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rainbowfic2013-01-08 09:22 pm
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2013-01-08 09:22 pm
True Blue 7, Scarlet 4: The Ring
Author: Kat
Title: The Ring
Story: Shine Like It Does and Jealous of Roses
Colors: True blue 7 (Fast Friends), scarlet 4 (After all, tomorrow is another day) with dark_kana's paint-by-numbers (Now I'm here and I won't go back believing)
Supplies and Materials: Collage, mosaic, fingerpainting (aka Kat does a poor imitation of SWL's luminous style), acrylic (undisputed), fabric (this reminds me of the way Zephyr reads people), modeling clay (restless), glitter (- "Together in our house, in the firelight, we are the world made small." – Jennifer Donnelly, Revolution), novelty beads (this is basically Jack and his sisters).
Word Count: 1236.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: I guess you met my sisters.
Warnings: some very surreal mentions of depression, drug use
Notes: So, like, half a year ago SWL bought a story from me for a fandom aid auction. This is the story. Necessary background: Zephyr and Jack met up two RPs ago and promptly retired to a room for some happy fun times.
This story begins with a ring.
It isn't that kind of ring, or that kind of story-- not really, anyway. It's just a ring, one of dozens, shimmer-light slinky silver that coils around a finger like a promise, like a invitation. Watch now: watch it drop onto a bedspread, roll around in the ensuing activities. Watch it jump and tumble to the floor, spin over the carpet, come to rest on the sleeve of a suit jacket.
Watch it fall unnoticed into the jacket's pocket. Watch it hitch a ride to another world entirely.
Watch it fall out again and roll across a dresser top, glinting bright in the sun, like a beacon, like a beckon call.
It's a big house that Zephyr finds, all fancy and done-up but lived-in for all of that. Basketball hoop above the garage, curtains fluttering at open windows-- tire swing in the yard and a pool nearby that Pip would probably combine in interesting, life-threatening ways. Zephyr almost wants to try it himself, get up on the tire swing and get going fast then catapult yelling towards that blue jello water, but he's here for a point so he goes up to the front door and knocks, dah dah dah-dah dah, light and silly, and a beautiful dark-eyed woman answers, smiles sweet like candy and makes him smile back.
This is Charlotte, Zephyr knows, with her kitten-fur smile and honey-flavored eyes. She's pretty like Roa but not like Roa, not even like her brother—no demons for this girl. She says "Can I help you?" and even her voice is sweet, bells and laughter and a hand curling around yours.
"You must be a great teacher," he says, remembering, my sister teaches art and music, she loves it, and her smile dims a little into confusion.
"Thank you?"
"'S a compliment," he says, smiling, fingers twitching to touch her skin and feel that bone-deep sweetness like sugar on his tongue. She's pretty and she probably doesn't know it, and he would like to feel that too, her honest pleased confusion at being complimented.
Jack loves her so much Zephyr feels like he loves her too. He would like to curl up with her, pet all that sun-kissed skin like a sweet, affectionate kitten. Not sexually—he isn't sure if it's Jack's memories or something about Charlotte that forbids it—but she's lovely and he wants her to know it. Lovely is exactly the word, too; lovely, lovable, loving, loved.
"Thank you," she says again, this time more certainly, and her smile broadens, gets warm and cozy like a fuzzy rug and a Piplet and a nice warm bonfire made of your enemy's skulls. Well, probably not skulls. She's too sweet for skulls. Their prized possessions then. "Is there something that you need?"
"'M looking for Jack," Zephyr tells her, and grins when her eyebrows lift. "He's got something of mine."
"He's upstairs," she says cautiously, and he wants to laugh. Must be all those exes Jack talked about, the ones who won't leave him alone. Zephyr can't really blame them because Jack is that kinda person, like bittersweet chocolate; you want to eat him all up and savor the sting. "May I say who's calling?"
"Who's at the door, Charlotte?"
He knows Miranda immediately. She moves like she's cutting the air, like the world is an ocean and she has a dorsal fin and really big teeth. She focuses on him and one eyebrow goes up and he's really glad this is a different world, 'cause Miranda and Duclos together could probably tear the whole place apart.
Or rule it.
He's not sure which is more likely. Or worse.
"He's here to see Jack," Charlotte says, retreating into Miranda's side, and Miranda's other eyebrow goes up and she looks at Zephyr all calculating, like she's deciding which bit of him to gobble up first. Big bad wolf with cubs, that's Miranda, and Zephyr's just glad he's not actually stealing one of her cubs. Just seducing him.
"Are you now," she says, coolly.
"Yeah," Zephyr says, and grins at her. "'M Zephyr. Met him at the villa."
Her eyebrows climb higher but she turns around and yells "Jack," into the dark echoing hallway, and says, "It's okay, Carlita, I'll tell you about it later," and oh, right, Jack mentioned she'd been cramping his style last time, when they met in the villa and there had been a time to have a last of. She better not cramp it this time. Zephyr has plans for that style.
