(no subject)

[bossymarmalade]

She renames her mother ‘Kore’ on the paperwork, never realizing the irony. ’Patient’s Family History’ is the fourth section down—personalinsuranceandemployersymptomsanddifficulties—and it’s not optional.
But Mar’i was not raised on the Greek. She was barely, hardly, minutely raised on the Grimm. Her stories were set on planets far away with kingdoms and warriors and long lineages. Sometimes they were tinged with Earthbound dynasties and struggles against foreign conquerers, but never gods who loved humans and children stolen into the dark depths.

They covered the walls of the reception area in pictures of women holding shealths of grain and cornucopias of fruit across their stomachs. It’s thinly veiled optimism in a room turned to precisely 68.5 degrees, frigid and barren besides the sprinkling of wrinkled entertainment and fashion magazines. No Parenting, no Baby Talk. No false hopes.

Mar’i is immediately glad she filled the new patient registration forms out on her own time, because the idea of sitting here, in this room clean of expectations and dreams, she knows she wouldn’t have been able to answer the questions. It had been hard enough to do in an apartment heated to exactly 78 degrees, glancing over at the figure snoring on her couch.

11. Do you wish to procreate in the next ten years? YES/NO

She’s glad they removed that layer of community from it. Because it’s not because he mentioned it or she’d discussed it with his friend. It’s not because he’s there at all. It’s because her daily routine has had, like many other women’s, to twist and work around a capital-letter word, a two-pink-line scare, a pill every night at 10:30 and a condom in every bag. It’s because it’s a thing she wants from her life, even if it’s not with him, even if it’s not for years. It’s because it’s her body and her genetics and if it’s not going to work, she deserves to know.

The receptionist is barely a day over twenty, and Mar’i watches from her seat on the other side of the room as she thumbs through the paperwork. Marie Gray’s file, with her health insurance from a nice, normal agency, and her medical history files from a completely nice, normal life. Marie Gray is nice, normal, and vaguely exotic-looking. A little tall for a woman. A funny bracelet on her wrist and a fuzz that surrounds her form if you spot her out of peripheral and are paying just enough attention. A face utterly forgettable, a face that will slide off with the hologram the moment the fertility specialist’s confidentiality is guaranteed.

"You’ve got your primary physician listed as your emergency contact. Did you want to list someone else?"

Marie Gray, daughter of Kore, shakes her head.

"The examination procedure may involve a local anesthetic, and you’d have to stay with us until it wears off. It might be a few hours. Someone could take you home, so you don’t have to wait."

Marie cycles idly through her phone’s contacts; Mar’i chides herself for even considering bothering anyone else with it.

"No," she shakes her head a second time, "no, I’ll just wait."

i ache in the places where i used to play

[bossymarmalade]

Oliver knocks on Talia’s door. It’s been a while that he’s been spending time with her, and now Alfred trusts him to find his own way to her tower when he’s there. Ollie’d gotten the League broadcast, but with his leg still on the mend and Batman probably in the thick of things, this is likely where he can be of the most use.

Talia, herself, opens the door, in a wheel chair. Her legs are covered, and she looks decisively frail in the tall metal seat: it is an antique seat, most certainly not standard medical gear, and she controls it through a panel on the arm. She reverses the seat, looking up at him, and while she has not put on the weight she’s lost, she doesn’t look nearly as frail as she once had. Oliver follows her in, shutting the door behind them, and fetches the gilt-edged hairbrush from her dressing table. They’ve come to agreements about certain things, and he doesn’t ask before he moves behind her, gathering the thick dark waves of her hair and starting to pass the brush through them, smoothing the strands. Her hair has started to regain its customary luster, as well; another sign that she’s on the mend.

"I brought you baklava today," Ollie tells her. "There were all these different shapes and I wasn’t sure if that meant they were different varieties, so I got two of each. And some kind of semolina cake."

Talia allows her eyelids to drift to half closed, and she gestures to the makeshift seating area by the room’s window. The round endtable is too low to be a proper table, but there is a tray upon it for their tea set, and it’s as if she had known he would be coming: the spout steams at the tip, his setting placed delicate on the empty, plush ottoman, across from where she will eventually wheel herself.

Oliver finishes up brushing her hair, planting a light kiss on the glossy waves, and moves over to his place. He doesn’t offer or try to wheel her there, just settles down and opens the bakery box of sticky honey pastries, pouring tea for them both. “You look about sixty times better than when I first started coming here,” Ollie says, and then because it’s good to make Talia laugh and she has a surprisingly ribald sense of humour sometimes for being a princess type, amends, “Maybe even sixty-nine times better.”

( they don't let a woman kill you )

renew my idle duty

[bossymarmalade]

K: *wakes up*

O: *is staring at her, anxiously* …Sweetheart?

