amaranthh (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greenling) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2014-04-06 11:52 pm
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2014-04-06 11:52 pm
Entry tags:
Iceberg #5
Name: Greenling
Story: Asking for Roses
Colors: Iceberg #5 (holidays)
Supplies and Styles: None
Word Count: 527
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Jaymie returns home after Plough, getting his half done.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Jaymie eventually pried himself out of the shadows he'd dived for and parted ways with the other guy. Once he had his wits about him, staying in an area he'd influenced sounded like a terrible idea anyhow. That was one of the first rules etched into his head after he'd come back: magic- or whatever else you could call it- attracted Them. If, he heard overlaid in a couple of different voices, you ever see one, find a populated area, try to act normal, don't use obvious magic. Attach yourself to reality by whatever means necessary; so, bereft of other ideas that didn't involve potentially bringing it home with him, he bought a drink he didn't want and did some people-watching.
In truth, he had no idea what to do about an actual creature. Hell, he barely knew the basic mechanics of it. During the past six months, he'd been focused on getting his head straight, not learning how to be a more effective mutated otherworld-refugee trauma patient or whatever, and frankly the progress he'd made felt pretty heroic given the circumstances.
At least, that was the way he thought of it, sitting there chewing on a tapioca nugget from his tea and scanning the crowd for anything strange.
It took nearly an hour for him to feel safe to drive. He stood up from the cafe table, took his things, and turned hos mind to the problem at hand. The number of the woman he'd met, the one he'd met again at the art show the other night, should have still been in his phone. Celeste Whitaker. He played with his phone as he went to the car, hoping she would meet with him or tell him something he could do.
She didn't answer. He tried again when he pulled up into his parents' driveway- behind a strange car he gave a deeply sour look. Voicemail picked up with an intermittent static hiss.
"Ms. Whitaker?" Jaymie said formally, not sure how this was supposed to go. "This is Jaymie Elderton, I needed to-"
A blast of sharp static made him drop the phone. Swearing under his breath, he fumbled around for it and succeeded in knocking it under the driver's seat.
This was really not what he needed right now.
Inside was about he expected: his mother was dragging Wendy around sticking up post-it notes as decoration placeholders, and his father was talking with people who were probably caterers. Keeping his body between his parents and the shopping bag, he slipped in and tried to quietly slip past them and towards the stairs.
Predictably for the way his day had been going, he was caught out before he made it past the living room.
"Jaymie! I'd like your opinion on something." He cringed behind his glasses at his mother's voice. "We're going shopping this afternoon and we need to finalize a color theme."
"Uh, let me put my sweater up..." Jaymie gripped his shopping bag and grimaced.
"All right, but don't be long. We're on a schedule if we don't want to get caught in traffic."
This was why he hated Christmas: no time to relax.
Story: Asking for Roses
Colors: Iceberg #5 (holidays)
Supplies and Styles: None
Word Count: 527
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Jaymie returns home after Plough, getting his half done.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Jaymie eventually pried himself out of the shadows he'd dived for and parted ways with the other guy. Once he had his wits about him, staying in an area he'd influenced sounded like a terrible idea anyhow. That was one of the first rules etched into his head after he'd come back: magic- or whatever else you could call it- attracted Them. If, he heard overlaid in a couple of different voices, you ever see one, find a populated area, try to act normal, don't use obvious magic. Attach yourself to reality by whatever means necessary; so, bereft of other ideas that didn't involve potentially bringing it home with him, he bought a drink he didn't want and did some people-watching.
In truth, he had no idea what to do about an actual creature. Hell, he barely knew the basic mechanics of it. During the past six months, he'd been focused on getting his head straight, not learning how to be a more effective mutated otherworld-refugee trauma patient or whatever, and frankly the progress he'd made felt pretty heroic given the circumstances.
At least, that was the way he thought of it, sitting there chewing on a tapioca nugget from his tea and scanning the crowd for anything strange.
It took nearly an hour for him to feel safe to drive. He stood up from the cafe table, took his things, and turned hos mind to the problem at hand. The number of the woman he'd met, the one he'd met again at the art show the other night, should have still been in his phone. Celeste Whitaker. He played with his phone as he went to the car, hoping she would meet with him or tell him something he could do.
She didn't answer. He tried again when he pulled up into his parents' driveway- behind a strange car he gave a deeply sour look. Voicemail picked up with an intermittent static hiss.
"Ms. Whitaker?" Jaymie said formally, not sure how this was supposed to go. "This is Jaymie Elderton, I needed to-"
A blast of sharp static made him drop the phone. Swearing under his breath, he fumbled around for it and succeeded in knocking it under the driver's seat.
This was really not what he needed right now.
Inside was about he expected: his mother was dragging Wendy around sticking up post-it notes as decoration placeholders, and his father was talking with people who were probably caterers. Keeping his body between his parents and the shopping bag, he slipped in and tried to quietly slip past them and towards the stairs.
Predictably for the way his day had been going, he was caught out before he made it past the living room.
"Jaymie! I'd like your opinion on something." He cringed behind his glasses at his mother's voice. "We're going shopping this afternoon and we need to finalize a color theme."
"Uh, let me put my sweater up..." Jaymie gripped his shopping bag and grimaced.
"All right, but don't be long. We're on a schedule if we don't want to get caught in traffic."
This was why he hated Christmas: no time to relax.
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Thanks for reading!
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Thanks for reading.