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rainbowfic2016-03-13 05:50 pm
auguris) wrote in rainbowfic2016-03-13 05:50 pm
Dirt Brown 20, Zing 3
Name: auguris
'verse: The Underground
Story: October 1992, Part 2
Colors: Dirt Brown 20. Smell of the living earth, Zing 3. you just got served
Supplies and Styles: Canvas, Seed Beads
Word Count: 1203
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jacob's reaction to Marisa's pregnancy.
October 1992, Part 2
Jacob ran, his work shoes slamming against pavement, then gravel, then dirt. Dust flew up around him and he coughed, then sneezed, then choked, slowed to a stop, grabbed onto a tree trunk. He took a deep, clean breath, pine and earth and his own oily sweat teetering across pleasant/unpleasant. He wiped the dirt from his eyes. Another deep breath. His heart crashed against his ribs like a captured bird.
*
Hunter boys were rare, his father had told him. Rare and special. Jacob came from a line of Hunters blessed with boys, and if he prayed and fasted and earned Her continued blessing, he himself would have a son.
Dad had told a kind lie, one that persisted in Jacob's world-view until the Arbiters chose his wife. Marisa Lawson: tall and strong, each muscled limb poised and perfect. Braided chestnut-brown hair, skin the color of a mocha latte, and a cocky smile that drained the blood from his brain and poured it downstairs. He had the presence of mind to wait for her acceptance before giving his own.
Their first evening together held very little romance; Sixth Generation Hunters were not allowed sex until marriage, or until an Arbiter decided they would not bring in the new First Generation. At sixteen and seventeen, neither of them could bear to wait a moment longer. It was confusing, and messy, and almost awful until it wasn't. No condoms, not until they bore the minimum: at least two children, at least one girl. Not that he minded: Jacob wanted girls, boys, in-betweens, hordes and hordes of babies. As many as Ms. Lawson wanted. As many as they could.
"Two," she said, later on, after they'd showered and stumbled back into bed, tired and sore. "Then we're done."
She lay on her back, eyes on the ceiling. He stared at her, this beautiful naked woman who had married him four hours ago and broken his heart in four words. He stumbled over several thoughts before voicing, "What if they're both boys? We'd have to--"
"Only one boy," she snapped. "If our first is a boy, we're not having a second until I'm sure she's a girl."
His blood roared like a freight train. "Hunter boys are rare--"
"Hunter boys are useless," she laughed, turning to face him. "When you're not making decisions with your dicks you're crashing through life like blind mules. You hunt for sport" She returned her gaze to the ceiling. "If you weren't Sixth Gen, your mother would have aborted you."
*
Jacob covered his eyes, choking down each violent sob that crashed against his throat; his strength failed and he fell to his knees. He howled like a beaten dog, eyes broken spigots, nose a leaky faucet. His voice cracked, and broke, and he cried silently until his exhausted body gave up.
"Pick yourself up," he muttered, half the words lost to his mangled voice-box. He scrubbed the inside of his shirt across his face. Several deep breaths calmed him. A look around told him he had raced into the patch of woods that grew into the Sabine National Forest. Nearby a creek flowed south-east; he followed his memory until he found it.
He splashed cold water on his face. Once he felt less like a giant bee-sting he sat back, legs folded Indian-style, and closed his eyes. Breath in, hold, breath out, hold. He counted his breaths, but his mind wandered back to that ultrasound. That goddamn ultrasound.
It didn't take a professional to know Marissa was unhappy. She longed to be an active Hunter, following a chupacabra to its den and destroying its spawn or stalking a vampire through the streets of downtown Austin. But she'd never taken it out on him, not really. She had broken his dream of an army of children, but to be honest having an actual baby had diminished what remained of that desire.
But this. This was. This.
A couple years back Dani had picked out the smoothest, shiniest rock she could find, from this very same creek, and gifted it to him. It sat in their bedroom window, and when the light hit a certain way it was actually quite pretty. He centered his thoughts on the little rock, palm-sized for a four year old. He imagined the rock at his core, and breathed around it.
Night settled in before he found the peace to return. Starlight led him through the forest to the road, and streetlight led him back home.
