Post by KENNEDY LINDA RAMONE on Feb 18, 2013 23:49:59 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 366x; height: 190px; padding: 10px; background-color: #dcd4c7; border: #eae4d8 10px solid;] LOOKS LIKE A SOLO TONIGHT If there was one thing that Kennedy had always loathed in her father's taste of decor, it quite possibly had to be his desperate need for everything to be businesslike which made it nearly impossible for any of the rooms in the Ramone household located on the top floor of Twisted to be anything resembling a home. On this evening the blonde found herself seated at the opposite end of the dinner table as her father, the long deep colored wood stretching between them like a great wall that separated daughter and father. A crystal wine glass was placed just slightly off to the side of the female's soup plate, the sound of liquid splashing into the vessel catching her attention just barely as she watched Jackson unfold and refold his napkin nervously, his eyes darting from the now crinkled linen to the window that overlooked this side of Boston. The thick aroma of sparkling cherry flavored water came to her nostrils as she lifted the glass to her lips, once again not surprised that though tonight was her twenty-first birthday her father had not allowed her a glass of wine. Her mother had always been fond of wine, and she had never been discreet about offering tastes to Kennedy no matter how young she had been at the time, trying to train the child young to learn the difference between the cheap impersonations and the real thing. Tonight was her father's idea of celebrating the birth of his only daughter, with what she assumed he thought was her favorite dinner and a rose that looked as though he had plucked it from one of the many displays that Wicked had to offer. With what could only be considered a warm smile to those who knew what it looked like when Jackson wasn't smiling, he lifted his own glass of deep red wine into the air and waited for her to do the same, her perfectly manicured fingers wrapping around the glass as she she lifted it in silence and waited for the impending speech that she knew he was practically torturing himself to give. "To Kennedy. My beautiful daughter, who looks more and more like her mother every day. Twenty-one years, and may you have twenty-one more." Though the sentiment had been there, the female couldn't resist the comment that was practically biting at the tip of her tongue, and even with her teeh trying desperately to choke it back, she felt it ooze out as sarcastic as ever, a brow raising slightly to meet it. "You want me to die when I'm forty-two?" Kennedy asked in an almost poisonous tone as she sipped her water and delicately dipped her silver spoon into her white clam chowder. "That's not what I meant, Kennedy." Jackson replied in an equally cold tone, his eyes narrowing in one his daughter as he looked at her like he looked like one of his employees that wasn't doing their job to his liking. Sometimes she felt that if he had his way, she wouldn't even have one more, and wouldn't even have made it as far as she had now. The silence resumed between them and the only sounds that could be heard were the spoons clicking against the edges of the bowls before they were cleared away from in front of them and were replaced by large plates of muscles. She hated seafood. Reluctantly, she cracked opened the first little shell and peered into the dark confines at the slimy looking contents, immediately coming to terms with the fact that the insides looked like a disgusting lopsided vagina. That's what muscles were, infected vaginas in a pretty shell. Her stomach churned as she looked up from the plate and watched Jackson prying out the insides with a butter knife, dipping the meat in melted garlic butter before practically swallowing them whole. Kennedy's nose crinkled with disapproval and she pulled the substance from the shell and slowly placed it in her mouth, her teeth gnawing away at the rubbery texture before she swallowed what she had only assumed had just been a fishy tire. The man clearly had no concept of what food the female actually liked, and for some reason he had always been rather fond of seafood and always rambled on about how important it was to support local trades and how New England prided themselves on their seafood. To Kennedy, it just tasted like sand and rubber. Sand and vagina rubber. For several long minutes she shifted her food around on her plate until the lobster had arrived, great steaming red lobster with it's beady little black eyes staring her down judgementally. She could remember when she was younger and a boy she'd dated briefly as a child had told her that when you dropped a lobster into the pot of boiling water, you could hear it scream in pain. Though many chefs had tried to convince her otherwise and reassure her that it was simply the sound of air escaping from the shell, she wasn't quite so convinced. Maybe the lobster was screaming for help...maybe she was the lobster, and her father was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to drop her into the pot and listen to her scream. "Delicious." Jackson said from across the table, already stabbing at the tail with his fork like an excited little boy on Christmas. "Eat, Kennedy. You're getting far too thin. Do you want people to think you're taking drugs? The clothes don't help." Curiously, her eyes traveled down to the clothing that she had decided upon for 'dinner with daddy', the Nirvana shirt hanging down off of one of gaunt shoulders and the expensive designer jeans that she'd torn apart with a razor blade. "But Jackson, things would get so boring around here without me to liven them up..." For a moment he paused in his indulging, again that stern bosslike gaze falling to the girl who might as well have been a stranger to him. If there was anything in his life that disappointed him, it was his daughter. She was nothing he could have hoped for, and she reminded him so much of her mother that it nearly made him sick to his stomach. Most of the time he couldn't even bare to look at her, it hurt him far too much. "Jackson...I don't like this." Kennedy said honestly, staring into the lifeless eyes of the lobster and suddenly feeling queasy. "You know I don't like this. I don't like this." The angry sound of plate against table startled her as he yelled out for one of the help to remove Kennedy's dinner from in front of her. "Ungreatful. I try to provide you with a beautiful home...a career...a five star dinner for your birthday and this is how you repay me? Leave. Perhaps the cook will fetch you a box of macaroni and cheese or a can of spaghetti o's." Happy Birthday to me. WORDS: 1000+ . TAGGED: KENNEDY AND JACKSON . |
