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perfectworrytitle: Heartlines
verse: rainy city
community:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
writerverse
prompt: Phase #06: Challenge #03: Table of Doom: Person: 3rd
word count: 685
rating: G
summary: Kristopher always asks the hard questions.
notes: sharing a couple of stories on the theme of 'ohana, just because.
"Mariel, what's…"
Mariel looked up and lit a cigarette as soon as Kristopher said her name. He looked up from his book with that hopeful expression on his face. "Mariel, why is the sky always grey here?" he asked, and then "Mariel, why are everyone's eyes always grey here?" he asked, and then, "Mariel, why did my eyes turn grey?"
Understanding the metaphysics of the multiverse was one thing, and it was something Mariel had down to a science, or an art. Explaining them to a six-(and a half)-year-old boy was another thing entirely, and Mariel felt the schema crumble and fall like a house of cards blown over by a curious glance. The kitchen table was littered with the debris: shoddy, simplified diagrams and careful writing in backwards-slanting letters, on top of the usual detritus of Mariel's research.
"Mariel, were your eyes always grey?"
"Yes."
"That's nice. They're pretty. I think they would be pretty in any color, but I think they're pretty grey like mine. Mariel, are we family?"
Mariel froze. She took a drag on her cigarette, wishing she hadn't lit it yet, and playing with her lighter anyway. She flicked the flame on and off. Kristopher sat in his pile of cushions and blankets on the kitchen floor with a book in his lap and a stuffed animal she bartered for in the train station markets cuddled in the crook of one arm.
He looked up at her expectantly, all big grey sky eyes. He cocked his head to the side, waiting, but not impatient.
Still, Mariel bit her lip and took another long drag on her cigarette. She couldn't avoid Kristopher's question forever, turn back to her own book and pretend she never heard. Since Kristopher showed up on her doorstep with his poltergeist brother, he had peppered her with questions during every waking moment once he warmed up to her. He wanted to know why the trains stopped running in and out of the city, how long Mariel had lived alone in her house, why the city faded off into nothingness around the edges.
Mariel spoke more often in the months that Kristopher lived with her than she had in the years leading up to his arrival. A widow of sorts, she lived alone, except for the occasional boarder. They left after not too long and Mariel never bothered to get to know them very well and they mostly left her alone.
The thing about living with a child, or children when she included the poltergeist who came with Kristopher, was that she couldn't get go all radio silence. The last person Mariel had lived with for more than a few weeks knew her and her silences, and the sign language she had invented over time for the moments - or the months - when the words stuck in her throat and nearly choked her.
That person was long gone from her life and Mariel had started to doubt that she would ever see him again, and so when the choking feeling started, she stood and poured a glass of water from the tap. She drank it down in one long gulp, then turned to Kristopher.
Crouching down in front of him, she looked him in the eye and said, "We're family if you want to be, Kristopher."
Kristopher smiled, bright as sunshine. He put down the stuffed doll and tentatively snaked her arms around her neck. She hugged him back; at first, she only patted his back, barely touching him, but when he snuggled into her chest, she hugged him tightly.
His poltergeist brother made himself known then, and Mariel got a flash of feelings: the image of a child hiding in a cupboard, uncertain and afraid; a flood of relief like taking a deep breath after being underwater; and the warm, soft sense of love, all kitten fuzz but not without sharp little kitten claws.
Mariel shifted back to let Jude sneak in-between her and his brother and she smiled.
"I think we're family," said Kristopher. "Me and Jude and you are a little family."
*
title: L'essential (or, Lonely Lessons)
verse: rainy city
community:writerverse
prompt: Phase #06: Challenge #07: Weekly Quick Fic #02 ("figured it out")
word count: 278
rating: G
summary: Kristopher reminds Mariel about something important.
"Hey, Mariel. Did you know…?"
"Probably not," said Mariel, a smile quirking at the corners of her lips, "but I think you're going to tell me."
Kristopher posed his book with a card between the pages to mark his space. He left it where he had been sitting with Jude on the kitchen floor, while Mariel spread her own books and papers across the table. Looking up at her properly, he saw the dark circles around her eyes, her face pale in the thin sunlight that seeped in through the clouds. She rubbed her eyes, and Kristopher forgot what he wanted to tell her about his book, and threw his arms around her middle.
He hugged Mariel fiercely. Kristopher embraced her as tightly as he could, the way he would want to be held if his eyes were bloodshot like her's, and his shoulders drooped under the weight of a lot of work for less pay, and he had bitten all of his fingers until they bled.
He buried his face in her shoulder. Kristopher loved Mariel ferociously and desperately. He loved her too much for telling.
Jude crept closer, and Mariel shifted her arm to make space for him to slip between her and his brother. Disembodied, he cured up between them and radiated such love and concern that Mariel's breath hitched in her throat, embodying the physical response Jude's shimmering presence only hinted at.
When she let him go, Kristopher stood back and regarded her seriously. Jude hung in the air between them like a thought unspoken.
