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rainbowfic2015-10-04 09:36 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2015-10-04 09:36 pm
Anise #3, Asphalt #4, Rainbow #15
Name: kay_brooke
Story: Unusual Florida
Colors: Anise #3 (Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.), Asphalt #4 (train), Rainbow #15 (pretty and witty and gay)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Seed Beads
Word Count: 1,195
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Raven and Marigold.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Marigold was about her age, the daughter of the woman whose boarding house they stayed in for what was at first supposed to be a month, but then turned into two, then three, then six.
Raven didn’t care. Her mother went where her whims took her, and Raven liked not being settled in one place, liked taking to the road for what was always an adventure, liked when they drove and drove until her mom stopped, got out of the car, and said, “Here.” And there they would stay, for a week or a year, until her mom decided to move on. The only time Raven’s life was static were the few times she visited her father--his apartment in Brooklyn always the same, never changing, even the furniture unmoving from the last time she had gone. It was upsetting in its permanence, and she never liked staying with her father for too long.
Marigold was the same; she and her mother lived on the ground floor of the boarding house, and had since she was born. She went to school, walking the same route every day, taking the same lunch and the same bookbag, studying the same subjects. Raven’s friends were easily made but always temporary, and at first she ignored Marigold, who seemed the sort to like schedules and relationships that never ended.
Until she saw her one day in the pitiful backyard behind the boarding house, jeans rolled up almost to her knees to protect them from the mud, capturing bugs in a little glass jar, watching them for awhile, and letting them go.
Raven was out there in a flash, not a care given to her own skirt as her bare feet squelched in the mud. There had once been grass in the backyard, she thought, but no one had maintained it in a long time.
“Hello,” she said.
Marigold looked up, expressing neither surprise nor delight at this contact. “Hello.”
“What are you doing?” Raven took a step forward, saw Marigold’s bookbag laying carefully across the porch railing, far above the dirty ground. “Is it for school?” That was disappointing.
“No, I was just bored,” said Marigold. She trudged back to the porch, mounted the three creaking steps, and set her now empty jar down next to a pair of discarded sneakers. “I didn’t want to go back inside yet.”
Raven knew what that was like. It was nearly April, and for the first time that year warm enough to go without jackets, for at least a little while. “I always want to spend as much time outside when things are coming alive again.”
“I prefer to think of it like they’re waking up,” said Marigold. “Winter isn’t death, it’s just a time for rest.”
“I can see that,” said Raven, hopping over to the porch and using the railing to swing herself up the steps, so that she landed next to Marigold. “It must be depressing, to have winter every year. It’s better to think of it as something more cheerful.”
Marigold looked at her sidelong. “Every year has winter.”
“Every year has winter,” Raven agreed, “but not at the same time or in the same way every place. Some years I get to skip it entirely.” Not that winter, no. She had just had to suffer through it, but her mother had promised her somewhere south before next winter.
Marigold shrugged. “I never minded it. It’s just a cycle. It gets cold, then it gets warm again.”
“But waiting is hard.”
Marigold smiled in agreement at that, then said, “Do you know a lot about insects?”
Plants were more Raven’s thing, but she let Marigold tell her about the bugs she had caught, and how sometimes she kept them for longer so she could sketch them, but mostly she sketched by memory because she didn’t like to be the reason for anyone’s death. And it was then that Raven really, truly looked at Marigold, at the way her eyes lit up when talking about drawing, and the way the setting sun brought out the fiery red highlights in her chestnut hair, and her shy smile when she noticed Raven grinning at her.
They spent the whole afternoon on the porch, until it was too dark to see and the spring night raised goosebumps along Raven’s arm and Marigold’s mother opened the back door and demanded they come inside right that moment before they caught their death.
After that, Raven waited for Marigold to come home every afternoon after school. If it was warm enough, they spent it on the porch or in the backyard. If not, they spent it in Marigold’s room, where she showed Raven her sketches and her paintings, and Raven leafed through her enormous book collection. Raven loved books, especially ones about nature, and the first thing she did in a new town was scope out the library, but she had never owned many herself. Books were just heavier luggage.
“Last day of school!” said Marigold one late May afternoon, throwing her bookbag down on the porch with a satisfied swoop of her arms. “Now we have all day all summer to do whatever we want!”
Raven twirled a stick in her fingers, then traced out her name against the warped wood of the porch.
“Raven?” said Marigold, sitting down next to her, her face drawn tight in concern.
Raven sighed. “We’re leaving,” she said. “My mom put her notice in at the studio today. She’s going to stay with some friends in Texas. I have to go to my dad’s for the summer.”
Marigold frowned. “Can’t you stay here?” she asked. “Just for the summer? Do you really, really have to visit your dad?”
Raven shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in two years. I probably need to go. He’s my dad.” She loved her dad, she really did, no matter how much his unchanging apartment gave her the willies. “I would rather stay here. But I don’t think my mom would let me.”
“I don’t think my mom would let you, either,” said Marigold. “Unless you could keep paying for your room.”
“I don’t think either of my parents would let me do that.” Sometimes being a minor really sucked.
Marigold looked down at the ground. “So,” she said carefully, “when exactly are you leaving?”
“Next week,” said Raven. “I already have a train ticket to New York.”
Marigold looked up, and it was only then that Raven noticed how close they had leaned toward each other. Her friend’s face seemed only millimeters from her own, their noses almost touching, their breaths syncing, a moment where the cruddy backyard and the sagging porch disappeared, and it was only the two of them, and if either one leaned in just a little bit more...
Marigold swallowed and sat up straight, turning her face away. “Well, we still have a whole week to do what we want, don’t we?”
