#ts joan

...

“You sure you’ll be good here by yourselves?”

Remy sighed, folding her arms and regarding Joan haughtily from where she sat on the edge of the counter top. She gestured with her half-empty coffee cup, crossing legs that barely reached the bottom of the stone she was perched on. “Girl, you sound like a broken record. Yes, I’ll be fine, like I told you, like, fifty times already.”

Joan shook their head, looking embarrassed. “It was only, like, four,” they protested.

“Five.” Remy jutted out her chin pointedly.

Joan cracked a smile. “Okay, maybe it was five. Counting this one. Sorry, I’m just worried.”

“I’m a whole *ss adult, Joan; I don’t need, like, a chaperone, or whatever you think you are.”

“A whole *ss adult, huh?” Joan echoed, amused. “Good to know you don’t have half an *ss.”

“Girl, what does that even mean?” Remy rolled her eyes, stubbornly refusing to laugh (even if she wanted to), and dignify that dumb retort.

Joan cracked a smile, but at the pointed look Remy gave them, they put up their hands in surrender. “Okay, I know, I know, sorry. You don’t need a chaperone. Just… are you sure you want Marco out here with you? I could still call Talyn. They’re probably free, and I doubt they’ll mind if I drop him off.”

“No, no, no, no, no. Marco and I are chill. Just go, babes, go do your… whatever.”

Joan’s smirk widened. “You forgot where I’m going, didn’t you?”

“Some human-y thing, you’re leaving, who cares.”

Joan gave her a highly amused look. “I’m going to run a couple errands and then go meet with two new potential tenants for 2B—remember, that empty apartment upstairs? It’s those two college kids I mentioned. It’s just to answer some questions, but they already visited once; I think there’s a good chance they’ll sign today.”

“Frankly, how dare you act like I’m supposed to know what any of that means.”

Joan cackled. “Fair enough.” They reached for their coat. “Last chance if you want me to take Marco.”

Remy was conspicuously silent, flicking her tail dismissively. Marco, watching from the kitchen floor, wagged his own tail, looking between them with pricked ears. The corgi seemed very interested in their conversation, and probably mostly whether it would result in him getting treats or playtime.

Joan’s reluctance was understandable. It was admittedly strange that Remy, a five-inch-tall little, was so okay with being alone with the beast, but a lot had changed in the past year or so. Even though Remy had gotten more comfortable with the dog over time, Joan still usually tried to keep him away from Remy when they weren’t there to supervise. To be fair, Remy was rather small in comparison; but she really didn’t need a chaperone. And Marco was just a goofy-looking corgi, all dopey brown eyes and wagging tail and pink tongue. She’d be fine. She knew he wasn’t going to eat her.

Joan glanced between them. “Okay,” they said, finally. They looked vaguely suspicious, which was rude, if maybe warranted. Maybe. “Be nice to him. Marco, you be a good boy.”

Marco whined, looking at Joan.

They bent and scratched behind his ears, making him stretch up happily and try to lick their arm.

“Okay, okay,” Joan cackled. “Not too many kisses, bud.”

Marco’s response was, naturally, to lick them again.

Joan ruffled the fur on his head, waved to Remy, and left. The door shut behind them, and the little was alone with the dog.

She waited a moment just to be extra sure they were actually gone, then turned to look at Marco with a grin. “Alright, pup,” she said. “It’s go time.”

See, Remy had a plan. Was it a good plan? Probably not. But was she going to do it anyway? Absolutely.

Joan had been watching some television the other night—some show whose name and plot she hadn’t bothered to remember. Remy didn’t usually pay attention to what they put on: almost all of the shows and movies were about humans, which was boring and so overdone, and she couldn’t even understand most of what was going on, let alone relate. And she was not going to interrupt the show every two minutes to ask what in the heck was going on. First of all, she did belong in the center of attention, but she wasn’t going to be that obnoxious; and second of all, how embarrassing. The only movie they’d ever watched that was about characters at all similar to littles had been something called Horton Hears a Who, which was still unrelatable because it was made for humans by humans. She had enough trouble regaining her dignity after the whole ‘almost drowning in a freaking bucket’ incident, even if the human claimed they didn’t hold it against her or find it funny; she did not need Joan thinking she grew up under a rock. She grew up under a floor, thanks. Huge difference.

Anyway, in the show, or movie, or whatever it was technically called (for dumb nonsense reasons that didn’t matter), there had been a human—sigh—riding on top of a gargantuan creature called a “horse”. The characters on the TV, for some reason, treated this detail as incredibly mundane and purely practical, but… it looked like it could be fun. Very fun. Remy probably wouldn’t be able to reach the ankle of a horse, let alone its back, and she doubted she’d be able to hold on well enough to not just fall to her death or be trampled. Assuming she could even figure out where to find a horse in the first place.

