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rainbowfic2016-08-07 03:42 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2016-08-07 03:42 pm
Lotus #11, Plant Party #20, Ruby #11
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Drakes
Colors: Lotus #11 (Triple Gem), Plant Party #20 (Bird of paradise), Ruby #11 (lace-stays)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Graffiti (Sprinting)
Word Count: 1,171
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Janelle goes to the library one last time.
Note: This is the first scene in this world not written from Finley's POV! Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Janelle stepped into the library and stood just inside the door, right at the edge between the wooden floor and the lush rug that took up most of the middle of the room. A thousand times she had done this without thinking, but now she did think, she thought very hard as she bent to undo the laces of her shoes, slowly pulling each silky strand through its delicate eyelet. After her shoes came her socks, so that she stood barefoot on the cold floor, the big toe of her left foot just barely brushing the edge of the rug. She tried to memorize every movement, every sensation, because this was the very last time she would go through her little ritual.
She stepped onto the plush rug and wiggled her toes, sinking them deep into the fabric. The rug was a deep green, not at all the color of grass, but that had never stopped Janelle’s imagination when she was younger. She could see herself back then like an outside observer, small and pale, clutching a story book or opening up to its first page, relishing the feel of the paper between her fingers. Always barefoot because the rug felt so nice against her feet. And as she read stories that she had long ago memorized, the rug would bloom around her, becoming real grass and wildflowers and streams. Vines would snake up the library walls to take root in the highest shelves, and strong oaks grew straight and stout from the middle of the room.
She always liked those stories best, the ones about adventurous little girls who became the queens of rabbit warrens or married the fish king. Tiny women who fought off the field-invading rats or went on grand quests to find a diamond perfect enough to cast the world into rainbow. Fantastical things that she had ever dreamed of doing herself, but would never do even any real world equivalent of. Janelle was not frail, hadn’t gotten ill since she was a small child and only rarely then, but she took after her mother: skin thin and white as the finest paper, hair so light people often thought she had gone gray before she was ten (she was twenty-two now, and like her mother her hair was starting to go gray for real), body short and thin. People saw her and thought her frail. They thought her much older than she was. They thought her sickly and in need of protection. They had treated her mother like that, too, and because she was like her mother they had just done the same to her.
So she had never been on any adventures, even though her robust younger sister (so much more like their father) got to do all the things their brothers did. But Janelle only ever got told she would just get hurt in their rough-and-tumble games. She was scorned by her own twin brother for not being able to keep up with him, though she had never been given a chance to prove it either way. Even her own mother, who should have known better, had balked at Janelle attending the university, even though she had a place ready for her, out of concern she would not be able to handle the workload.
That last had hurt most of all, but like many things in her life, Janelle managed to rationalize it away: her mother knew her own spirit, knew she was more than the small flesh she had been given, but her protectiveness had blinded her to seeing the same in her eldest daughter. And Janelle knew she had never done enough to fight back. Her mother had clawed her way to her lofty position, despite the naysayers on every side. Janelle, though, had always been content to escape the overbearing worry of the world in her parents’ library, losing herself in the books until supper was called each night. She hadn’t even been like her mother, studying hard at some subject she could eventually use to make her own life and career. Instead she had reread her favorite story books until she could recite them in her sleep, even long after she outgrew such outlandish nonsense.
So Janelle rationalized that she was demonstrably not as strong as her mother, nor as determined, and though she did not think she needed help taking care of herself, after a lifetime of putting up with it it just seemed easier to continue to do so.
A loud sigh at the library door made her whirl around in surprise. Oliver stood there, mouth drawn into a frown, arms crossed. “What are you doing, dawdling in here? Did you forget we have a coach to catch?”
“I didn’t forget. I just came in here to grab something,” said Janelle gently. Oliver was in a mood today, a mood that had grown worse the longer they spent in her parents’ house. They were moving today, out to the house in Rennaken Bay that had been left to her mother, and now to her. Oliver hadn’t wanted to go, but even he couldn’t argue for staying in his tiny flat over a rather large house, and now that the day had come he was impatient to leave.
She was the one who lingered. She would never see the inside of this house again. Her brother Elliott, as the eldest, had inherited the house, and she knew he meant to sell it and as much of its contents as he could. He had too many debts to pay off.
“Then grab it and let’s go!” Oliver snarled. He had not entered the library, but stood looming in the doorway, as if that would make Janelle move faster. He glanced at the floor and spotter her shoes. “Why did you take your shoes off? Now we’re going to be even later!”
“You could carry me,” Janelle said lightly as she stepped across the library to the nearest shelf. It was still exactly where she had kept it since childhood, and she grabbed the book and held it close to her chest.
“I’m not going to carry you,” Oliver said with a huff. “We need to go, now!” He glared as she hurried to his side. “What did you take?”
“It’s--” she began, but Oliver had already snatched it out of her hands.
“A child’s story book?” His features arranged themselves into something ugly. “Why are we lugging this around? Don’t we already have enough luggage? It’s going to take us days to unpack everything as it is!”
“It’s mine,” said Janelle. “I’m going to give it to our child.” She wasn’t even showing yet, but someone had to think of these things and she supposed Oliver wouldn’t.
He snorted and thrust it back at her. “I suppose. Can we go?”
