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fandomweekly2019-03-09 10:51 am
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2019-03-09 10:51 am
Entry tags:
[#010] IN TOO DEEP (ORIGINAL)
Theme Prompt: #010 – Overindulgence
Title: In too deep
Fandom: Original
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Veronica is worried that Charlie might be getting in too deep.
'Charlie, what in the goddamned hell?' Veronica hissed, trying to keep her voice low so as not to wake everyone else in the apartment block. It might have been only five am, but already she was fully dressed. She marched straight down the hall when she heard the raucous banging of someone struggling up the stairwell, finding Charlie now leaning against the apartment door, trying to fit the key in the lock.
'I'm good,' Charlie slurred, finally managing to slip the key in, twisting the door open. She followed him inside, getting caught down wind of him.
'Charlie, you look like something the cat dragged in.' She scrunched her face. 'And you smell like a wine sink. You've been out all night drinking, haven't you?'
Charlie waved her away, tugging off his coat and hat, dropping them on the end of the ratty sofa. 'Surveillance,' he replied. 'And it wasn't all night. The heavies kicked us out at three. I went and slept on a bench by the river rather than wake you.'
She set her hands on her hips. 'You think you did me a favour? I'm not your goddamned wife.'
He turned his blue eyes on her. 'No, your my landlord, Ronnie.'
She huffed. 'God help me. I swear you love this city more than you’ve ever loved a real woman.'
'Well, see that’s because she doesn’t give me any lip.'
She sighed. 'Gimme the damn shirt. Looks like you’ve slept in it for days. I must be the only landlady in New York that does laundry.'
He slipped out of it, oblivious to the fact she was unable to tear her gaze away from the toned physique underneath. She pulled open a drawer, tugging out a clean singlet, balling it up and thrusting it angrily in his direction. She gathered up the soiled clothes and set them in a bucket, running scalding hot water over them.
Charlie pulled on the clean garment, sliding his braces back into place, and walked over to the window, stepping out onto the metal balcony. Ronnie watched him sit on the upturned milk crate, leaning one foot against the railing and lighting up a cigarette. She could tell from his slow movements he was hungover, and the cigarette was meant to sober him up, if her terse words at him hadn't already done the job. Surveillance didn't mean he had to drink all night to keep up appearances.
She scrubbed the fabric hard with soap, taking out her frustration on it, wringing it hard, and imagining Charlie's neck between her hands as she did. He was the infuriating older brother she'd never had.
Ronnie stepped out onto the balcony with the damp shirt on a hanger, hooking it onto the metal grating of the balcony overhead. A breeze whipped between the tall apartment blocks, bringing with it the smell of overfilled trash cans, tobacco, and the dirty smell of the Hudson several blocks away. 'Mrs Kowalski is still complaining about that corroded fuse,' she lectured. 'You said you were going to take a look at it.'
Charlie gave her a tired sigh, resting his arm on his knee. 'Your dad was good to me, Ronnie. He took me in when I had nowhere else to go and put a roof over my head in exchange for a spare pair of hands, but I can't spend my whole life fixing busted radiators and leaking taps.'
Veronica grimaced. It had been many years since that rainy night her father had pulled the scrawny teenager off the street. She hadn't understood it at the time, only a girl herself, why her father would give him a job, helping to maintain the large block of apartments. He told her his hands weren't what they used to be. Had she known it would end up killing him, she might not have been so absent.
She'd inherited everything, including Charlie, who lived rent free in exchange for helping her keep the building in good condition and collecting recalcitrant rents. It wasn't a bad arrangement as far as she was concerned, considering how many people were wandering the streets, unemployed, starving and without a place to live. The papers were starting to call it the Great Depression. Yet if Charlie's clients were anything to go by, some were still living it up. Like prohibition, it seemed not to touch them.
Charlie held out his cigarette to her. She took it and held it to her lips, drawing on it long and slow, holding it in for a few moments, before blowing it out and passing it back.
'I worry about you, Charlie. This whole gumshoe thing. It feels dangerous.'
She'd seen some of the types that came knocking on his door at all hours, looking for help. The down and outs, the sleazebags, and the pretty young women who fluttered their eyelashes at him. Those were the ones that worried her most. They had Charlie wrapped around their pretty little fingers, following after all kinds of lowlifes. She didn't want any part of gangsters and drug bosses, and those who needed a private eye were no doubt somehow involved.
Charlie dragged in a lungful of smoke and shot it high into the pale morning air. 'You're all set up, Ronnie. You got this place. You ain't never gonna have to operate a switchboard or wear a short skirt and type up notes for some fatcat lawyer.' His voice sounded less drunken now. 'I know these streets and the people that hide in their shadows. People need people like me.'
Veronica bit down on her reply. It wasn't about the money. It was the job he loved. He was addicted to it - the cloak and dagger excitement of it - but she didn't want to find his body in the street one day with bullets in his belly, or worse, just made to disappear altogether. It was a dangerous gamble, and one that if he overindulged, could only end one way.
