Arthur couldn’t hold back the indignant huff that left his lips. Fourth floor. He thought that it may have been a bit rude. After all, he was the one who offered to help her carry stuff for her. He smoothed it over with an attempt at an apologetic smile. He was going to start the long trudge up the stairs until she stopped.
A questioning look as he leaned against the wall. Apologize? Oh right. That is a thing that people do. The concept was a rare treasure in Gotham. Hardly ever did anyone apologize for anything. Even for a simple thing as bumping into someone. They usually yelled out a cuss or harshly pushed back with the bump of a shoulder. Arthur should know. He’s definitely had personal experience with both types of people while walking the dirty streets of Gotham.
The comment about her stuff being garbage made Arthur look into the contents of the box. She certainly had quite a few things in there from the weight.
“I don’t think it’s trash.” He commented quietly. It certainly wasn’t garbage to him.
When she introduced herself he felt a bit of a flush at his collar. Anastasia.
“Arthur. Arthur Fleck.” He introduced himself. “Nice to meet you.” Arthur caught himself at saying her name. Long names were not his specialty. He struggled with them all through elementary and was often bullied for his inability to pronounce long words correctly. Curtly, he turned to head back up the stairs. Each step was careful and precise as he did not want to run the risk of dropping anything. His arms trembled with the effort, but he held strong throughout.
“I live with my mother just down the hall actually.” He informed with a tiny grin. He loved his mother dearly and while most men would cower away from mentioning they lived with their mother, it didn’t occur to Arthur that it would be unattractive. It didn’t occur to him that it would be odd. He didn’t understand or see the problem with living with ones mother.
She mirrored his apologetic expression, eyebrows arching inward and a little half smile twitching at the corner of her lips. He had every right to be upset about lugging something that cumbersome up several flights of stairs. She certainly wasn’t keen on doing it.
The contents of the box was mostly baking supplies. Muffin tins, kitchen knives, frosting tips, and hidden underneath it all, a bulky mixer. Her pride and joy. She saved up for months to buy that mixer, and she baked for two straight days in a manic frenzy when she finally purchased it. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a healthy way to go about things, and she had quite the depressive crash afterward, but it didn’t taint the memory in any way. It was one of the only times when she’d truly been happy since that day…
“It’s all old. I’ve had most of that stuff for years. It’s starting to rust and fall apart, but cocktail waitressing pays the bills and…that’s about it…” She knew complaining about her job was probably unappealing, especially with how hard it was to find work, but she longed for the ability to bake to her heart’s content without a worry in the world. Her dreams had been on hold since she aged out of the system, and it depressed her more and more with each passing day…
“I know five syllables is quite the mouthful to address someone by,” She finally piped up as they continued up the stairs, “So if you want…‘Ana’ is alright, too.” She only let those given special permission call her ‘Ana’ under any circumstances. It wasn’t hard to be granted that permission, but people were generally awful, so it wasn’t something she granted often. She nearly got into a fist fight with the last person who called her by that nickname. But something in her wanted to hear him just…say it. Even if only one time…
“Oh,” Was all she could initially muster at his declaration. At first, it struck her as odd that a grown man still lived with his parent. Was he just another unemployed loser leeching off his mother? She took another mental pause to try and reason with herself before jumping to any conclusions. Her expression nearly betrayed her, but she managed to keep it even as she processed his words. If they lived together, someone had to be providing for them. She ruled out a third party, leaving only Arthur and his mother to fill the role of ‘breadwinner’. This hellhole, albeit in demand at the moment, was relatively cheap, especially compared to the east, so it made sense to live off one income if they could manage it…he had to be at least in his early thirties, reasonably putting his mother in her fifties…still working age…but then she remembered how proud he sounded about his living situation. He didn’t come off as ungrateful or even unhappy about it. He was unabashed and even grinned…
She returned his smile. “I think it’s very sweet that you take care of her. She has a very kind son.” She was giving him the opportunity to correct her. His next words would be very important to her impression of him.
The tidbit of information Arthur had gathered was stored at the back of his mind. Cocktail waitress…that seems right. Not many women could find other fulfilling jobs. It certainly wasn’t the 1960s anymore but Arthur knew respect for women in the workplace was thin. Most jobs were man dominated. His workplace for example. If a woman wanted a job as a performer but couldn’t make it as a pinup or some other actress in a Hollywood film and turned to his line of work. A performing clown. That would definitely not end well…he could think of five individuals who would either harass, catcall or were capable of assault.
