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Two ficlets.
Title: Welcome
Fandom: The Count of Monte Cristo (novel)
Rating: G
"Smell that air?"
I ignored him, knowing that he had grown far too used to me to be offended at the silence. People walked past, lost in conversation or thoughts of business, supremely unaware of the moment surrounding them. My eyes flicked to each face, affording a brief moment of study. Nothing had changed. It seemed somehow wrong that it was the same sea at my back.
The wind whipped around me for an instant, like the warm tongue of some exotic creature, tasting my salt-flecked skin. The wooden planks of the pier complained under my weight as I began moving deliberately for shore.
"Shall I come with you?"
I closed my eyes. I could smell the air, though I hadn't answered him, the smell of sea and the stink of humanity, rotting fish and forgotten garbage. I could hear the chatter of a careless throng of people, the creaking of the harbored ships, the screaming of gulls overhead. I could taste the salt, and the nostalgia, and the anger. The city took no notice of my attention. All the better.
"No," I said simply, without elaboration. I could practically feel his frown on the back of my neck, but he stayed in the dinghy obediently.
My feet touched land, and I could almost feel myself shudder to be in a place that was so very unchanged, myself so changed that I was no longer a native. I needed no disguise, the person I'd become swallowing my old self so effectively that I wasn't sure the man who'd lived here existed anymore.
In my mind, I smiled, but like all my smiles, it was bitter and hurt my face a bit.
Congratulations. You've come home.
Title: Lost
Fandom: Original
Rating: G
They called themselves best friends before being able to spell either word, not quite sure what the phrase meant, but understanding it was supremely important to have one. They were asymmetrical but somehow matching, like a novelty set of salt and pepper shakers: one short, bedecked with blond ringlets and baby fat, the other skinny and tall with wispy brown hair that floated when she ran, which she did often and much better than her friend.
Kitty laughed loudly and freely as a girl, easily amused and easily hurt. She was the talker, only slightly aware of her curly-haired, gap toothed charm. Dawn was quieter, but somehow the leader of the two, by unspoken agreement. Dawn understood how the game was played, and learned early which clothes to wear and which programs to watch on TV. If you had asked either of them why they were best friends, when they were small, they would have uncomprehendingly explained that they had always been best friends. Their relationship had the simplicity of family; your parents were your parents, and you didn't ask why.
It was a day in the seventh grade. Dawn had just turned thirteen, and Kitty lagged behind in the no man's land of pre-teenagerdom. She hadn't lost her baby fat, but had been quietly but coldly informed snidely that the adjective "baby" was no longer accurate, so she was dressed in a t-shirt that was perhaps three sizes too large and jeans which voraciously enveloped her sneakers, and was sitting at Dawn's lunch table with three other girls. Dawn was smiling at a joke one of the newer girls had told, careful to show no teeth or, more accurately, no orthodontia.
Kitty withdrew a small, festively colored tube from her backpack, her lunch quickly devoured. Tilting her head back, she raised it to one of the cafeteria's fluorescent lights, twisting it and smiling at the patterns absently as she listened to the conversation. After a moment, however, the conversation had stopped. The patterns continued twisting, for a moment, colors colliding and reforming until the silence registered.
When she put it down and looked up at the other girls, they were all staring at her, expressions ranging from amusement to shock. Dawn's lips were pressed together, tight enough that they looked white even under the sheen of colored lip gloss.
Blinking, Kitty took in the reaction, trying not to let her own falter as she realized there'd been yet another unspoken rule. "Would...anyone else like to look at it?" She held the kaleidoscope out to the table, careful not to single any girl out. When no one moved, she shrugged and slowly leaned down to slide it into her backpack once more. While she was looking down, the girl who had been talking to Dawn resumed a story about her boyfriend.
The bell rang, and everyone got up of one accord, heading for class. Dawn didn't wait for Kitty, and she didn't hand her the notebook they'd been using to pass notes to one another in. But then, her class was at the other end of the school, and passing periods were notoriously short.
The next day, when the notebook still didn't come to her, Kitty decided to take matters into her own hands. As her algebra teacher slowly and deliberately corrected one of the homework questions on the board, Kitty covertly scribbled a note on a sheet of loose-leaf, periodically pushing her glasses up her nose as she looked up, to keep the charade of attention convincing.
She slid it to Dawn as they passed in the hallway. Dawn ducked her head, hair falling softly in her face as Kitty hailed her, but did take the paper from her outstreched hand.
One class later, Kitty received a reply, also on loose-leaf, which none of the customary decoration adorning the outside. The delivery girl, a mutual friend, clearly had resisted the temptation to read her charge and was now regretting it, giving it up almost reluctantly.
The note read, very simply.
Kitty,
No, it wasn't the kaleidoscope. And it isn't me. But some of my friends think you're kind of immature, and I don't want to make them hang out with you if they don't want to. Sorry - you know how it is.
- Dawn
After reading the note twice, Kitty shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. As she walked out of the classroom, she casually dropped the colorful cardboard tube in the trash can by the door.
