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His Troublesome Progeny
By Nara Occult
Summary: Terrance has screwed things up again, and this time his father won't tolerate it. Enter the most unlikely people to teach a boy manners… who might just make things worse before they get better.
Disclaimers: This story is rated M for (Heterosexual) adult content, language, violence, drug use, etc, so be forewarned. I’d also like to apologise in advance for any mistakes I make in describing the American political situation, because I’m Australian and we’re not a republic… we’re England’s bitch. (We are under the Queen’s monarchy with a Prime Minister not a President).
One more thing…
Oh my god! It’s yet another “President’s Son” type story!
So we all know the theme is hardly new and original; I am well aware it’s been chewed up and spat out about a million times before so now it’s just a giant pile of saliva.
And mine’s probably not really different, it’s probably exactly the same as every other story you might hate and it might well be the scum of the earth. This is less about romance, and more about outrageous decadence and having fun screwing things up. My point here is: if you’re already thinking this is a piece of clichéd shit, it may well be, but that doesn’t mean I need you to inform me. You have been warned.
Chapter One: Alcohol Throws Star-Spangled Spanner in Works
“Terrance Oliver MacRoberts,” The President of the United States of America uttered deceptively calmly.
“That would be me,” A 20 year old male with short, messy light brown hair and dark brown eyes replied lazily.
“I certainly hope you are pleased with yourself,” Rupert MacRoberts continued, seemingly unaware of the devil-may-care attitude his son was throwing his way.
“Not particularly, I never should have touched the bitch,” Terry uttered disdainfully.
The First Lady made a choking sound, but a moment of eye contact from the President froze her rejoinder in her throat.
“Read this, if you would,” Rupert threw the paper in front of Terry, who glanced at it. Splashed across the front page was the title “Alcohol throws star-spangled spanner in works” followed by pictures of the downright furious Japanese Imperial Princess.
“Come now father, I lived the event, I don’t need to read about it,” Terry was playing with fire, if the growing darkness in his father’s eyes was anything to go by. An article on the second page continued with “Terrible TOM creates new divide”, going on about the atrocious breach of protocol and the new chasm between Japanese and American social relations.
“Very well then, what about Jenna Armand? Ruth Vespid? That model you dumped?” Rupert referred to a series of scandals, including at least one past girlfriend who had claimed he’d impregnated her; luckily, untrue.
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em, Dad,” Terry replied sarcastically. Rupert leaned back, considering his son.
“I had thought that Georgia and I had raised a smart young man, but I see I was wrong.” The President refused to be drawn on Terry’s mocking smile.
“You have acted incredibly selfishly, and at this moment, as much as the truth hurts… I am ashamed to call you my son,” He said tightly and truthfully, watching Terry’s smile tighten, before his face returned to its mocking smile.
“Due to new concerns about extremists from both countries, you will have a 24 hour state guard imposed on you starting this week. Should you try and escape them or resist their activities, they have been informed of the right to detain you until Georgia or myself gives them new orders,” Rupert informed him coldly.
“What?! You can’t do that!” Terry abandoned his mask of calm, furious.
“We are your parents, and you are not 21. Having said that, when you do turn 21, should you continue to cause these catastrophes, I will have to rethink your inheritance. We have been lenient with you before Terry, but it stops right now. You’ve got 9 months until your 21st. You’d better hope to have improved a damn sight by then,” Rupert set out the rules.
“It’s mother’s money, not yours dad, better not let the voters think you’re a gold digger,” Terry sneered.
“Your attitude has grown disgusting of late. You have become insensitive and selfish. I don’t know what has happened to you, but I support your father in this. As such, your ability to draw from our funds has been cut,” Georgia MacRoberts stood, frown lines on her face.
“What a fantastically feminist attitude mother. And what the hell am I supposed to do with no money?” Terry growled.
“Get a job like normal people,” Rupert shot back, unmoved by Terry’s fury.
