2007-08-31: Spawn


Michelle_icon.gif Mark_icon.gif

Summary: A Father/Daughter Moment. Brought to you by NBC.

Date It Happened: August 31, 2007


Manhattan (Lower)

Slurping on a large domed drink from Starbucks, Michelle looks the part of the sulky teenager. Despite the frozen concoction with whipped cream and froth. She's also making a show of slurpy noises from the straw as well. Just for the added bonus of annoyance and obnoxiousness. Buzzing noise can be heard blaring from the earbuds of her iPod, which can't be at a healthy or reasonable volume. Say what? Can't hear a thing. On purpose.

"Oh, some help YOU are! I ask you fifteen times, last week alone, if you were gay! And you said yes! Now that I'm trying to send you over to Shaq's house, for a little meet and greet with his gardener, you're getting cold feet?! Well. FUCK. THAT. Get you some footies, some matches between your toes, talk a walk on the wild side and dip yourself in lava, baby. Because you're going!" Mark's on his cell phone. On purpose. Why is he walking next to his daughter? Probably because she's got him out and about here in the streets of New York because, well, she's just a brat like that. Evil. "Oh and Lloyd? Wear a thong. I heard he likes that." And there's hanging up of the phone that happens just as fast as Mark turns to look at his kid. The one that's actually his. "Michelle." Glare. "Michelle if you're ignoring me, I will take away every chance you have at actually having a sweet sixteen. Not party. Not birthday. LIFE!"


Michelle tunes out Mark's shouting with the help of some healthy gangsta rap. She doesn't really like it, but there you are. Slurping away at her frothy drink, she turns a baleful brown eyed stare up at Mark when he looks her way. Lips are moving, nothing's coming out.. oh.. right. The earbuds are pulled from her ears, and a few choice foul lyrics can be heard, "Yeah? What?"

"Look. I'm out here. I don't do this. I could be working. But instead, I took time out of my busy schedule to come out here…with YOU." The look of resentment and such is all in his eyes. Could have something to do with the fact that he's trying not to choke her for the lyrics he hears coming out of those stupid ear buds. "The least you could do is turn off that crap." Picking up on the fact that it is, indeed, gangster rap he rolls his eyes. "We're not even /in/ Harlem…"

Hear that? On the inside, it's the sound of a little heart trying not to break. "Fine," Michelle says with equal resentment leaking out. The iPod is reluctantly turned… down. The earbuds are looped around her neck. "Go back to work. see if I care. No one asked you to give up whatever's more important anyway," she snarks back in a surly teenaged manner.

"Oh please. I'm your father and I love you." That's pretty much all he's going to say about it. He's not going to get into the lies of her being more important than work, because they may not be true. But, well, she did turn the iPod down and that's good enough for him. "So. School starts soon." This is him trying to do the small talk thing. This may not work out too well. "Do you need clothes or anything?"

Michelle makes a face, as if there's an inward flinch. Something is muttered under her breath about him not acting like it, whatev. *slurpslurp* "Yeah. I suppose." Yay. School. It gets her out of the house, gets her around boys, and it's okay. As to clothes? She looks at Mark as if he were high. "Duh! My clothes are /so/ last year. I need some cuter shirts and skirts. Oh and a soccer uniform. Made the team." Not that she's expecting any praise, or interest. "New shoes too. These are scuffed.. and soccer cleats." There's of course nothing wrong with her current shoes, they look fine. "So c'mon, new clothes!" Daddy offered, she's tugging for the lead.

Mark's feet don't move. He actually gets pulled a bit, but yanks his hand away. "Freeze, Paris Hilton." Mark has to give all this stuff time to process and properly respond because he's the kind of jerk that doesn't pass up chances to make his daughter feel like crap. Always the best way to make her stronger for the life that is ahead. Especially when she's trying to spend all of his money. "When did you even try out for the soccer team?" He's honestly confused about this whole new development. And he's not happy about it. "I don't want you playing soccer. It's dangerous. You could get hurt." And boys could see her in soccer shorts. Grrrr. Boys. "Why don't you play like uh… chess? Chess is boring! Perfect for you!"

Wait. Lack of movement, dad's not following.. and what!? Michelle whips around to glare at her father. PARIS HILTON? That piece of trash. GRRR. "Don't call me that!" She frowns, and folds her arms across her chest, holding her cup so that it doesn't spill. She offers a petulant shrug. "During tryouts, since I quit the hockey team." Thanks for the clarification there missy! "WHAT? I'm SO playing soccer! You can't tell me not to play! It's a sport! It's supposed to be dangerous! 'Sides. Like you care." Then.. her eyebrows raise right into her hairline, "CHESS? That's…. WHY DO YOU HATE ME?"