It took Raven a moment to recover, to smile, to tell herself it was okay and that she shouldn’t feel disappointed. The world was what it was, and so were people. “Yeah,” she said. “We do.”
kay_brookeStory: Unusual Florida
Colors: Anise #3 (Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.), Asphalt #4 (train), Rainbow #15 (pretty and witty and gay)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Seed Beads
Word Count: 1,195
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: Raven and Marigold.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Marigold was about her age, the daughter of the woman whose boarding house they stayed in for what was at first supposed to be a month, but then turned into two, then three, then six.
Raven didn’t care. Her mother went where her whims took her, and Raven liked not being settled in one place, liked taking to the road for what was always an adventure, liked when they drove and drove until her mom stopped, got out of the car, and said, “Here.” And there they would stay, for a week or a year, until her mom decided to move on. The only time Raven’s life was static were the few times she visited her father--his apartment in Brooklyn always the same, never changing, even the furniture unmoving from the last time she had gone. It was upsetting in its permanence, and she never liked staying with her father for too long.
Marigold was the same; she and her mother lived on the ground floor of the boarding house, and had since she was born. She went to school, walking the same route every day, taking the same lunch and the same bookbag, studying the same subjects. Raven’s friends were easily made but always temporary, and at first she ignored Marigold, who seemed the sort to like schedules and relationships that never ended.
Until she saw her one day in the pitiful backyard behind the boarding house, jeans rolled up almost to her knees to protect them from the mud, capturing bugs in a little glass jar, watching them for awhile, and letting them go.
Raven was out there in a flash, not a care given to her own skirt as her bare feet squelched in the mud. There had once been grass in the backyard, she thought, but no one had maintained it in a long time.
“Hello,” she said.
Marigold looked up, expressing neither surprise nor delight at this contact. “Hello.”
“What are you doing?” Raven took a step forward, saw Marigold’s bookbag laying carefully across the porch railing, far above the dirty ground. “Is it for school?” That was disappointing.
“No, I was just bored,” said Marigold. She trudged back to the porch, mounted the three creaking steps, and set her now empty jar down next to a pair of discarded sneakers. “I didn’t want to go back inside yet.”
Raven knew what that was like. It was nearly April, and for the first time that year warm enough to go without jackets, for at least a little while. “I always want to spend as much time outside when things are coming alive again.”
“I prefer to think of it like they’re waking up,” said Marigold. “Winter isn’t death, it’s just a time for rest.”
“I can see that,” said Raven, hopping over to the porch and using the railing to swing herself up the steps, so that she landed next to Marigold. “It must be depressing, to have winter every year. It’s better to think of it as something more cheerful.”
Marigold looked at her sidelong. “Every year has winter.”
“Every year has winter,” Raven agreed, “but not at the same time or in the same way every place. Some years I get to skip it entirely.” Not that winter, no. She had just had to suffer through it, but her mother had promised her somewhere south before next winter.
Marigold shrugged. “I never minded it. It’s just a cycle. It gets cold, then it gets warm again.”
“But waiting is hard.”
Marigold smiled in agreement at that, then said, “Do you know a lot about insects?”
Plants were more Raven’s thing, but she let Marigold tell her about the bugs she had caught, and how sometimes she kept them for longer so she could sketch them, but mostly she sketched by memory because she didn’t like to be the reason for anyone’s death. And it was then that Raven really, truly looked at Marigold, at the way her eyes lit up when talking about drawing, and the way the setting sun brought out the fiery red highlights in her chestnut hair, and her shy smile when she noticed Raven grinning at her.
They spent the whole afternoon on the porch, until it was too dark to see and the spring night raised goosebumps along Raven’s arm and Marigold’s mother opened the back door and demanded they come inside right that moment before they caught their death.
After that, Raven waited for Marigold to come home every afternoon after school. If it was warm enough, they spent it on the porch or in the backyard. If not, they spent it in Marigold’s room, where she showed Raven her sketches and her paintings, and Raven leafed through her enormous book collection. Raven loved books, especially ones about nature, and the first thing she did in a new town was scope out the library, but she had never owned many herself. Books were just heavier luggage.
“Last day of school!” said Marigold one late May afternoon, throwing her bookbag down on the porch with a satisfied swoop of her arms. “Now we have all day all summer to do whatever we want!”
Raven twirled a stick in her fingers, then traced out her name against the warped wood of the porch.
“Raven?” said Marigold, sitting down next to her, her face drawn tight in concern.
Raven sighed. “We’re leaving,” she said. “My mom put her notice in at the studio today. She’s going to stay with some friends in Texas. I have to go to my dad’s for the summer.”
Marigold frowned. “Can’t you stay here?” she asked. “Just for the summer? Do you really, really have to visit your dad?”
Raven shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in two years. I probably need to go. He’s my dad.” She loved her dad, she really did, no matter how much his unchanging apartment gave her the willies. “I would rather stay here. But I don’t think my mom would let me.”
“I don’t think my mom would let you, either,” said Marigold. “Unless you could keep paying for your room.”
“I don’t think either of my parents would let me do that.” Sometimes being a minor really sucked.
Marigold looked down at the ground. “So,” she said carefully, “when exactly are you leaving?”
“Next week,” said Raven. “I already have a train ticket to New York.”
Marigold looked up, and it was only then that Raven noticed how close they had leaned toward each other. Her friend’s face seemed only millimeters from her own, their noses almost touching, their breaths syncing, a moment where the cruddy backyard and the sagging porch disappeared, and it was only the two of them, and if either one leaned in just a little bit more...
Marigold swallowed and sat up straight, turning her face away. “Well, we still have a whole week to do what we want, don’t we?”
It took Raven a moment to recover, to smile, to tell herself it was okay and that she shouldn’t feel disappointed. The world was what it was, and so were people. “Yeah,” she said. “We do.”
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