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rainbowfic2013-06-13 02:45 am
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2013-06-13 02:45 am
Xanadu 6, Cotton Candy 20: Stories
Author: Kat
Title: Stories
Story: In the Heart -- Spartacus AU
Colors: Xanadu 6 (Arcadia), cotton candy 20 (Bedtime) with blossom's paint-by-numbers (Ivy tells her kids a bedtime story)
Supplies and Materials: Frame, eraser (Spartacus AU), novelty beads (“The life of the dead is set in the memory of the living.”-―Marcus Tullius Cicero, Philippics),
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG
Summary: Ivy's daughters want a story.
Warnings: mention of slavery and everything that goes with it; nothing graphic.
Notes: Two of the three girls were alive during the rebellion, but they were too young to remember. Just FYI.
The children were restless, whispering to each other in the night, and Ivy was the one to get up. Gina walked to market and back that morning; she was so exhausted she did not even hear them talking. Ivy laid the blanket over her lover's shoulders, tucked it carefully in to keep Gina from getting cold in her absence, and padded into the room their daughters shared.
The whispering died guiltily as soon as Ivy pushed the curtain aside, and she laughed a little. "I heard you already," she said, into the darkness. "I know you're awake."
A heartbeat passed, two, then little Leah spoke softly. "We were only talking, Mother."
"Yes, I know." She moved by memory to sit on Leah's bed. "You should all be asleep, my darlings. We've got lots of work tomorrow."
And they did—it was planting season. She and Robbie, who snored audibly in his room nearby, would work out in the fields, while Gina and the girls cared for their livestock and the house, then after lunch they would switch, and all of them needed their rest.
"I know, but..." Still Leah, her sweet voice so much like her mother's. "I can't sleep, Mother."
"Me either." That bright chirp was Betha, and the whisper-soft echo after was Caty. "So dark," Caty added plaintively. "No moon."
"I was trying to tell them a story," Leah said. "It wasn't very good."
A story?
Ivy cursed, silently. A story, of course. Gina usually told them one, spinning tales of the gods or ancient heroes, but tonight she'd been too tired, and had gone straight to bed after dinner. And Ivy had forgotten it entirely, splendid mother that she was. "I'm sorry," she said, "I forgot Mama didn't tell you one tonight."
"Will you tell us one?" Betha asked, piping and pretty.
Ivy blinked, startled. "I don’t... I don't really know any stories."
"Oh, please, Mother," Betha said, and Leah and Caty took up the plea, and Ivy ended by agreeing before their combined voices could wake Gina. The girls settled into an expectant silence, and Ivy...
Ivy floundered.
What could she say? She'd had a good childhood but she had been enslaved at sixteen, and she hadn't met Gina until she was eighteen—she did not like to think about the years between, but they were all she remembered sometimes, when the nights were dark and Gina had stolen all the blankets. Even the years she spent with Gina could be poisonous, if she touched them wrong.
Pain, death, abuse, fear. What stories could she tell?
Then it came to her, and she smiled.
"All right," she said, softly, into the dark. "This is a story, a true story, a real story. It happened not so very long ago, to your mama and I, your aunts and uncles, and your grandparents." She took a deep breath, let the memories wash over her, pride, and strength, and freedom.
"Let me tell you about the man called Spartacus."
Title: Stories
Story: In the Heart -- Spartacus AU
Colors: Xanadu 6 (Arcadia), cotton candy 20 (Bedtime) with blossom's paint-by-numbers (Ivy tells her kids a bedtime story)
Supplies and Materials: Frame, eraser (Spartacus AU), novelty beads (“The life of the dead is set in the memory of the living.”-―Marcus Tullius Cicero, Philippics),
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG
Summary: Ivy's daughters want a story.
Warnings: mention of slavery and everything that goes with it; nothing graphic.
Notes: Two of the three girls were alive during the rebellion, but they were too young to remember. Just FYI.
The children were restless, whispering to each other in the night, and Ivy was the one to get up. Gina walked to market and back that morning; she was so exhausted she did not even hear them talking. Ivy laid the blanket over her lover's shoulders, tucked it carefully in to keep Gina from getting cold in her absence, and padded into the room their daughters shared.
The whispering died guiltily as soon as Ivy pushed the curtain aside, and she laughed a little. "I heard you already," she said, into the darkness. "I know you're awake."
A heartbeat passed, two, then little Leah spoke softly. "We were only talking, Mother."
"Yes, I know." She moved by memory to sit on Leah's bed. "You should all be asleep, my darlings. We've got lots of work tomorrow."
And they did—it was planting season. She and Robbie, who snored audibly in his room nearby, would work out in the fields, while Gina and the girls cared for their livestock and the house, then after lunch they would switch, and all of them needed their rest.
"I know, but..." Still Leah, her sweet voice so much like her mother's. "I can't sleep, Mother."
"Me either." That bright chirp was Betha, and the whisper-soft echo after was Caty. "So dark," Caty added plaintively. "No moon."
"I was trying to tell them a story," Leah said. "It wasn't very good."
A story?
Ivy cursed, silently. A story, of course. Gina usually told them one, spinning tales of the gods or ancient heroes, but tonight she'd been too tired, and had gone straight to bed after dinner. And Ivy had forgotten it entirely, splendid mother that she was. "I'm sorry," she said, "I forgot Mama didn't tell you one tonight."
"Will you tell us one?" Betha asked, piping and pretty.
Ivy blinked, startled. "I don’t... I don't really know any stories."
"Oh, please, Mother," Betha said, and Leah and Caty took up the plea, and Ivy ended by agreeing before their combined voices could wake Gina. The girls settled into an expectant silence, and Ivy...
Ivy floundered.
What could she say? She'd had a good childhood but she had been enslaved at sixteen, and she hadn't met Gina until she was eighteen—she did not like to think about the years between, but they were all she remembered sometimes, when the nights were dark and Gina had stolen all the blankets. Even the years she spent with Gina could be poisonous, if she touched them wrong.
Pain, death, abuse, fear. What stories could she tell?
Then it came to her, and she smiled.
"All right," she said, softly, into the dark. "This is a story, a true story, a real story. It happened not so very long ago, to your mama and I, your aunts and uncles, and your grandparents." She took a deep breath, let the memories wash over her, pride, and strength, and freedom.
"Let me tell you about the man called Spartacus."
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And that wondering segue at the end into the story.
HAPPYSNORFS EVERYWHERE.
I'll clean up, I promise. n
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