"When were you playing hockey?!" Mark seems very distressed by this. However, hockey has lots of padding and clothes and things will be covered. Which is always a good thing. "Well, hockey's not as bad as soccer. So why don't you get back on that team? And wear all those pads. And carry a big stick to hit boy— the other team with." Nice save, right there, Mark. Right? "I don't hate you! I just said I loved you! It's Chess! It's nice and safe and in the air conditioning! A lot of dope doggs, yo, play chess!"

"Last year! DUH. You just weren't paying attention to me!" Not that Michelle went out of her way to tell her family what she was doing. Maybe she told her mother, and maybe there was a communication FAIL in passing the news to Mark. "I don't wanna play hockey anymore! I wanna try soccer and I already made the team so there! Now can we just go get some new clothes?" Color floods her cheeks with temper as Mark just doesn't seem to get it. "Nobody cool plays chess! YOU DO HATE ME. I'll get laughed at! I won't be popular and the boys won't like me cause I'll be a chess nerd!"

"BOYS SHOULDN'T BE LIKING YOU ANYWAY! YOU'RE FOURTEEN!" Mark just narrows his eyes and tries to calm down. It doesn't work. "Oh, it's too late? We'll see about that. First thing Tuesday morning, I'm going to that damn school and pulling you off the soccer team. I'm your father. I can make it happen." Not to mention he's got a big mouth that can usually fast talk him into getting whatever he wants. "You will play chess and you will learn to like it! And you can forget about new clothes, since you'd rather be a brat than listen to your father!"

Michelle's eyes widen then narrow. "I TURNED FIFTEEN YOU PRICK!" Yelling back at ones parental units isn't normally advised, but Michelle is quite like her parents. The lashing out is a natural response to her sweet, loving father's behavior. No really. "You can't do that! I'm staying on the soccer team! I HATE YOU! I'm NOT playing chess instead! You just don't want me to have any fun! EVER. AND BOYS LIKE ME ANYWAY." Her argumentative stance is nowhere near her father's caliber and quickly disintegrates into immature, disjointed teenaged fits.

"You don't want to play chess? Fine. You don't have to play chess." Mark turns and starts to walk away. If only because, well, he's that much of a bastard to leave his girl on the street like this. "In fact, you can play all the sports you want to play. Every last one of them." And he smiles, taking out his phone and looking at it. If only because, well, he's about to make a call. "At Brenda Song's School for Girls."

Michelle gets a triumphant grin on her face. Then… wait for it.. That was an easy victory. Too easy. The grin she fixes at her father's back slides.. sliiiides all the way off her face. "…. WHAT? NO!" She takes off at a run after Mark, dropping her drink in the process in order to grab his arm to stop the process of making a call, "DADDY! NO! I don't wanna go to that school!" Because.. it's for GIRLS. There are no boys there! She actually looks.. like she might cry.

Mark just flashes a big ol' smile. Holding the phone up (not that he's all that tall) and trying to scroll through his numbers. "Oh, now it's Daddy. Not even a minute ago I was a prick." He narrows his eyes at her for a moment, before scrolling more. "Here we go. I happen to know Brenda myself. We go way back. Should be no problem getting you enrolled."

Michelle's lip trembles, her eyes well up, and she's not faking. She does NOT want to go to /that/ school. "I'm sorry I called you a prick!" That bitter lump she's swallowing, that would be her pride. "I'll go back on the field hockey team, it doesn't have to be soccer, just pleaaaaase don't send me to her school!"

Mark narrows his eyes. "Too late. No hockey either." Mark pulls down the phone and tucks it back into the holster on his side. "You can go to Brunhilde…" Obviously, he can't remember the name of the damn school. BRUBAKER. "…if you promise not to play any sports. And no boys. If I even -hear- a boy's name come out of your mouth, you're going to Song's." He plasters on a victory smile. "Are we clear?"

Michelle stares and sputters before anything intelligible can come out of her mouth. Her eyes follow the phone being put away, and just.. that's.. "SO NOT FAIR!" She's back to being angry! She even stamps a foot in frustration, "My school is Brubaker! YOu can't even remember that!" So.. how's he going to remember he told her no sports later.. Hmmmm… The thought process is squashed like a bug however at further threats. ".. I /have/ to play sports! I'm not a band dork or anything!" And she'd rather stab herself with a flute than try out for band anyway. "You're so mean! Mae gets to hang out with boys, why can't I?? I'll be the only girl in school without a boyfriend and not going to dances cause you're just…" A frustrated squeal emanates as she just can't finish that sentence.