But.

She had an idea.

Perhaps Joan would not have agreed. People could be so judgy. Remy silently beat back the memory of the near identical alarm that had always appeared on the faces of her ex-girlfriends, parents, friends, and anyone else she mentioned that she had an idea. This was a good idea, damn it!

She again ignored the vivid mental image of those concerned faces only growing more alarmed.

A good idea, damn it.

A good idea—just, perhaps, not a good plan. Which was totally a different thing and proved nothing about whether or not she should go through with it.

Remy threw back what was left of her coffee and got to her feet, dropping the cup at her side.

She didn’t have a little-sized horse at her disposal, or even a human-sized one, but there was a goofy looking creature that would be much easier to get on top of than a 2000 pound death machine, who had had several chances to eat her since she’d arrived and yet hadn’t, and even had a collar she could hold on to: Marco.

Still grinning, Remy strode over to the rope that had been set up to the side of the counter and climbed down, glad for the footholds that the evenly spaced knots provided. She hopped down the last few inches, landing in a neat crouch, and dusted off her hands as she straightened back up. Then she turned, putting her hands on her hips. Marco had wandered nearer as she climbed down, and now stood about a foot away, watching curiously.

“Okay, now, I know you know how to do this,” Remy said. She held out a hand, palm flat towards the floor. “Down.”

Marco leaned forward and sniffed her, his hot, wet breath messing up her formerly immaculate hair. He could probably smell the pieces of dog kibble in her pockets. Luckily, Joan had somehow missed them.

“Hey!” Remy reached up indignantly and smoothed her hair down, glaring. “Marco, naughty!” She probably should have expected that to happen, but still! Did the dog think she just woke up looking this good? She put in effort.

Marco whined, but he still did not lay down.

Unfair, Remy decided. Joan did this all the time, and Marco listened to them. “Sit,” she said, pointing down sternly.

Marco hesitated, but he sat this time, still pouting.

“Good boy,” she said, satisfied. That was more like it!

The dog perked up, his pink tongue slipping to hang out of his mouth. At least he hadn’t licked her. Dogs were gross. Maybe, maybe they were cute if you squinted, but they were still gross.

“Okay, now down.” She flattened her hand again.

Marco scooted back and lay down, resting his head on his paws.

“Good dog. Now, just—stay. Stay there. Good monster.”

Marco let out a quiet “boof!” muffled by his paws, and watched with big, curious brown eyes as Remy circled around to his side. She dropped a piece of kibble, which he eagerly gobbled up, then scratched at his fur, since Joan wasn’t there to see and make fun of her for it. They did not need more material to tease her with. Next, the little stepped up onto his leg and climbed up onto his back. She might’ve accidentally pulled at the dog’s fur, but he didn’t seem to mind—he only acted slightly confused about what she was doing, if anything.

Pleased at how well this was going so far, Remy settled herself on the dog’s back, just at his shoulders, so she could hold onto the collar.

“Okay, go on, get up!” she urged, scratching at his neck.

Marco tilted his head so he was looking straight up, probably trying to see her. His ears flopped back, and Remy let out a surprised, undignified giggle. Then the dog stood up, shaking out his fur.

“H-hey! No!” Remy chided, white-knuckling the collar even after he stopped. “That is rude, I am not a rain drop you can shake off!”

Marco let out another quiet “boof”, still trying to turn and look back at her.

Remy scratched at his neck, taking a moment to look around. She was so tall, up here! She’d been up on the counter before, of course, so it wasn’t like this was the first time she’d had a high perch, nor was it anywhere near the tallest, but this was different.

She took a couple of breaths to settle herself and get used to it, then looked back down at the dog. “Hey. Hey bud. Let’s go.” Remy gave him a gentle kick with her heels, like she’d seen the people do to horses on the TV.

Marco took a few steps, and Remy let out a nervous-excited laugh. She remembered the kibble in her pockets, then, and grabbed a piece.

“Maaarco,” she said, her voice tantalizing. “I’ve got something for ya.”

The dog’s ears pricked. He looked straight up again, trying to see her, making her stifle a giggle.

“Go get it!” She threw the kibble. It didn’t go far, but it slid when it hit the linoleum floor, and Marco trotted after it. Remy held onto the collar tightly, bouncing with each step, grinning from ear to ear.

See? This was a great idea. And a great plan.

They continued on like that for a bit, with Remy gleefully throwing pieces of kibble for the equally enthusiastic dog to fetch. She’d been absolutely right, this was so fun!

She did have to hop down once or twice to refill her kibble stash, but she was having a great time. And Joan wouldn’t be getting back for a while yet.

