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rainbowfic2014-10-29 10:20 pm
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2014-10-29 10:20 pm
Entry tags:
Lawn Green #12 /Camo Green #13
Name: Greenling
Story: Shatterverse/Standalone/I need to revisit my classification system
Colors: Lawn Green #12 (the longest day)/Camo Green #13 (battle)
Supplies and Styles: Bichrome
Word Count: 1,466
Rating: G
Warnings: Brief amounts of blood and creepiness.
Summary: Jacinthe's POV of Bird's Terrible, Horrible, Very Strange Day. Just kinda happened.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Jacinthe sat quietly in her uncle's drawing-room, legs pulled up underneath her. She had a stack of books beside her and wore the nicest dress she owned appropriate for mixed company: a slim, silk pink and black thing that was at least ten years out of date, though it wasn't as if anyone would notice. It was just her, the Lady, and Uncle Antonio. Even most of the live-in servants had been dismissed for a long weekend.
Well. At the moment, it was just her, her face buried in a novel she wasn't really reading. She'd gone through a good portion of her stack since they had arrived around noon the day before, and she was having trouble concentrating. There just wasn't much to do; the boy was in the cellar all day and night, and would continue to be for an unknown period of time, and eventually a person just runs out of things to say to close family. Anyhow, their visit wasn't intended to be a social affair; but it occupied her mind. Outside of her uncle's periodic absences and a brief mention of sleeping pills, she hadn't even been able to guess what they were doing down there.
It wasn't as if she were expecting them to talk about it, no matter how trusted she was. If she thought too much about her expectations, they were silly, so she didn't- but she had thought she could put a few things together at least. She had missed when exactly her uncle had started getting pale and quiet; it was likely long before his accent started slipping, which she did notice. Her Lady had been tense, but she hadn't sussed out why. Now, the Lady was down there with her uncle, had been for an hour at least, and in the most technical sense, she had her first hints of what rebirth actually entailed.
It seemed... unpleasant. Which fit with what little she remembered of her own.
The house was so quiet that she began to breathe, deeply and evenly, just to have something to listen to.
That helped for a while.
At eight, the clock in the hall chimed for dinner, startling her badly enough that she lost her place in her book. Jacinthe licked her lips reflexively and adjusted her glasses, feeling silly. It didn't matter. She marked her place somewhere that looked familiar and sat the book down on top of her pile. It was time to find something else to do.
*
Jacinthe hated being bored.
It felt like a failure, more than anything. She had all the time in the world to read, go to movies, learn new things... she kept strictly to the Lady's schedule, observing morning and evening at regular hours and holding on to a normal sense of time. Even if it weren't the Lady's instructions, it was a useful habit: she was rarely bored.
By that point, it was between 10:30 and midnight. She sat on the floor in some obscure storage-room of her uncle's house, listening to casettes on an aging stereo and drinking his wine. Why her uncle had an old stereo system, much less a collection of British punk, rock, and weird experimental music, she couldn't say. For the most part, he seemed to have no interest in music unless it was classical. Maybe it was his own method for beating boredom; he could be a very strange man.
She felt a bit woogy. Sitting up, she realized she'd drunk half the bottle on an empty stomach. That wasn't good. That was very silly of her.
A shuffling noise in the hallway outside brought her to attention. She wrinkled her nose: a servant. Quickly, she popped the cork back in the bottle and stood up, only a little swervy.
"Yes?" she said pre-emptively. It paused.
"The Master wishes to see you in the drawing-room."
They were back. They wanted her. Something had happened. "I'll... make my way there, then."
The servant shuffled off, and she took a moment to catch her breath.
*
She sat outside in the waiting room of the hospital. He father was pacing with a flat look on his face. He took a box of matches out of his front jacket pocket and lit another cigarette; it was his third since they'd arrived. The place smelled strongly of it, and not just from his. She hadn't realized having a baby would take a long time; on TV, they usually just ran to the hospital as quick as they could and that was that.
They weren't the only ones in there, but she was the only little girl. A pair of teenagers sat over in the corner, schoolbooks sat in their laps, though they seemed nearly asleep. The magazines were left entirely up to her. She hadn't had time to grab any toys or any of her books, but the magazines were more interesting anyway. She couldn't read all the words, even in Highlights, but the pictures were nice, and she had it open next to one with a long, French-looking name that started with an M that had lots of pictures of pretty women in fashionable clothing. It seemed very grown-up, and Mother might not have have let her read that one had she been around, but Mother was with the doctors now.
A nurse came out of the back room and called for her father.
*
When she arrived, her uncle was curled up unconscious on the long couch. He had been wrapped in a blanket, and his head lay on a pillow in her Lady's lap. Jacinthe hesitated at first, a little frightened at the sight, not knowing whether to speak; the Lady smiled, pressed a finger to her lips, and waved Jacinthe over to a seat.
