thisbluespirit (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thisbluespirit) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2021-07-02 09:34 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2021-07-02 09:34 pm
Candy Green #4 [Divide & Rule]
Name: Sweet Apology
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Candy Green #4 (Candy Cane)
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (for June Challenge) + Eraser + Tapestry
Word Count: 1064
Rating: PG
Warnings: Drunkeness, maybe?
Notes: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves; Neighbours AU (from the giant list).
Summary: Julia’s been looking for a way to meet the man from the flat below. This was not what she had in mind.
***
Edward is woken by a persistent scraping and knocking at the door. He opens his eyes and then drags himself out of bed, scowling hard as he reaches for his dressing gown. He pulls back the door as soon as he’s finished tying the belt, and finds a girl there. She’s wearing a black party dress and squinting at him.
“Oh,” she says, once she’s done staring. “That can’t be right. What are you doing here?”
His bad temper subsides as his sense of humour wakes up. It’s the young woman from the flat above. He sees her sometimes on their respective ways in and out of the building. She is also, going by the stink of alcohol assaulting his nostrils, very drunk indeed.
“You’re on the wrong floor,” he says, and motions towards the stairwell.
She looks from him to the stairs and then back again and then at the key she’s being trying to stab into his lock, as if it might be able to explain somehow. “I went up all the stairs! I counted.” She leans forward and then wobbles as if she might keep going and land on the floor, but she stops in time. “I think they’re growing.”
“Maths isn’t my strong point, either, not when I’ve had a few,” he says, his mouth twitching. He emerges fully, pulling his door to behind him – it doesn’t appear she’s going to find her way home without a little help.
She watches him, the lines on her brow meeting in a small x-shape with the effort. “Are you sure that isn’t my flat? It looks like mine!”
“It’s quite definitely my flat, thank you. Now – upstairs,” he says firmly, and then, more cautiously, puts a hand to her elbow and ushers her over to the stairwell.
On the stairs, she’s still frowning. “I dis-dis- woke you. Sorry. Very sorry. I don’t usually do this.” She gestures. “You know.”
“Yes, I know. And it’s fine,” said Edward. “Let’s get you back to your flat.”
She halts. “Oh, dear. I feel sick. Sorry?”
“Try not to be,” he advises with feeling. “Otherwise, advance apology accepted.”
Julia’s frown deepens. “You’re in the flat below. I can see you from my balcony. The top of your head is quite nice.”
“Thank you,” murmurs Edward, biting down on the urge to laugh. “No, no, don’t do that – keep moving.”
Julia, starting to lower herself down to sit on the steps, lets him help her up. “I am sorry,” she says again, this time with a vague wave of her free hand that nearly over balances her. “It was Christy’s fault. His party, I mean. He’s going away. That’s my brother. A Christmas and Christy party.” She pauses. She’s paler, with a definite green tinge.
“Keep moving,” he orders, and she does.
When they reach the landing, he guides her to her door and checks she hasn’t lost her key on the way up.
“This stupid lock won’t stay still,” she says, jabbing at it with violence, determination, and a total lack of accuracy.
Edward, about to turn and go, hesitates. He takes the key from her, and opens the door. “Go on. Into the bathroom before it’s too late – I would.”
“Wait,” she says, leaning against the door. “First, I have to say – I am so sorry, Mr Downstairs Flat. I did try to count – I must have mished.”
His mouth quivers with repressed amusement. “A mistake anyone could have made, no doubt. These floors all look so alike.”
“Sh-shouldn’t be allowed.” She fishes around in her handbag, throwing items back behind her into her flat until she finally pulls out two tiny candy canes, one with red stripes and one with green, and thrusts them towards him. “Thank you. Have these.”
“It’s quite all right.”
“Take them!” Her frown grows fierce and she waves them about wildly in front of his face. “I don’t want you thinking things.”
Edward does as he’s told. “I won’t think anything,” he promises, and it’s probably a lie. But not the worse of her, which is most likely what she means. “Goodnight, Miss, er, Upstairs Flat.”
Julia wakes in the morning with a splitting headache, and vague memories of what was to blame for it. Everyone had probably spiked the punch by the end, knowing Christy and his friends.
It’s only at the end of the morning that she recalls how she got home, and that she didn’t, in fact, have an odd dream involving the mystery man from the flat below. “Oh, no,” she says, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, crap.”
She hasn’t exactly been watching said mystery man, but her balcony is a little to one side of his below, so it’s hard not to observe him sometimes, if only from a lofty and awkward angle, and they exchange brief greetings and commiserations or congratulations on the weather as they dash in and out of the building. He looks like the cartoon image of a civil servant, with coat, suit and umbrella, but there’s a light in his eyes when he smiles, and she’s always felt that if she could only engineer a more substantial meeting, she might like him a lot.
Last night was absolutely not what she’d had in mind.
Edward finds Julia at his door again, this time at a more earthly hour.
“I am so sorry,” she says. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Edward grins. “You apologised repeatedly at the time. Not to worry.”
“It’s not a habit,” she adds. “I mean, not like that – blundering in on you –!”
“So you said last night. Not that it’s any of my business.”
She deflates a little and steps back. “Oh. I see. Well, that’s all fine, then.”
“Cheer up,” he tells her. “You are a charming drunk. You apologised, you were complimentary about the top of my head, and you gave me sweets. I’d rate the experience highly. In fact, if you were willing, I’d be happy to take you out for a coffee and see what you’re like sober.”
“Much less complimentary, definitely,” she says, and grins up at him. “Although my sense of direction is better.”
He tilts his head against the edge of the door frame, a smile playing about his mouth. “Oh, no,” he says softly, “your aim last night was unerring, I promise.”
