Much Like Stardust

I. Night One: Night Guards With Flashlights

The Museum of Natural History was a surprisingly good museum; Vincent begrudgingly thought. It was disappointing that something he was forced into had some good in it. He supposed, it wasn't direct, but it was still his step-mother's brother who owned the museum. Dr. McPhee-- as he was told to refer to him in a non-family setting-- was his technically uncle, and he had an opening for a Night Guard position. Vincent, being very close to seventeen and not really supposed to work at such a place-- especially so late at night-- could only beg his new uncle for some leaneace. His sob story would work, hell, he wouldn't even have to act for it.

Vincent enters the old building. His hand goes through his hair, fixing it from frizzing by the hands of the harsh wind outside. His nose scrunches at an odd smell. No matter how warm and welcoming the museum seemed, it always had a hint of some baby's diaper and an overabundance of lemon-scented spray in the air.

Vincent sneezes and wipes his sleeve on his dry nose. He nods, confirming only to himself that he is ready, and begins to walk toward the information desk. A recognizable woman sits there. She looks like any other woman; however, the first time Vincent had come here, she had spotted him reading Sacagewea's plaque and told him all her knowledge on her, boring Vincent into a standing sleep.

"Hey-" Vincent drags out. He looks for a name tag of sorts, "Rebecca," he gives a polite smile, "I need to talk to Doctor McPhee."

"Oh, I'm sorry, you'll need to-" Rebecca is cut off.

"Vincent?" the clean shaven man Vincent was looking for comes toward the two. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk with you," he clears his throat and glances away for a second, "about a job."

McPhee sighs, "Let's talk in my office."

The two British men walk away from the stragglers at the entrance and into a clean office. It smelt wooden. Which would make sense as it was piled high with a plethora of wooden furniture. McPhee sits behind his desk in a comfortable black chair, leaving Vincent with one of two mesley grey chairs.

"Vincent," McPhee sighs, "I can't give you a job," Vincent looks away and sighs. He raises his eyebrows as the older man continues, "You're much too young, and you have school."

"Yes, I get that, but you don't have to pay me," Vincent tries to reason, "I already have a job, I don't need another one. I just need some place to stay until- say- two in the morning?"

"How come?" McPhee grows worried, "Is everything alright at home?"

"Yes, everything is fine. It's just," Vincent looks away, disgust on his face, he swallows, "they're at it until then. And they're so noisy."

"Pardon?" McPhee is confused, "Who's at what?"

"My dad and my step-mother," Vincent breathes in. It's better to just get it out, "They've been having sex every night, and it's very loud. Neighbors complain."

"Oh," McPhee nods his head slowly, understanding the disgust, "Can't you wear headphones?"

"They shake the whole flat," Vincent shakes his head with exasperation; as if it's obvious that McPhee would know about his sister's sex life.

"I-" he sighs, "I suppose, but you leave at eleven."

"One."

"Twelve."

"Fine."

"Good."

The two stand up and walk to the door, "At least I didn't need to do Plan D: Suck McPhee's Dick," Vincent smirks and holds a fist toward McPhee.