby's blonde curls with a short-nailed fingertip. "How old is she in this picture?"
"That was about a year and a half ago ... she's about four now."
"What's her name?"
"Audrey." Mik sighed, popping the top off his beer and taking a long drink before he began.
* * *
"Boss-man met Jenny-Lyn down at Redondo Beach, if you can believe it. We were down there drinkin' slurpees and checkin' out the surfbabes - I had a thing going with a little blonde named Alisha May, an' we were gonna go out for chinese. We parked, we were waitin' for her - the waves were hot that night an' Alisha was still out - when this chick walks by."
"Was she pretty?" Kismet asked.
"Oh, fuck yes, she was gorgeous - she had legs that you would not fucking believe, Kiz, she was wearin' short-shorts and a halter top and her hair was wet, she looked like Miss America. Boss-man's sitting there with his feet up on the dashboard drinkin' a slurpee an' smokin' a cohiba - he used to do that, sometimes; hasn't for a long time. Looks like fuckin' Jimmy Hoffa, or whatever, one of those mob guys.
Now you gotta understand that on any other night he woulda just stared and drooled an' let it ride, you know? But this was the night that Six Minutes of Silence - that was his junior project - he found out that he'd won the film department award, you know? So he was walkin' on fuckin' clouds, that night. Just looked at me, grinned and got out of the car and walked over to her, like Babe Ruth callin' the fences, you know? Whatever he said it must have worked, 'cause twenty minutes later Alisha May an' her and the boss-man an' me were headed into town, an' she went home with him that night.
She wanted to be a model, and she had half a shot - she came from a little podunk town in Tennessee where she was the most gorgeous thing for a hundred miles. Sure, yeah, she was spoiled like bad milk but boss-man fell head over heels for her even if she did treat him like shit."
"Oh?"
"Oh yeah, she played him like a cheap harmonica. You know - the little touch-on-the arm thing, the tears thing, the big-pout thing, the buckets-of-guilt you don't love me thing? She had him so far aroun' her lil finger that she hardly needed the damn engagement ring he went into fuckin' hock for, but she took it anyway, not that it mattered to her. An' they got married - City Hall wedding, little thing - and then Audrey was born."
"How long were they married for?"
"Three years. They broke up 'round the time that picture was taken." Mik sighed, taking it back from Kismet.
"Was it ... bad?"
"Depends." he replied evasively. "You think finding your wife in bed with another guy's bad?"
"Ow." Kismet bit her lip, blinking back an eyeful of salt tears.
"Yeah. Some Cinemax VP doin' the horizontal mambo with mommy while Audrey was havin' her nap-nap in the next room. An' she had the fucking ... she had the balls to blame him for it. I mean, guy is workin' three jobs an' she's sittin' around not botherin' showin' up at her casting calls an' it's his fault?" Mik muttered something dark under his breath, black Soviet curses that probably had to do with the rotting corpse of Lenin, and loosened his grip on the beer bottle before continuing. "Yeah. So they split up."
"Where ... where is she now?"
"Audie? She's with her mama. Jenny-Lyn spun some shit at the custody hearing about boss-man being a drunken bastard an' got full custody. Broke boss-man in two. He didn't talk for six days after that. Somethin' broke inside, man." He sighed and took a long drink of his beer, putting the empty bottle down on the table. "You see? That's why he doesn't wanna talk about it. I mean, he still sees 'em around sometimes. They still live in the city."
"She won't even let him see his own daughter?"
"Yep. It's a fuckin' farce, innit?"
"But ... that's not fair!"
"Life sucks, Kiz." Mik craned his neck and peered out the window, jumping out of the recliner and over to the sofa. "Remember. Don't say nothin', okay? I'm not supposed to tell nobody."
"I won't." Kismet shook her head, taking a final look at the picture before shoving it back into the bottom of the box under the rest of the papers.
The doorknob rattled for a moment and pushed open; Schuyler set down the paper tray in his hand, tossed his dark glasses onto the coffee table and flipped his sweaty blonde hair up underneath his baseball cap again. "It's like Death fucking Valley out there."
"Oooh, slurpees." Kismet chirped, eyeing the tray.
"Don't say I never did anything for you." Schuyler collapsed into the recliner and lay back, eyes closed. "Yours is the red one. Oh Sundance, do we have vodka?"
"Yeah, sure, boss-man." Mik replied, zipping a finger across his lips silently before he darted into the kitchen. "Lemon, or raspberry?"
"Surprise me."
Kismet cleared her throat and took a sip of her red frozen drink, eyeing the tall black-clad figure of her brother sprawled out in the chair. "So ... where'd you go?"
"Out." Schuyler replied shortly, not bothering to open his eyes. "Driving. Juanita and I ended up somewhere in San Bernadino."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Kismet, why would I not be okay?" He opened one eye, stared at at her through a suspicious green half-slit like a dragon someone had just poked with a stick. "What, you got me insured or something, you tryin' to kill me off?"
"No, no." Kismet replied quickly and took another drink. "Mom called."
"I'll call her back later." Schuyler replied, taking the bottle of vodka from Mik and pouring a dollop into his slurpee. "Or tomorrow. Sometime, anyway."
no subject
Wow, though. I'd like to re-read this tomorrow when I'm (hopefully) more awake (4ish hours Friday night, and probably 5 last night is NOT enough sleep for a weekend), but I like it.
Thank you. :)
no subject
Glad you enjoyed it. :-)