***
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Candy Green #4 (Candy Cane)
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (for June Challenge) + Eraser + Tapestry
Word Count: 1064
Rating: PG
Warnings: Drunkeness, maybe?
Notes: Edward Iveson/Julia Graves; Neighbours AU (from the giant list).
Summary: Julia’s been looking for a way to meet the man from the flat below. This was not what she had in mind.
***
Edward is woken by a persistent scraping and knocking at the door. He opens his eyes and then drags himself out of bed, scowling hard as he reaches for his dressing gown. He pulls back the door as soon as he’s finished tying the belt, and finds a girl there. She’s wearing a black party dress and squinting at him.
“Oh,” she says, once she’s done staring. “That can’t be right. What are you doing here?”
His bad temper subsides as his sense of humour wakes up. It’s the young woman from the flat above. He sees her sometimes on their respective ways in and out of the building. She is also, going by the stink of alcohol assaulting his nostrils, very drunk indeed.
“You’re on the wrong floor,” he says, and motions towards the stairwell.
She looks from him to the stairs and then back again and then at the key she’s being trying to stab into his lock, as if it might be able to explain somehow. “I went up all the stairs! I counted.” She leans forward and then wobbles as if she might keep going and land on the floor, but she stops in time. “I think they’re growing.”
“Maths isn’t my strong point, either, not when I’ve had a few,” he says, his mouth twitching. He emerges fully, pulling his door to behind him – it doesn’t appear she’s going to find her way home without a little help.
She watches him, the lines on her brow meeting in a small x-shape with the effort. “Are you sure that isn’t my flat? It looks like mine!”
“It’s quite definitely my flat, thank you. Now – upstairs,” he says firmly, and then, more cautiously, puts a hand to her elbow and ushers her over to the stairwell.
On the stairs, she’s still frowning. “I dis-dis- woke you. Sorry. Very sorry. I don’t usually do this.” She gestures. “You know.”
“Yes, I know. And it’s fine,” said Edward. “Let’s get you back to your flat.”
She halts. “Oh, dear. I feel sick. Sorry?”
“Try not to be,” he advises with feeling. “Otherwise, advance apology accepted.”
Julia’s frown deepens. “You’re in the flat below. I can see you from my balcony. The top of your head is quite nice.”
“Thank you,” murmurs Edward, biting down on the urge to laugh. “No, no, don’t do that – keep moving.”
Julia, starting to lower herself down to sit on the steps, lets him help her up. “I am sorry,” she says again, this time with a vague wave of her free hand that nearly over balances her. “It was Christy’s fault. His party, I mean. He’s going away. That’s my brother. A Christmas and Christy party.” She pauses. She’s paler, with a definite green tinge.
“Keep moving,” he orders, and she does.
When they reach the landing, he guides her to her door and checks she hasn’t lost her key on the way up.
“This stupid lock won’t stay still,” she says, jabbing at it with violence, determination, and a total lack of accuracy.
Edward, about to turn and go, hesitates. He takes the key from her, and opens the door. “Go on. Into the bathroom before it’s too late – I would.”
“Wait,” she says, leaning against the door. “First, I have to say – I am so sorry, Mr Downstairs Flat. I did try to count – I must have mished.”
His mouth quivers with repressed amusement. “A mistake anyone could have made, no doubt. These floors all look so alike.”
“Sh-shouldn’t be allowed.” She fishes around in her handbag, throwing items back behind her into her flat until she finally pulls out two tiny candy canes, one with red stripes and one with green, and thrusts them towards him. “Thank you. Have these.”
“It’s quite all right.”
“Take them!” Her frown grows fierce and she waves them about wildly in front of his face. “I don’t want you thinking things.”
Edward does as he’s told. “I won’t think anything,” he promises, and it’s probably a lie. But not the worse of her, which is most likely what she means. “Goodnight, Miss, er, Upstairs Flat.”
Julia wakes in the morning with a splitting headache, and vague memories of what was to blame for it. Everyone had probably spiked the punch by the end, knowing Christy and his friends.
It’s only at the end of the morning that she recalls how she got home, and that she didn’t, in fact, have an odd dream involving the mystery man from the flat below. “Oh, no,” she says, covering her face with her hands. “Oh, crap.”
She hasn’t exactly been watching said mystery man, but her balcony is a little to one side of his below, so it’s hard not to observe him sometimes, if only from a lofty and awkward angle, and they exchange brief greetings and commiserations or congratulations on the weather as they dash in and out of the building. He looks like the cartoon image of a civil servant, with coat, suit and umbrella, but there’s a light in his eyes when he smiles, and she’s always felt that if she could only engineer a more substantial meeting, she might like him a lot.
Last night was absolutely not what she’d had in mind.
Edward finds Julia at his door again, this time at a more earthly hour.
“I am so sorry,” she says. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Edward grins. “You apologised repeatedly at the time. Not to worry.”
“It’s not a habit,” she adds. “I mean, not like that – blundering in on you –!”
“So you said last night. Not that it’s any of my business.”
She deflates a little and steps back. “Oh. I see. Well, that’s all fine, then.”
“Cheer up,” he tells her. “You are a charming drunk. You apologised, you were complimentary about the top of my head, and you gave me sweets. I’d rate the experience highly. In fact, if you were willing, I’d be happy to take you out for a coffee and see what you’re like sober.”
“Much less complimentary, definitely,” she says, and grins up at him. “Although my sense of direction is better.”
He tilts his head against the edge of the door frame, a smile playing about his mouth. “Oh, no,” he says softly, “your aim last night was unerring, I promise.”
***
no subject
no subject