Coming in late...
Jan. 3rd, 2004 10:02 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
suaine.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionAmnesty challenge offerings. Late, but never too late...
The Difference Between Being in Love and Just Holding On
by Suaine
HE wouldn't have believed it three months ago. Had someone come up to him and said: "Hey, Kowalski, you are going to fall in love with Canada." that person might have ended up with a black eye. Or was that about him being gay? Ray shook his head, smiling. Didn't matter either way. He was in love, and not just with a Canadian but with Canada itself.
"It must be something in the water," he said to Fraser when he realized he didn't want to leave.
And Fraser just looked at him, so happy it hurt to watch, and shrugged. Apparently, the water here was different than anywhere in the world.
For one, they didn't have indoor plumbing. In the summer this meant getting water from the little stream not far off and bathing farther down where the stream turned into a river. Ray tried not to think what no-indoor-plumbing would mean come winter time.
And maybe it was just his imagination, but tap water in the States never tasted this good. Back when he considered a pizza without extra cheese healthy living, drinking water had the bitter taste of too much chlorine and traces of rust.
He liked the water here. It had character.
So he stumbled down to the stream, his eyes still firmly closed against the early morning light - this far north early morning was unbearably cheerful and bright - and brought the can for his morning coffee. Not even Fraser could out-do strong, chocolaty coffee in his affections. Well, maybe it was a tie.
He dipped the can in the clear water, no longer terribly concerned about germs and dirt. A little bit of dirt, he had learned in his time here, did the body good. Too much of a thing, even of hygiene, could have rather unsavory consequences. Or so he was told. He still refused to eat anything raw.
Down by the stream, Ray saw a bird. It was a large bird, one of those fish-eating kinds - he made a mental note to tell Fraser about it later - and the bird looked back at him. Such a small thing, but it was all the difference between Canada and the States, between being in love and just holding on. Nowhere in Chicago could a guy go out of his house and stare a bird in the face. Maybe if that guy lived close to a bird park, but that really wasn't the point here.
Ray came closer, carefully watching his steps so as not to startle the creature. The bird didn't mind him much and after a time, as Ray proved to be no one who wanted to eat it, the bird returned to its bath. With its beak it threw water on its feathers, ruffling and smoothing them in turn. For a while Ray watched, mesmerized, until he remembered that water was needed for coffee and he should hurry to get back, if Fraser hadn't already sent out a search party.
The search party, no other than Dief himself, came barreling down the slope and jumped headlong in the water, splashing the clear liquid right in Ray's face.
"What ya do that for? Now, see what you did, the bird's gone."
The bird had flown away at the first sign of trouble, bringing its newly sorted feathers to a safer place. Dief, however, was grinning from ear to ear, the way only wolves - or maybe only this special wolf - could do and Ray returned the smile.
"C'mon, let's see what Fraser is up to."
If wolves could moan, groan or roll their eyes, Dief did all of that. He splashed some more water on Ray and ran up to the cabin, leaving Ray laughing in his wake.
Ray went upstream and filled the can. The water was clear and untroubled, much like himself after all this time.
- - -
Her Own Personal Shakespeare
by Suaine
Francesca never had a mind for proper words and great themes. It was easier to count the days that she didn't fall asleep in English Lit, even though the teacher was quite the hottie (okay, so his hair was falling out and he had a gut, but he was funny and smart and all the things Frannie knew she could never be). Sometimes she thought she was just dumb, nothing wrong with that, but most of the time she figured it was just because she lacked the proper motivation.
Despite every heartbreak and all those wasted dreams, Benton Fraser was definitely a mount of inspiration. To impress him she started reading up on everything from Aristotle (that Roman guy, right? With the crown of honor thing?) to Zeus (some really powerful guy, threw around lightning bolts). She started writing poetry, at first because the love that wasn't consummated (and if Ray Kowalski, her good for nothing, fake brother had anything to say about it, never would be) needed an outlet and later because the structure and tight form of poetry gave her something of a hold when things started falling apart.
