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rainbowfic2015-04-21 02:48 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2015-04-21 02:48 pm
Amber #7, Azul #29, White Russian #4
Name: kay_brooke
Story: Unusual Florida
Colors: Amber #7 (mine), Azul #29 (Pledge), White Russian #4 (Где то́нко — там и рвётся. (Only as strong as the weakest link.))
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Seed Beads, Charcoal, Pastels (genprompt_bingo prompt “Last times/farewells”)
Word Count: 1,140
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: He has one last chance to make her listen.
Note: 100 points to anyone who can figure out which UF characters are descended from the Fergus family. :) Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
“It’s about finding the patterns,” said Robert, noticing his wife come into the room out of the corner of his eye. He indicated, without looking up at her, the spread of papers on his desk: old newspaper clippings; copies of birth, death, and marriage records; books of local legends and urban myths covered in his own hasty notes. “It’s all here, if you just take the time to put the pieces together.”
Silence from Vicki. Robert glanced at her, but not long enough to really see the expression on her face. Instead, he extracted a coffee-stained notepad from the mess on his desk and flipped to a page he had marked with a scrap of purple construction paper. “For example, this one is very promising. Fergus, family come over from Ireland a few generations back, but I tracked down their records from before they even left the old country.” He laid the notepad flat on the desk, an invitation for Vicki to come over and read it. She didn’t move.
Robert barreled on. “Lost them for awhile, but then I figured out they changed their name to something less Irish sounding. Makes sense, with all the anti-Irish sentiment at the time.” He flashed his wife a quick smile, but still didn’t linger long enough to fully take in her features. He already knew what he would see if he did. Talking delayed the inevitable, and maybe, just maybe, this time he would convince her.
“There’s nothing odd about this family at all, except that for as many generations back as I could find, only an average of one child per generation went on to have children of their own. We’re talking a proper Irish Catholic family, too, averaging--” He flipped to another page, “--four children a generation. That’s not counting the ones who passed before adulthood, by the way.”
Vicki was still silent. Robert chanced a look; maybe his words were working, maybe she was quiet in thought. But from the way her lips were set straight and thin across her face, the resignation coming from tired eyes, he knew she wasn’t hearing a word he was saying.
“Please, listen,” he said, a plea encompassing far more than his scribbled notes and theories.
“Lots of people decide to never have children,” said Vicki, her voice tight. “For a lot of reasons.”
Robert swallowed thickly and flipped to another page. What she left unsaid hung between them, thick as smog, and he didn’t want to see it. “But an average of four children per generation surviving to adulthood, and only a fraction ever goes on to have children of their own? Not only that, but these same childless people tended to remain unmarried as well.”
He had almost left that last part out. He had wondered at all these Fergus children, growing up to live a life bereft of spouses and offspring. He identified with them, and perhaps more so if he couldn’t get Vicki to just listen.
“Lots of people decide to never marry, too.”
“Perhaps there are good reasons for it,” said Robert, continuing on in a rush, firmly rejecting his wife’s tone. “Perhaps every instance has a separate and logical explanation. But why, then, did it all change?”
“Robert, stop,” said Vicki.
“A couple generations after they came to America, the Fergus family--or rather, the family formerly known as Fergus, at that point--suddenly became just as normal as anyone else. Multiple children growing up to have families of their own, not just one or two per generation. Now, what do you suppose changed?” He closed the notepad and faced his wife. “Would you like to hear my theory?” It was dangerous, giving her the room for input, but he could barely think with her standing there staring at him like that.
“No,” she said, and he noticed for the first time that she was wearing a coat and hat.
“Are you going out?” he asked, trying for normal. His words still sounded squeaky and terrified to his ears.
“Yes,” she said.
“Where?”
“To my mother’s.”
He swallowed and let his gaze fall to the desk, to the mess he had made in his obsession. “You didn’t tell me you were planning to visit your mother.”
“It was a sudden decision.”
