Starring:
Summary: Big. Family. Fail. Lancasters, reunite!
Date It Happened: September 3rd, 2007
Log Title Family Fail
Unnamed Restaurant in NYC
Dinner time! Instead of facing a nice home cooked meal like a lot of kids.. It's out to a restaurant. With her parents. Michelle would rather be digging a hole for herself, or eating a frozen TV dinner in front of the TV than sit in public with her parents. Lucky Mae, lucky Alison. How did they manage to get out of this?? Being the middle child sucks sometimes. Maybe this is a clever plan o'dad's to keep her in sight, away from boys and having fun. Or it's a ploy to make her miserable. Still in her school clothes, she's at least presentable rather than wearing slouchy tee's or ripped jeans.
Ahh dinner. Dinner is a very important thing it is. Tonight? Well dinner was going to be at an actual /nice/ restaurant. He wanted that for some reason tonight. He doesn't look like much in a faded set of blue jeans and a black Transformers T-Shirt with a Autobot symbol on the front of it. He is smiling as he walks into the restaurant…
…only to get looked down on by the greeter.
Pause.
Twitch.
"…yes. Table for one." -_- Don't make me repeat myself you little bint, else or I'll buy the resturant and fire you.
These Lancasters had no trouble getting past the greeter. Miranda's wardrobe for the evening is one of her numerous dresses that bear a striking resemblance to a nightgown — in that they're loose-fitting, short, and not made of much. They're comfortable, okay? Tonight, it's a simple dark blue number. The skirt is gauzy and somewhat transparent, but she wears a pair of black leggings-style capris underneath. Situated with her middle daughter at a nice table, large enough for three or so and angled away from the restaurant's entrance, she's currently toying with a strand of wavy brown hair and leaning over the table, tugging it away from her face and twirling around her ring finger. She's leaning on her elbows atop the lovely white tablecloth — someone's forgotten the words of Miss Manners — and looking incredibly bored. That boredom is verging on annoyance toward a certain person who is late and shall remain nameless and easy to guess. Her cell phone sits beside her napkin, mocking her with its digital time. "Soooo. How was your second day of tenth grade? Any exciting stories about learning?"
Michelle is going through her second glass of coke while waiting for dad, and nibbling at the bread that's set on the table as an appetizer or whatever. The dress her mom's wearing, well it gets the odd look of envy. She's so swiping it from mom's closet for a date. Should she get a few this year. "It went good. Thanks for signing the forms," and she's sorry for being a brat about it too in front of Mr. Church. But that goes unsaid. That would be too mushy and too loving, and we can't have that. "Nothing exciting. Everyone's still talking about what Joshua didn't do to the computers. Y'know, the guy that was running past yesterday morning?" And she's getting /that/ look in her eyes again. "It was a great prank. The librarian's still cheesed off about it."
Miranda zones in on her glass of iced tea, sipping from its straw while she listens to Michelle. The girl's tales can't quite remove that look of boredom from her face. She nods slowly in comprehension. She remembers - the kid almost ran into her — and she notices that look in Michelle's eye. "It went well," she corrects, first of all. Leaning over her glass, she stabs an ice cube with her straw, which seems to entertain her more than her daughter's day at school. Even so… "What did he do to the computers?"
Michelle ignores her mother correcting her grammar. It's become habit. "He didn't change all the homepages to pot site." She looks really pleased about this. "It was funny!" Not that she really should be sharing this with her mother. But it's something to talk about, until she catches the look of boredom on Miranda's face. After that, she lapses into silence and slurps at her coke.
"Sir! You can't jus—"
"Watch me!"
Uh oh. That snippet of conversation can only belong to the host and the great Mark Lancaster. The latter of the dueling dudes comes strolling into the restaurant proper, cell phone in hand and trying to ignore the man following him. It's not working out too well.
"Sir! You need a reservation!"
