ArchivedLogs:Vignette - A Dime Short and a Day Late
| Vignette - A Dime Short and a Day Late | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-07-17 Tag’s father stages an extreme intervention. |
| Location
<NYC> Hua Tian-shin’s apartment - Chinatown | |
Tag crouches on the fire escape, knocking at the window. His hair is seafoam green streaked with vivid cerulean blue, plastered to his head with sweat. Similarly drenched, his t-shirt is pale blue edged with kelly green, his shorts hunter green with sky blue stitching, and his sneakers match his hair. Inside, a slender hand pulls up the shade and unlocks the window. "Oh, man, it is /so/ hot!" Tag grumbles as he pushes the window open and hops inside. "You know what we need? A nice thunderstorm." The young woman who let him in turns away without comment. Tian-shin is still wearing work clothes: a lavender blouse and a gray pencil skirt. Entering the cramped but spotless kitchen, she pours a glass of water and hands it to him, not making eye contact. Tag frowns, accepting the water and taking a long drink. "What's wrong, Mei-mei? Did something happen at--hey!" This last he exclaims somewhat indignantly as she just leaves the room in the middle of his sentence. He follows her into the living room, trying to get in front of her. "Hello? I can go if you need alone time, but /you're/ the one who invited me over..." He sets the water down on an end table and passes his hand in front of her eyes, which do not track the movement at all. "{She will see and hear only what I permit,}" says a baritone voice in Mandarin, emanating from a chair in the living room that Tag had somehow avoided looking at when he walked in. Tag turns, eyes wide and teeth gritted, to face their father. "What have you done?" He takes a half step over, as if he means to shield Tian-shin by standing in front of her. "{Something I promised I would never do to my children again,}" Hua Yong replies, "{but your life is more important than my promises.} He is a smallish, middle-aged Chinese man in shirtsleeves and a severe gray tie. "{Come, Tsai-hong.}" Tag grimaces but does not move from his place. "Fuck you. My name is /Tag/." "{When I speak to you in /our/ language, you will reply appropriately,}" Hua Yong warns, his tone a strange mixture of pride and impatience. "{Now, come here.}" He punctuates this by pointing at floor beside him. "{Gan ni--}" Tag starts, but his mouth snaps shut and his feet walk him over to the spot his father had indicated. "{I have broken far stronger wills than yours,} Hua Yong says quietly, "{and while that is not my aim now, you might want to keep it in mind.}" "{What did you mean by 'again'? You used to do /this/ to us?}" Tag demands, fists clenching and unclenching. Hua Yong's laugh is a bitter, tired sound. "{How often I had wanted to! Yet I only did once, and I will not explain. All you need to know is that I will look after you.}" "I don't need anyone to look after me, I can--" Tag sucks in a sharp breath and clutches his head. "{Baba, no! Please, don't--aaaah--}" He is cut off abruptly when his mouth closes and refuses to open again, muffling his anguished cries. "{See for yourself why you need looking after,}" Hua Yong hisses. "{It is bad enough that you ended up a hooligan, but you also destroy your body and mind with no thought for your family! Shameless!}" Tag shakes his head vigorously, eyes wide open but focused on nothing. "{This is not a negotiation. You are going to sign yourself into Ming Liang rehabilitation, and I will see to it you stay there until I am satisfied with your progress.}" Hua Yong picks up his jacket, drapes it over one arm, and heads for the door. Tag follows him mechanically. "{Tian-shin will inform your friends as much, if they come asking. But with your track record...}" Two men, not quite so overdressed for the weather as Hua Yong, though still in button-up shirts and slacks, are waiting outside the door and walk with them down to the SUV idling in front of the building. Once the vehicle pulls away, Tian-shin comes back to herself in her living room, blinking repeatedly. Then she shakes her head and is about to start unbuttoning her blouse when her eyes find a glass of water on a nearby table. She lifts the glass, narrowing dark brown eyes at the faint, colorless imprint of lips on its brim. With the back of her free hand, she dabs gently at her own lips; the skin comes away with pink marks from her lipstick. Then the water in the cup starts /bubbling/. It begins as tiny streams of bubbles rising from the bottom, and rapidly escalates into what looks uncannily like a rolling boil that produces neither heat nor steam. With a startled yelp, she drops the cup, which shatters at her feet, splashing her with lukewarm water that nevertheless fizzes off of her nylons and the ancient hardwood floor alike, until she is left standing beside a pile of dry glass shards, too terrified to move. | |