They stayed that way for a while. The Lady called in a plate of cold meat and cheese for a snack, and perhaps smelling the wine on her, made Jacinthe take a bit as well. Or maybe that wasn't why. Jacinthe didn't like eating; had never liked it. Her Lady usually didn't push. Afterwards, Jacinthe put it out of her mind and went back to reading her novels; the Lady had her needlework. Hours passed.
Uncle Antonio woke up shortly before dawn, shifting silently into an upright position. Jacinthe managed not to look started. He still looked pale, and his clothes were ruffled; she wasn't used to seeing him like that.
He was never like that.
The Lady smiled. "Shall we have breakfast? Perhaps some music?"
Jacinthe begged off, her stomach roiling already from the midnight snack. A good thing, too, as breakfast was unusually meat-ridden. They spoke for a while about nothing in particular, then went over the newspapers when they was brought in.
"It shouldn't be too much longer," the Lady mused, during a pause in the discussion of the current relation of the entertainment industry to politics.
Jacinthe didn't have the time or spine to ask her to elaborate, but she was happy to hear something.
The smell of sausages and pancetta clung to the air, hanging on even over the cappucino. It wasn't terribly long before she couldn't take it anymore and politely excused herself to go freshen up.
She closed the door behind her quietly and headed down the hall. The smell lingered in her mind; out of sight, she slipped her shoes off and dug her toes into the soft, thick rug. She shivered slightly as she stepped, forcing the nice sensations to overpower the bad. Then, as she did, she noticed something: a thin, dark scent underneath the meat. She froze.
At first, she was confused. It smelled musky, like human scent, but more subtle. It wasn't her own scent, somehow; hers was more subtle than that and anyhow, it didn't include the perfume she was wearing. And of course, neither the Lady nor her uncle smelled at all like that. It was slightly male, slightly spicy, smelled a bit like soap, smelled almost vampire-
And then he poked his head around the corner, and she gasped.
He was dressed in casual, modern clothes, though they were clearly brand new. Several inches shorter than her- shorter maybe even than her uncle- with a lean-muscled frame and gelled, spiky black hair. His skin was sort of bronze-dark, and one of his eyes was bright green. They had mentioned the eye, but somehow never that he was Asian. Her family. Who knew why they did what they did?
She started smiling before she knew she was reacting. Excitement, apprehension, and the strange, muted feeling of shared blood threatened to overboil in her- but she still couldn't move.
They stared at each other for a moment. His expression was... feral.
He started twitching, then exploded in blood and feathers.
Story: Shatterverse/Standalone/I need to revisit my classification system
Colors: Lawn Green #12 (the longest day)/Camo Green #13 (battle)
Supplies and Styles: Bichrome
Word Count: 1,466
Rating: G
Warnings: Brief amounts of blood and creepiness.
Summary: Jacinthe's POV of Bird's Terrible, Horrible, Very Strange Day. Just kinda happened.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Jacinthe sat quietly in her uncle's drawing-room, legs pulled up underneath her. She had a stack of books beside her and wore the nicest dress she owned appropriate for mixed company: a slim, silk pink and black thing that was at least ten years out of date, though it wasn't as if anyone would notice. It was just her, the Lady, and Uncle Antonio. Even most of the live-in servants had been dismissed for a long weekend.
Well. At the moment, it was just her, her face buried in a novel she wasn't really reading. She'd gone through a good portion of her stack since they had arrived around noon the day before, and she was having trouble concentrating. There just wasn't much to do; the boy was in the cellar all day and night, and would continue to be for an unknown period of time, and eventually a person just runs out of things to say to close family. Anyhow, their visit wasn't intended to be a social affair; but it occupied her mind. Outside of her uncle's periodic absences and a brief mention of sleeping pills, she hadn't even been able to guess what they were doing down there.
It wasn't as if she were expecting them to talk about it, no matter how trusted she was. If she thought too much about her expectations, they were silly, so she didn't- but she had thought she could put a few things together at least. She had missed when exactly her uncle had started getting pale and quiet; it was likely long before his accent started slipping, which she did notice. Her Lady had been tense, but she hadn't sussed out why. Now, the Lady was down there with her uncle, had been for an hour at least, and in the most technical sense, she had her first hints of what rebirth actually entailed.
It seemed... unpleasant. Which fit with what little she remembered of her own.
The house was so quiet that she began to breathe, deeply and evenly, just to have something to listen to.
That helped for a while.
At eight, the clock in the hall chimed for dinner, startling her badly enough that she lost her place in her book. Jacinthe licked her lips reflexively and adjusted her glasses, feeling silly. It didn't matter. She marked her place somewhere that looked familiar and sat the book down on top of her pile. It was time to find something else to do.
*
Jacinthe hated being bored.
It felt like a failure, more than anything. She had all the time in the world to read, go to movies, learn new things... she kept strictly to the Lady's schedule, observing morning and evening at regular hours and holding on to a normal sense of time. Even if it weren't the Lady's instructions, it was a useful habit: she was rarely bored.