Mark stops dead in his tracks and wheels around on the snotty nosed brat. "A reservation? A reservation? Do you know who I am? No. No you don't. You want to know why you don't? I'll tell you. It's because you're a sniveling, bucktoothed, pimple-faced, college drop out that can't afford to go back home and live under Mommy's protective bosom in hopes of getting someone to throw you a bone that you can catch IN YOUR ASS and finally give in to the homosexual urges that have been welling up inside you for the first seventeen years of your useless life. So don't you DARE try to stand there and tell me I can't do something when I make more than enough money to buy, sell, auction off and preferably have you bronzed as a pile of worthless ferret vomit and thrown onto the mantle for old time's sake. Now if you don't turn around and waddle your little penguin ass back up to the front, the only reservations I'm going to be making are with 911, so they can come and help me remove my foot from your mother's ass." Mark smiles. "Are we done here?"
The uh… penguin-y host just stares at Mark for the longest time, before turning to run back up to the front where he belongs. Mark, on the other hand, finds himself looking around for his traitorous wife and slutty daughter.
Miranda squints. "To a … pot site. I suspect you're not talking about Paderno." The familiar voice and string of creative insults catches her ears — and everyone else's in the restaurant, except for perhaps the geriatric lady in the far back corner who took her hearing aid out because she didn't like the background music; Miranda has been waiting here long enough to notice things like that. "Finally. It's about time." She twists around in her seat, holding on to the back of her chair and waving Mark over to get his attention and usher him their way. Maybe before he tears into another employee. Hurry, hurry!
Michelle hears Mark.. and groans.. sinking down into her seat. "Dad's here," she monotones unnecessarily. Someone kill her now. End her misery. She'll let Miranda flag down Mark.. Michelle will just continue sinking down in her seat, slumped, unladylike and trying to hide in shame.
What is Eric doing? Eric is now…FINALLY…being seated. He sighs and shakes his head slightly. He gets table far in the back and corner though. Leaning forwards he grabs up the menu and starts to read. He continues to read, to try to decide just what to do.
…up until he hears Mark laying into the host….
A smile crosses his face. "…wow…that sounds just like something my brother would say." He pauses. "That…sounds alot like…him…tooo…" Pausing again he just sloooooooowly stands up and loooooooooks around.
Hrmmm. How to get Mark's attention.
Oh yeah.
"Dammit! There is a fly in my soup! Someone get me a lawyer!"
…there. That should get his attention.
"There you are! What the hell? Why aren't you at our normal table? Did that nasal cavity reject seat you here? Do you want to move?" The question is definitely posed as he's walking towards the table where his wife and spawn are sitting. Except, well, there's an issue that just suddenly popped up into the attentive money making radar that's attached to the back of Mark's skull. "Hold those answers, honey, I'll be right back." And that's only to punctuate the quick kiss on her cheek, before he heads off for the table of the tainted soup. Somehow a business card is produced and extended fast, "Mark Lancaster. Attorney at Law. I don't get paid, unless you get paid." Mark smiles, delivering his slogan. "So let's get you paid." And no he hasn't even really looked at the possible client yet.
Mark's late. He's always late. It's aggravating every time, but he could have been later — or maybe Miranda is just so bored (sorry, Michelle) that she's happy to see him anyway. Smiling up at him with only a smidgen of lingering resentment, she begins to counter, "No, I like this spot. Don't you remember last time, you hated our table because of the kitchen sta— oh, here we go…" Dark eyes are given an exaggerated roll and the dude calling for a lawyer only gets a cursory glance. "What this even has to do with entertainment law, I don't even— " She puts a hand to her forehead, shielding her viseion as Mark traipses off with dollar signs in his eyes. "Christ, can't we spend one dinner without him trying to make money off of some poor, unsuspecting idiot…"
Michelle hears the call for a lawyer and groans again. Don't mind her, she'll have dinner under the table, hiding from the world. Here comes dad, there goes dad. She sits up straight in her seat without prompting from parents. "Someone should warn that guy what he's getting into with dad as his lawyer," she comments aloud, then adds, "At least he's not chasing ambulances." Knowing when she's being ignored by her parents, or when she's boring them, she goes back to perusing the menu, looking for the most expensive item that appeals to her.