“Anything else, Rupert, Georgia?” Terry sneered at them. Georgia looked unsettled, but Rupert was unaffected by his ploy.
“We’re getting people in to correct your attitude and hopefully turn you into a decent person. We’ll be auditioning them for this week. I suggest you listen to them, because you’ll be with them for a long, long time the way you’re going,” Rupert added, ignoring the horrified look on his son’s face.
“That’s all,” He dismissed his son, who slammed the door loudly on the way out. Georgia burst into tears as Rupert sighed. Things had gone far enough… he would not have his son, nearly an adult, embarrass him again.
“Shit,” A Whitehouse guard muttered, and radioed for backup, reasoning that this was going to get ugly.
“Terrance, what are your comments about this situation?”
“Are you aware of the trouble you have caused for your father’s government?”
“Do you have any comments?”
“Yes,” Terrance grinned darkly, memory calling up the cursed name beneath the title of this morning’s front page article. He’d been furious, and more than ready to serve the reporter bitch up a nice slice of Karma, nosy bitch.
“I find it fascinating that this woman who doesn’t even know me, can write a lovely article including my basic life story, when she herself was a single mother at the age of 16, not exactly a great example of society herself. Of course, I rather understand the father not wanting to stay with her. She isn’t exactly a great catch,” Terry gave a cold smile to the reporters who were in shock but lapping it up like the dogs they were.
“Surely you can’t be comparing your situation to hers?” One reported demanded in disbelief.
“Of course not,” Terry grinned, preparing for his parting line, as the reporters paused in their furious scribbling.
“I’m not the one spreading their legs at 15, am I?” Terry brushed past them, ignoring their further questions and getting into his car. Some reporters tried to tail him, but he drove ruthlessly, not stopping until he reached his favoured retreat, a house his mother had bought him to leave the press far behind. Only accessible by people with the correct gate card, it was practically a fortress, and by far Terry’s favourite place when hounded by the paparazzi.
It was a double story house, with multiple bedrooms upstairs, a spacious living area, kitchen, multiple bathrooms, a laundry, a pool and best of all, no formal rooms. Surrounded by a large expanse of space, it had high walls with practically unclearable fences and equally high hedge walls to ensure the utmost privacy; always a good thing when it came to Terry’s wild antics. It was perfect for parties and get aways with college friends, though Terry now suspected his clearance card had been changed to admit one person only… the equivalent of a grounding. Terry scowled, laying back on the couch and ignoring the TV. Sure, what he’d done didn’t exactly make him proud, but it wouldn’t have been the royally fucked up mess that it was without that reporter: Dianne Westward. He would take that bitch down if it killed him.
Musing on his options, Terry thought carefully. Logically, the press would be all over him for the next few days. Starting tomorrow, his parents would be auditioning babysitters for him. Terry understood his mistakes, yes, and learned from them, but he would not bow before his parents. He didn’t give a damn about America, about his stupid country, the fucksticks who read the news, the bitchy reporters. He had been lucky with money, his mother’s family rich and a big inheritance coming his way, though his parents were down to earth. The voters just ate that crap up and loved it, Terry thought, stalking to the cabinet where his current most prized possessions sat… His Absinthe, his tequila, his ecstasy and his bong. Pulling a bottle of Tequila, Terry settled himself back on the couch and prepared to drink himself into oblivion… It wasn’t like there was anything better to do.
Rupert MacRoberts looked on in undisguised sceptism as the girl in front of him took a seat. She was delicate but not skinny, with a classic appearance untouched by makeup. Her clothes sat well and spoke of money and taste, but thankfully, none of the underdressed skin flashing that the majority of her generation seemed to love. Her hair was long and wavy, a light and most likely natural brown. Rupert took an instant liking to the girl, but sincerely doubted she could be of any help in this situation.
“I’m glad you could spare me a moment of your time, Mr MacRoberts. I understand of course, that you are a very busy man,” She smiled calmly, reaching a delicate hand out. Taking it, he was surprised by the strength behind her shake.
