His Little Heir

Ground Zero

    Leon tucked the last plate into the bottom rack of the dishwasher.

     It shook at his touch like it was missing a screw, yet still managed to set itself right- similar to a wobbly table leg that some sorry soul would come to put a peice of cardboard under and say that it was level. "Thank you for the dinner, Ahmad. Really that roast-"

"Don't look at me," He waved a hand     in dismissal, "That's all Quill."

   "Really?"

    "Really."

     Leon looked over at Daya; she sat numbly in her chair, lost in the click of her nails and the rhythm of conversation. Her soft voice spun webs of laughter, of better times, to Quill's nonchalant tone, and drummed up a certain note in the air. Her energy was inescapable.

     She could fill a room, but take up so little space.

     "I don't mean to be rude, but, how are things between you two?" Ahmad asked, "Grabbing her hands-"

     He let out a whiny sigh, "Please don't lecture me in the wonders and woes of women. I know it was stupid."

     "I may be gay as hell, but even I can see that she don't like stuff like that."

     "I know, it's just... frustrating sometimes."

     Ahmad watched him struggle with the dishwasher. Leon fumbled and squinted in search of a result, but knew little of the path to get there. Button after button met the tips of his more than clouded judgment, and soon it gave up entirely, beeping for someone to intervene.

The general rolled his eyes, "Need some help?"

"Just start the d**** thing."

His hands glided over the buttons, carefully selecting which one to push like a guitarist's brushing over worn, but familiar strings. He smirked as the device came to life with a smug ding and looked up at Leon's drooping lip.

     "Come on 'your majesty', lighten up! It's just simple technology!"

     Leon folded his arms, "Woo hoo. This is me. Lightening up."

    "Okay, hot shot, you wanna know how to get on her good side or not?"

    Leon took a long sip of water and looked over in her direction. Daya's eyes were alight with what appeared to be happiness, shining brighter than the starlit sky on the night he first kissed her. That happiness was genuine, real, nothing compared to the brittle plastic that glazed her eyes when she spoke to him. He couldn't blame her; he knew that. Neither could he blame Quill.

     But it didn't sit right with him nonetheless.

     "I'm listening." Leon downed a second swallow of water.

     "All I'm saying is," Ahmad gestured to the table where they were sitting, "Look how happy she is right now. There's nothing being pressed or thrown at her, no one she's gotta please, and no ticket items she has to push. You know what I'm saying?"

     "You lost me at the word 'look'"

     "I'm telling you to subtract your d*ck from equation- is that simple enough?"

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