argentum_ls (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
argentum_ls) wrote2023-10-31 08:53 pm
argentum_ls) wrote2023-10-31 08:53 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Sticky Fingers (Highlander)
Written for kalloway, as part of the Fic or Treat event
Characters: Richie Ryan
Word Count: 969
Rating: G
Summary: Newly Immortal, Richie has a lot learn.
Link to Ao3: Sticky Fingers
In the midst of liquidating the antique store and its contents, Richie came to a shocking realization: He had money.
OK, technically the bank account had money, but his name was on it and he had full legal authority to access that money.
Him. A guy who, up until a year ago, had been living as a petty thief who thought a successful haul was a $50 stereo liberated from someone's car, was now entrusted with a bank account that had more zeros before the decimal than Richie could comprehend.
It wasn't his money. He knew that. Only … the Snickers bars were on sale.
Most of the candy was picked over, even with Halloween still a week away. All that remained of the bags of Reese's cups was one that someone had torn open and left to spill onto the floor. Empty boxes that used to hold the pumpkin-shaped chocolates with marshmallow filling occupied more of its shelf than full ones did. Even the Dum-Dums were gone. Yet, here, in front of him, sat a whole shelf of full-sized candy bars, priced to go.
He glanced right, then left, noting the other shoppers meandering along the store's candy aisle. No one looked like they were paying any attention to him. While he wouldn't put it past Angie or Joey to set him up for some kind of prank, neither of them had any idea he'd be in this store at this time. Hell, he hadn't known it, until he'd stopped on the way back from dropping off some items with a customer in search of a quick dinner.
Ten dollars. He could justify helping himself to a little petty cash. Mac had never said he couldn't, and Mac had to be smart enough to realize that Richie still had expenses of his own while he handled all the store close-out. Call it a seller's fee. A hundred dollars, then.
Besides, no sooner did he realize that he could afford the candy, than he had another epiphany: He could also eat the candy.
He could, in fact, eat as much of it as he wanted. All the admonitions and warnings he'd heard as a child, bouncing from one foster home to another, bubbled up from the depths of his memory.
"Candy's bad for you. A growing boy needs to eat fruits and vegetables," he heard, as one foster dad took the whole bag of loot away, leaving only the lone apple behind.
"You're going to get cavities," another one said. "And we can't afford to take you to the dentist all the time." That candy also vanished before Richie could get more than a token piece. He left that family before they took him to the dentist at all.
Another, much more paranoid family, combed through each piece. "It could be poisoned or have razor blades in it. The news keeps reporting that we have to throw out any piece with a wrapper that looks opened or damaged," they said. Somehow, most of the candy pieces ended up "damaged." Though, when Richie took the garbage out the next day, it contained only the wrappers, and none of the candy that had been in them.
And it didn't matter anymore. He wasn't a growing boy, he couldn't get cavities (could he?), and the poison and razor blade scare had turned out to be baseless.
He was Immortal now.
That fact still hadn't sunk in. He didn't feel any different. Wasn't he supposed to be stronger or smarter or … he glanced at the check in his pocket—one of the many he'd collected over the last couple weeks—and boggled again at the numbers on it. He was definitely richer. If only until Mac came back.
He could have all the candy he wanted. In fact … a broad grin spread across his face. He could have all the candy he wanted. No matter how much he ate, it wouldn't kill him. Not now, not later.
Why had it taken him so long to think of this? He was basically invulnerable now. A newly-invulnerable guy couldn't be blamed if had a little fun with the ability, now could he? It wasn't like he had any other way to get his questions answered.
Pulling over a cart, he loaded every box of discount Snickers into it, then topped it off with a few 2-liter bottles of Coke. The chocolate needed something to help wash it down, after all.
"Just because it can't kill you," he heard Mac chiding him, "doesn't mean you won't wish it could."
He was right. Dammit, he was right. Again.
Richie cursed the pile of garbage on his bedroom floor. He was alone in his room, alone in the whole building, the way he always was now. Chocolate smeared across his mouth, fingers, and jeans. Nuts and caramel stuck in his teeth. Fizz from the soda bubbled in the back of his nose.
He'd consumed all of it. Every last bite and every last drop, because he might have money now, but that didn't mean he had the right to be wasteful with it.
Richie's stomach hurt worse than his heart after taking two gunshot hits, and it felt like the caramel had wrapped its gooey strands around the inside of his chest. He wanted to be sick.
He curled himself into a tight ball on his bed and willed his stomach to relax. He’d get through this. Though he'd eaten his fair share of things he shouldn't have, he'd never been able to indulge in so much junk food before for no reason except that he wanted to. He hurt and, for once, he was really glad that Mac was far, far away on that island.