“Well you will agree matters have come to a head. What I want you to tell me is what you have to offer my son,” Rupert sat back in his chair, assessing her again.
“Your son, Terry MacRoberts is 20 years old, and acting like a 16 year old. His self destructive behaviour is out of control. He has no particularly close friends, is regularly attacked by the media and has no concept of what a normal life entails,” The girl said crisply, stunning him a little in her coldly truthful observation. He’d pegged her as a typical nice girl, and she’d stunned him. She seemed to be waiting for him to comment, and he obliged.
“That is true, but it doesn’t tell me what you will do to prevent this from continuing,” Rupert replied mildly, reassessing her. She couldn’t be older than 22.
“I have a plan. I may not be more intelligent than your son, Mr MacRoberts, but I am certainly smarter than him. Your son needs friends who will entertain him without encouraging drug use and insensitivity. He needs people he can rely on, without seeming to rely on them. He needs to accept help without injuring his pride. He needs to be gently guided, rather than forcefully placed in a program, because he will rebel against it naturally. Your son has a lot of potential and I plan to see him realise that potential,” The girl answered, staring him down as unnervingly as any of his political opponents. Rupert MacRoberts narrowed his eyes at her.
“So tell me the specifics…” he offered, unwillingly impressed thus far.
“What I have in mind is a six person team, myself being one of the six. We are all the same age as your son, and therefore less threatening,” She began.
“He’s also less likely to take you seriously,” Rupert pointed out.
“Which only helps our cause. We don’t want him to see us seriously, not until he’s quite used to us. We will begin as the friends he never had… friends who will stick around to take the fall with him; friends who will teach him not to get caught. Eventually, train him to turn his attention to something productive rather than counter-productive,” She gazed clearly at Rupert, who had a slight frown on his face.
“I want behavioural training for my son, not party guests,” Rupert warned.
“Mr MacRoberts, what do you think would happen if you paid for Terrance to be sent to Military School? Would he cooperate? Would he make the best of the learning experience? Or would he rebel against it with every fibre of his being, make a publicity stunt out of the whole thing, gain nothing, possibly get kicked out and ruin your opinion more? I am well aware that Terrance stands to be a huge point of contention when your candidacy for Presidency is retried. Please understand that any way we do it, it will be a gradual process. Using this, I hope to minimise the damage now.”
Rupert sighed, turning away from the girl for a moment. It wasn’t her fault that every word she spoke was spot on. Taking a deep breath, he motioned her to continue.
“Two of us will be there to fulfil Terrance’s partying tendencies, and create enough excitement to keep him occupied. Myself and another will begin teaching Terrance basics in manners, politics, business and any other information he needs to know. The other two will be on hand as support and role models, not to mention extra protection for your son.”
The girl appeared to be deep in contemplation for a moment.
“We are an unlikely group; we come from varying walks of life with very different attitudes and skill levels. We met by chance, and stayed friends out of loyalty. You could employ trained officers, and eventually, I’m sure they would work. But consider perhaps, whether you have the time. Your son will soon become an adult, rich, famous, powerfully connected and with the temperament of a spoilt brat. People will think it strange if you hire us, but we will work, because our approach is unconventional. Your son is not stupid Mr MacRoberts, but I do believe that this solution will come from the left field, so to speak.” The girl sat and faced him calmly, having said her piece.
“What did you say your name was?” Rupert’s pen poised over his schedule planner.
“Lucile, Mr MacRoberts, Lucile Wilson,” She replied, face giving away no hint of whether she thought she was victorious.
“I will see you and your 5 friends tomorrow. Be prepared for an interrogation.” Rupert warned her, seeing the brief smile of satisfaction before she left the room.
His thoughts returned to her words. “…your son will soon become an adult… a spoilt brat…”
Rupert massaged his temples. Where had they gone wrong?