Title: In too deep
Fandom: Original
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Veronica is worried that Charlie might be getting in too deep.
'Charlie, what in the goddamned hell?' Veronica hissed, trying to keep her voice low so as not to wake everyone else in the apartment block. It might have been only five am, but already she was fully dressed. She marched straight down the hall when she heard the raucous banging of someone struggling up the stairwell, finding Charlie now leaning against the apartment door, trying to fit the key in the lock.
'I'm good,' Charlie slurred, finally managing to slip the key in, twisting the door open. She followed him inside, getting caught down wind of him.
'Charlie, you look like something the cat dragged in.' She scrunched her face. 'And you smell like a wine sink. You've been out all night drinking, haven't you?'
Charlie waved her away, tugging off his coat and hat, dropping them on the end of the ratty sofa. 'Surveillance,' he replied. 'And it wasn't all night. The heavies kicked us out at three. I went and slept on a bench by the river rather than wake you.'
She set her hands on her hips. 'You think you did me a favour? I'm not your goddamned wife.'
He turned his blue eyes on her. 'No, your my landlord, Ronnie.'
She huffed. 'God help me. I swear you love this city more than you’ve ever loved a real woman.'
'Well, see that’s because she doesn’t give me any lip.'
She sighed. 'Gimme the damn shirt. Looks like you’ve slept in it for days. I must be the only landlady in New York that does laundry.'
He slipped out of it, oblivious to the fact she was unable to tear her gaze away from the toned physique underneath. She pulled open a drawer, tugging out a clean singlet, balling it up and thrusting it angrily in his direction. She gathered up the soiled clothes and set them in a bucket, running scalding hot water over them.
Charlie pulled on the clean garment, sliding his braces back into place, and walked over to the window, stepping out onto the metal balcony. Ronnie watched him sit on the upturned milk crate, leaning one foot against the railing and lighting up a cigarette. She could tell from his slow movements he was hungover, and the cigarette was meant to sober him up, if her terse words at him hadn't already done the job. Surveillance didn't mean he had to drink all night to keep up appearances.
She scrubbed the fabric hard with soap, taking out her frustration on it, wringing it hard, and imagining Charlie's neck between her hands as she did. He was the infuriating older brother she'd never had.
Ronnie stepped out onto the balcony with the damp shirt on a hanger, hooking it onto the metal grating of the balcony overhead. A breeze whipped between the tall apartment blocks, bringing with it the smell of overfilled trash cans, tobacco, and the dirty smell of the Hudson several blocks away. 'Mrs Kowalski is still complaining about that corroded fuse,' she lectured. 'You said you were going to take a look at it.'
Charlie gave her a tired sigh, resting his arm on his knee. 'Your dad was good to me, Ronnie. He took me in when I had nowhere else to go and put a roof over my head in exchange for a spare pair of hands, but I can't spend my whole life fixing busted radiators and leaking taps.'
Veronica grimaced. It had been many years since that rainy night her father had pulled the scrawny teenager off the street. She hadn't understood it at the time, only a girl herself, why her father would give him a job, helping to maintain the large block of apartments. He told her his hands weren't what they used to be. Had she known it would end up killing him, she might not have been so absent.
She'd inherited everything, including Charlie, who lived rent free in exchange for helping her keep the building in good condition and collecting recalcitrant rents. It wasn't a bad arrangement as far as she was concerned, considering how many people were wandering the streets, unemployed, starving and without a place to live. The papers were starting to call it the Great Depression. Yet if Charlie's clients were anything to go by, some were still living it up. Like prohibition, it seemed not to touch them.
Charlie held out his cigarette to her. She took it and held it to her lips, drawing on it long and slow, holding it in for a few moments, before blowing it out and passing it back.
'I worry about you, Charlie. This whole gumshoe thing. It feels dangerous.'
She'd seen some of the types that came knocking on his door at all hours, looking for help. The down and outs, the sleazebags, and the pretty young women who fluttered their eyelashes at him. Those were the ones that worried her most. They had Charlie wrapped around their pretty little fingers, following after all kinds of lowlifes. She didn't want any part of gangsters and drug bosses, and those who needed a private eye were no doubt somehow involved.
Charlie dragged in a lungful of smoke and shot it high into the pale morning air. 'You're all set up, Ronnie. You got this place. You ain't never gonna have to operate a switchboard or wear a short skirt and type up notes for some fatcat lawyer.' His voice sounded less drunken now. 'I know these streets and the people that hide in their shadows. People need people like me.'
Veronica bit down on her reply. It wasn't about the money. It was the job he loved. He was addicted to it - the cloak and dagger excitement of it - but she didn't want to find his body in the street one day with bullets in his belly, or worse, just made to disappear altogether. It was a dangerous gamble, and one that if he overindulged, could only end one way.