i hate this so I hate this so
Nov. 14th, 2009 11:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kolFandom: Kingdom
Characters: Mara, Deon
Prompt: 31_days 14. we are like blue flowers trying to live
Long rambling note of authorial intent:
I hate this piece. It got the writing juices going once more, but the more I look at it, the more I want to stab it and rip it into shreds. The ending completely ruins the piece, and I can't fathom how to salvage any of it, so I'm shoving it into the bog of frustration that is my draft folder and posting this only because at least I *did* something.
nothing is the color of her soul
The weight of the coarse, scratchy blanket across her shoulders pulled Mara from the warm haze she’d collapsed into. “Not forfeiting,” She slurred, raising her head just enough to focus her bleary eyes on Deon, “Got more rounds in me, jerkface. Just pour me another round.”
“You spilled half the bottle pouring out the last round,” Censure was etched deep on Deon’s face, twisting his sneer into something on another person Mara might label as concern. Probably was concern, just for the bottle, Mara thought darkly, looking around for her glass. If he wasn’t going to do the honors, she’d just have to force her hand to steady long enough to do it herself.
“Why the hell was I pouring, anyway? Gentleman’s suppose to serve.”
Disbelief shifted to the front of Deon’s warm eyes, shock tugging his lips open. “Did you just call me a gentleman?”
Mara snorted, hands rummaging through the bottles and fast foot wrappers on the coffee table. But the glass was gone, and none of the bottles had anything left in them. She sat back on her heels, glaring up at the only foe she could see clearly. “You didn’t pour, did you?”
Something was gleaming in his hands. The glass? She dove forward, hands reaching for the shiny. Deon tripped back, raising the glass above his shoulders, making an odd noise as her fingers brushed the fabric of his shorts. From her sprawl she glared up at him, blowing her bangs from her face.
“When did you stop being fun?”
Deon was unmoved by her sour face, wagging the glass above his head. “I’m not dragging your ass to the hospital.”
Mara rolled to her side, groaning as the alcohol in her gut sloshed around. “Not gonna get alcohol poisoning, moron. All those shot wars built the tolerance up.”
“Maybe.” Deon allowed, not lowering the glass. “But you were drunk before I stopped by.”
But Mara was too busy staring at her arm to respond. Why was it wet? Mara brought it to her nose and gave a tentative sniff. Oh. She closed her eyes, swimming in the vague memory of the lost booze. She shifted, realizing her shirt was wet as well. So drenched, it seemed the garment caught most of the lost liquid.
She rolled over to furl her brow accusingly at his towering figure. “If you knew I’d been drinking, why’d you join in?”
He didn’t respond, not verbally anyway. His body stiffened as he marched to the door. Mara’s right hand started to reach towards his retreating figure, but she pulled it just as he stopped at the entryway. “That was your last call, Mara,” He tossed over his shoulder. “You’re out of booze, anyway.”
“You don’t know where all my stashes are.” Mara managed to boast before his words hit her. Last call? Did that mean-? Her eyes searched for the digital clock next to the couch, sighing in relief as the numbers flashed 1:34AM. “Anniversary’s over anyway. No sense drinking now.”
She closed her eyes, marveling at how comfortable the carpet was. Sure it was stained with daemon slime and had seen better decades, but it was warm and surprisingly forgiving. “Five years today,” She breathed, wriggling onto her back to better sink into the carpet.
“Well, five years and a day.” She amended in his silence, cracking open an eye and confirming he’d bolted. She thought she’d heard his footsteps sounding after she’d mentioned her stashes. Not that she was surprised he’d taken off. If she’d stumbled across a morose drunk babbling after midnight, she’d do the same. She just wished he’d left the damned shot glass with him.
Mara groaned, pushing her sweat-drenched hair back from her face. “Can’t believe its been five years already. Feels like a lifetime ago… maybe it was. Should be a big deal, five since since Guy died, but this year, I didn’t even remember. Too busy worrying about the daemon flood, I guess. Took me an hour to realize why Lynn was dancing around like I was going to crack.”
Her voice lowered, barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t crack. It doesn’t hurt, not like it should. I use to see his face whenever I closed my eyes. But now…“
She rolled over, hiding her face in the carpet. “But now I see nothing.”