He half expected to find Marisa still sitting there with that goddamned ultrasound, but she and Dani sat at the table eating spaghetti and meatballs. Dani's favorite.
"We kept yours warm in the oven!" Dani announced.
He smiled at her. "Thanks, darlin'."
He made the pleasant mistake of asking her about her week at the Compound; she spent a good, uninterrupted half-hour explaining proper stances, how to throw a punch without hurting yourself, and why homonyms were funny. After dinner he set her in front of the TV and promised to watch her cartoon movie as soon as he and Mommy had finished cleaning up.
Marisa stood in front of the sink, hands gripping the edge.
"What did you tell her?"
"You had a bad day at work and needed to walk it off." She didn't face him. "What do you want to do?"
Instead of answering he stopped up the sink, turned on the faucet and poured liquid soap into the stream. Usually Marisa would roll her eyes and tell him he didn't need to use that much, again, but not tonight.
He let the sink fill halfway before answering, "Dani needs both parents. And I think you need Dani. I hope you do."
"Thank you," Marisa breathed.
"I ain't finished. I have terms." He glared at the soap bubbles. "Boy or girl, we keep it. I raise it as my own. If it ain't a boy, we're having one. No matter how many tries it takes."
"You can't be s--"
"Or I will report you to an Arbiter. And you will be exiled. And you will never see Dani again."
A soft cry escaped her and a nasty, angry part of him was glad. Glad he'd hurt her, as she'd hurt him.
"You bastard," she whispered.
"You're the one with the bastard," he muttered back. He could almost feel her hold back the punch.
She snatched the dirty plate from his hand. "Go watch her stupid cartoon."
"Yes or no, Marisa." He waited while she furiously scrubbed tomato sauce into the dry side of the sink.
"Yes, Jacob," she snapped. "Yes we will have your boy. No matter how many tries it takes. We'll have a fucking army of babies until you get your son."
Her back muscles shifted under her shirt. He almost took it back; she was so hurt, and angry, and this wasn't right. He didn't have to carry a child for nine months in his belly. He didn't have to blow up like a balloon and fight to shrink back down to size.
He also hadn't cheated on his wife.
"Good," he said, and left her with the dishes.
auguris'verse: The Underground
Story: October 1992, Part 2
Colors: Dirt Brown 20. Smell of the living earth, Zing 3. you just got served
Supplies and Styles: Canvas, Seed Beads
Word Count: 1203
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jacob's reaction to Marisa's pregnancy.
October 1992, Part 2
Jacob ran, his work shoes slamming against pavement, then gravel, then dirt. Dust flew up around him and he coughed, then sneezed, then choked, slowed to a stop, grabbed onto a tree trunk. He took a deep, clean breath, pine and earth and his own oily sweat teetering across pleasant/unpleasant. He wiped the dirt from his eyes. Another deep breath. His heart crashed against his ribs like a captured bird.
*
Hunter boys were rare, his father had told him. Rare and special. Jacob came from a line of Hunters blessed with boys, and if he prayed and fasted and earned Her continued blessing, he himself would have a son.
Dad had told a kind lie, one that persisted in Jacob's world-view until the Arbiters chose his wife. Marisa Lawson: tall and strong, each muscled limb poised and perfect. Braided chestnut-brown hair, skin the color of a mocha latte, and a cocky smile that drained the blood from his brain and poured it downstairs. He had the presence of mind to wait for her acceptance before giving his own.
Their first evening together held very little romance; Sixth Generation Hunters were not allowed sex until marriage, or until an Arbiter decided they would not bring in the new First Generation. At sixteen and seventeen, neither of them could bear to wait a moment longer. It was confusing, and messy, and almost awful until it wasn't. No condoms, not until they bore the minimum: at least two children, at least one girl. Not that he minded: Jacob wanted girls, boys, in-betweens, hordes and hordes of babies. As many as Ms. Lawson wanted. As many as they could.
"Two," she said, later on, after they'd showered and stumbled back into bed, tired and sore. "Then we're done."
She lay on her back, eyes on the ceiling. He stared at her, this beautiful naked woman who had married him four hours ago and broken his heart in four words. He stumbled over several thoughts before voicing, "What if they're both boys? We'd have to--"
"Only one boy," she snapped. "If our first is a boy, we're not having a second until I'm sure she's a girl."
