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rainbowfic2022-05-21 08:57 pm
thisbluespirit) wrote in rainbowfic2022-05-21 08:57 pm
Vienna Orange #11, Tourmaline #20 [Divide & Rule]
Name: Literary Meeting
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Tourmaline #20 (peace/war); Vienna Orange #11 (Call it any name you need, call it your 2.0, your rebirth)
Supplies and Styles: Paint-by-Numbers fromshadowsong26 (just take a breath and start) + Seedbeads
Word Count: 1073
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Notes: London, 1944: Isabel Andrews & Edward Iveson.
Summary: Isabel had hoped for things to work out with Nancy, but it seems all she’s getting is disappointment and far too much bad poetry.
***
Nancy had asked Isabel to come to her group’s literary afternoon, and now she wasn’t even here. Isabel was left stranded and foolish in a room full of strangers, who either eyed her askance from afar or swept into her vicinity, assumed acquaintance, and passed on incomprehensible news, before floating away to pigeonhole someone else. They were all wearing far more flamboyant clothes than Isabel’s old grey skirt and jacket, even if only in a small touch of colour here or there, with a vivid hatband or scarf. Isabel, who’d always tried very hard to fit in everywhere, now found herself standing out.
An angular, dark-haired woman called Daphne led her in. “Nancy not with you?” she asked Isabel, sounding pitying and significant in a way that Isabel tried not to think about.
She’d hoped it would be easier once the readings began, but so far, it hadn’t. The essay had been awfully dull, and mostly incomprehensible to Isabel, although everyone else had seemed to appreciate it. The poet who followed was so bad that Isabel almost laughed aloud, before realising he was in earnest, and not attempting parody. Only one other person seemed to share her amusement - a thin man, leaning against the opposite wall. He’d been watching her and she was sure she’d caught a gleam of humour in his eyes before she looked away, not wanting to risk losing her composure.
After fifteen minutes of a long, free verse, delivered with excessively drawn out gaps, Isabel decided enough was enough, and tried to escape. She slipped away from her position at the back, into the hallway where she reclaimed her coat and bag as quietly as she could, but she wasn’t quick enough to evade Daphne on host duties. The older woman ushered her out with a pat on the arm, and a parting shot of pity: “I daresay it’s as well, dear, don’t you?”
Isabel marched away, anger boiling within at the rest of the world – Nancy, who could have told her if she didn’t really mean anything, rather than leaving her to be humiliated by her friends and attacked by dreadful poetry; Daphne for the insincere sympathy; the rotten poet; and her own stupidity.
“Miss Andrews!”
She jumped and swung around. The man who’d caught her eye during the readings was hurrying along the pavement after her, pressing his hat to his head as he went.
“Yes?” she said, although she kept walking to discourage him; stiff with alarm.
The man drew into step with her, out of breath. “Thank heaven. I wasn’t entirely sure it was you – and then you vanished! If I’d I lost you, I’d have been for it with Nan, I can tell you.”
Isabel relaxed, and all worry about what he might want evaporated on the spot. “Oh,” she said, and looked at him properly. He was a good deal taller than he had seemed inside the crowded sitting room, but there was a strong resemblance to Nancy in the shape and set of his face, so much so she only wondered she hadn’t seen it before. “You must be her cousin Ned, then.”
“I am,” he said, and held out his hand to shake hers. “Edward Iveson. I’m afraid I don’t know where she is, but she certainly meant to be here. I suppose she got held up at work, or it was the trains. Terrible, isn’t it?”
Isabel smiled and put her hands in her pockets. (There was a small hole in the bottom of one of them. She’d have to sew that up when she got home.) “Yes. Although – I don’t now – perhaps she had second thoughts.”
“Miss Andrews,” said Mr Iveson, halting sharply beside her. “I’m not in the habit of attending these meetings. There’s only one reason Nancy invited me today. You must know that.”
