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rainbowfic2013-10-08 07:02 pm
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2013-10-08 07:02 pm
Entry tags:
Iceberg #2
Name: Greenling
Story: Asking for Roses
Colors: Iceberg #2 (Ice)
Supplies and Styles: None.
Word Count: 1,319
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Summary: A domestic scene; Jaymie, under some duress, decides to go to a party. Another transition between the intros and Equinox; the next one is the last and actually explains more of what the heck's going on with him.
According to Evernote I've been working on this since August 13th. Sounds about right.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Sugar, vanilla, barbecue sauce, and boiling vegetables competed with each other for control of the kitchen air; the edges where they mixed were largely avoided. Dinner simmered, just waiting for dessert to be ready for the oven. Jaymie had been stuck with making the icing, which, truthfully, would have been done by now if he gave a shit, but Wendy had just gotten the cake ready for the oven. His parents were sitting at the dining room table just outside, and a TV was barely audible from the living room.
"You know, if we wanted barbecue chicken we didn't have to go to all this trouble." His father had done most of the non-cake-related cooking and was taking a rest; he had a trickle of barbecue sauce down the side of his shirt that Jaymie's eyes kept going back to. He thought maybe he should say something about it, but he hadn't.
"We haven't eaten in in three days, Steve," his mother responded, lounging with one arm over the back of her chair. "We can spend one evening at home."
"Hey, we have family over. It's time to- uh, hey, there are hothands to your right?" Wendy looked at him and just shrugged, moving pots around.
"Well-" he continued awkwardly- "are the potatoes done, then?"
"I think so. They seem potato-textured."
"Good," Jaymie's father half-grunted, standing up again. "Dear, would you like me to get your plate?"
"I'll do it." Jaymie grabbed a plate to set over the icing bowl. "You've both had a long day."
A few days in his parents' house had made Jaymie restless. Twenty years ago when they'd first moved in, the kitchen had looked small and a little cramped compared to their old place, and now it just looked familiar and old. Black and white tile floors, black countertops, a blocky island covered in paper crap, bills, coupons, menus, and tonight, the dregs of red velvet cake batter; a phone still hung on the wall next to the fridge, though there was no line connected to it anymore. Most of the decor in the common parts of the house- the living room, the halls, the porch- was the same off-white not-quite-sand color as it always had been, speckled with whatever pillows, pictures, and knick-knacks his mother had picked up in the past few months. The couch in the living room was the same shade as the walls, though the TV had changed out a few times over the years.
Their place in Portland had come pink and white like a Barbie Dreamhouse, stuffed full of faux-baroque furniture he'd never use. He wasn't sure why he was thinking of that- why, when he was feeling so low and awkward, his thoughts turned to interior decoration.
"Is there anything you'd like to do this weekend, kiddo?" his father continued. "Got any plans to see friends before Christmas proper rolls around?"
Wendy shrugged again, sitting down with her plate beside her grandmother. She hadn't changed out of her pajama pants all day, and her hair was slowly coming out of its high ponytail. "No. Everyone's got plans." She looked up with a little smile, swirling barbecue sauce into her potatoes. "Do you think we could go to a bookstore? I've read most of what I brought with me."
"Couldn't fit any more in the suitcase?" He smiled back. "How do you feel about the library? I was going to trade in some things myself- thank you, Jaymie."
Jaymie nodded, sitting two plates down and turning back for his own.
"Sure," Wendy replied. "Books are books."
"Drinks?" asked Jaymie to the table.
"There are Italian sodas in the back of the fridge," his mother replied. "You know, I don't remember where they came from. Speaking of friends, Jaymie, have you tried talking to any of yours?"
Jaymie winced, thankful his head was in the fridge so she couldn't see it, especially after she made him take off his glasses. He grabbed "I... can't think of anyone I'd want to talk to. Soda for everybody?"
"Water for me," said his father between bites of chicken, possibly trying to defuse the conversation. Wendy made a happy-sounding noise that he interpreted as "yes, please".
"You can't think of anyone?" his mother continued. "Jaymie, I'm not saying you have to be the social event of the season, but you still have friends here. What about that girl you used to work with, Crystal?"
"She moved to France, Mom."
"Really?" She blinked. "Well, all right. What about Aurelia? Last I knew she was your best friend."
"Aura got swamped by grad school years ago and that was the last I've heard of her." He tried to keep the sighs out of his voice. "Mom, I appreciate the thought, but I really don't want to run around and... try to reconnect. I'll be social enough at your party."
She arched one eyebrow at him. He tried not to look at her, choosing that moment to turn on the icemaker and grab some napkins.