Fandom: The Count of Monte Cristo (novel)
Rating: G
"Smell that air?"
I ignored him, knowing that he had grown far too used to me to be offended at the silence. People walked past, lost in conversation or thoughts of business, supremely unaware of the moment surrounding them. My eyes flicked to each face, affording a brief moment of study. Nothing had changed. It seemed somehow wrong that it was the same sea at my back.
The wind whipped around me for an instant, like the warm tongue of some exotic creature, tasting my salt-flecked skin. The wooden planks of the pier complained under my weight as I began moving deliberately for shore.
"Shall I come with you?"
I closed my eyes. I could smell the air, though I hadn't answered him, the smell of sea and the stink of humanity, rotting fish and forgotten garbage. I could hear the chatter of a careless throng of people, the creaking of the harbored ships, the screaming of gulls overhead. I could taste the salt, and the nostalgia, and the anger. The city took no notice of my attention. All the better.
"No," I said simply, without elaboration. I could practically feel his frown on the back of my neck, but he stayed in the dinghy obediently.
My feet touched land, and I could almost feel myself shudder to be in a place that was so very unchanged, myself so changed that I was no longer a native. I needed no disguise, the person I'd become swallowing my old self so effectively that I wasn't sure the man who'd lived here existed anymore.
In my mind, I smiled, but like all my smiles, it was bitter and hurt my face a bit.
Congratulations. You've come home.
Title: Lost
Fandom: Original
Rating: G
They called themselves best friends before being able to spell either word, not quite sure what the phrase meant, but understanding it was supremely important to have one. They were asymmetrical but somehow matching, like a novelty set of salt and pepper shakers: one short, bedecked with blond ringlets and baby fat, the other skinny and tall with wispy brown hair that floated when she ran, which she did often and much better than her friend.
Kitty laughed loudly and freely as a girl, easily amused and easily hurt. She was the talker, only slightly aware of her curly-haired, gap toothed charm. Dawn was quieter, but somehow the leader of the two, by unspoken agreement. Dawn understood how the game was played, and learned early which clothes to wear and which programs to watch on TV. If you had asked either of them why they were best friends, when they were small, they would have uncomprehendingly explained that they had always been best friends. Their relationship had the simplicity of family; your parents were your parents, and you didn't ask why.
It was a day in the seventh grade. Dawn had just turned thirteen, and Kitty lagged behind in the no man's land of pre-teenagerdom. She hadn't lost her baby fat, but had been quietly but coldly informed snidely that the adjective "baby" was no longer accurate, so she was dressed in a t-shirt that was perhaps three sizes too large and jeans which voraciously enveloped her sneakers, and was sitting at Dawn's lunch table with three other girls. Dawn was smiling at a joke one of the newer girls had told, careful to show no teeth or, more accurately, no orthodontia.
Kitty withdrew a small, festively colored tube from her backpack, her lunch quickly devoured. Tilting her head back, she raised it to one of the cafeteria's fluorescent lights, twisting it and smiling at the patterns absently as she listened to the conversation. After a moment, however, the conversation had stopped. The patterns continued twisting, for a moment, colors colliding and reforming until the silence registered.
When she put it down and looked up at the other girls, they were all staring at her, expressions ranging from amusement to shock. Dawn's lips were pressed together, tight enough that they looked white even under the sheen of colored lip gloss.
Blinking, Kitty took in the reaction, trying not to let her own falter as she realized there'd been yet another unspoken rule. "Would...anyone else like to look at it?" She held the kaleidoscope out to the table, careful not to single any girl out. When no one moved, she shrugged and slowly leaned down to slide it into her backpack once more. While she was looking down, the girl who had been talking to Dawn resumed a story about her boyfriend.
The bell rang, and everyone got up of one accord, heading for class. Dawn didn't wait for Kitty, and she didn't hand her the notebook they'd been using to pass notes to one another in. But then, her class was at the other end of the school, and passing periods were notoriously short.
The next day, when the notebook still didn't come to her, Kitty decided to take matters into her own hands. As her algebra teacher slowly and deliberately corrected one of the homework questions on the board, Kitty covertly scribbled a note on a sheet of loose-leaf, periodically pushing her glasses up her nose as she looked up, to keep the charade of attention convincing.
She slid it to Dawn as they passed in the hallway. Dawn ducked her head, hair falling softly in her face as Kitty hailed her, but did take the paper from her outstreched hand.
One class later, Kitty received a reply, also on loose-leaf, which none of the customary decoration adorning the outside. The delivery girl, a mutual friend, clearly had resisted the temptation to read her charge and was now regretting it, giving it up almost reluctantly.
The note read, very simply.
Kitty,
No, it wasn't the kaleidoscope. And it isn't me. But some of my friends think you're kind of immature, and I don't want to make them hang out with you if they don't want to. Sorry - you know how it is.
- Dawn
After reading the note twice, Kitty shoved it in the pocket of her jeans. As she walked out of the classroom, she casually dropped the colorful cardboard tube in the trash can by the door.