His blood roared like a freight train. "Hunter boys are rare--"
"Hunter boys are useless," she laughed, turning to face him. "When you're not making decisions with your dicks you're crashing through life like blind mules. You hunt for sport" She returned her gaze to the ceiling. "If you weren't Sixth Gen, your mother would have aborted you."
*
Jacob covered his eyes, choking down each violent sob that crashed against his throat; his strength failed and he fell to his knees. He howled like a beaten dog, eyes broken spigots, nose a leaky faucet. His voice cracked, and broke, and he cried silently until his exhausted body gave up.
"Pick yourself up," he muttered, half the words lost to his mangled voice-box. He scrubbed the inside of his shirt across his face. Several deep breaths calmed him. A look around told him he had raced into the patch of woods that grew into the Sabine National Forest. Nearby a creek flowed south-east; he followed his memory until he found it.
He splashed cold water on his face. Once he felt less like a giant bee-sting he sat back, legs folded Indian-style, and closed his eyes. Breath in, hold, breath out, hold. He counted his breaths, but his mind wandered back to that ultrasound. That goddamn ultrasound.
It didn't take a professional to know Marissa was unhappy. She longed to be an active Hunter, following a chupacabra to its den and destroying its spawn or stalking a vampire through the streets of downtown Austin. But she'd never taken it out on him, not really. She had broken his dream of an army of children, but to be honest having an actual baby had diminished what remained of that desire.
But this. This was. This.
A couple years back Dani had picked out the smoothest, shiniest rock she could find, from this very same creek, and gifted it to him. It sat in their bedroom window, and when the light hit a certain way it was actually quite pretty. He centered his thoughts on the little rock, palm-sized for a four year old. He imagined the rock at his core, and breathed around it.
Night settled in before he found the peace to return. Starlight led him through the forest to the road, and streetlight led him back home.
He half expected to find Marisa still sitting there with that goddamned ultrasound, but she and Dani sat at the table eating spaghetti and meatballs. Dani's favorite.
"We kept yours warm in the oven!" Dani announced.
He smiled at her. "Thanks, darlin'."
He made the pleasant mistake of asking her about her week at the Compound; she spent a good, uninterrupted half-hour explaining proper stances, how to throw a punch without hurting yourself, and why homonyms were funny. After dinner he set her in front of the TV and promised to watch her cartoon movie as soon as he and Mommy had finished cleaning up.
Marisa stood in front of the sink, hands gripping the edge.
"What did you tell her?"
"You had a bad day at work and needed to walk it off." She didn't face him. "What do you want to do?"
Instead of answering he stopped up the sink, turned on the faucet and poured liquid soap into the stream. Usually Marisa would roll her eyes and tell him he didn't need to use that much, again, but not tonight.
He let the sink fill halfway before answering, "Dani needs both parents. And I think you need Dani. I hope you do."
"Thank you," Marisa breathed.
"I ain't finished. I have terms." He glared at the soap bubbles. "Boy or girl, we keep it. I raise it as my own. If it ain't a boy, we're having one. No matter how many tries it takes."
"You can't be s--"
"Or I will report you to an Arbiter. And you will be exiled. And you will never see Dani again."
A soft cry escaped her and a nasty, angry part of him was glad. Glad he'd hurt her, as she'd hurt him.
"You bastard," she whispered.
"You're the one with the bastard," he muttered back. He could almost feel her hold back the punch.
She snatched the dirty plate from his hand. "Go watch her stupid cartoon."
"Yes or no, Marisa." He waited while she furiously scrubbed tomato sauce into the dry side of the sink.
"Yes, Jacob," she snapped. "Yes we will have your boy. No matter how many tries it takes. We'll have a fucking army of babies until you get your son."
Her back muscles shifted under her shirt. He almost took it back; she was so hurt, and angry, and this wasn't right. He didn't have to carry a child for nine months in his belly. He didn't have to blow up like a balloon and fight to shrink back down to size.
He also hadn't cheated on his wife.
"Good," he said, and left her with the dishes.
no subject
I hope Dani at least makes it out alive.
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Thank you!
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no subject
Thank you!
no subject
no subject