The very worst of Isabel’s fears eased its grip, allowing her sense of humour to recover. She nodded, and grinned at him. “Oh, yes. The poetry, naturally. It was quite something.”
“Good God,” he said, blanching. “No. Appalling stuff! I don’t blame you for running away. He started on what seemed to be a sonnet about a snail he’d trodden into the carpet before I had chance to follow your example. A lucky escape, I’d say.”
Isabel shook her head. “Are you mocking genius, Mr Iveson?”
“I severely doubt it!”
Isabel’s amusement died. “The thing is – well, I’m not awfully bohemian, you know? I didn’t blame the rest of them for not wanting me there.” Her heart sank again with the inevitable conclusion: and why should Nancy want her there, or anywhere else, either?
Mr Iveson looked down at Isabel, then stared along the street ahead, before turning his gaze back to her. “You were talking to that Daphne-woman, weren’t you? I’ve met her a few times – she was friends with – ah,” he said and cut himself off with a rueful smile. “Someone called Marjorie,” he said, with a cough. “The point is, she’s odd on the subject of Nan these days. I’d say she’s just odd, but perhaps that’s unkind. You mustn’t let her upset you with her spite.”
Isabel took that in, and felt a great deal more cheerful already, save for a new worry that rushed in to take the place of the others. “Then where is Nancy? I do hope nothing has happened to her!”
“No, no. I’m sure it hasn’t,” he said. “It’s a miracle if one can get anywhere on time these days. Why don’t we give her another half an hour? There’s a café over there. I’ll buy you a cup of tea while we wait.”
Isabel nodded, and let him usher her across the road to the café, ready to join the diners behind its taped windows. As they reached it, she stopped. “Did Nancy really invite you to meet me?”
“I wouldn’t say invited,” said Edward, holding the door for her. “It was more of an order. But, yes. She did. Why don’t you save that seat by the window, and then we can keep an eye out for her? I shall see what they’ve got on offer.”
Isabel laughed, and went to claim the free seat in the corner, her heart lighter already. She even started to think that maybe another day, with Nancy, and hopefully no poetry, or Daphne, she might not be so terribly out of place with the others.
***
Story: Divide & Rule/Heroes of the Revolution
Colors: Tourmaline #20 (peace/war); Vienna Orange #11 (Call it any name you need, call it your 2.0, your rebirth)
Supplies and Styles: Paint-by-Numbers from
shadowsong26 (just take a breath and start) + SeedbeadsWord Count: 1073
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Notes: London, 1944: Isabel Andrews & Edward Iveson.
Summary: Isabel had hoped for things to work out with Nancy, but it seems all she’s getting is disappointment and far too much bad poetry.
***
Nancy had asked Isabel to come to her group’s literary afternoon, and now she wasn’t even here. Isabel was left stranded and foolish in a room full of strangers, who either eyed her askance from afar or swept into her vicinity, assumed acquaintance, and passed on incomprehensible news, before floating away to pigeonhole someone else. They were all wearing far more flamboyant clothes than Isabel’s old grey skirt and jacket, even if only in a small touch of colour here or there, with a vivid hatband or scarf. Isabel, who’d always tried very hard to fit in everywhere, now found herself standing out.
An angular, dark-haired woman called Daphne led her in. “Nancy not with you?” she asked Isabel, sounding pitying and significant in a way that Isabel tried not to think about.
She’d hoped it would be easier once the readings began, but so far, it hadn’t. The essay had been awfully dull, and mostly incomprehensible to Isabel, although everyone else had seemed to appreciate it. The poet who followed was so bad that Isabel almost laughed aloud, before realising he was in earnest, and not attempting parody. Only one other person seemed to share her amusement - a thin man, leaning against the opposite wall. He’d been watching her and she was sure she’d caught a gleam of humour in his eyes before she looked away, not wanting to risk losing her composure.