“Yes,” said Janelle, and she only had a moment to pick up her shoes and take one last glance around the library before Oliver grabbed her hand and pulled her away.
kay_brookeStory: The Drakes
Colors: Lotus #11 (Triple Gem), Plant Party #20 (Bird of paradise), Ruby #11 (lace-stays)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Graffiti (Sprinting)
Word Count: 1,171
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Janelle goes to the library one last time.
Note: This is the first scene in this world not written from Finley's POV! Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
Janelle stepped into the library and stood just inside the door, right at the edge between the wooden floor and the lush rug that took up most of the middle of the room. A thousand times she had done this without thinking, but now she did think, she thought very hard as she bent to undo the laces of her shoes, slowly pulling each silky strand through its delicate eyelet. After her shoes came her socks, so that she stood barefoot on the cold floor, the big toe of her left foot just barely brushing the edge of the rug. She tried to memorize every movement, every sensation, because this was the very last time she would go through her little ritual.
She stepped onto the plush rug and wiggled her toes, sinking them deep into the fabric. The rug was a deep green, not at all the color of grass, but that had never stopped Janelle’s imagination when she was younger. She could see herself back then like an outside observer, small and pale, clutching a story book or opening up to its first page, relishing the feel of the paper between her fingers. Always barefoot because the rug felt so nice against her feet. And as she read stories that she had long ago memorized, the rug would bloom around her, becoming real grass and wildflowers and streams. Vines would snake up the library walls to take root in the highest shelves, and strong oaks grew straight and stout from the middle of the room.
She always liked those stories best, the ones about adventurous little girls who became the queens of rabbit warrens or married the fish king. Tiny women who fought off the field-invading rats or went on grand quests to find a diamond perfect enough to cast the world into rainbow. Fantastical things that she had ever dreamed of doing herself, but would never do even any real world equivalent of. Janelle was not frail, hadn’t gotten ill since she was a small child and only rarely then, but she took after her mother: skin thin and white as the finest paper, hair so light people often thought she had gone gray before she was ten (she was twenty-two now, and like her mother her hair was starting to go gray for real), body short and thin. People saw her and thought her frail. They thought her much older than she was. They thought her sickly and in need of protection. They had treated her mother like that, too, and because she was like her mother they had just done the same to her.
So she had never been on any adventures, even though her robust younger sister (so much more like their father) got to do all the things their brothers did. But Janelle only ever got told she would just get hurt in their rough-and-tumble games. She was scorned by her own twin brother for not being able to keep up with him, though she had never been given a chance to prove it either way. Even her own mother, who should have known better, had balked at Janelle attending the university, even though she had a place ready for her, out of concern she would not be able to handle the workload.
That last had hurt most of all, but like many things in her life, Janelle managed to rationalize it away: her mother knew her own spirit, knew she was more than the small flesh she had been given, but her protectiveness had blinded her to seeing the same in her eldest daughter. And Janelle knew she had never done enough to fight back. Her mother had clawed her way to her lofty position, despite the naysayers on every side. Janelle, though, had always been content to escape the overbearing worry of the world in her parents’ library, losing herself in the books until supper was called each night. She hadn’t even been like her mother, studying hard at some subject she could eventually use to make her own life and career. Instead she had reread her favorite story books until she could recite them in her sleep, even long after she outgrew such outlandish nonsense.
So Janelle rationalized that she was demonstrably not as strong as her mother, nor as determined, and though she did not think she needed help taking care of herself, after a lifetime of putting up with it it just seemed easier to continue to do so.
A loud sigh at the library door made her whirl around in surprise. Oliver stood there, mouth drawn into a frown, arms crossed. “What are you doing, dawdling in here? Did you forget we have a coach to catch?”
“I didn’t forget. I just came in here to grab something,” said Janelle gently. Oliver was in a mood today, a mood that had grown worse the longer they spent in her parents’ house. They were moving today, out to the house in Rennaken Bay that had been left to her mother, and now to her. Oliver hadn’t wanted to go, but even he couldn’t argue for staying in his tiny flat over a rather large house, and now that the day had come he was impatient to leave.
She was the one who lingered. She would never see the inside of this house again. Her brother Elliott, as the eldest, had inherited the house, and she knew he meant to sell it and as much of its contents as he could. He had too many debts to pay off.
“Then grab it and let’s go!” Oliver snarled. He had not entered the library, but stood looming in the doorway, as if that would make Janelle move faster. He glanced at the floor and spotter her shoes. “Why did you take your shoes off? Now we’re going to be even later!”
“You could carry me,” Janelle said lightly as she stepped across the library to the nearest shelf. It was still exactly where she had kept it since childhood, and she grabbed the book and held it close to her chest.
“I’m not going to carry you,” Oliver said with a huff. “We need to go, now!” He glared as she hurried to his side. “What did you take?”
“It’s--” she began, but Oliver had already snatched it out of her hands.
“A child’s story book?” His features arranged themselves into something ugly. “Why are we lugging this around? Don’t we already have enough luggage? It’s going to take us days to unpack everything as it is!”
“It’s mine,” said Janelle. “I’m going to give it to our child.” She wasn’t even showing yet, but someone had to think of these things and she supposed Oliver wouldn’t.
He snorted and thrust it back at her. “I suppose. Can we go?”
“Yes,” said Janelle, and she only had a moment to pick up her shoes and take one last glance around the library before Oliver grabbed her hand and pulled her away.