And there's Jack at last, all bright flame and laughter and sneaking little bits of coal, dark eyes and a brightcolor smile and a sort of casual desperate need in the arms he slings around each of his sisters' waists. "Who's at the—Zephyr!"
And that. That's gratifying. A real smile, not the pretty white tooth-flashy one that looks like Duclos when she's losing patience. A real happy smile like he's actually glad to see him, and Jack drops his arm from 'round Miranda's waist, reaches out his hand, brushes his fingers across the back of Zephyr's knuckles and whoa. He really is happy to see him. And not just 'cause they did it.
"I guess you met my sisters," Jack says and there's that real smile again.
"I like 'em," Zephyr says, and smiles back.
--
They're draped across Jack's bed later, after, naked and smoking, Jack waving one foot lazily in the air as smoke curls up around them both.
"Don't tell my mom," he says drowsily, passing the joint over to Zephyr, because he hasn't got a pipe or at least if he has one it isn't here. "She's convinced if I start smoking weed I'll be hooked on heroin in a week."
Since Jack's bare shoulder against Zephyr's tells him that he's been smoking weed since he was fifteen, that just gets a snicker. "Won't. Moms got no room here anyway."
"S'right," Jack says, trying to imitate Zephyr's drawl and failing completely. "No sisters neither."
"No sisters neither," Zephyr agrees. "Sisters're nice but they get in the way sometimes."
"Not Charlotte," Jack says, and his skin says he's trying to be fair, because he really rather worships Charlotte and really she's rather worthy to be worshipped, "but Andy, yeah, all the time."
Zephyr waves a hand, makes the smoke wind lazily into coils like a heat-drunk snake. "Sisters," he says, and nudges Jack's shoulder. "My ring stole you."
"What?" Jack sits up when Zephyr points with a foot, and says, "Oh. That's yours? It just showed up one day."
"Like I said," Zephyr says, "my ring stole you," and won't explain any more no matter how Jack pesters him. Jack doesn't steal things—well, not besides kisses and smiles and blowjobs and hearts—and that ring is a thief's ring, heavy silver, with grabby fingers in the work. A thief's ring, a wanting ring, no wonder it stole Jack.
He'll have to go back soon. Whatever this is only lasts so long and he's kinda okay with that, because Jack wouldn't last in his world and he doesn't think he'll last in Jack's. But it's nice to have these visits, to kiss and fuck and touch and smoke and talk lazy in the afternoon sunlight, skin to skin.
The ring knows where it wants to be. He'll leave it when he goes.
Title: The Ring
Story: Shine Like It Does and Jealous of Roses
Colors: True blue 7 (Fast Friends), scarlet 4 (After all, tomorrow is another day) with dark_kana's paint-by-numbers (Now I'm here and I won't go back believing)
Supplies and Materials: Collage, mosaic, fingerpainting (aka Kat does a poor imitation of SWL's luminous style), acrylic (undisputed), fabric (this reminds me of the way Zephyr reads people), modeling clay (restless), glitter (- "Together in our house, in the firelight, we are the world made small." – Jennifer Donnelly, Revolution), novelty beads (this is basically Jack and his sisters).
Word Count: 1236.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: I guess you met my sisters.
Warnings: some very surreal mentions of depression, drug use
Notes: So, like, half a year ago SWL bought a story from me for a fandom aid auction. This is the story. Necessary background: Zephyr and Jack met up two RPs ago and promptly retired to a room for some happy fun times.
This story begins with a ring.
It isn't that kind of ring, or that kind of story-- not really, anyway. It's just a ring, one of dozens, shimmer-light slinky silver that coils around a finger like a promise, like a invitation. Watch now: watch it drop onto a bedspread, roll around in the ensuing activities. Watch it jump and tumble to the floor, spin over the carpet, come to rest on the sleeve of a suit jacket.
Watch it fall unnoticed into the jacket's pocket. Watch it hitch a ride to another world entirely.
Watch it fall out again and roll across a dresser top, glinting bright in the sun, like a beacon, like a beckon call.
It's a big house that Zephyr finds, all fancy and done-up but lived-in for all of that. Basketball hoop above the garage, curtains fluttering at open windows-- tire swing in the yard and a pool nearby that Pip would probably combine in interesting, life-threatening ways. Zephyr almost wants to try it himself, get up on the tire swing and get going fast then catapult yelling towards that blue jello water, but he's here for a point so he goes up to the front door and knocks, dah dah dah-dah dah, light and silly, and a beautiful dark-eyed woman answers, smiles sweet like candy and makes him smile back.
This is Charlotte, Zephyr knows, with her kitten-fur smile and honey-flavored eyes. She's pretty like Roa but not like Roa, not even like her brother—no demons for this girl. She says "Can I help you?" and even her voice is sweet, bells and laughter and a hand curling around yours.
"You must be a great teacher," he says, remembering, my sister teaches art and music, she loves it, and her smile dims a little into confusion.
"Thank you?"
"'S a compliment," he says, smiling, fingers twitching to touch her skin and feel that bone-deep sweetness like sugar on his tongue. She's pretty and she probably doesn't know it, and he would like to feel that too, her honest pleased confusion at being complimented.
