Current mood:	curious
Entry tags:	dick, fic, incomplete, veronica mars

[GRAVEYARD] Untitled - Veronica Mars - Dick
I have no idea where I was going with this, but I'm pretty sure it was a prompt response to one of the VM comms. Sorry again for the spam, everyone, but it's all for a worthy cause. The sooner I clear out my snippets folder, the sooner I can turn over my new leaf as a writer. ♥

Title: Untitled
Series: Veronica Mars
Length: 1684 words, I don't remember much but it would have been a one-shot.
Character/pairing: Dick, Veronica, Logan.
Rating/warnings: File created on the 5th of July 2007. Oh, and it's post 2.22.
Summary: Um...Dick is naked? I can't remember why. And I wish I could, I like the Dick-voice I have going here. :(



He'd taken to sleeping in his car a lot.

It wasn't like he had no room at home, because that's all he seemed to have, rooms upon rooms upon rooms. Cavernous, high-ceilinged spaces of nothingness that echoed his steps when he walked, fooling him into thinking that he wasn't alone after all. And then he looked up, and remembered, and ignored the slap-slap of his feet. It was a ghost house for all its mod-cons and tasteful furnishings, a castle on the hill with a single lonely prince rattling around inside.

Not that he had, like, allusions to grandeur or whatever. He was rich and his house was as big as a stadium, it was as simple as that.

But it was the space that got to him, the big empty rooms (more empty of late, if he thought about it, maybe Kendall had transferred her business skills to ebay now) that he couldn't even fill with parties because he was supposed to be in mourning and grieving is (supposedly) all about respecting the dead.

Dick Casablancas could respect just as well (if not better) than the next man, but he did it a whole lot smoother with a party pig on his shoulder and a full cup in his hand.

So he'd taken to surfing a lot, spending hours on the beach, on his board, paddling through the pissy waves (California? Hard to believe) and patrolling the beach as a matter of responsibility, keeping an eye out for dangerous young things. He was an equal-opportunity patrolman and checked out the occasional older thing as well.

It was a good life, kind of, if a little boring and without the multitude of tail he'd been expecting it to have. But he had a routine now, and that had to count for something. Wake up, crack open the door, roll out the car, slip on some flip-flops and wander down to the beach, board in hand. Catch some waves, match pace with the surfer chicks, pretend to get dunked, laugh self-consciously and paddle on across. Engage in witty banter, show off (but not too much), loudly call it a day, run up the beach in slow motion, exchange more small talk (and maybe digits) before showering and heading home. Back to the car.

Routine, right there. His dad would be proud.

He was parked across from the boardwalk, which was filled with coffee shops and food places (he was eating around the world, a different country every day), and what was a trust fund for, if not a supply of boardshorts that never ran out?

So yeah, it was predicatable, but maybe he kind of liked that after everything that had gone down. There was something to be said about calling a spade a spade, even if that was the stupidest saying in existence because a spade was not a twinkie and neither (the hell?) was he.

But he'd had enough of deception, enough of subterfuge and lies. He'd been fed half-truths and falsehoods for longer than he cared to remember and he'd had enough. No more shitting, no more people pretending to be what it turned out they were not.

From now on, it was "what you see is what you get". Dick Casablancas had nothing to hide, and he'd make sure that everyone knew that. They would follow his example and treat him the same way. He was ready to take on the world.

But was the world ready for him?


Although, to be honest, the whole naked thing wasn't going exactly to plan.

- - -

So yeah, Dick had thought of Veronica in that way, the way you don't think about, say, non-female, non-attractive history teachers, or old ladies at the DMV or scary, angry, bald guys that weren't Mr Mars.

Or were Mr Mars.

Now that was disturbing on a whole other level.

That way, as he'd explained to Logan some years earlier, meant you had imagined the person in flagrente and they were still mildly attractive to relatively fuckable. That way was a means to separate the wannabes from the wannados and while the casual observer could comment - and did, occasionally - that it was just an excuse to imagine chicks naked, Dick knew that there was more to it than that. It was a meditation for the mind and body, a zen peepshow that bared the soul. One day, he told Logan, he was going to start a religion, and that was going to be the first thing he'd set his little padawans to learn.

He was still working on the religion-thing. Followings take time.