“It’s a long drive.”
“I can manage.”
Robert closed his eyes. How could he save this, save them? “How long will you be gone?”
She didn’t answer.
“Please, Vicki.” It took all his strength to meet her gaze again, but he did it. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent too long in this study, I realize that. Let me make it up to you. We can go on a holiday this year. How about Europe? You’ve always wanted to go on a tour of Europe.”
“It’s not about--” she sighed and shook her head. “No. I’m not going to discuss this with you. You know what this is about. You know why I’m leaving. It’s not my fault you refuse to let yourself see it.”
Robert clenched his hands into fists, turning away from her once more. Why couldn’t she understand how important this was? Why wouldn’t she give him another chance, give the both of them another chance to try again? “Why,” he said, his voice raspy, “do you act like you don’t care?”
It was the wrong thing to say, he realized, as Vicki’s reaction was to stand up straighter, her lips pressing even thinner into an angry line. “Don’t ever say I don’t care,” she snapped. “Don’t ever, ever say that again. I’m not the one who doesn’t care. I have mourned. I’m still mourning.”
“As am I.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You won’t accept it. You bury yourself in this fantasy, you ignore the world and reality. He’s gone, Robert. Nothing you do will ever change that.”
“I’m not trying to change it,” he said, slamming his hand on the table. Vicki just sighed. “I’m just trying to figure out why. I’m trying to find out how to stop it from happening again.”
“The only one who knows why is God,” said Vicki. “It’s not our place to go looking for answers we can’t know.”
“You know I don’t believe in any of that,” Robert snapped.
“It doesn’t matter if you do or not,” said Vicki. “I have to leave now. I want to be at my mother’s before nightfall.”
“Let me drive you,” he said, one last desperate grasp. It was almost three hours to her mother’s house. Maybe in that time he’d finally get her to listen, and understand why his work was important.
“I said I can manage myself.” She turned away, then stopped. “I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Vicki, please.”
“Goodbye, Rob.” And she was gone.
kay_brookeStory: Unusual Florida
Colors: Amber #7 (mine), Azul #29 (Pledge), White Russian #4 (Где то́нко — там и рвётся. (Only as strong as the weakest link.))
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Seed Beads, Charcoal, Pastels (
genprompt_bingo prompt “Last times/farewells”)Word Count: 1,140
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: He has one last chance to make her listen.
Note: 100 points to anyone who can figure out which UF characters are descended from the Fergus family. :) Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
“It’s about finding the patterns,” said Robert, noticing his wife come into the room out of the corner of his eye. He indicated, without looking up at her, the spread of papers on his desk: old newspaper clippings; copies of birth, death, and marriage records; books of local legends and urban myths covered in his own hasty notes. “It’s all here, if you just take the time to put the pieces together.”
Silence from Vicki. Robert glanced at her, but not long enough to really see the expression on her face. Instead, he extracted a coffee-stained notepad from the mess on his desk and flipped to a page he had marked with a scrap of purple construction paper. “For example, this one is very promising. Fergus, family come over from Ireland a few generations back, but I tracked down their records from before they even left the old country.” He laid the notepad flat on the desk, an invitation for Vicki to come over and read it. She didn’t move.
Robert barreled on. “Lost them for awhile, but then I figured out they changed their name to something less Irish sounding. Makes sense, with all the anti-Irish sentiment at the time.” He flashed his wife a quick smile, but still didn’t linger long enough to fully take in her features. He already knew what he would see if he did. Talking delayed the inevitable, and maybe, just maybe, this time he would convince her.
“There’s nothing odd about this family at all, except that for as many generations back as I could find, only an average of one child per generation went on to have children of their own. We’re talking a proper Irish Catholic family, too, averaging--” He flipped to another page, “--four children a generation. That’s not counting the ones who passed before adulthood, by the way.”
Vicki was still silent. Robert chanced a look; maybe his words were working, maybe she was quiet in thought. But from the way her lips were set straight and thin across her face, the resignation coming from tired eyes, he knew she wasn’t hearing a word he was saying.