That's when Mark finds himself hugged. Eric is just laughing as he wraps both arms around his big brother. Then a smirk comes to his face as he steps back, takes Mark's hand and shakes it. "…Eric Lancaster. Your younger brother." He adds with a grin towards him before he laughs once more time. "When did you get back into town?!" He sounds…so very happy.
…and he doesn't sound much like a client either.
Blinking and getting ready to call security or something, Mark is trying to figure out why this crazy person is hugging him. "I'm not gay and I know martial arts. Please remove your arms from my body, before I remove them from yours." And then he's peeling himself from being within Eric's grip when the college brat announces who he is and Mark blinks. Like crazy. "E?! Eric?!" Mark blinks and…. immediately works on wrapping Eric up in his arm and bringing his Fist of Doom around to the boy's head. "I DID IT ALL FOR THE NOOGIE!" And yes. He goes for the Ultimo Noogie.
"Your father doesn't do well around the injured, they stain." Miranda also plucks the menu from the table and begins glances over it uninterestedly… until her eyes widen to comical proportions. The menu drops to the table and she leans back in her chair, then over the table to see around Michelle. She stares, transfixed and tilting her head, the way one might boggle at exotic animals in a zoo performing some kind of unfamiliar family ritual. "…Eric?" she whispers in disbelief (and yet…!), shocked. Realizing that she's flat-out staring, Miranda sits back properly with a jolt that rattles the glasses on the table, picks up her menu and hides her face with it. She peeks over the top and looks to Michelle. "I think that's your uncle."
Michelle drops the menu, along with her jaw. She saw that! "WTF." WHO THE HELL HUGS MARK ASIDE FROM ALISON!? She can't hear a lot of the exchange, but, hello weirdness! Dude is hugging dad! Again, she repeats, "W T F." No, she doesn't say the actual words, but she's saying the letters. Her mom just might stuff a bar of soap in her mouth or something if she dropped the fudge bomb in her presence. Her eyes are locked on the pair. Staring, horrified, jaw hanging open, she is now scarred for life. This is surreal. This is not happening, but she can't look away. Keeping her eyes on the pair, she leans over to pick up her schoolbag.. withdraws her iPhone and *click* takes a picture. Just to remind herself later that Hell froze over this night. ".. No way.. I don't have an uncle. Dad just popped into being one day, like some weird Satan." DENY DENY DENY.
"You do not know martil ar—- GAYYYYYYYK! GET OFF ME YOU FREAK!" Eric, in the middle of the restaurant is getting Ultimo Noogied. His arms flailing, his hair a mess. It takes him awhile to finally shove Mark off of him. "I forgot you did that!" He grouses before he grumbles and glares at his much older brother. A pause before he glances behind him and he half smiles and waves towards Miranda. Then back to Michelle. "Your having dinner here and you didn't tell me?! What the hell man! I didn't even know you were in town!"
"What? Oh, you didn't get the memo? We've been here for like… three years, man." Mark says this as non-chalantly as possible. As if, well, there's nothing wrong with being in the city for years and never telling a soul. "Come on. Stop eating alone like a loser." And he's already turning to head back to his table where he immediately whaps Michelle in the shoulder. "Get up. Sit with your Mother."
