I swear this was going to be just a vignette like the others, then I checked the wordcount at some point and saw I'd hit 450 words and I still hadn't gotten to the main part. I... don't even like Florence and the Machine. Those 1,000+ words just happened.
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Martha Rodgers was very familiar with the phrase 'drama queen', it was almost one of the requisites for her profession, but sometimes she thought that nobody was a bigger drama queen than her son.
She wrapped her shawl tighter around herself and surveyed the mess in the kitchen. "Richard, what are you doing at two in the morning?"
He looked up from the table and wiped his hands on a towel. Martha noticed he was still wearing yesterday's clothes, and his shirt and tie had been badly stained with some sticky liquid. It would have bothered Martha, if Martha had been the one who did the laundry.
As it was, she pulled one of the chairs and sat down to get a better view of the mess her son was making with a bowl of fruit, a mixer and a couple of knives.
"It's some kind of mango and pomegranate juice," Richard said. "Want some?"
Martha peered at the contents of the glass pitcher he was holding up (yellow-green, with some red splotches that she assumed were the pomegranate seeds, though there were no pomegranates in sight) and shook her head. "No, thank you."
Richard wrinkled his nose and sniffed the juice. "No, it doesn't seem very drinkable," he agreed, though he still got himself a glass and ice cubes.
"So," Martha said when it became clear that Richard wasn't venturing anything more on his own. "Why are you making impromptu fruit cocktails at two in the morning?"
Not that Richard doing strange things at strange hours was strange, per se. The first time she'd come home to find her son throwing eggs at a dummy had been a bit of a shock but by now Martha was used to his particular brand of research.
She just couldn't see how mangoes could feature in one of his novels. Judging from Richard's disgusted face the fruit juice tasted awful but wasn't poisonous.
Richard twirled the liquid around in his glass for a while, then he suddenly got up and poured it all down the sink. The remainders of the ice cubes clinked against the metal surface.
"Actually my first idea was to go out and drink myself to death," he said, matter-of-factly. "But it was raining."
Martha nodded. The rain had started early in the evening, a real storm with wind and lightning and thunder. The perfect setting for a noir movie. It wasn't pouring quite so much now, but the soft patter against the windows didn't seem about to stop any time soon.
Richard had always hated going out in the rain, even as a kid. It made his hair fuzzy. "So I decided to drink myself to death indoors," he continued. "I stuck with non-alcoholic drinks because I didn't want to give Alexis a bad example."
"Very responsible of you," Martha said with a small smile. And then, because she couldn't hold back her curiosity any longer: "Did something happen with Beckett?"
#11 - Richard Castle (Castle) - Hurricane Drunk
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Martha Rodgers was very familiar with the phrase 'drama queen', it was almost one of the requisites for her profession, but sometimes she thought that nobody was a bigger drama queen than her son.
She wrapped her shawl tighter around herself and surveyed the mess in the kitchen. "Richard, what are you doing at two in the morning?"
He looked up from the table and wiped his hands on a towel. Martha noticed he was still wearing yesterday's clothes, and his shirt and tie had been badly stained with some sticky liquid. It would have bothered Martha, if Martha had been the one who did the laundry.
As it was, she pulled one of the chairs and sat down to get a better view of the mess her son was making with a bowl of fruit, a mixer and a couple of knives.
"It's some kind of mango and pomegranate juice," Richard said. "Want some?"
Martha peered at the contents of the glass pitcher he was holding up (yellow-green, with some red splotches that she assumed were the pomegranate seeds, though there were no pomegranates in sight) and shook her head. "No, thank you."
Richard wrinkled his nose and sniffed the juice. "No, it doesn't seem very drinkable," he agreed, though he still got himself a glass and ice cubes.
"So," Martha said when it became clear that Richard wasn't venturing anything more on his own. "Why are you making impromptu fruit cocktails at two in the morning?"
Not that Richard doing strange things at strange hours was strange, per se. The first time she'd come home to find her son throwing eggs at a dummy had been a bit of a shock but by now Martha was used to his particular brand of research.
She just couldn't see how mangoes could feature in one of his novels. Judging from Richard's disgusted face the fruit juice tasted awful but wasn't poisonous.
Richard twirled the liquid around in his glass for a while, then he suddenly got up and poured it all down the sink. The remainders of the ice cubes clinked against the metal surface.
"Actually my first idea was to go out and drink myself to death," he said, matter-of-factly. "But it was raining."
Martha nodded. The rain had started early in the evening, a real storm with wind and lightning and thunder. The perfect setting for a noir movie. It wasn't pouring quite so much now, but the soft patter against the windows didn't seem about to stop any time soon.
Richard had always hated going out in the rain, even as a kid. It made his hair fuzzy. "So I decided to drink myself to death indoors," he continued. "I stuck with non-alcoholic drinks because I didn't want to give Alexis a bad example."
"Very responsible of you," Martha said with a small smile. And then, because she couldn't hold back her curiosity any longer: "Did something happen with Beckett?"