“Please, listen,” he said, a plea encompassing far more than his scribbled notes and theories.
“Lots of people decide to never have children,” said Vicki, her voice tight. “For a lot of reasons.”
Robert swallowed thickly and flipped to another page. What she left unsaid hung between them, thick as smog, and he didn’t want to see it. “But an average of four children per generation surviving to adulthood, and only a fraction ever goes on to have children of their own? Not only that, but these same childless people tended to remain unmarried as well.”
He had almost left that last part out. He had wondered at all these Fergus children, growing up to live a life bereft of spouses and offspring. He identified with them, and perhaps more so if he couldn’t get Vicki to just listen.
“Lots of people decide to never marry, too.”
“Perhaps there are good reasons for it,” said Robert, continuing on in a rush, firmly rejecting his wife’s tone. “Perhaps every instance has a separate and logical explanation. But why, then, did it all change?”
“Robert, stop,” said Vicki.
“A couple generations after they came to America, the Fergus family--or rather, the family formerly known as Fergus, at that point--suddenly became just as normal as anyone else. Multiple children growing up to have families of their own, not just one or two per generation. Now, what do you suppose changed?” He closed the notepad and faced his wife. “Would you like to hear my theory?” It was dangerous, giving her the room for input, but he could barely think with her standing there staring at him like that.
“No,” she said, and he noticed for the first time that she was wearing a coat and hat.
“Are you going out?” he asked, trying for normal. His words still sounded squeaky and terrified to his ears.
“Yes,” she said.
“Where?”
“To my mother’s.”
He swallowed and let his gaze fall to the desk, to the mess he had made in his obsession. “You didn’t tell me you were planning to visit your mother.”
“It was a sudden decision.”
“It’s a long drive.”
“I can manage.”
Robert closed his eyes. How could he save this, save them? “How long will you be gone?”
She didn’t answer.
“Please, Vicki.” It took all his strength to meet her gaze again, but he did it. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent too long in this study, I realize that. Let me make it up to you. We can go on a holiday this year. How about Europe? You’ve always wanted to go on a tour of Europe.”
“It’s not about--” she sighed and shook her head. “No. I’m not going to discuss this with you. You know what this is about. You know why I’m leaving. It’s not my fault you refuse to let yourself see it.”
Robert clenched his hands into fists, turning away from her once more. Why couldn’t she understand how important this was? Why wouldn’t she give him another chance, give the both of them another chance to try again? “Why,” he said, his voice raspy, “do you act like you don’t care?”
It was the wrong thing to say, he realized, as Vicki’s reaction was to stand up straighter, her lips pressing even thinner into an angry line. “Don’t ever say I don’t care,” she snapped. “Don’t ever, ever say that again. I’m not the one who doesn’t care. I have mourned. I’m still mourning.”
“As am I.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You won’t accept it. You bury yourself in this fantasy, you ignore the world and reality. He’s gone, Robert. Nothing you do will ever change that.”
“I’m not trying to change it,” he said, slamming his hand on the table. Vicki just sighed. “I’m just trying to figure out why. I’m trying to find out how to stop it from happening again.”
“The only one who knows why is God,” said Vicki. “It’s not our place to go looking for answers we can’t know.”
“You know I don’t believe in any of that,” Robert snapped.
“It doesn’t matter if you do or not,” said Vicki. “I have to leave now. I want to be at my mother’s before nightfall.”
“Let me drive you,” he said, one last desperate grasp. It was almost three hours to her mother’s house. Maybe in that time he’d finally get her to listen, and understand why his work was important.
“I said I can manage myself.” She turned away, then stopped. “I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Vicki, please.”
“Goodbye, Rob.” And she was gone.
no subject
eta: haha forgot to say: the Ferns are descended from the Ferguses, right?
no subject
(+100 points to you!)
Thanks for reading.