"Actually, you have a few, and your father isn't a Satan. There's only one Satan and I'm pretty sure the title's reserved for my mother." Miranda can't stop staring, either. In the midst of all this staring, she flashes a big, bright, possibly creepy smile at Eric and waggles a few fingers around the edge of her menu. "W T F," she seconds her daughter under her breath as Mark approaches - with his little brother. She stands up for the occasion. "Eric! Right? Wow, I haven't seen you since… I think there was a jumpsuit and Hotwheels involved." Way to make her feel old. Her brows seem permanently stuck upward in surprise. "You've… grown up." Miranda moves her chair over to make room for Michelle to come closer. "Just come over here, Michelle, make way for your … uncle Eric." There's an empty chair across from them — just takes some squeezing in, that's all. Like a cozy little family.
Michelle blinks blankly at Eric as he smiles and waves.. What the Hell! She lowers her iPhone and puts it away. "Moooom.. I'm scared," she admits freely. Because, holy Hell. Still gaping, she watches as the pair approach the table. "OW, what the frick dad!?," would be her response to being whapped on the shoulder. That was a little harder than it should have been. Grabbing her purse, throwing Mark a resentful look, she relocates to the chair next to Miranda. Oh, then reaches across the table rudely for her coke. Mine. Eric gets a wide eyed stare of curiousity. Still. No way. Her dad has no family. He was spat out of Hell for trying to take over!
"…three years?" Eric pauses and just stares. "THREE YEARS?! AND YOU HAVEN'T TOLD ANYONE?!" He just stares in total shock at his brother. "…but…I…HOW?!" He allows himself to be brought over though, blinking towards the pair of ladies at the table. "…I…it wasn't me who started that suit!" He slides into the empty chair before he looks towards all three of them. Michelle gets a smile, and Miranda gets a sheepish grin. Do not be creeped out by my aunt. Do not be creeped out by my aunt. "Why didn't you guys tell me!" He finally exclaims. "…and…yeah…I gues I am your uncle Eric…" He grins again towards Michelle.
"Why didn't the dumbass who designed the Titanic actually do his job? I don't fuckin' know. The point is… and all that matters now is that you know. And knowing is half the battle." Mark is just kind of happy to see his little brother. It's been such a long and painful road. If, well, trying to raise the brattiest kid in the world counts as long and painful. "Hey, don't be so happy about that uncle thing. That just means she's gonna' try to swindle you out of something or other -very- soon…"
"Well, it's nice to see you," Miranda, playing the part of the polite one for tonight's dinner (or at least for the next few minutes), sits down and settles in again. She idly pat-pats Michelle on the leg. There, there, honey, we'll endure hell freezing over. "Has it really been three years since we came to New York?" she glances over at Mark, but it's not as if she doesn't know exactly how long it's been. "I guess your brother here is a secret procrastinator. WHO KNEW," she says of Mark. Haha? As if. She's trying to help. She's still smiling, although perhaps not quite so strangely now that the initial shock is slowly wearing off. "So what is it that you do again, Eric?"
Michelle finds the grinning eerie. Adult family members do not grin like that at her. So, sorry if she's staring at Eric as if he were a circus freak. "Way to go dad," she deadpans from behind her menu. Which she peers around every so often to gaze in in curious wonder at Eric. "So.. I got any other uncles, what about grandparents?" She's still hung up on the idea of Mark being spawned from Hell. No way Eric and Mark popped out of the same womb. No way. She drops her menu to the table and glares at her father when he gets insulting again towards her. "What the frick, jeez dad." Then her menu's plucked back up and she's slumping in her seat. Way to go, kill the joy bubble that was rising. "Yeah mom, it has," she snarks out, annoyed at her mom, annoyed at her dad.
"…did you just quote GI Joe at me?" Eric replies as he glances towards Mark. "…and come on…I always did like being an uncle. Even if they just try to get me to spoil them. I'm /usually/ alright with all that." He glances towards Miranda there and blinks and smiles. "…thanks…and I don't think he's very secret about procrastination. "…and…er…I help run dads merger of EvoSoft and Lancaster Electronics." He rubs his head for a moment. "Keep an eye on things and all." With a friend like Jaden SOMONE has to keep an eye on things. "…what? You haven't told her she has grandparents?" He just shakes his head. "Dad is gonna be mad he doesn't have anyone else to spoil!"