Drifting from his thoughts to the remaining conversation he turned his attention back to her. As best he could from in front of her. His head turned to glance over his shoulder. It was almost as if she had read his mind.
“Thank you, Anna. Spelling Bees weren’t my thing in school neither was pronouncing long words.” He said sheepishly. It wasn’t everyday he opened up like this. Usually he would talk to his mother when she would spare the time from writing letters or watching tv.
A curiosity gleamed over his expression at her answer to his statement of living with his mother. Yes…this was the part where she would ridicule him or make fun of. Take a few jabs at his masculinity maybe? Arthur thought.
What came out of her mouth surprised him. He was a very kind son. It was surreal. She even smiled while saying it. Arthur felt a little awestruck at her choice of words.
“I do my best for her. She’s the only family I have.” Arthur told his first lie. There was still Thomas Wayne. Even if there were little doubts in his mind that circulated every now and then. Thomas Wayne was a very busy man Arthur reminded himself. The man probably got hundreds of letters from all around the city.
“What number are you?” Arthur asked as they finally reached the floor. He struggled to open the door to the apartment floor, but caught it with his foot and slid inside. There were pros to being as skinny as he was.
She took her fair share of abuse on the job, but she’d been lucky compared to some of her coworkers. The owners of the club she worked at treated the girls more like cattle than the loyal employees they truly were. Patrons could get away with murder for the right price, and while that infuriated her, the clientele kept the business afloat and her in a job. Plus, there was the occasional good night, be it from someone leaving a hefty tip for her or just talking with an enchanting stranger.
She laughed gently at his thanks, her typically-fleeting smile lingering on her lips a bit longer than usual. “Don’t worry, everyone had a subject they weren’t good at. For me, it was math. I can read and write with the best of them, but math? Too absolute for my brain.”
She tried to speed up a little, gaining on Arthur without seeming in a unnecessary rush. This was, by far, the longest conversation she’d had outside of work in…years, she reasoned silently. She’d have to work on that. This was supposed to be a new start of sorts, a new chapter of her life. The city had a habit of snuffing out optimism and positivity, so she wanted to embody those forces, even if only on a small scale.
“You take great care of her, I’m sure,” She responded, “…Family is one of the only things people have anymore. I’m glad I met someone who puts value in it the way that they should. I’m almost jealous…” The last part of her statement slipped out before she could spare it a second thought, and she felt a light heat rise to her face as soon as it passed her lips. She carried a lot of shame about her past, so mentioning it, even indirectly, caused her heartache.
“4C,” She replied decisively, quickly changing the subject and following him through the floor’s main door, “I live in 4C. And I’m doing my best to hide it, but I’m actually kind of excited to get settled. I’ve got some baking to do…and, speaking of, do you…um…do you have a favorite baked good? Like one that you’d never turn down…?”
“I couldn’t get that much of a handle on math either,” Arthur smiled lightly. This was an odd feeling. Talking with a woman about something so domestic. Yet it wasn’t just domestic,,,it was personal. A side of Arthur that he was ashamed to show. His literacy wasn’t that great and he knew it, but to openly admit it to another person felt strange. With Anna she did not seem to quickly judge him. Hell, she tried to relate him by bringing up a subject she was bad at. It gave Arthur a sense of relaxation. Something that did not really come often to him.
Another genuine smile graced his lips. He gave his mother the best care he could. They couldn’t afford a caretaker so he had to become his mothers everything. Though she did not seem to be grateful for his help sometimes. The corners of his lips down turned to a neutral expression. His eyes held a questioning gaze as he observed the flush of embarrassment in Anna’s cheeks.
He was quickly snapped from his daze as he heard the floor number. His feet quickly turning in that direction. “4C? wow. I live just down the hall,” Arthur stated. Pointing with the box of stuff in his arms in the other direction. He snickered at the girls excitement. Moving in this shit hole was nothing to be excited about. He reached the door and gratefully put the box down. One hand running along the other to gently massage his sore muscles. He had not lifted anything that heavy in a while. The last time he had lifted something heavy was rearranging his small apartment while his mother barked orders at him.
“Oh, uh, I don’t really have a favourite,” Arthur said as he picked up the box again. Ready to help Anna move the box into the apartment. Though that felt a bit of an invasion to the woman’s privacy. Why would he be concerned now though? She was obviously not a threat to him. He was hopeful they could be friends. “I guess I wouldn’t turn down pumpkin spice stuff.” Arthur informed. He wasn’t ready to tell the reasoning behind it. Too many bad memories trailed that topic.