And, now that he knew he could, he'd do it all over again.
kalloway, as part of the Fic or Treat eventCharacters: Richie Ryan
Word Count: 969
Rating: G
Summary: Newly Immortal, Richie has a lot learn.
Link to Ao3: Sticky Fingers
In the midst of liquidating the antique store and its contents, Richie came to a shocking realization: He had money.
OK, technically the bank account had money, but his name was on it and he had full legal authority to access that money.
Him. A guy who, up until a year ago, had been living as a petty thief who thought a successful haul was a $50 stereo liberated from someone's car, was now entrusted with a bank account that had more zeros before the decimal than Richie could comprehend.
It wasn't his money. He knew that. Only … the Snickers bars were on sale.
Most of the candy was picked over, even with Halloween still a week away. All that remained of the bags of Reese's cups was one that someone had torn open and left to spill onto the floor. Empty boxes that used to hold the pumpkin-shaped chocolates with marshmallow filling occupied more of its shelf than full ones did. Even the Dum-Dums were gone. Yet, here, in front of him, sat a whole shelf of full-sized candy bars, priced to go.
He glanced right, then left, noting the other shoppers meandering along the store's candy aisle. No one looked like they were paying any attention to him. While he wouldn't put it past Angie or Joey to set him up for some kind of prank, neither of them had any idea he'd be in this store at this time. Hell, he hadn't known it, until he'd stopped on the way back from dropping off some items with a customer in search of a quick dinner.
Ten dollars. He could justify helping himself to a little petty cash. Mac had never said he couldn't, and Mac had to be smart enough to realize that Richie still had expenses of his own while he handled all the store close-out. Call it a seller's fee. A hundred dollars, then.
Besides, no sooner did he realize that he could afford the candy, than he had another epiphany: He could also eat the candy.
He could, in fact, eat as much of it as he wanted. All the admonitions and warnings he'd heard as a child, bouncing from one foster home to another, bubbled up from the depths of his memory.
"Candy's bad for you. A growing boy needs to eat fruits and vegetables," he heard, as one foster dad took the whole bag of loot away, leaving only the lone apple behind.
"You're going to get cavities," another one said. "And we can't afford to take you to the dentist all the time." That candy also vanished before Richie could get more than a token piece. He left that family before they took him to the dentist at all.
Another, much more paranoid family, combed through each piece. "It could be poisoned or have razor blades in it. The news keeps reporting that we have to throw out any piece with a wrapper that looks opened or damaged," they said. Somehow, most of the candy pieces ended up "damaged." Though, when Richie took the garbage out the next day, it contained only the wrappers, and none of the candy that had been in them.
And it didn't matter anymore. He wasn't a growing boy, he couldn't get cavities (could he?), and the poison and razor blade scare had turned out to be baseless.
He was Immortal now.
That fact still hadn't sunk in. He didn't feel any different. Wasn't he supposed to be stronger or smarter or … he glanced at the check in his pocket—one of the many he'd collected over the last couple weeks—and boggled again at the numbers on it. He was definitely richer. If only until Mac came back.
He could have all the candy he wanted. In fact … a broad grin spread across his face. He could have all the candy he wanted. No matter how much he ate, it wouldn't kill him. Not now, not later.
Why had it taken him so long to think of this? He was basically invulnerable now. A newly-invulnerable guy couldn't be blamed if had a little fun with the ability, now could he? It wasn't like he had any other way to get his questions answered.
Pulling over a cart, he loaded every box of discount Snickers into it, then topped it off with a few 2-liter bottles of Coke. The chocolate needed something to help wash it down, after all.
"Just because it can't kill you," he heard Mac chiding him, "doesn't mean you won't wish it could."
He was right. Dammit, he was right. Again.
Richie cursed the pile of garbage on his bedroom floor. He was alone in his room, alone in the whole building, the way he always was now. Chocolate smeared across his mouth, fingers, and jeans. Nuts and caramel stuck in his teeth. Fizz from the soda bubbled in the back of his nose.
He'd consumed all of it. Every last bite and every last drop, because he might have money now, but that didn't mean he had the right to be wasteful with it.
Richie's stomach hurt worse than his heart after taking two gunshot hits, and it felt like the caramel had wrapped its gooey strands around the inside of his chest. He wanted to be sick.
He curled himself into a tight ball on his bed and willed his stomach to relax. He’d get through this. Though he'd eaten his fair share of things he shouldn't have, he'd never been able to indulge in so much junk food before for no reason except that he wanted to. He hurt and, for once, he was really glad that Mac was far, far away on that island.
And, now that he knew he could, he'd do it all over again.