"That's your problem right there. You're spoiled. All of his kids are brats. Except, well, Yours Truly." Mark seems to be quite intent on making himself out to be the best child of the bunch. "Worked my ass off… and look what it got me!" His hands extend out, one of them each pointed towards his wife and daughter. The smile on his face is amazingly bright. Which… normally it isn't when it comes to talking about his family. "They're Gucci." And then he's drawing both arms in to show Eric the golden-diamond cufflinks that are attached to his shirt's sleeves.
"Riiight," Miranda says, as if it's all coming back to her now. EvoSoft, Lancaster Electronics. Yeah. She totally knew that. The woman eyes Michelle for her snippiness and looks at Mark suspiciously when he smiles so brightly, only to attempt to suppress a roll of her eyes when she realizes he's bragging about his cufflinks. "He's very proud of his jewellery," she says dryly. Randi then takes this moment to make a show of looking around for a waiter. "How about we order already, huh? That sounds like a good idea!" An idea brought on by her desire to tell Michelle to 'be quiet and eat your dinner,' but since they have none…
Michelle stays hidden behind her menu. "What a surprise," she intones sarcastically, and well aware she's not putting up a good impression on Eric. "Feel free to spoil Alison, everyone does." Everyone meaning Mark. She's the kid that counts. A sideways glare is made at Mark, and those damned cufflinks he's showing off. She's got half a mind to flush those down the toilet after everyone's gone to bed.. but she'll be the first one looked at. So she'll just entertain herself with the notion. "Since no one bothered to mention, I've got two sisters. Mae and Alison. Alison's the baby and daddy's favorite," she says with a forced smile over her menu.
"…ah…well…" Eric's head is whipping back and forth between the three of them. Gucci cufflinks. Desire for food. Mae and Alison. AHHHH! INFORMATION OVERLOAD! "…those look nice…" He does allow to his big brother though. "…and I think they might be more expensive than…everything I have in my closet." Pause. "…well…not the suit." He pauses and shakes his head before he blinks. "…and I see he is…" Then a blink at Michelle. "…ah…well that makes sense, I mean he named his favorite My Little Pony Alison….at least that's what dad told me."
Mark blinks. Like he's never blinked before. Because, well, he's not supposed to be fielding this question right now. Not that there was a question. Just some lies and evil… "I hate you. This is why I didn't tell you I was in town. You son of a bitch." It's spoken so dry and bland that he can't really be serious, since he's so animated otherwise. Instead, he just picks up his menu and starts peering at the words. "By the way, we're all doing separate checks. Hope you brought cash, little girl." If he can't stick it to anyone else, he's sticking it to his daughter.
… NOT LIKE THAT.
"We don't have favourites in this family," Miranda interjects, reaching over to slap the menu out of Michelle's face. "Now stop mouthing off or your newfound uncle won't spoil you— wait." Backtrack. Rewind. Holding a pointer finger in the air, she refocuses on Eric and Mark. "My Little Ponies?" Mark's wife looks very intently at him, amusement bubbling up and— and— yep, there it is. She chokes on a laugh. However, she fights her smirk into submission, tucking the information away for later use. Menu time. "They have great pasta here…"
Michelle lowers her menu and breaks out with a fit of giggles. Okay, Uncle Eric just got a few points stacked in his favor for that alone. Her face is now wearing a huge grin as she looks at Eric. "Really? What else did grandpa tell you?" Since it's just easier to refer to the faceless entity as grandpa. Even if this is so not true, she rarely gets the chance to laugh at her father. This is comedy gold. Not even Mark's comment is getting under her skin. "That's okay, I have the credit card you gav.. HEY!" That would be the protest at Miranda's parenting.
The waiter arrives. "What can I get for you today?" …it's going to be a long dinner— or cut short, depending on who bails first.