Got a full 2 chapters written, but this is all I have typed up:
The first time he met Norman was at Disney Land, of all the fucked up places. Marshall was there with the girls, enjoying his new status of retired rapper and full-time dad.
He was sitting on a bench, waiting for Hailey to bring him back a Mickey Mouse-shaped ice-cream bar when he heard it, the sharp click-whir, click-whir of an expensive camera snapping photos in rapid succession.
"Imma kill a fucker," he thought, looking around in aggravation for the paparazzi and wondering why the fuck his bodyguard wasn't doing something about it.
He turned around, and yeah, he found the camera. He had to smirk at his own over-grown ego. It was just some guy, dark-haired, in a t-shirt and jeans, out with his kid. He didn't even look like he knew Marsall was there--taking pictures as the little boy played with the dancing water fountain, trying to catch the squirts of water as they "bounced" from one jet to the next.
"Yay, Mingus!" The guy called as the boy stomped on an opening in the grate just before the water splashed out. He must have been about six, Marshall figured. Cute age--he remembered how cool it had been when Hailey was that old.
It looked like the guy had enough pictures then; he sat the camera down on the bag at his feet and just watched his kid play.
Without the camera in front of his face the man seemed familiar. Marshall was sure he'd seen him before, could almost imagine his speaking voice in his head, low and raspy.
He must have been distracted because he missed the moment when the little boy (Mingus, what sort of fucked-up name is that for a kid anyway?) tripped and went down hard on his elbows. The dad was moving before the kid even realized he was hurt, that experienced-parent "don’t make it worse by letting them know you're scared" look on his face.
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The first time he met Norman was at Disney Land, of all the fucked up places. Marshall was there with the girls, enjoying his new status of retired rapper and full-time dad.
He was sitting on a bench, waiting for Hailey to bring him back a Mickey Mouse-shaped ice-cream bar when he heard it, the sharp click-whir, click-whir of an expensive camera snapping photos in rapid succession.
"Imma kill a fucker," he thought, looking around in aggravation for the paparazzi and wondering why the fuck his bodyguard wasn't doing something about it.
He turned around, and yeah, he found the camera. He had to smirk at his own over-grown ego. It was just some guy, dark-haired, in a t-shirt and jeans, out with his kid. He didn't even look like he knew Marsall was there--taking pictures as the little boy played with the dancing water fountain, trying to catch the squirts of water as they "bounced" from one jet to the next.
"Yay, Mingus!" The guy called as the boy stomped on an opening in the grate just before the water splashed out. He must have been about six, Marshall figured. Cute age--he remembered how cool it had been when Hailey was that old.
It looked like the guy had enough pictures then; he sat the camera down on the bag at his feet and just watched his kid play.
Without the camera in front of his face the man seemed familiar. Marshall was sure he'd seen him before, could almost imagine his speaking voice in his head, low and raspy.
He must have been distracted because he missed the moment when the little boy (Mingus, what sort of fucked-up name is that for a kid anyway?) tripped and went down hard on his elbows. The dad was moving before the kid even realized he was hurt, that experienced-parent "don’t make it worse by letting them know you're scared" look on his face.