Chapter Text
"Hey, kid,"
"Name's Randy,"
"Right, right. You know the sayin', "Never meet your heroes"?"
"Yeah? What about it?"
"It's true. Don't you ever, and I mean ever, meet your heroes."
"Why?"
"Just believe me."
"This is about McFist, isn't it?"
Yes, it is.
Because if Hannibal finds out Randy's the Ninja...
But he can't say that without telling on himself, so instead, Viceroy redirects: "What do you think?"
"Why wouldn't I want to meet him though? He's great! He's a charismatic billionaire who gives out free stuff all the time!"
"That's exactly what makes him unbearable," And a danger to you, specifically.
Because why, of all people, did this kid have to be the Ninja?
"But you're charismatic. And rich. And you give me free stuff all the time."
Ugh. He does do that, doesn't he?
"That's," Viceroy doesn't know what to say. This conversation certainly isn't going in the direction he was hoping. "You shouldn't trust me either."
It's the truth. He shouldn't.
"If you don't want me to trust you, you shouldn't be so trustworthy. Soo, technically,—"
"Your definition of trustworthy is extremely biased and it's dangerous to keep walkin' around with the mindset that anyone who helps you is—"
"—this is all YOUR fault!"
And by this, Randy means the rat's nest he'd made of Viceroy's office couch; notebooks and pens strewn all over with an unzipped schoolbag haphazardly tossed on the ground.
Because oh yeah, Viceroy lets him do that. He's been doing that for about two weeks now.
Ever since that... shebackle, it's become routine that Randy swings by his office after school (and even on some weekends,) to do all the work he's been procrastinating on. If he finishes early, they'd tinker in the lab for an hour or two before Viceroy calls a cab to drive him home.
Why? Because it's either that or Randy's alone in his house, or he's out swinging around the city in black and red jammies and potentially endangering himself.
"Ugh. Well, what else was I supposed to do?" Leave the kid alone, probably. Because he's not his guardian and therefore should not be babysitting him right now—
"I'unno, kick me out?" He says this all nonchalantly. "Not gonna lie, I thought you would. I was pretty fine on my own before you came along anyway."
That's true.
That's true, and yet,
"I wouldn't... do that."
And Randy smiles at him, all cheeky and boyish in the way only naive teenagers can be. "I know."
He isn't taking this seriously.
He stares at the kid for another good second, frowns, then scoffs.
Oh, forget about it.
"That essay ain't writing itself, y'know."
Randy jumps, exclaiming "Whoops!" before the scribbling starts up again.
Viceroy, too, goes back to work.
The office is peaceful.