K: *blinks a few times* Ollie. *smiles softly, vaguely, as if she’s not entirely sure what’s going on*
K: *the smile fades, though, as she lifts an eyebrow* What…when did you get here?

O: Just now. Well, just a little while ago. I didn’t answer the League broadcast, I’m no damn use right now. *is looking shaken, slightly wild-eyed* Are you all right? They said there was nothing broken or life-threatening…

K: I’m okay, just woozy from the knock to the head and the pain meds—just for burns, I’ll be okay. Why didn’t you see your comm?
K: *had been thrown backwards by the explosion, turned to the side, with her left upper arm and thigh taking most of the burn*

O: *winces* Burns, dear god. That’s terrible, Katie. *is silent for a moment* I saw the comm. I just didn’t respond. I went to check on Talia, since I knew Bruce would be heading up to the Tower. *strokes his fingers along her wrist, quickly*

K: They’re only second-degree, they just hurt… *something is up, and she cannot figure out exactly what* You went to see Talia…instead of comming back on a code red.

O: *harshly* Well, what the fuck would I do in a code red situation with my leg all gimped up? Probably hurt it worse instead of helping anything!

K: *gives him a long, steady look with a raised brow* Must have been a lovely visit.

O: *flatly* I fucked her.

( listed with the enemies of love )

a seashell holds the sea

[bossymarmalade]

[OLLIE TXT] It’s terribly sad when you have to waste a good outfit. But! I’m coming home now so then it won’t be! Am at QT, so it’ll just be a minute on the zetas

[mia txt] ok see you in a minute

[mia txt] oh be careful, don’t trip over kiki she’s taken to sleeping right in front of the door idk.

Naturally, Ollie tripped over Kiki when he got home.

Fortunately due to Mia’s warning, he’d been half-expecting it (just not the uncanny ability of dogs to position themselves in the most uncannily unavoidable way possible), so he was able to catch himself against the wall before pitching over and doing more damage to his bum leg.

"Mia?" Ollie hollered once he’d righted himself. "I tripped over your dog!" Kiki looked mournfully up at him and Ollie sighed, stooping to ruffle the dog’s ears. "I know, girl," he said "Sometimes you just can’t help being in everyone’s way."

"Oh no." Mia said and came into the room hitching her bag over her shoulder and crouching down to kiss Kiki on the head. "He’s so mean isn’t he? What an ass. I know. I’ll get him back for you later, it’s ok." She kissed her again and straightened up smiling at Ollie. "She’s just being a guard dog, Ollie. It’s in her nature. I saw that on animal planet."

She leaned over and hugged Ollie before exiting the penthouse and calling over her shoulder. “Lets go, we have like an hour-ish drive to go, and I made sandwiches. Oh and use the bathroom now if you have to. I know how hard it is for old people to hold it in.”

"What? Who?" Ollie turned in a circle as Mia talked and moved around him, finally calling out to him from the entranceway. He trotted after her, closing up the house behind them and joining her at the elevator down to the garage.

"No, I don’t have to go to the bathroom, thank you. I can manage on an hour-long car trip." Ollie ran through in his head the places that were about an hour’s drive from their house, but finally gave up. He didn’t want to spoil the surprise, anyhow.

"So," he said once they were in the car and Mia was pulling out into the sunshine, "…what kinds of sandwiches?"

( lord, you play a hard game )

beef and broccoli

[bossymarmalade]

Kyle has been working all-day to assist in rebuilding the Watchtower, but pauses for a bit of supper. He is now currently occupied in the all-important job of Cookie Clicker on his Waynetech tablet. His ham sandwich (procured from Earth, since the Watchtower cafeteria is still down for repairs) is half-eaten and the bread crusts are starting to curl a bit. Kyle also has a can of rather flat orange Fanta, which he is always on the brink of drinking until a golden cookie appears on the tablet.

Zee heads up to the Watchtower, bag of Chinese takeout in tow, “Hey you beat me to dinner!” she laughs, holding out the takeout bag in front of Kyle, who seems to be doing some strange yoga like move as he is halfway reaching for his soda can, while also looking down at his tablet, “If you’re still hungry I don’t mind splitting with you.”

Kyle looks up at her as if he’s ready to dunk her in milk. He just stares at her for a while; then he inhales deeply, the scent of stirfry and oyster sauce wafting towards him. His expression switches from one of grim resolution to absolute reverence as he grins at her.

"I’m starving. I - dammit -" Kyle slides the tablet away from him - fiendish thing, eater of time - and he crumples up the stale sandwich. "It was chockful of butter anyway. Who puts butter on a ham sandwich, Zee? Who? Why?"

( little boxes )