"Ahh, Jaymie," his father quickly began, "well- speaking of parties, there's a new exhibit at..." he waved his fork vaguely, "somewhere. Anyway, somebody Tweeted me that Saturday evening there's some modern art thing going on. It sounded like your sort of thing, or it used to be? Maybe get some inspiration, if you're, uh, still doing that?"
Jaymie paused in the middle of his routine. He recognized the tone of his father's voice: the tone of trying to sound casual and failing. It brought up bad old memories, and a feeling like ice in his chest that gripped him so tightly that for a moment, it was hard to breathe. The questions they were asking around- worse, how nice his father was being about it-
He swallowed hard, forcing the ice back down so he could look his father in the eye. "That could be interesting." His smile was weak, but it was there. "I'll take a look at it later."
"Great. And thanks for helping with dinner."
His mother didn't seem entirely convinced, but she didn't say anything; Wendy wasn't looking at him. He felt his cheeks getting hot as he passed over the drink glasses and went back for his plate.
The room was silent for a moment. He could hear the TV in the other room over the sounds of clinking silverware and shovelling his share of potatoes, gravy, and barbecue sauce onto his asparagus.
He paused with his plate and glass in his hand. "So, actually, do you think we could watch a movie or something?"
The wide-eyed look his father gave him made his smile a lot brighter. "Are you offering what I think you're offering?"
"Yes, I'm offering to let you be a giant nerd if that means we don't have to sit in silence."
"Anne?" His father gave his mother a look, and she shrugged, giving him a look in return that Jaymie couldn't quite read. "Well then, to the living room we go."
"What's wrong with being a nerd?" Wendy said, not quite under her breath as she slid her chair back.
"Absolutely nothing," interjected his father before Jaymie could quite answer. "In fact, how do you feel about science fiction?"
"Good science fiction, or Battlefield Earth science fiction?" She grinned.
Jaymie's attention wavered from their conversation as they made their way into the living room; the news was on, talking about something he also didn't quite catch, his eyes fixated on the photo they were showing. It was a woman, black as in obsidian, broad like stone and round-faced. Her hair ran down her head in thick, bright red braids like rivers of lava. It was only on for a second before someone turned on the DVD player.
"I think we can meet somewhere in the middle."
"So long as it's not something gory." Jaymie shook his head and took a seat.
Story: Asking for Roses
Colors: Iceberg #2 (Ice)
Supplies and Styles: None.
Word Count: 1,319
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Summary: A domestic scene; Jaymie, under some duress, decides to go to a party. Another transition between the intros and Equinox; the next one is the last and actually explains more of what the heck's going on with him.
According to Evernote I've been working on this since August 13th. Sounds about right.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Sugar, vanilla, barbecue sauce, and boiling vegetables competed with each other for control of the kitchen air; the edges where they mixed were largely avoided. Dinner simmered, just waiting for dessert to be ready for the oven. Jaymie had been stuck with making the icing, which, truthfully, would have been done by now if he gave a shit, but Wendy had just gotten the cake ready for the oven. His parents were sitting at the dining room table just outside, and a TV was barely audible from the living room.
"You know, if we wanted barbecue chicken we didn't have to go to all this trouble." His father had done most of the non-cake-related cooking and was taking a rest; he had a trickle of barbecue sauce down the side of his shirt that Jaymie's eyes kept going back to. He thought maybe he should say something about it, but he hadn't.
"We haven't eaten in in three days, Steve," his mother responded, lounging with one arm over the back of her chair. "We can spend one evening at home."
"Hey, we have family over. It's time to- uh, hey, there are hothands to your right?" Wendy looked at him and just shrugged, moving pots around.
"Well-" he continued awkwardly- "are the potatoes done, then?"
"I think so. They seem potato-textured."
"Good," Jaymie's father half-grunted, standing up again. "Dear, would you like me to get your plate?"
"I'll do it." Jaymie grabbed a plate to set over the icing bowl. "You've both had a long day."
A few days in his parents' house had made Jaymie restless. Twenty years ago when they'd first moved in, the kitchen had looked small and a little cramped compared to their old place, and now it just looked familiar and old. Black and white tile floors, black countertops, a blocky island covered in paper crap, bills, coupons, menus, and tonight, the dregs of red velvet cake batter; a phone still hung on the wall next to the fridge, though there was no line connected to it anymore. Most of the decor in the common parts of the house- the living room, the halls, the porch- was the same off-white not-quite-sand color as it always had been, speckled with whatever pillows, pictures, and knick-knacks his mother had picked up in the past few months. The couch in the living room was the same shade as the walls, though the TV had changed out a few times over the years.