After fifteen minutes of a long, free verse, delivered with excessively drawn out gaps, Isabel decided enough was enough, and tried to escape. She slipped away from her position at the back, into the hallway where she reclaimed her coat and bag as quietly as she could, but she wasn’t quick enough to evade Daphne on host duties. The older woman ushered her out with a pat on the arm, and a parting shot of pity: “I daresay it’s as well, dear, don’t you?”
Isabel marched away, anger boiling within at the rest of the world – Nancy, who could have told her if she didn’t really mean anything, rather than leaving her to be humiliated by her friends and attacked by dreadful poetry; Daphne for the insincere sympathy; the rotten poet; and her own stupidity.
“Miss Andrews!”
She jumped and swung around. The man who’d caught her eye during the readings was hurrying along the pavement after her, pressing his hat to his head as he went.
“Yes?” she said, although she kept walking to discourage him; stiff with alarm.
The man drew into step with her, out of breath. “Thank heaven. I wasn’t entirely sure it was you – and then you vanished! If I’d I lost you, I’d have been for it with Nan, I can tell you.”
Isabel relaxed, and all worry about what he might want evaporated on the spot. “Oh,” she said, and looked at him properly. He was a good deal taller than he had seemed inside the crowded sitting room, but there was a strong resemblance to Nancy in the shape and set of his face, so much so she only wondered she hadn’t seen it before. “You must be her cousin Ned, then.”
“I am,” he said, and held out his hand to shake hers. “Edward Iveson. I’m afraid I don’t know where she is, but she certainly meant to be here. I suppose she got held up at work, or it was the trains. Terrible, isn’t it?”
Isabel smiled and put her hands in her pockets. (There was a small hole in the bottom of one of them. She’d have to sew that up when she got home.) “Yes. Although – I don’t now – perhaps she had second thoughts.”
“Miss Andrews,” said Mr Iveson, halting sharply beside her. “I’m not in the habit of attending these meetings. There’s only one reason Nancy invited me today. You must know that.”
The very worst of Isabel’s fears eased its grip, allowing her sense of humour to recover. She nodded, and grinned at him. “Oh, yes. The poetry, naturally. It was quite something.”
“Good God,” he said, blanching. “No. Appalling stuff! I don’t blame you for running away. He started on what seemed to be a sonnet about a snail he’d trodden into the carpet before I had chance to follow your example. A lucky escape, I’d say.”
Isabel shook her head. “Are you mocking genius, Mr Iveson?”
“I severely doubt it!”
Isabel’s amusement died. “The thing is – well, I’m not awfully bohemian, you know? I didn’t blame the rest of them for not wanting me there.” Her heart sank again with the inevitable conclusion: and why should Nancy want her there, or anywhere else, either?
Mr Iveson looked down at Isabel, then stared along the street ahead, before turning his gaze back to her. “You were talking to that Daphne-woman, weren’t you? I’ve met her a few times – she was friends with – ah,” he said and cut himself off with a rueful smile. “Someone called Marjorie,” he said, with a cough. “The point is, she’s odd on the subject of Nan these days. I’d say she’s just odd, but perhaps that’s unkind. You mustn’t let her upset you with her spite.”
Isabel took that in, and felt a great deal more cheerful already, save for a new worry that rushed in to take the place of the others. “Then where is Nancy? I do hope nothing has happened to her!”
“No, no. I’m sure it hasn’t,” he said. “It’s a miracle if one can get anywhere on time these days. Why don’t we give her another half an hour? There’s a café over there. I’ll buy you a cup of tea while we wait.”
Isabel nodded, and let him usher her across the road to the café, ready to join the diners behind its taped windows. As they reached it, she stopped. “Did Nancy really invite you to meet me?”
“I wouldn’t say invited,” said Edward, holding the door for her. “It was more of an order. But, yes. She did. Why don’t you save that seat by the window, and then we can keep an eye out for her? I shall see what they’ve got on offer.”
Isabel laughed, and went to claim the free seat in the corner, her heart lighter already. She even started to think that maybe another day, with Nancy, and hopefully no poetry, or Daphne, she might not be so terribly out of place with the others.
***
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