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31_days2014-01-12 07:59 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2014-01-12 07:59 pm
[Jan. 12] [Boardwalk Empire] Rain, the Threshold
Title: Rain, the Threshold
Day/Theme: Jan. 12, 2014 "he does not want to come in"
Series: Boardwalk Empire
Character/Pairing: Meyer, Benny, Charlie
Rating: PG-13
The door bursts open forcefully and Meyer looks up from his books even though he's pretty much sure he already knows who it's going to be. "Charlie's outside," Benny says, shaking himself off like a wet dog, spraying droplets off his dull, brown coat and onto the surrounding furniture.
"Hey, hey," Meyer's voice raises a step in force with annoyance, "Were you raised in a barn? If you're going to come in here with that much of the weather on you, the least you can do is let it drip meekly to the floor."
Benny's face twitches in a typically strange manner. "It's a reflex," he offers back.
Meyer's not having any of that, but arguing is hardly the proper way to teach Benny anything, least of all manners. Even if the kid is slow on the uptake, leading by example should rub at least a thin veneer of decency onto him eventually. The more important matter is Charlie- what he's doing outside and why he's not coming in. "…Did he say something?" he prompts Benny.
"Who?" Benny asks, his overwound mind already long skittered past the topic he opened their conversation with.
"Charlie," Meyer's tone stays even, "Did he say anything to you? Is there some reason he's staying out there?"
"Heh," Benny sits down, staining the chair dark with residual water, "Nah, he didn't say anything. He's just standing there staring in. Looking a little the worse for the wear- like somebody worked him over good. …Wouldn't have expected-" he broke off as Meyer shot up out of his seat.
"I'll be right back," he excused himself, leaving Benny peering curiously after him, though not so interested as to follow along.
He moved briskly through the shop- business-like, he urged himself, not with worry- and the door swung open fast at the touch of his hand.
There was Charlie, without an umbrella, his face swollen and bruised, his hair a droopy, curling mess, and all but soaked through. "I fucked up," he greeted Meyer, "You wanna hear me say it- how you were right the whole time-"
"No," Meyer shook his head, "I don't care about that. You come inside."
Day/Theme: Jan. 12, 2014 "he does not want to come in"
Series: Boardwalk Empire
Character/Pairing: Meyer, Benny, Charlie
Rating: PG-13
The door bursts open forcefully and Meyer looks up from his books even though he's pretty much sure he already knows who it's going to be. "Charlie's outside," Benny says, shaking himself off like a wet dog, spraying droplets off his dull, brown coat and onto the surrounding furniture.
"Hey, hey," Meyer's voice raises a step in force with annoyance, "Were you raised in a barn? If you're going to come in here with that much of the weather on you, the least you can do is let it drip meekly to the floor."
Benny's face twitches in a typically strange manner. "It's a reflex," he offers back.
Meyer's not having any of that, but arguing is hardly the proper way to teach Benny anything, least of all manners. Even if the kid is slow on the uptake, leading by example should rub at least a thin veneer of decency onto him eventually. The more important matter is Charlie- what he's doing outside and why he's not coming in. "…Did he say something?" he prompts Benny.
"Who?" Benny asks, his overwound mind already long skittered past the topic he opened their conversation with.
"Charlie," Meyer's tone stays even, "Did he say anything to you? Is there some reason he's staying out there?"
"Heh," Benny sits down, staining the chair dark with residual water, "Nah, he didn't say anything. He's just standing there staring in. Looking a little the worse for the wear- like somebody worked him over good. …Wouldn't have expected-" he broke off as Meyer shot up out of his seat.
"I'll be right back," he excused himself, leaving Benny peering curiously after him, though not so interested as to follow along.
He moved briskly through the shop- business-like, he urged himself, not with worry- and the door swung open fast at the touch of his hand.
There was Charlie, without an umbrella, his face swollen and bruised, his hair a droopy, curling mess, and all but soaked through. "I fucked up," he greeted Meyer, "You wanna hear me say it- how you were right the whole time-"
"No," Meyer shook his head, "I don't care about that. You come inside."