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rainbowfic2014-08-07 06:33 pm
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2014-08-07 06:33 pm
Ibiza Blue #7
Name: Greenling
Story: Asking for Roses
Colors: Ibiza Blue #7 (Mystic Diversions - Late Summer Rain)
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Lilith Fair 2), Glitter ("- Write a letter to your childhood self."), Brush (florescence), Seed Beads
Word Count: 623
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: A little background and development for Tasha, now that we've met her briefly in the main canon.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
When Tasha was younger, she had wanted to become a writer.
Well, that wasn't exactly true; what Tasha wanted was to live in books. She had made the mistake of telling her parents this once, and it didn't turn out well. They thought she meant she wanted to be the protagonist in a fantasy world where everything turned out right, and spent her whole adolescence lecturing her about responsibility. At the time, she hadn't had the words to say what she really meant: it wasn't about good or bad, not even about interesting versus boring. She was far more practical than they gave her credit for. The thing was, the world inside a good book, no matter how dark or terrifying, always seemed a little brighter than the real world, a little more than real. She started writing because something in her craved that feeling, and wanted to create more of it.
That larger-than-life feeling was one reason why she'd moved to Los Angeles after her husband died. Something inside her was growing, threatening to break the thin shell of herself it lived in, and she felt something waiting for her there. Not the usual something, maybe, but she din't mind.
Now that she was a little older, she gardened. She used most of her savings to buy a nice house in the suburbs with a big wide yard all to herself, and the first thing she did was get rid of the lawn, replacing it with poppies and lilacs, willow and walnut trees, agave and datura. She got rid of the garage and replaced it with currants for a butterfly garden, and filled the porch with a vegetable garden. She'd even managed to keep a few wild grape vines alive, once she'd learned their tricks.
It wasn't an easy garden to take care of; aside from the size, the nutrients didn't quite match up with the soil, and some plants needed far more water than others. She had to learn to feel the quality of the soil under her bare feet, and to get to know her plants as if they were close friends. She had a whole stack of books on gardening, and for that matter on botany and landscaping, and a constant feed of blogs to skim when she had the time. When that wasn't enough, she had to deal with the indignant rumblings of the neighborhood HOA. She didn't mind; getting her hands down into the sandy soil and taking care of something gave her the same feeling as writing, most of the time.
Besides, she was a witch. That was how things worked.
At 35 she was a widow, living off what she could make and what writing or services she could sell. She had connections in the community, and when something happened, she heard about it one way or the other; but most days, her only companions were her plants and the toad who'd taken up residence in a backyard fountain. It wasn't what she had imagined doing as an adult. It wasn't what she'd asked for, even back in her all-black, Dracula-reading goth days- days which had never entirely passed, to be truthful. She'd gone through hell to get it, even so.
If Tasha could send a message back to her younger self, it wouldn't be a letter. She would wrap up a package in brown paper with a calligraphed name on a card, drop it in a strange place she knew she would find it, and make herself wonder who would send her boring books on shrubs and butterflies, a biography of Mary Shelley, and a $20 bill as a bookmark. The rest, she thought, she had figured out as well as she could already.
Story: Asking for Roses
Colors: Ibiza Blue #7 (Mystic Diversions - Late Summer Rain)
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Lilith Fair 2), Glitter ("- Write a letter to your childhood self."), Brush (florescence), Seed Beads
Word Count: 623
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: A little background and development for Tasha, now that we've met her briefly in the main canon.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
When Tasha was younger, she had wanted to become a writer.
Well, that wasn't exactly true; what Tasha wanted was to live in books. She had made the mistake of telling her parents this once, and it didn't turn out well. They thought she meant she wanted to be the protagonist in a fantasy world where everything turned out right, and spent her whole adolescence lecturing her about responsibility. At the time, she hadn't had the words to say what she really meant: it wasn't about good or bad, not even about interesting versus boring. She was far more practical than they gave her credit for. The thing was, the world inside a good book, no matter how dark or terrifying, always seemed a little brighter than the real world, a little more than real. She started writing because something in her craved that feeling, and wanted to create more of it.
That larger-than-life feeling was one reason why she'd moved to Los Angeles after her husband died. Something inside her was growing, threatening to break the thin shell of herself it lived in, and she felt something waiting for her there. Not the usual something, maybe, but she din't mind.
Now that she was a little older, she gardened. She used most of her savings to buy a nice house in the suburbs with a big wide yard all to herself, and the first thing she did was get rid of the lawn, replacing it with poppies and lilacs, willow and walnut trees, agave and datura. She got rid of the garage and replaced it with currants for a butterfly garden, and filled the porch with a vegetable garden. She'd even managed to keep a few wild grape vines alive, once she'd learned their tricks.
It wasn't an easy garden to take care of; aside from the size, the nutrients didn't quite match up with the soil, and some plants needed far more water than others. She had to learn to feel the quality of the soil under her bare feet, and to get to know her plants as if they were close friends. She had a whole stack of books on gardening, and for that matter on botany and landscaping, and a constant feed of blogs to skim when she had the time. When that wasn't enough, she had to deal with the indignant rumblings of the neighborhood HOA. She didn't mind; getting her hands down into the sandy soil and taking care of something gave her the same feeling as writing, most of the time.
Besides, she was a witch. That was how things worked.
At 35 she was a widow, living off what she could make and what writing or services she could sell. She had connections in the community, and when something happened, she heard about it one way or the other; but most days, her only companions were her plants and the toad who'd taken up residence in a backyard fountain. It wasn't what she had imagined doing as an adult. It wasn't what she'd asked for, even back in her all-black, Dracula-reading goth days- days which had never entirely passed, to be truthful. She'd gone through hell to get it, even so.
If Tasha could send a message back to her younger self, it wouldn't be a letter. She would wrap up a package in brown paper with a calligraphed name on a card, drop it in a strange place she knew she would find it, and make herself wonder who would send her boring books on shrubs and butterflies, a biography of Mary Shelley, and a $20 bill as a bookmark. The rest, she thought, she had figured out as well as she could already.
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