"You don't need a boyfriend. I didn't have one when I was your age." That's really comforting, Mark. Really. "You need to focus on your studies. School is not a time for cliques, dances and social circles. It's about learning. And getting prepared to go to college and law school." Yes, he's already planned out her life. But that's because, as a father, he's allowed to do things like that. There's no reason for him not to be breeding another lawyer for the family. "So is it a deal or not?"

"I would HOPE that you didn't," Michelle snaps at Mark. Still flabbergasted and argumentative, she fires back, "School IS about dances and social circles!" And learning too, but that takes a backseat in her mind. "AND BOYS." She was ready to go ahead and say deal, but daddy had to go and mention law school. "…. I don't wanna go to law school!" When did she decide this? Ever? In her mind, she was gonna be a sports star! Or something. "Make Alison be a lawyer!"

"You're going to law school. It's not even up for discussion." And Mark snaps at the mention of his little angel that can do no wrong. "Don't drag Ali Angel into this because you don't want to listen to your father! You could learn a lesson from her!" He sighs, waving his hand around for a moment and trying to get himself composed. "Listen." And there's some crouching so that he can be eye level. "I know what's best for my girls. Both of them." Pause. "… and Mae too, I guess." Shrugging that thought off. "I just want you to have a good education and not be in a hurry to grow up. You'll have plenty of time for boys after law school." Hrm. "Way after law school." Hrm. "Way WAY after law school. Like when you're fifty."

Michelle's jaw sets and tightens as she glowers at Mark. "I will bring up /Ali Angel/! You don't make her do anything! I bet you'll let her study what she wants!" Mark is however correct that she's not listening to him. She kinda really quit taking in anything he was saying. This really hasn't been much of a negotiation. "You can't control me!" Swinging her brown hair over her shoulder, she whirls around and stomps away from Mark.. and hollers at the top of her voice, "I AM NOT GOING TO BE A STUPID LAWYER LIKE YOU.. AND I WILL HAVE TIME FOR BOYS! FOR A LOT OF BOYS."

Mark sighs and shakes his head. Why must his daughter be so difficult? This is not good. Not good at all. Figuring that he can't bluff her through this anymore, he just shakes his head. Watching the daughter figure stomp away. "GO TO THE CAR! YOU'RE GROUNDED!" That's the end of this conversation because he's the father. And he's finally stomping after her. "NO PHONE! NO TV! NO CREDIT CARD! Now get your ass to the car!"

"You can't ground me and NO! MAKE ME!" With that ever so mature response to Mark, Michelle takes off running best she can through the NYC sidewalk. This is going SO well.

"Goddammit!" Mark starts to give chase, but then realizes that this is New York and there was a whole R. Kelly incident that even HE wouldn't get involved in. "Michelle! Get your ass back here or I'm telling your mother!" He raises his cell phone and gives it a fistshake, though he's not too worried about it. She probably doesn't even have money for the Metro.

Oooooh! Tell Miranda, now that's a threat! One Michelle isn't taking seriously.. at first. Dad's a fright on his own, but add mom to the mix? Terrorizing. Besides, Michelle gets half a block away and yup, realizes that she in fact does not have enough cash for the public transportation. "Dammit," she swears under her breath before jamming her earbuds back into her ears, turning up the music and sulkily returning to her pissed off father.

Mark is standing there by the time Michelle gets back and he's holding out one hand for the iPod. "No music either." And his other hand, well, it's pointing at the freshly not towed away any more BMW that managed to find a parking spot on a New York street. He must know the cops or something. "We're going."

Michelle glances at the outstretched hand, then ignores it as she slides into the backside of the car. Hopefully out of range of dad's hand. iPod, what iPod? She's not listening to no iPod. "Fine. Let's go already."

"Fine." And Mark too is climbing into the car. He can't believe she's acting like that. He can't. He doesn't know anybody that acts like this. Bratty and everything that… oh wait. Yes he does. "You're just like your mother, I swear." Starting the car up, he turns on his own 'old people' music to drown out the kid on their way home.

Michelle just turns her earbuds up louder, and the frequently foul lyrics just might be heard. That is if it weren't for the tacky old people music on the car stereo. For the whole ride home, she'll just keep staring out the car's window, glaring and thinking nasty thoughts about the old man.

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