Her voice barely above a whisper, Mariel said, "I did know that, Kristopher, but thank you for reminding me."
verse: rainy city
community:
writerverse prompt: Phase #06: Challenge #03: Table of Doom: Person: 3rd
word count: 685
rating: G
summary: Kristopher always asks the hard questions.
notes: sharing a couple of stories on the theme of 'ohana, just because.
"Mariel, what's…"
Mariel looked up and lit a cigarette as soon as Kristopher said her name. He looked up from his book with that hopeful expression on his face. "Mariel, why is the sky always grey here?" he asked, and then "Mariel, why are everyone's eyes always grey here?" he asked, and then, "Mariel, why did my eyes turn grey?"
Understanding the metaphysics of the multiverse was one thing, and it was something Mariel had down to a science, or an art. Explaining them to a six-(and a half)-year-old boy was another thing entirely, and Mariel felt the schema crumble and fall like a house of cards blown over by a curious glance. The kitchen table was littered with the debris: shoddy, simplified diagrams and careful writing in backwards-slanting letters, on top of the usual detritus of Mariel's research.
"Mariel, were your eyes always grey?"
"Yes."
"That's nice. They're pretty. I think they would be pretty in any color, but I think they're pretty grey like mine. Mariel, are we family?"
Mariel froze. She took a drag on her cigarette, wishing she hadn't lit it yet, and playing with her lighter anyway. She flicked the flame on and off. Kristopher sat in his pile of cushions and blankets on the kitchen floor with a book in his lap and a stuffed animal she bartered for in the train station markets cuddled in the crook of one arm.
He looked up at her expectantly, all big grey sky eyes. He cocked his head to the side, waiting, but not impatient.
Still, Mariel bit her lip and took another long drag on her cigarette. She couldn't avoid Kristopher's question forever, turn back to her own book and pretend she never heard. Since Kristopher showed up on her doorstep with his poltergeist brother, he had peppered her with questions during every waking moment once he warmed up to her. He wanted to know why the trains stopped running in and out of the city, how long Mariel had lived alone in her house, why the city faded off into nothingness around the edges.
Mariel spoke more often in the months that Kristopher lived with her than she had in the years leading up to his arrival. A widow of sorts, she lived alone, except for the occasional boarder. They left after not too long and Mariel never bothered to get to know them very well and they mostly left her alone.
The thing about living with a child, or children when she included the poltergeist who came with Kristopher, was that she couldn't get go all radio silence. The last person Mariel had lived with for more than a few weeks knew her and her silences, and the sign language she had invented over time for the moments - or the months - when the words stuck in her throat and nearly choked her.
That person was long gone from her life and Mariel had started to doubt that she would ever see him again, and so when the choking feeling started, she stood and poured a glass of water from the tap. She drank it down in one long gulp, then turned to Kristopher.
Crouching down in front of him, she looked him in the eye and said, "We're family if you want to be, Kristopher."
Kristopher smiled, bright as sunshine. He put down the stuffed doll and tentatively snaked her arms around her neck. She hugged him back; at first, she only patted his back, barely touching him, but when he snuggled into her chest, she hugged him tightly.
His poltergeist brother made himself known then, and Mariel got a flash of feelings: the image of a child hiding in a cupboard, uncertain and afraid; a flood of relief like taking a deep breath after being underwater; and the warm, soft sense of love, all kitten fuzz but not without sharp little kitten claws.
Mariel shifted back to let Jude sneak in-between her and his brother and she smiled.
"I think we're family," said Kristopher. "Me and Jude and you are a little family."
*
title: L'essential (or, Lonely Lessons)
verse: rainy city
community:
writerverse prompt: Phase #06: Challenge #07: Weekly Quick Fic #02 ("figured it out")
word count: 278
rating: G
summary: Kristopher reminds Mariel about something important.
"Hey, Mariel. Did you know…?"
"Probably not," said Mariel, a smile quirking at the corners of her lips, "but I think you're going to tell me."
Kristopher posed his book with a card between the pages to mark his space. He left it where he had been sitting with Jude on the kitchen floor, while Mariel spread her own books and papers across the table. Looking up at her properly, he saw the dark circles around her eyes, her face pale in the thin sunlight that seeped in through the clouds. She rubbed her eyes, and Kristopher forgot what he wanted to tell her about his book, and threw his arms around her middle.
He hugged Mariel fiercely. Kristopher embraced her as tightly as he could, the way he would want to be held if his eyes were bloodshot like her's, and his shoulders drooped under the weight of a lot of work for less pay, and he had bitten all of his fingers until they bled.
He buried his face in her shoulder. Kristopher loved Mariel ferociously and desperately. He loved her too much for telling.
Jude crept closer, and Mariel shifted her arm to make space for him to slip between her and his brother. Disembodied, he cured up between them and radiated such love and concern that Mariel's breath hitched in her throat, embodying the physical response Jude's shimmering presence only hinted at.
When she let him go, Kristopher stood back and regarded her seriously. Jude hung in the air between them like a thought unspoken.
Her voice barely above a whisper, Mariel said, "I did know that, Kristopher, but thank you for reminding me."