By that point, it was between 10:30 and midnight. She sat on the floor in some obscure storage-room of her uncle's house, listening to casettes on an aging stereo and drinking his wine. Why her uncle had an old stereo system, much less a collection of British punk, rock, and weird experimental music, she couldn't say. For the most part, he seemed to have no interest in music unless it was classical. Maybe it was his own method for beating boredom; he could be a very strange man.
She felt a bit woogy. Sitting up, she realized she'd drunk half the bottle on an empty stomach. That wasn't good. That was very silly of her.
A shuffling noise in the hallway outside brought her to attention. She wrinkled her nose: a servant. Quickly, she popped the cork back in the bottle and stood up, only a little swervy.
"Yes?" she said pre-emptively. It paused.
"The Master wishes to see you in the drawing-room."
They were back. They wanted her. Something had happened. "I'll... make my way there, then."
The servant shuffled off, and she took a moment to catch her breath.
*
She sat outside in the waiting room of the hospital. He father was pacing with a flat look on his face. He took a box of matches out of his front jacket pocket and lit another cigarette; it was his third since they'd arrived. The place smelled strongly of it, and not just from his. She hadn't realized having a baby would take a long time; on TV, they usually just ran to the hospital as quick as they could and that was that.
They weren't the only ones in there, but she was the only little girl. A pair of teenagers sat over in the corner, schoolbooks sat in their laps, though they seemed nearly asleep. The magazines were left entirely up to her. She hadn't had time to grab any toys or any of her books, but the magazines were more interesting anyway. She couldn't read all the words, even in Highlights, but the pictures were nice, and she had it open next to one with a long, French-looking name that started with an M that had lots of pictures of pretty women in fashionable clothing. It seemed very grown-up, and Mother might not have have let her read that one had she been around, but Mother was with the doctors now.
A nurse came out of the back room and called for her father.
*
When she arrived, her uncle was curled up unconscious on the long couch. He had been wrapped in a blanket, and his head lay on a pillow in her Lady's lap. Jacinthe hesitated at first, a little frightened at the sight, not knowing whether to speak; the Lady smiled, pressed a finger to her lips, and waved Jacinthe over to a seat.
They stayed that way for a while. The Lady called in a plate of cold meat and cheese for a snack, and perhaps smelling the wine on her, made Jacinthe take a bit as well. Or maybe that wasn't why. Jacinthe didn't like eating; had never liked it. Her Lady usually didn't push. Afterwards, Jacinthe put it out of her mind and went back to reading her novels; the Lady had her needlework. Hours passed.
Uncle Antonio woke up shortly before dawn, shifting silently into an upright position. Jacinthe managed not to look started. He still looked pale, and his clothes were ruffled; she wasn't used to seeing him like that.
He was never like that.
The Lady smiled. "Shall we have breakfast? Perhaps some music?"
Jacinthe begged off, her stomach roiling already from the midnight snack. A good thing, too, as breakfast was unusually meat-ridden. They spoke for a while about nothing in particular, then went over the newspapers when they was brought in.
"It shouldn't be too much longer," the Lady mused, during a pause in the discussion of the current relation of the entertainment industry to politics.
Jacinthe didn't have the time or spine to ask her to elaborate, but she was happy to hear something.
The smell of sausages and pancetta clung to the air, hanging on even over the cappucino. It wasn't terribly long before she couldn't take it anymore and politely excused herself to go freshen up.
She closed the door behind her quietly and headed down the hall. The smell lingered in her mind; out of sight, she slipped her shoes off and dug her toes into the soft, thick rug. She shivered slightly as she stepped, forcing the nice sensations to overpower the bad. Then, as she did, she noticed something: a thin, dark scent underneath the meat. She froze.
At first, she was confused. It smelled musky, like human scent, but more subtle. It wasn't her own scent, somehow; hers was more subtle than that and anyhow, it didn't include the perfume she was wearing. And of course, neither the Lady nor her uncle smelled at all like that. It was slightly male, slightly spicy, smelled a bit like soap, smelled almost vampire-
And then he poked his head around the corner, and she gasped.
He was dressed in casual, modern clothes, though they were clearly brand new. Several inches shorter than her- shorter maybe even than her uncle- with a lean-muscled frame and gelled, spiky black hair. His skin was sort of bronze-dark, and one of his eyes was bright green. They had mentioned the eye, but somehow never that he was Asian. Her family. Who knew why they did what they did?
She started smiling before she knew she was reacting. Excitement, apprehension, and the strange, muted feeling of shared blood threatened to overboil in her- but she still couldn't move.
They stared at each other for a moment. His expression was... feral.
He started twitching, then exploded in blood and feathers.
no subject
no subject
I enjoyed writing her! She's different, especially from all the gung-ho warrior types and spunky teenagers I've been writing recently. Probably why 1500 words of this came out instead of the arc-end of All Great Things proper.
Thanks for reading!