Ficlet: Interview
Oct. 29th, 2009 01:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Interview
Fandom/original: original
Rating: G
A/N: A very particular Stella Willoughby AU. (One Ritter may have caught a glimpse of, in a dream.) As such... semi-canonical? Ish? The prompt "this is it" was from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rougen. (This was a 15 minuter.)
This is it, he thought. Don't bungle it, for the love of the gods. George breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, slow and calm, just like his mother had taught him. He sent a silent prayer to any god that might be listening and well-inclined not to let him have one of his flashes during the meeting with Mr. Fairwhite. Though artists were supposed to be eccentric, he doubted it would make the best of impressions to have a minor fit during the interview.
A servant stepped into the hall. "Mr. Fairwhite will see you now," he said, with the detached disinterest quality servants seemed to master with universal thoroughness. George automatically nodded his thanks and stood, portfolio tucked under his arm. Oddly, he found that nervous as he was, he was less apprehensive than he had been a few weeks before.
"Mother," he said, with what he'd desperately hoped was confidence. "I need to speak with you."
His mother looked up from her reading, the pen she was using to annotate falling still. George had heard people say she was often expressionless, but he found this untrue; her expressions were subtle, but unmistakable, and she turned one on him now of interest, almost curiosity. Her gray eyes were sharp, peering over rather than through her small, delicate spectacles. "I am all attentiveness, George. What would you like to speak about?"
He stood, feet planted, with the intention of conveying firmness. "I am going to become a drawing teacher."
Mildly, she said, "Good for you, dear." It didn't seem patronizing, or sarcastic in the least.
George's entire plan was derailed. It must have showed, because she actually smiled, just a little.
"Come, sit. Have you thought about why a teacher, rather than just an artist in your own right?"
Dazed, he moved to sit beside her. "I thought..."
She touched his hand, lightly. "I know it is hard to believe, but you are not the only young person to ever decide to ignore their wealthy upbringing and do something productive with their lives." Her smile grew, though only in her eyes.
The memory made him smile, and he walked into the study with new confidence, though he wasn't yet in danger of becoming brash. George Dunthorne intended to make an impression. And his family, he knew, had always accomplished what they'd properly set their minds to accomplish.
Fandom/original: original
Rating: G
A/N: A very particular Stella Willoughby AU. (One Ritter may have caught a glimpse of, in a dream.) As such... semi-canonical? Ish? The prompt "this is it" was from
rougen. (This was a 15 minuter.)This is it, he thought. Don't bungle it, for the love of the gods. George breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, slow and calm, just like his mother had taught him. He sent a silent prayer to any god that might be listening and well-inclined not to let him have one of his flashes during the meeting with Mr. Fairwhite. Though artists were supposed to be eccentric, he doubted it would make the best of impressions to have a minor fit during the interview.
A servant stepped into the hall. "Mr. Fairwhite will see you now," he said, with the detached disinterest quality servants seemed to master with universal thoroughness. George automatically nodded his thanks and stood, portfolio tucked under his arm. Oddly, he found that nervous as he was, he was less apprehensive than he had been a few weeks before.
"Mother," he said, with what he'd desperately hoped was confidence. "I need to speak with you."
His mother looked up from her reading, the pen she was using to annotate falling still. George had heard people say she was often expressionless, but he found this untrue; her expressions were subtle, but unmistakable, and she turned one on him now of interest, almost curiosity. Her gray eyes were sharp, peering over rather than through her small, delicate spectacles. "I am all attentiveness, George. What would you like to speak about?"
He stood, feet planted, with the intention of conveying firmness. "I am going to become a drawing teacher."
Mildly, she said, "Good for you, dear." It didn't seem patronizing, or sarcastic in the least.
George's entire plan was derailed. It must have showed, because she actually smiled, just a little.
"Come, sit. Have you thought about why a teacher, rather than just an artist in your own right?"
Dazed, he moved to sit beside her. "I thought..."
She touched his hand, lightly. "I know it is hard to believe, but you are not the only young person to ever decide to ignore their wealthy upbringing and do something productive with their lives." Her smile grew, though only in her eyes.
The memory made him smile, and he walked into the study with new confidence, though he wasn't yet in danger of becoming brash. George Dunthorne intended to make an impression. And his family, he knew, had always accomplished what they'd properly set their minds to accomplish.
