#pp prose

Well, shit. Tabasco doesn't know what to do with crying girls.

Maybe if he stood quietly, she wouldn't notice him. And she'd... stop.

A few minutes passed. 

Judging by the sobs still racking her body, this wasn't ending any time soon.

Gameplan: he has to approach her, and calm her down. That should be easy. Like a dog. No, wait, that's... not how you should think of girls. Fuck, being nice is hard. He’s gotta tread as lightly as possible here. This is uncharted territory for The Sauce.

“Are you... okay over there?” he asks, slowly moving forward. 

Madeleine bawls harder in response. 

What does he say? He’s good at punching things, and insulting people. These are good qualities in a hockey player. Not so much a friend.

He hears shuffling and--okay, now she’s tearing apart the board they meticulously made and kicking the wall. This isn’t a sad-crying, he realizes. This is frustration and anger and regret, and...

And he knows that feeling all too well.

He grabs her by the arms, mid-swing. “Hey, now,” he says, doing his best to sound soothing as he draws her close. “I’ve got you.” And she swings at him a bit and kicks, and eventually calms back into quiet sobs. It’s kind of like a hug, he thinks, except Madeleine might actually punch him in the face.

“I feel so stupid,” she says, eventually, sniffing.

Dreams were funny like that, though, weren't they? She thought she had total control over them, and then... Just like that, the mind says, "Nope, actually, you don't know a damn thing!"

"Come, sit and chat," her mother says, patting the seat on the bench next to her, and of course she sits with her.

"Is this... really you?" Veri asks. She has the wild idea to reach out and poke her mother in the head, but that seems... wrong. Then again, it's a dream. Isn't it?

She laughs delicately. "Well, this is a dream, is it not, Verity Vine? Is anything real in a dream?"

"Well, you've got me there, I guess," Veri replies, shrugging. Even if it's just her subconscious conjuring something up... Well, a Dream Mom is just as good as a real mom.

"Something is on your mind, I presume," her mother says, and her eyes are bright. Mothers always know.

Suddenly, it's all pouring out of Veri--her thoughts on being head of their family, how she knows she should choose an heir, who she knows it should be (Kabi, isn't it? It's always been Kabinett)... And it's as if a weight has been lifted from her immediately. The more she speaks, the easier it feels.

Her mother nods along until it’s all out. She doesn’t need to speak, Veri assumes, but when she does--

“I know you will make the right decision in the end, love. You were chosen for a reason, after all. Whoever you choose will grow the family in ways you cannot begin to imagine...”

“How do you know?”

Her mother pauses, and smiles at her. “Our family stands on the precipice of change, does it not? I have waited for this moment for a long time, Verity Vine. Another new beginning. I cannot wait to see where they take us.”

And you’re a bitch, he thought miserably, knocking back another shot. “What do you want, Ruby?” Tabasco asked.

“You know me, Sauce. I’ve always been honest with you,” she started, as began mixing a drink. “But this whole… look of yours right now. It’s gotta go.” She looked at what she was doing, grabbed another glass and began pouring.

They weren’t friends, but he’d let it slide.

“What look?”

She motioned up and down. “This miserable son-of-a-biscuit thing you’ve got going on. You fucked up with the Pastilles. Your loss, maybe try not being the worst for once in your life. It’s pathetic to still be miserable about it,” she said. She handed him one of the shot glasses.

“Bottoms up, loser. Besides, no one told you to be an asshole, you know? I mean, seventeen or eighteenr’s a bit old to play with little girls’ hearts or whatever. But most people, like, grow from that.”

“Did you come to this party just to piss me off?” he asked finally.

“Nah, I was trying to give you some friendly advice, you know? I’m not goin’ away, you’re probably not goin’ away… Might as well be friends for a night, right?”

OJ looks down at his bloodied knuckles. "I don't know, Mads. Shouldn't you be with him right now?"

"No, I'm mad at him," she replies, her back to him as she fishes bandaids out of the medicine cabinet. "I told him not to pick a fight and he went and picked a fight. And now you're all banged up, and I have to take care of you... No, Tabasco gets to clean up his mess on his own."

He looks like a petulant child, sitting on the toilet with his arms crossed, waiting for her help. He avoids looking her in the eye, even as she approaches with a washcloth and tells him the soap might sting. He only winces once, when she touches his hand. He must have busted it more than she thought.

"I'm mad at you too, you know," Maddy says, cleaning the worst of the scrapes.

"I don't get why."

"Because you thought you were hearing something you didn't like, and you got involved where you shouldn't," she scolds, pressing a bandage onto a cut. "You don't need to step in for me like that, OJ. I can take care of myself. I'm a big girl now, remember?" She mimics scratch marks on her face, to try to get a laugh out of him, but he's chewing his lip and looking down.

She reaches up to check the cut on his cheek next, but his fingers dart up and wrap around her wrist.

"I wouldn't let you get hurt," he tells her, his voice serious. 

"I know that," she says, trying to match his tone.

"I mean it, Mads." She hmms in response, and touches his cheek. He frowns again. "I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. Especially not--" He stops, clears his throat. "I promise. You're safe with me."

Veri sighed, lacing her fingers with his as they walked along the waterfront, trying to recreate the feeling. Nope. Doesn't work with just hands, then.

"What's the matter, Princess?" he said. So in-tune with her feelings. How does he even do it?

