Body of Debt

Tim stared at the woman who was once his father, then looked down at his empty wallet sitting on the desk. The sheer, aesthetic perfection of her—the flawless skin, the athletic curves, the striking features—was an expensive masterpiece. It was a masterpiece they couldn't afford to house.

"You know," Tim began, his voice hesitant as he rubbed the back of his neck. "We have a massive problem. We have no money for food, no money for rent, and certainly no money to keep you in this... current state."

Walter crossed her legs, the movement graceful yet strangely masculine in its precision. "So? What are you suggesting? We sell the iBod? We're too broke to even pay the shipping costs!"

Tim leaned back, his eyes traveling from Walter’s face down to her poised silhouette. The thought was absurd, scandalous, and utterly desperate, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

"Well," Tim said, a grim, lopsided smile forming on his lips. "You're quite a spectacle, Dad. If we need an immediate return on investment... you could always find a stage. Or a club. Or a very expensive photoshoot."

The silence that followed was deafening. Walter’s eyes widened, her jaw tightening as the implication hit her like a physical weight.

"Are you suggesting," Walter said, her gravelly voice dropping an octave in sheer disbelief, "that your own father should become a... a stripper? To pay for your tuition?"

Tim shrugged, though his face was flushed red. "It’s not 'stripping,' it's... high-end performance art. Think of the profit margins! One night of work could fund a whole semester of physics lab supplies."

Walter glared at him, but as she looked at her own perfect hands and then back at the empty coffers of their lives, the absurdity of the idea started to take root in her mind.

"Don't get any ideas," Walter snapped, though there was no real heat in it. "But... we might need to look into some more 'fashionable' outfits first."