Their place in Portland had come pink and white like a Barbie Dreamhouse, stuffed full of faux-baroque furniture he'd never use. He wasn't sure why he was thinking of that- why, when he was feeling so low and awkward, his thoughts turned to interior decoration.
"Is there anything you'd like to do this weekend, kiddo?" his father continued. "Got any plans to see friends before Christmas proper rolls around?"
Wendy shrugged again, sitting down with her plate beside her grandmother. She hadn't changed out of her pajama pants all day, and her hair was slowly coming out of its high ponytail. "No. Everyone's got plans." She looked up with a little smile, swirling barbecue sauce into her potatoes. "Do you think we could go to a bookstore? I've read most of what I brought with me."
"Couldn't fit any more in the suitcase?" He smiled back. "How do you feel about the library? I was going to trade in some things myself- thank you, Jaymie."
Jaymie nodded, sitting two plates down and turning back for his own.
"Sure," Wendy replied. "Books are books."
"Drinks?" asked Jaymie to the table.
"There are Italian sodas in the back of the fridge," his mother replied. "You know, I don't remember where they came from. Speaking of friends, Jaymie, have you tried talking to any of yours?"
Jaymie winced, thankful his head was in the fridge so she couldn't see it, especially after she made him take off his glasses. He grabbed "I... can't think of anyone I'd want to talk to. Soda for everybody?"
"Water for me," said his father between bites of chicken, possibly trying to defuse the conversation. Wendy made a happy-sounding noise that he interpreted as "yes, please".
"You can't think of anyone?" his mother continued. "Jaymie, I'm not saying you have to be the social event of the season, but you still have friends here. What about that girl you used to work with, Crystal?"
"She moved to France, Mom."
"Really?" She blinked. "Well, all right. What about Aurelia? Last I knew she was your best friend."
"Aura got swamped by grad school years ago and that was the last I've heard of her." He tried to keep the sighs out of his voice. "Mom, I appreciate the thought, but I really don't want to run around and... try to reconnect. I'll be social enough at your party."
She arched one eyebrow at him. He tried not to look at her, choosing that moment to turn on the icemaker and grab some napkins.
"Ahh, Jaymie," his father quickly began, "well- speaking of parties, there's a new exhibit at..." he waved his fork vaguely, "somewhere. Anyway, somebody Tweeted me that Saturday evening there's some modern art thing going on. It sounded like your sort of thing, or it used to be? Maybe get some inspiration, if you're, uh, still doing that?"
Jaymie paused in the middle of his routine. He recognized the tone of his father's voice: the tone of trying to sound casual and failing. It brought up bad old memories, and a feeling like ice in his chest that gripped him so tightly that for a moment, it was hard to breathe. The questions they were asking around- worse, how nice his father was being about it-
He swallowed hard, forcing the ice back down so he could look his father in the eye. "That could be interesting." His smile was weak, but it was there. "I'll take a look at it later."
"Great. And thanks for helping with dinner."
His mother didn't seem entirely convinced, but she didn't say anything; Wendy wasn't looking at him. He felt his cheeks getting hot as he passed over the drink glasses and went back for his plate.
The room was silent for a moment. He could hear the TV in the other room over the sounds of clinking silverware and shovelling his share of potatoes, gravy, and barbecue sauce onto his asparagus.
He paused with his plate and glass in his hand. "So, actually, do you think we could watch a movie or something?"
The wide-eyed look his father gave him made his smile a lot brighter. "Are you offering what I think you're offering?"
"Yes, I'm offering to let you be a giant nerd if that means we don't have to sit in silence."
"Anne?" His father gave his mother a look, and she shrugged, giving him a look in return that Jaymie couldn't quite read. "Well then, to the living room we go."
"What's wrong with being a nerd?" Wendy said, not quite under her breath as she slid her chair back.
"Absolutely nothing," interjected his father before Jaymie could quite answer. "In fact, how do you feel about science fiction?"
"Good science fiction, or Battlefield Earth science fiction?" She grinned.
Jaymie's attention wavered from their conversation as they made their way into the living room; the news was on, talking about something he also didn't quite catch, his eyes fixated on the photo they were showing. It was a woman, black as in obsidian, broad like stone and round-faced. Her hair ran down her head in thick, bright red braids like rivers of lava. It was only on for a second before someone turned on the DVD player.
"I think we can meet somewhere in the middle."
"So long as it's not something gory." Jaymie shook his head and took a seat.
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