Fic: Partners With the Rain
Jan. 27th, 2009 12:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Partners With the Rain
Fandom/original: Original
Rating: G
A/N: Inspired by rereading The Natural Cycles of Nature. AU.
She watched the rain trace the taxi's windows, making and remaking intricate patterns. She liked that the rain never stayed in one place. Always changing.
The city wound by outside. The traffic didn't bother her; she was in no hurry. Let them wait. She could afford to make them, if she needed to. She thought about her mother, and wondered whether she'd be proud or ashamed. Not that it really mattered, either way.
Her cell phone chirruped, and she flipped it open. “Willoughby.”
The voice on the other end was warm, a little teasing. “Katie. You sound like you're in the CIA. What dastardly plot are you hatching?”
She laughed a little, a low, rich and practiced sound. “Honestly, have you ever known me to do such a thing? If you must know, I'm meeting a few investors for lunch.”
“Ooh. They'd better watch themselves. Sounds like you're out for blood.”
“Just fresh meat. Oh, speaking of, why don't you pick up a couple steaks for dinner?”
She could hear him smirk over the phone. “I could just roast a heart and have done.”
“You're awful.”
“Too grey a day to be nice. Look, I just wanted to ask – you gonna be free this Saturday for the concert?”
She winced a bit. “I... I'll try.”
“Katie...”
“I will. I can't promise. But I will try.” She cradled the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she reached for her purse. “Look, I'm almost here. We'll talk about it at dinner, kay?”
He sighed. “Sure. Knock 'em dead, then.”
She smiled a little. “Right. See you tonight.” She hung up and put the phone back in her purse, reaching for a camera. They were still blocks away, at least... but she wanted to capture this. To remember this particular rainstorm, futile a gesture as it might have been.
Someone had once told her the rain was angel's tears. But that seemed altogether too bleak, romantic as it might be. Rain was life. Hope. Without storms.... nothing would ever change. No one would ever see this exact pattern again – not her parents, not Peter, not anyone. Only her.
And that was perfect.
Fandom/original: Original
Rating: G
A/N: Inspired by rereading The Natural Cycles of Nature. AU.
She watched the rain trace the taxi's windows, making and remaking intricate patterns. She liked that the rain never stayed in one place. Always changing.
The city wound by outside. The traffic didn't bother her; she was in no hurry. Let them wait. She could afford to make them, if she needed to. She thought about her mother, and wondered whether she'd be proud or ashamed. Not that it really mattered, either way.
Her cell phone chirruped, and she flipped it open. “Willoughby.”
The voice on the other end was warm, a little teasing. “Katie. You sound like you're in the CIA. What dastardly plot are you hatching?”
She laughed a little, a low, rich and practiced sound. “Honestly, have you ever known me to do such a thing? If you must know, I'm meeting a few investors for lunch.”
“Ooh. They'd better watch themselves. Sounds like you're out for blood.”
“Just fresh meat. Oh, speaking of, why don't you pick up a couple steaks for dinner?”
She could hear him smirk over the phone. “I could just roast a heart and have done.”
“You're awful.”
“Too grey a day to be nice. Look, I just wanted to ask – you gonna be free this Saturday for the concert?”
She winced a bit. “I... I'll try.”
“Katie...”
“I will. I can't promise. But I will try.” She cradled the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she reached for her purse. “Look, I'm almost here. We'll talk about it at dinner, kay?”
He sighed. “Sure. Knock 'em dead, then.”
She smiled a little. “Right. See you tonight.” She hung up and put the phone back in her purse, reaching for a camera. They were still blocks away, at least... but she wanted to capture this. To remember this particular rainstorm, futile a gesture as it might have been.
Someone had once told her the rain was angel's tears. But that seemed altogether too bleak, romantic as it might be. Rain was life. Hope. Without storms.... nothing would ever change. No one would ever see this exact pattern again – not her parents, not Peter, not anyone. Only her.
And that was perfect.
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no subject
Date: 2009-01-29 03:56 am (UTC)