But yeah, Veronica Mars. Dick would admit to it under pressure (or maybe just casual questioning, he wasn't fussed) that Ronnie was almost fine, in an angry-to-be-happy kind of way. He preferred his women actually willing and more straightforward, but the odd bit of appreciation never went astray. She was hot, sometimes, like when she wasn't talking. And she was little, like a blonde Asian, and he knew that they had kinky bits up the wazoo.

He didn't take that thinking any further, because if she wasn't dating Duncan she was swallowing Logan whole, so she was off-limits. And somewhat scary. He didn't want to mess with that particular kind of pie. So he didn't think about her when he didn't have to, and things worked out pretty well from there.

It was just kind of hard to not think of her in that way when she was standing right in front of him and one of them was naked.

He was pretty sure it was him.

"Dude," said Logan, coming up behind her, throwing and catching his keys in his palm. "You seem to be missing something."

"Oh, hell no," Dick replied, doing a quick inventory. "Everything's definitely there, I'm just not certain the parts work okay. Want to help a brutha out, Ronnie?"

He braced himself for the inevitable (and most likely, physical) rebuff, but a few seconds of tensed muscles and nothing had come. Dick opened his eyes and glanced down, his fear heightening when Veronica's expression took on an evaluating edge.

"Gee, Dick," she said slowly, twirling (twirling!) a strand of hair. "I think we could come to some arrangement."

Dick abolished his semi-formed mind-religion. There was no point - not now he knew there really was a god. "I'm all ears." He leaned back against the car and crossed his arms before looking down with a smirk. "Well, not all ears--"

"I need your help," she interrupted, dropping the facade and moving forward until they were (un)comfortably close. He shifted slightly and wished for the first time ever that he was wearing more clothes.

"My help?" he echoed, glancing over her head at Logan, who shrugged as if to say what can you do?

Veronica had that fanatical gleam in her eye that she got sometimes when she wanted something done, and she nodded so forcefully he tried to take a step back. The car was between him and freedom, so he made a hard choice fast and moved to the side, bowing with a little flourish and opening the door. "Shall we step into my office?"

She shook her head. "It's a semi-business matter, so let's discuss it over coffee. I'll go and grab us a table if you want to slip into something a little, well, more." She turned, pressing a quick kiss to Logan's cheek, before jogging across the road.

He waited till she disappeared inside the closest cafe before reaching into the car. Grabbing out the most recent pair of boardies, he pulled them on and did them up, running a hand through his hair and then following her across the street.

Logan fell into step beside him. "So, why were you not quite dressed?"

Dick stretched his arms out and linked them behind his neck. "Living free, man. Living free."

- - -

"Dick, this is an opportunity to help some needy people out. Think of it as a service to the community, or think bigger if you want. Your friends," she indicated herself, Wallace (who'd popped out of the woodwork needing to be reintroduced, because he wasn't a fucking yellow pages and he couldn't remember all her little pals) and Logan, "need you. Your country needs you."

Logan rattled the ice in his soda. "I have it on excellent authority that the last line works, you know. She's fallen for that one herself."

Dick nodded slowly, processing her request. She was a little Asian, probably Japanese underneath. The kinks this girl had been hiding all that time and he'd never even known. He cleared his throat. "So, you want me to...you know."

She caught his gaze and held it. "Yeah. If you're up to it."

Up to it? He was a stallion! Let it never be said that Richard Casablancas the Third was in any way incapable of completing a volunatary task. "But honestly, Ronnie...why me?"

"Sometimes I ask myself that question," Wallace interjected wistfully, stirring his coffee while gazing into the distance. "Usually the period of melancholy corresponds with completing 'favours' for certain 'people'." He did quotation marks with his fingers, conveying doubt regarding Veronica's humanity.

Dick had had that same thought on a number of occasions, so maybe Wallace wasn't that bad after all.

"Your confidence," Veronica replied earnestly, doing that shiny-eye thing that was really starting to freak him out. "You have no fear--"

"No shame," Logan added.

"--no qualms about your body, as evidenced by your sudden one-ness with nature. I think it's fantastic that you're so comfortable with yourself, and it's that 'happy-as-you-are" part that we could really use some help from."

"There'll be no deal if we keep talking about parts," he told her. "Love Dick for the whole package, or love Dick not at all."

Logan wiped a tear from his eye. "I love the whole package, but that side order of eloquence is almost too much for me to take."

"You can never have too much," Dick replied fervently. "Never."



Yeah, I liked the tone there. But alas, WTF?