lucitania

Moment of Truth
by Pares

Chatter chatter fanfare, blather blather voiceover, vocal grandstanding, drumroll, crowd gasps, the sinus-clogged keening of a housewife and mother of three sobbing into her hankie as she admits to the entire nation that she loves Hostess Fruit Pies more than her only daughter, her twin sons, her own internal organs.

Rodney is consumed with curiosity. And schadenfreude.

"What are you watching?" he demands.

John freezes, pausing mid-chew on a strawberry Twizzler, tilted back in his office chair, bootheels propped on his desk. He could not have looked more comically guilty if he'd been covered in one of those packets of indelible dye that they tuck into the moneybags of unwary bankrobbers. He must be utterly absorbed in whatever he's been watching, because although Rodney's been working on his stealth, John usually drawls something insulting without even lifting his head, well before Rodney so much as enters the room. On more than one occasion, Rodney would have bet actual money on the man's being asleep at the time.

After a moment's hesitation, John settles a hand on the back of his laptop monitor, his entire physical attitude claiming take one step closer and the notebook gets it!

Holding out his hands placatingly, Rodney says, "There's another bag of Twizzlers in it for you if it's something good. It's not porn, is it? Some new, creepy, dubbed Japanese gameshow porn?" Strangely, Rodney can't decide if he'd be interested in such a thing or not. He leans toward "not", but who could say?

Rolling his eyes, John lets his hand drop away and he swivels the laptop so Rodney can see the monitor. "It's not porn, Rodney. Christ."

"Who knows about your proclivities," Rodney sniffs as he drags up a nearby chair in order to study the basic staging of what is plainly a non-porn themed gameshow. Well, a non-naked-porn themed gameshow, if the swill the announcer is describing is to be believed.

"Do you really care about starving children in Africa?" the host asks, his voice dripping with fake sincerity. He looks like the kind of guy who sleeps with a fifth of whiskey under his pillow, and he's wearing so much makeup he looks like he's been dead a week already. The willing victim is a pasty looking ex-marine who has apparently done some catalogue modeling.

"No," Rodney volunteers. John looks at him askance. "What?" Rodney asks. He doesn't. If (when, this is Pegasus after all—he's been up to his eyesockets in starving orphans and it's only a matter of time until he runs into his next batch) he actually meets them, then yes, he finds himself inevitably caring, but until that point they're a fact of little daily consequence and therefore, no, he doesn't make the time to care about them.

"While working as an underwear model, did you ever stuff your underwear?" croons the host.

"Oh, he so did." Rodney says. John tilts his head in an 'I'll give you that' sort of way. "You know it, I know it," Rodney insists.

"Have you ever paid for sex?" asks the host.

"No."

Quirking an eyebrow his way, John looks unconvinced.

"No, I have never paid for sex. And I'm insulted that you could even think that. But that guy? That guy has totally paid for sex, and if he hasn't been caught on a security camera taking it up the ass from a tranny hooker yet, it's only a matter of time."

John burst out in surprised, braying laughter.

"Jesus, Rodney, tell me how you really feel." Wiping his eyes with the heel of one hand, he pressed the other to his midsection and let out another little half-coughing laugh.

"Well, look at that guy. Everything about him says closet case. In fact, I think I dated that guy in grad school."

John's head snaps around so fast Rodney wonders if his skull will just tumble off his shoulders and roll out into the hallway.

"What?"

Shrugging, Rodney explains, "I had a rough trade phase that lasted all of three days." He pauses thoughtfully, considering the action on screen. "You know, at this point, I'd have already won the half mil. Of course, that's chump change compared to what my army of accountants is busy beancounting back on Earth. But still. Easy money."

Blinking at him, John shakes his head a little as if to clear it. "You're pretty much the only honest man I know, Rodney."

He isn't sure if this is a compliment or not; John doesn't look like he knows, either.

On the laptop speakers, the crowd applauds.

END

This soulless televised evil is available here; I will admit to you now that I could only watch the promo and thirty seconds near the end before I had to back away in absolute horror.