Fic: Wishes
Jul. 18th, 2009 09:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Wishes
Fandom/original: The Music Man
Rating: G
A/N: Inspired by a recent rewatching.
1. Greg was always careful to count his money in private. Other kids, he soon learned, wanted you to share; adults asked where in the world you got so many nickels. So he'd climb under his bed and count out the money, smiling a little as he remembered his own cleverness in obtaining it.
He spent the money frugally, carefully over time. The one indulgence he allowed himself again and again was the student matinée in the traveling concert series steadily touring through the city. Time and again, he'd count out his nickels, and spend the afternoon in the dark, listening to whatever that day's program unfolded before him, note by note. He heard Puccini and Harrigan with equal relish. One afternoon, the programme consisted entirely of John Philip Sousa marches.
Greg found it almost as addictive as lying.
2. Marcellus was what was called a "steady" young man. Uninteresting, unattractive, but reliable. Good old Marcellus Washburn.
Which, he supposed, made him the perfect confederate. He looked like a man who wouldn't even know the word.
It was exciting, he had to admit: watching Greg play the crowd like a pipe organ, seeing how all the elements came together, a little bit different every time.
The money and the girls weren't bad either. Being on the good side of New York for a change.
The constant moving was what finally got to him. But as Marcellus boarded a westbound train without a clear destination, he felt a twinge, knowing nothing equally exciting would ever happen to him again.
3. Katherine Paroo wasn't entirely certain what she thought of River City. It wasn't impressive, even for its size, that much was sure and certain.
Marion made a face. "Well. I suppose I should be glad that we know there's a library, at least."
"Oh, hush," Katherine said to her daughter, almost absently. She shifted the baby on her hip. "Help your father with the bags and stop gaping at it."
The people of River City had certainly noticed the Paroo family's arrival. Joseph and Marion managed the bags, and Katherine held her head high as she walked through town, not proud, but not willing to be put on the defensive.
It wasn't impressive, no. But she'd seen worse. Joseph had a job, and Marion could work in the library. There would even be enough money, Joseph had promised, for a piano. Better than the one they'd left.
She knew Marion was restless. She always would be. But they could make this work, Katherine was sure. When they arrived at the house, Joseph turned to his wife nervously. He needn't have worried; Katherine was sure her face showed her delight. It was the first thing in Iowa she unabashedly loved.
Maybe Marion would even find a nice young man. Winthrop would grow up, safe and well fed. They'd all be kept cozy in the sweetest house she'd ever lived in. Mrs. Paroo thought they just might make a good try of it after all.
4. Tommy made things in the basement because no one bothered to go down there. He was always the one who fetched the coal, and the only one who hauled up the potatoes.
When there were potatoes.
But no one cared if he took wire, or scrap metal. At least, no one noticed.
The problem, he supposed, was that there was no one to show the finished gadgets to. Not his father - he valued his hide too much. Not the gang, and certainly not Zaneta. He didn't want people to think of him tinkering away down below ground. He'd give it up, one day.
But, Tommy had to ask himself, when he did... what would that leave?
5. Marion felt a twinge of guilt, and wished she were at home. She had the irrational feeling she was hiding amid the stacks, given that she always felt safer in the library.
But it wasn't that she was worried about her own safety, or anything nearly so melodramatic. It was simply that she was a good librarian. She was quickly on her way to becoming an old maid, she had no friends, and she couldn't coax more than three words together out of her younger brother. But books? Those, at least, she understood.
Sadly, no books would explain to her how to make Winthrop smile again, which surely cast aspersions on their ultimate value.
She had shelving to do.
Fandom/original: The Music Man
Rating: G
A/N: Inspired by a recent rewatching.
1. Greg was always careful to count his money in private. Other kids, he soon learned, wanted you to share; adults asked where in the world you got so many nickels. So he'd climb under his bed and count out the money, smiling a little as he remembered his own cleverness in obtaining it.
He spent the money frugally, carefully over time. The one indulgence he allowed himself again and again was the student matinée in the traveling concert series steadily touring through the city. Time and again, he'd count out his nickels, and spend the afternoon in the dark, listening to whatever that day's program unfolded before him, note by note. He heard Puccini and Harrigan with equal relish. One afternoon, the programme consisted entirely of John Philip Sousa marches.
Greg found it almost as addictive as lying.
2. Marcellus was what was called a "steady" young man. Uninteresting, unattractive, but reliable. Good old Marcellus Washburn.
Which, he supposed, made him the perfect confederate. He looked like a man who wouldn't even know the word.
It was exciting, he had to admit: watching Greg play the crowd like a pipe organ, seeing how all the elements came together, a little bit different every time.
The money and the girls weren't bad either. Being on the good side of New York for a change.
The constant moving was what finally got to him. But as Marcellus boarded a westbound train without a clear destination, he felt a twinge, knowing nothing equally exciting would ever happen to him again.
3. Katherine Paroo wasn't entirely certain what she thought of River City. It wasn't impressive, even for its size, that much was sure and certain.
Marion made a face. "Well. I suppose I should be glad that we know there's a library, at least."
"Oh, hush," Katherine said to her daughter, almost absently. She shifted the baby on her hip. "Help your father with the bags and stop gaping at it."
The people of River City had certainly noticed the Paroo family's arrival. Joseph and Marion managed the bags, and Katherine held her head high as she walked through town, not proud, but not willing to be put on the defensive.
It wasn't impressive, no. But she'd seen worse. Joseph had a job, and Marion could work in the library. There would even be enough money, Joseph had promised, for a piano. Better than the one they'd left.
She knew Marion was restless. She always would be. But they could make this work, Katherine was sure. When they arrived at the house, Joseph turned to his wife nervously. He needn't have worried; Katherine was sure her face showed her delight. It was the first thing in Iowa she unabashedly loved.
Maybe Marion would even find a nice young man. Winthrop would grow up, safe and well fed. They'd all be kept cozy in the sweetest house she'd ever lived in. Mrs. Paroo thought they just might make a good try of it after all.
4. Tommy made things in the basement because no one bothered to go down there. He was always the one who fetched the coal, and the only one who hauled up the potatoes.
When there were potatoes.
But no one cared if he took wire, or scrap metal. At least, no one noticed.
The problem, he supposed, was that there was no one to show the finished gadgets to. Not his father - he valued his hide too much. Not the gang, and certainly not Zaneta. He didn't want people to think of him tinkering away down below ground. He'd give it up, one day.
But, Tommy had to ask himself, when he did... what would that leave?
5. Marion felt a twinge of guilt, and wished she were at home. She had the irrational feeling she was hiding amid the stacks, given that she always felt safer in the library.
But it wasn't that she was worried about her own safety, or anything nearly so melodramatic. It was simply that she was a good librarian. She was quickly on her way to becoming an old maid, she had no friends, and she couldn't coax more than three words together out of her younger brother. But books? Those, at least, she understood.
Sadly, no books would explain to her how to make Winthrop smile again, which surely cast aspersions on their ultimate value.
She had shelving to do.
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no subject
Date: 2009-07-19 01:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-19 01:54 am (UTC)