She’d also figured out that she could get Marco to run around just by talking excitedly to him and egging him on, so she had him running around the apartment before long, laughing with amused tears in her eyes as Marco let out cheerful little barks and did occasional play bows that sent her lurching forwards, but only made the whole experience all the more entertaining. She could tell Marco was trying not to knock her off his back; he was just excited.

She dug in her heels again. “Go, go go!” she cheered. Marco, having figured out by now what that meant, started trotting off into the kitchen. Remy let go of the collar with one hand to fish for another piece of kibble as a reward, pulled her hand back, and—

Smash!

The sound of shattering glass, completely out of nowhere, set every one of Remy’s nerves on fire, jolting her out of her gleeful thoughts like she’d been thrown from the dog’s back.

Which was exactly what happened next, as Marco startled as much at the commotion as she did. Remy let out an involuntary shriek as the dog barked, rearing back on his hind paws before bolting away from the kitchen, from whatever had caused that sound. The kibble fell from Remy’s hand, immediately forgotten, and she managed to grasp the dog’s fur with that hand, unconcerned about any harsh tugs at that moment. Despite her best efforts, she lost her hold almost immediately. There was a whirl of colors as she was sent flying, and—

The ground smacked her in the face.

The whole thing happened very fast. One second, she was riding atop Marco’s back, having a great time, and the next, she was on the floor.

Remy lay there for a long moment, stunned, not quite sure what had just happened.

Slowly, the reality of what had just occurred sank in. And then, gradually, the pain set in: a heavy ache settling over her body, with a sharper pain making itself apparent, since fate had so kindly broken her fall with her face.

Remy groaned into the floor.

A long moment passed. The room was quiet.

She heard a whimper, and the rhythmic tapping of clawed feet, slowing as they approached. A warm breath stirred her hair as Marco sniffed her fallen body. He whined.

Remy groaned again, not moving yet. “Go away, mutt,” she said into the not-soft-enough carpet. Marco must have bolted into the living room and dropped her there. “You’ve already killed me. Look what you’ve done. I’m dead.”

Marco nudged her with his big wet nose, and ow, that was so not what she needed right now.

Remy swatted at him with the arm that hurt less. Marco licked her, which made Remy groan again, but this time in disgust rather than pain. That tongue was as big as her!

“Alright, alright, doll, stop it, I lied, I’m alive.”

She started to push herself up, wincing. Her gaze fell on the floor where her head had lain. There was a smear of blood on the carpet. The very light colored carpet, where Joan was sure to notice it even if they managed to miss her pitiable state. Well. So much for her little misadventure staying a secret.

Remy put a hand to her face, propping herself up on her elbows, distantly relieved by the realization that none of her limbs seemed to be broken or seriously hurt.

…Her nose might be, though. The blood dripped freely now that it wasn’t pressed into the carpet. She gingerly touched it and winced. It throbbed in time with her heartbeat, making her eyes water.

“F-fuck,” she stuttered out. She pinched the painful thing between her fingers, trying to slow the bleeding. If this fall had ruined her beautiful face, she was going to be pissed. “Marco, I blame you for this,” she grumped.

Marco whined again.

“Don’t you act all pitiful!” Remy said, looking sourly at Marco and hating how weird her voice sounded with her nose pinched. “I stand by what I said. This is your fault.”

Marco lay down, putting his head on his paws and looking incredibly guilty.

Remy looked at him, unimpressed, still trying to staunch the bleeding.

Marco’s eyes somehow got bigger and sadder. He shifted, his ears turning downwards submissively.

“…Damn it.” The mutt was lucky he was cute.

Remy finally pushed herself the rest of the way into a sitting position, looking herself over. She had a bit of a rug burn on one of her arms, but nothing terrible. She would probably be feeling sore from the fall for a while, though. Aaand now she’d gotten blood on her shirt, which was going to be a pain to wash out. Maybe she’d make Joan do it for her. They were the one who left her alone with Marco, after all. They weren’t blameless. Really, they should have known she was planning something like this.

Remy lurched to her feet, her nose still pinched in one hand. She could put aside assigning blame for a moment—there was another, more pressing matter.

“What the hell was that sound, anyway?” she muttered, mostly to herself, since Marco was the only other one present; and he was a dog.

She tottered forward, wincing slightly, towards the kitchen. She paused in the doorway, looking around warily.

The good news was that there was no one in the kitchen.

The bad news was that the window was shattered, and there was glass all over the tile floor.

“At least you didn’t throw me there,” Remy commented, looking at the glittering shards.

Marco, hovering behind her, whined. He tapped his paws, clearly not eager to go back in the kitchen.

