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rainbowfic2020-01-31 07:53 am
ilthit) wrote in rainbowfic2020-01-31 07:53 am
Entry tags:
Canary Yellow #10: The Prodigal (The Quality of Mercy)
Name: The Prodigal
Story: The Quality of Mercy (Peccadillo Parlour)
Colors: Canary Yellow #10: The virtue which requires to be ever guarded is scarcely worth the sentinel.
Supplies and Styles: n/a
Word Count: 608
Rating: teen
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, strong language.
"You're hiding."
Pru looked up from her third glass of red wine. The over-priced artistic take on a beef stroganoff had not filled her belly enough to undercut the effect, but it was the look of the thing.
"Did you track my credit card or something?" She took a swig and sat back as Jimmy Banks pulled up the chair opposite her.
"I have my wily ways."
"You certainly do."
He helped himself to a glass from her open bottle and tutted at the scarcity of liquid left. Pru leaned an elbow on the pristine tablecloth and regarded him without much resentment. Wine made everything softer at the edges; that was why she usually saved it for dates, or for her bathtub.
Her apartment felt like someone else's these days. Every gleaming surface, every gracious plant, her meticulously placed kitchenware—it seemed like a picture she no longer could see herself in. So the Hyatt Regency it was, and a lonely beef stroganoff at the end of a day of wandering around Boston museums like a ghost.
It had been a week since she'd walked out of Holmes, Gordon & Gibbs. It was longer since she'd last seen Aunt Amelia.
"Was this what you wanted?" she asked, and there wasn't even a spark of anger in it to be smothered. What was done was done, and she only had herself to blame in the end.
Jimmy shrugged. "Maybe. Sometimes I do things just to find out what happens."
"That explains so much."
Jimmy leaned over the table, resting his arms on it. Pru had a vision of the two of them as hagglers in a Reneissance painting, facing one another over a table spilled over with coins. Perhaps she had been to too many museums today. "Dear Prudence," he said softly, "you seem to be missing a key angle here. A consideration."
"Please, tell me what that is, Jimmy," she mused. .
"That you and I are fucking loaded."
"Not like Violet--"
"Are you kidding me? You don't have to be Violet Holmes to have enough money to do whatever you want with the rest of your life."
Pru placed a nail between her teeth, but did not bite. She waited.
Jimmy leaned back and averted his eyes. "If you're nice to me," he said with a heavy-lidded glance at her, "I might invite you to my ranch sometime."
A smile flashed across Pru's face, too light and quick to be suppressed. She buried it in a sip of wine. "Mmm. Not sure if it's worth it."
"It is a very nice ranch," said Jimmy, mock-offended.
"I am sure it is." She paused. "You're being nice, aren't you? The game's over, and now you're being nice."
Jimmy rolled the wine in his glass. "You need a getaway," he said. "A hideaway, and time for yourself. Don't you?"
"No," said Pru quietly. "What I need is to go home."
It was true. She was Prudence Gao.
She didn't hide.
-
The dinner at Aunt Amelia's was already in progress by the time Pru showed up at the door, moist from a flurry of rain and her breath bitter with two cups of coffee, with a whiff of wine underneath. She dropped her purse on the counter and pushed past Cilla's undignified expression.
She took her usual seat at a place that hadn't been set that night, and crossed her legs. Aunt Amelia stared at her from the end of the table. Peter had stopped with a fork half-way to his mouth. It was like that moment right before the brass band struck up.
"Hi," said Pru. "I'm back."
Story: The Quality of Mercy (Peccadillo Parlour)
Colors: Canary Yellow #10: The virtue which requires to be ever guarded is scarcely worth the sentinel.
Supplies and Styles: n/a
Word Count: 608
Rating: teen
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, strong language.
"You're hiding."
Pru looked up from her third glass of red wine. The over-priced artistic take on a beef stroganoff had not filled her belly enough to undercut the effect, but it was the look of the thing.
"Did you track my credit card or something?" She took a swig and sat back as Jimmy Banks pulled up the chair opposite her.
"I have my wily ways."
"You certainly do."
He helped himself to a glass from her open bottle and tutted at the scarcity of liquid left. Pru leaned an elbow on the pristine tablecloth and regarded him without much resentment. Wine made everything softer at the edges; that was why she usually saved it for dates, or for her bathtub.
Her apartment felt like someone else's these days. Every gleaming surface, every gracious plant, her meticulously placed kitchenware—it seemed like a picture she no longer could see herself in. So the Hyatt Regency it was, and a lonely beef stroganoff at the end of a day of wandering around Boston museums like a ghost.
It had been a week since she'd walked out of Holmes, Gordon & Gibbs. It was longer since she'd last seen Aunt Amelia.
"Was this what you wanted?" she asked, and there wasn't even a spark of anger in it to be smothered. What was done was done, and she only had herself to blame in the end.
Jimmy shrugged. "Maybe. Sometimes I do things just to find out what happens."
"That explains so much."
Jimmy leaned over the table, resting his arms on it. Pru had a vision of the two of them as hagglers in a Reneissance painting, facing one another over a table spilled over with coins. Perhaps she had been to too many museums today. "Dear Prudence," he said softly, "you seem to be missing a key angle here. A consideration."
"Please, tell me what that is, Jimmy," she mused. .
"That you and I are fucking loaded."
"Not like Violet--"
"Are you kidding me? You don't have to be Violet Holmes to have enough money to do whatever you want with the rest of your life."
Pru placed a nail between her teeth, but did not bite. She waited.
Jimmy leaned back and averted his eyes. "If you're nice to me," he said with a heavy-lidded glance at her, "I might invite you to my ranch sometime."
A smile flashed across Pru's face, too light and quick to be suppressed. She buried it in a sip of wine. "Mmm. Not sure if it's worth it."
"It is a very nice ranch," said Jimmy, mock-offended.
"I am sure it is." She paused. "You're being nice, aren't you? The game's over, and now you're being nice."
Jimmy rolled the wine in his glass. "You need a getaway," he said. "A hideaway, and time for yourself. Don't you?"
"No," said Pru quietly. "What I need is to go home."
It was true. She was Prudence Gao.
She didn't hide.
-
The dinner at Aunt Amelia's was already in progress by the time Pru showed up at the door, moist from a flurry of rain and her breath bitter with two cups of coffee, with a whiff of wine underneath. She dropped her purse on the counter and pushed past Cilla's undignified expression.
She took her usual seat at a place that hadn't been set that night, and crossed her legs. Aunt Amelia stared at her from the end of the table. Peter had stopped with a fork half-way to his mouth. It was like that moment right before the brass band struck up.
"Hi," said Pru. "I'm back."
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Also that ending is great.
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