Characters: Mara, Deon
Prompt: 31_days 14. we are like blue flowers trying to live
Long rambling note of authorial intent:
I hate this piece. It got the writing juices going once more, but the more I look at it, the more I want to stab it and rip it into shreds. The ending completely ruins the piece, and I can't fathom how to salvage any of it, so I'm shoving it into the bog of frustration that is my draft folder and posting this only because at least I *did* something.
The weight of the coarse, scratchy blanket across her shoulders pulled Mara from the warm haze she’d collapsed into. “Not forfeiting,” She slurred, raising her head just enough to focus her bleary eyes on Deon, “Got more rounds in me, jerkface. Just pour me another round.”
“You spilled half the bottle pouring out the last round,” Censure was etched deep on Deon’s face, twisting his sneer into something on another person Mara might label as concern. Probably was concern, just for the bottle, Mara thought darkly, looking around for her glass. If he wasn’t going to do the honors, she’d just have to force her hand to steady long enough to do it herself.
“Why the hell was I pouring, anyway? Gentleman’s suppose to serve.”
Disbelief shifted to the front of Deon’s warm eyes, shock tugging his lips open. “Did you just call me a gentleman?”
Mara snorted, hands rummaging through the bottles and fast foot wrappers on the coffee table. But the glass was gone, and none of the bottles had anything left in them. She sat back on her heels, glaring up at the only foe she could see clearly. “You didn’t pour, did you?”
Something was gleaming in his hands. The glass? She dove forward, hands reaching for the shiny. Deon tripped back, raising the glass above his shoulders, making an odd noise as her fingers brushed the fabric of his shorts. From her sprawl she glared up at him, blowing her bangs from her face.
“When did you stop being fun?”
Deon was unmoved by her sour face, wagging the glass above his head. “I’m not dragging your ass to the hospital.”
Mara rolled to her side, groaning as the alcohol in her gut sloshed around. “Not gonna get alcohol poisoning, moron. All those shot wars built the tolerance up.”
“Maybe.” Deon allowed, not lowering the glass. “But you were drunk before I stopped by.”
But Mara was too busy staring at her arm to respond. Why was it wet? Mara brought it to her nose and gave a tentative sniff. Oh. She closed her eyes, swimming in the vague memory of the lost booze. She shifted, realizing her shirt was wet as well. So drenched, it seemed the garment caught most of the lost liquid.
She rolled over to furl her brow accusingly at his towering figure. “If you knew I’d been drinking, why’d you join in?”
He didn’t respond, not verbally anyway. His body stiffened as he marched to the door. Mara’s right hand started to reach towards his retreating figure, but she pulled it just as he stopped at the entryway. “That was your last call, Mara,” He tossed over his shoulder. “You’re out of booze, anyway.”
“You don’t know where all my stashes are.” Mara managed to boast before his words hit her. Last call? Did that mean-? Her eyes searched for the digital clock next to the couch, sighing in relief as the numbers flashed 1:34AM. “Anniversary’s over anyway. No sense drinking now.”
She closed her eyes, marveling at how comfortable the carpet was. Sure it was stained with daemon slime and had seen better decades, but it was warm and surprisingly forgiving. “Five years today,” She breathed, wriggling onto her back to better sink into the carpet.
“Well, five years and a day.” She amended in his silence, cracking open an eye and confirming he’d bolted. She thought she’d heard his footsteps sounding after she’d mentioned her stashes. Not that she was surprised he’d taken off. If she’d stumbled across a morose drunk babbling after midnight, she’d do the same. She just wished he’d left the damned shot glass with him.
Mara groaned, pushing her sweat-drenched hair back from her face. “Can’t believe its been five years already. Feels like a lifetime ago… maybe it was. Should be a big deal, five since since Guy died, but this year, I didn’t even remember. Too busy worrying about the daemon flood, I guess. Took me an hour to realize why Lynn was dancing around like I was going to crack.”
Her voice lowered, barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t crack. It doesn’t hurt, not like it should. I use to see his face whenever I closed my eyes. But now…“
She rolled over, hiding her face in the carpet. “But now I see nothing.”