“Let’s stay in here,” Remy agreed. Joan could deal with the mess when they got home.

…

Joan arrived not long after. Remy looked up in the direction of the kitchen as soon as she heard keys rattling. The lock clicked open, and footsteps came through. Joan chuckled as they closed  the door. “Man, Remy, you should’ve been there. Those two act like they hate each other.” She heard them shrug off their jacket. “Apparently they couldn’t find any other roommates…. F*ck, that’s gotta suck.” They hummed, rustling through some papers they held. “But, hey, they signed; and they both seem like good guys. I think they’ll figure it out.”

Joan finally turned around, and froze, falling silent. They had, of course, noticed the broken glass all over the kitchen floor. It was kind of hard to miss.

Joan dropped the papers they were holding on the counter, then stepped gingerly over to one side of the kitchen. They bent down, and straightened back up holding a round object that fit in their palm. It was white, with bits of red.

“Someone threw a baseball through my window,” Joan observed. “Great.” They set the baseball on the table and looked around. “Remy? Are you out here? Where’s Marco?”

Remy bit her lip, tempted to stay hidden, but figured that that would worry Joan even more than seeing her face, as annoying as them fussing over her would be.

“We’re in here,” she called.

Joan sighed in relief and walked carefully towards them, glass occasionally crunching underfoot.

“Is Marco okay? He didn’t walk in the glass, did he? Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m okay,” Remy sighed, knowing what was coming. “Marco’s fine, but good luck getting him to leave this room ever again.”

“Oh—good. That’s good.” They entered the living room, scooped up a still stressed Marco who had been hovering in a corner, and patted him reassuringly on the head, looking around for Remy. Their eyes paused on the red spot on the carpet, and their brow furrowed

“Uh. Over here, girl.”

Joan’s eyes flicked to her, sitting on a book that had been left on the floor for that purpose. Their jaw dropped, and she felt her cheeks redden as they stepped closer to peer at her.

“Hey, Remy? What the f*ck happened to your face?”

Remy sighed, gingerly touching her already very swollen nose. At least it wasn’t bleeding much anymore. “Well, I might’ve been… on Marco’s back? When the window broke? And I might—might—have fallen off?” She paused. “But I don’t see any cameras in here, and Marco’s not a snitch, so really there’s no way to know. Obviously.”

Joan stared at her. Remy really wished she had a coffee to hide her face in. She might have even taken decaf.

“Come here, let me see.” Joan shifted the dog to one arm before kneeling own and holding out a hand for her. With a sigh of resignation, Remy got up and stepped on, settling down to sit in the center. Joan got back up and made their way back into the kitchen.

“You wait here,” they said, placing their hand down on the kitchen table. “Please.” Remy got up and stepped off onto the wooden surface; and with their hand free, Joan turned and went down the hall. When they returned, Marco was no longer with them, and they held a first aid kit in one hand.

“Keeping the new décor?” Remy asked as their shoes once again crunched on the shards of glass that still littered the linoleum. “It’s, like, unique, I guess, but broken glass is totally last season.”

Joan rolled their eyes, amused but worried. “I’ll clean it up after, *sshole, now show me your face.”

Remy rolled her eyes, but she didn’t complain as Joan gently tilted up her chin with a fingertip, inspecting her nose.

“How’s it feel?” they asked.

“Hurts,” she responded.

“How bad?”

“Like a b*tch.”

Joan snorted, then looked sympathetic. “Yeah. F*ck. It looks like it. Do you think it’s broken?”

Remy probed at it with hesitant fingers. “…No,” she decided. “Or, like, maybe a little, but not like broken broken, you know?”

“Uh. Sure. That makes sense,” they said, in a tone that suggested it did not actually make sense.

Remy shrugged. “It stopped bleeding, that’s got to count for something—but, girl, you’ve got to get the blood off this shirt for me. I’m, like, traumatized. And you’re the one who left me alone, so, this is like at least 50% your fault.”

It was Joan’s turn to roll their eyes. “Okay, whatever, drama queen, I’ll clean your shirt for you. You didn’t hurt anything else, did you? You said you fell off Marco, right?”

“Maybe.”

“So?”

“I mean, like, I feel like I got yeeted across the room, but I’m alive.” Remy knew her posture was rather stiff, but all her bones were intact. Except maybe her nose, but Joan probably would have freaked out a lot more if that had looked seriously wrong, so it was probably fine.

“Okay, good.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to get some ice and a bandage for your nose, and then I’ll track down a broom. And I guess call somebody to fix the window. Oh, and Remy?”

Remy could already feel the embarrassment heating her face. “Mmmmhm?”

“Next time you get a dumb idea, at least do it when I’m home.”