Jack loves her so much Zephyr feels like he loves her too. He would like to curl up with her, pet all that sun-kissed skin like a sweet, affectionate kitten. Not sexually—he isn't sure if it's Jack's memories or something about Charlotte that forbids it—but she's lovely and he wants her to know it. Lovely is exactly the word, too; lovely, lovable, loving, loved.
"Thank you," she says again, this time more certainly, and her smile broadens, gets warm and cozy like a fuzzy rug and a Piplet and a nice warm bonfire made of your enemy's skulls. Well, probably not skulls. She's too sweet for skulls. Their prized possessions then. "Is there something that you need?"
"'M looking for Jack," Zephyr tells her, and grins when her eyebrows lift. "He's got something of mine."
"He's upstairs," she says cautiously, and he wants to laugh. Must be all those exes Jack talked about, the ones who won't leave him alone. Zephyr can't really blame them because Jack is that kinda person, like bittersweet chocolate; you want to eat him all up and savor the sting. "May I say who's calling?"
"Who's at the door, Charlotte?"
He knows Miranda immediately. She moves like she's cutting the air, like the world is an ocean and she has a dorsal fin and really big teeth. She focuses on him and one eyebrow goes up and he's really glad this is a different world, 'cause Miranda and Duclos together could probably tear the whole place apart.
Or rule it.
He's not sure which is more likely. Or worse.
"He's here to see Jack," Charlotte says, retreating into Miranda's side, and Miranda's other eyebrow goes up and she looks at Zephyr all calculating, like she's deciding which bit of him to gobble up first. Big bad wolf with cubs, that's Miranda, and Zephyr's just glad he's not actually stealing one of her cubs. Just seducing him.
"Are you now," she says, coolly.
"Yeah," Zephyr says, and grins at her. "'M Zephyr. Met him at the villa."
Her eyebrows climb higher but she turns around and yells "Jack," into the dark echoing hallway, and says, "It's okay, Carlita, I'll tell you about it later," and oh, right, Jack mentioned she'd been cramping his style last time, when they met in the villa and there had been a time to have a last of. She better not cramp it this time. Zephyr has plans for that style.
And there's Jack at last, all bright flame and laughter and sneaking little bits of coal, dark eyes and a brightcolor smile and a sort of casual desperate need in the arms he slings around each of his sisters' waists. "Who's at the—Zephyr!"
And that. That's gratifying. A real smile, not the pretty white tooth-flashy one that looks like Duclos when she's losing patience. A real happy smile like he's actually glad to see him, and Jack drops his arm from 'round Miranda's waist, reaches out his hand, brushes his fingers across the back of Zephyr's knuckles and whoa. He really is happy to see him. And not just 'cause they did it.
"I guess you met my sisters," Jack says and there's that real smile again.
"I like 'em," Zephyr says, and smiles back.
--
They're draped across Jack's bed later, after, naked and smoking, Jack waving one foot lazily in the air as smoke curls up around them both.
"Don't tell my mom," he says drowsily, passing the joint over to Zephyr, because he hasn't got a pipe or at least if he has one it isn't here. "She's convinced if I start smoking weed I'll be hooked on heroin in a week."
Since Jack's bare shoulder against Zephyr's tells him that he's been smoking weed since he was fifteen, that just gets a snicker. "Won't. Moms got no room here anyway."
"S'right," Jack says, trying to imitate Zephyr's drawl and failing completely. "No sisters neither."
"No sisters neither," Zephyr agrees. "Sisters're nice but they get in the way sometimes."
"Not Charlotte," Jack says, and his skin says he's trying to be fair, because he really rather worships Charlotte and really she's rather worthy to be worshipped, "but Andy, yeah, all the time."
Zephyr waves a hand, makes the smoke wind lazily into coils like a heat-drunk snake. "Sisters," he says, and nudges Jack's shoulder. "My ring stole you."
"What?" Jack sits up when Zephyr points with a foot, and says, "Oh. That's yours? It just showed up one day."
"Like I said," Zephyr says, "my ring stole you," and won't explain any more no matter how Jack pesters him. Jack doesn't steal things—well, not besides kisses and smiles and blowjobs and hearts—and that ring is a thief's ring, heavy silver, with grabby fingers in the work. A thief's ring, a wanting ring, no wonder it stole Jack.
He'll have to go back soon. Whatever this is only lasts so long and he's kinda okay with that, because Jack wouldn't last in his world and he doesn't think he'll last in Jack's. But it's nice to have these visits, to kiss and fuck and touch and smoke and talk lazy in the afternoon sunlight, skin to skin.
The ring knows where it wants to be. He'll leave it when he goes.
no subject
ITTY BITTEH KITTEH NAP TAKIN COMITTEH!
And your fabric. Just. That's not how I think of it at all, but it's making me think of evoking /differently/ and oh gosh. I already overfloweth with the feels but now there are even more.
Thank you so much.
no subject
no subject
I'm going to be over here mourning the loss of my ability to can.
no subject
*sends flowers in consolation for your loss of can*