"I'm just..." Veri started, but stopped. What was the problem, anyway? The baby pressing on her bladder? How huge she felt? That still sorta gripping fear that maybe that baby's just going to--nope, let's stop that thought right there. Backtrack to a different problem. There were always problems, weren't there?

"I'm just moody," she decided. He squeezed her hand in response, and they kept walking, until...

"Okay, I think I know what's wrong."

Riesling cocked his head to the side. "And that is?"

"So, imagine you're me for a second."

He laughed immediately. "The first thing I'd do is play with..."

Veri swatted his arm. "No, the first thing you do is concentrate. You're carrying this humongous watermelon of weight--"

"Leave my son alone, Ver, he just wants to be big and strong."

"We don't know if it’s a boy, Ries, and--stop interrupting! So you're me, and you're carrying your fiance's kid, and you're huge, and you ghostwrite murder mysteries that you just... kind of hate... And your fiance, who you love but who gave up his prior life to be with you..."

He squeezed her hand again. "Is that so, Ver?" he asked softly. "What did I give up, exactly?"

That gave her pause. "Well... The money, obviously. Which would be nice for this little one."

"Anything else?"

"I don't... I don't know. I guess you could've had... well, a world of options, you know? Could've opened a diner anywhere you wanted, with anyone you wanted. Or worked for your family, or at some high-end resteraunt... You had options. I mean. A lot of them. Very in demand chef, and all."

Squeezing her hand a third time, Riesling smiled that too-sweet-too-bright smile she loved. "What options? You're the only one. You, and this little bun... I'm right where I belong, Ver. You know that."

“Hey, what’s cookin’, good lookin’?” he says, fingergunning his way into the kitchen.

Kabi frowns, flipping to the next page in the cookbook. "You realize it could have been my father in here, OJ.”

“Absolutely. Ries is a babe, too! I see where you and Maddy get it from.” He plops down onto one of the stools at the island, swiveling around and grabbing an apple from the fruit basket Veri sets out on the counter. This family, man. So domestic. He loves it.

“Please don’t call my father a babe.”

“What about Veri, then?” he asks, grinning. Kabi doesn’t even bother looking back at him.

When she opened her locker the next day and a second letter (“Do you know how lovely you are?”) fluttered down, she was surprised. What were the odds, after all, that she’d find one note and get a second? And then, how did someone sneak a note into her textbook in the first place?

Lots of questions. And if there’s one thing Maddy hated more than the Heathers, it was unanswered questions.

By time she had received the sixth letter (“Madeleine, Madeleine Madeleine, I must love you or die~”), she was slightly pissed. If it was a prank from her friends, then it was going on a little long now--and OJ, Nova and Sage all said it wasn’t, so it had to be someone else. But then who? Who leaves love letters in secret places for someone and never says anything?

She took to watching her classmates closer, but then... the letters stopped.

It wouldn’t be til years later, at their 10-year high school reunion that someone finally came forward....

Today is a broken sort of day.

On these days, it’s so hard to get out of bed, to make herself presentable for the world. Because the world doesn’t need to know Maddy Moon is broken, after all. She just needs to go about her business, keep it together for a few hours.

She straightens her hair--then braids it. Then takes it out again. She makes sure her nails are painted, no chips to be found. Her eyeliner is perfectly done. An extra tube of lipstick in her bag. She can pass for perfect for a few hours. She can face the day until it’s over and she can come back home and crash and fall apart again. She’s perfect enough for today.

But she forgets who’s supposed to pick her up for school today--sometimes its OJ and Bibi, but they seem to have left already, so it must be The Sauce. A stupid arrangement. She feels like a child being shuttled from one house to another, waiting outside her house for him, even though he’s always late anyway. Which means she’ll be late too.

At least she looks cute. At least there’s that.

The Sauce’s stupid car finally rolls up (he hits the curb, because why not, guess that’s the kind of day it is) and it’s half past already. “Hop in, Princess,” he says, patting the passenger seat. She wants to say something, tell him not to call her Princess again, make some witty retort, punch him in the stupid smirk, but there’s just no energy for that.

Today she just needs to get through to tomorrow.

The drive to school is silent besides the radio, playing something or other that she doesn’t recognize or care about. It’s loud. It drowns out whatever other thoughts she has.

The Sauce parks as far away as possible, ostensibly because he loves to make her life as difficult as possible. To continue the theme, when she tries to open the car door, he stops her.

“I have class in like 10 minutes, I don’t have time for this,” she says hotly, moving again to open the door.

“You don’t look like you’re ready to go anywhere,” he remarks, keeping the door shut. Maddy considers kicking his hand. Her shoe’s got a slight heel. It’d probably hurt if she applied enough force.

He mumbles something, then leans back in horror, as if he can’t believe what he just said.

“Dude, I don’t have time to play right now,” she continues, contemplating kicking him again. “Can I just go?”

He makes a strangled sound. “You look like you could--” and then cuts himself off again.

“Tabasco,” she says, “my patience is wearing thin. I have to go to class.”

“...a hug? Fuck. This is hard, Madeleine. You look like you could use a hug?” he finally says, though he says it like they taste funny in his mouth. Apparently empathy is a new experience for him.

She stares. “Are you for fudgin’ real?” she asks finally. He shrugs helplessly.

“No. No I don’t need a hug. I need to go to class on time. Let me out of the damn car, Tabasco.”

“Are you sure?”

“OMB, yes, I’m sure--let me out of your stupid ass car or I swear I will kick your ass from here to--”