Of all these things, Shakespeare was the only one that appealed to her right away. Once she got through the archaic (one of those words she picked up around Fraser like other women pick up dirty socks) language his plays were funny and beautifully tragic. His sonnets were to the point but never quite easy to understand, like there was some hidden message between the words of love.
Frannie discovered Shakespeare and it was the best thing Benton Fraser ever did to her short of leaving for Canada with Ray.
* * *
"Get this lunatic out of my office. Now!"
Lt. Welsh was on the edge of a cliff, and if Frannie didn't help this poor insane man out of the Lieutenant's reach, it wouldn't be Welsh falling to his death. But Frannie was fearless. Against her charm and beauty not even the grim Harding Welsh stood a chance. Okay, so maybe she was reading to many Fantasy romance novels since Fraser wasn't around anymore, but Welsh did have some resemblance to a dragon.
Not that she would mind being his kidnapped princess.
"I am William Shakespeare and I command you to help me in my quest," the guy, whose name appeared to be neither William nor Shakespeare but the somewhat more down-to-earth Joe Burns, cried as he started to climb Welsh's desk.
Frannie spared the harassed Lieutenant (looking good today, despite the unnatural angry red) a half-grin as she tugged softly at the ruby red cape and tried to get Mr. Burns out of the office in one piece. Welsh gave her a grateful smile for her efforts at which her stomach made a funny flip.
"Now, Mr. Shakespeare, why don't you come and sit down right there. I'm a great fan, you know... of your work."
The guy's eyes lit up and Frannie knew she was doomed. Only a man about to start reciting poems for hours, someone who just found a worthy victim, would have that look of utter pleasure. She fought the urge to slam her head against her desk repeatedly, hoping she could at least get some work done before someone picked him up. So far, no one had been able to reach his daughter, who was listed as his next of kin in case of emergencies.
Frannie realized soon that Mr. Burns had other reasons for not being William Shakespeare, despite the obvious. His poems were atrocious. Twenty minutes in, Frannie was going to stick a sharp object through her eardrums just to make it stop.
"Uhm, Mr. Shakespeare... or can I call you William?"
He looked at her, his eyes wide with confusion. "Why would you be calling me William?"
Frannie frowned, "Isn't that your... you know, just forget about it. What I meant to ask... is there any way that we can reach your daughter? Do you know where she is?"
Mr. Burns seemed lost in thought until his eyes brightened and he started reciting a poem again. This time, though, Frannie caught the meaning more easily.
In the Realm of the Wind,
the daughter of the poet walks,
she leads the king's beasts to do their daily tasks,
for she is the wolven tamer.
The poet speaks of many things,
the truth in many hearts he sees,
but clouded is his eye to those
who do not see his wisdom.
"What, your daughter is taking out dogs for a walk?"
Burns' expression lightened, he smiled at her. "The fair princess of the land far away has caught the poet's meaning."
"Okay, and when will she be back?"
And the poet told her.
* * *
At the end of the day, Frannie never felt so glad to get out of the stationhouse. She was the last to leave, except for the Lieutenant, who apparently lived in his office more often than not. She turned to leave when the parting words of her own personal Shakespeare came to mind.
"The poet's eyes are never wrong and hearts he sees here breaking, for one so bright the princess should not let be this dream forsaken."
She breathed deeply and knocked at the office door.
"It's open," a gruff voice reminded her. Why was she feeling nervous all of a sudden when she'd waltzed in here all times of day and night before? Maybe because this, for once, wasn't about any kind of work. Or Fraser.
Welsh looked up as she entered. "What is it, Francesca?"
And Frannie smiled. "Have you eaten?"
Welsh seemed startled and not quite sure what to say to that, but he put the pen down and got up. A bit of banter and he would follow her anywhere. It wasn't a date or anything, but it was a start.
She had to remember to send Mr. Bur- Shakespeare a thank you card. She grabbed Harding Welsh, the grim dragon of her of Shakespearean sonnet, by the arm and dragged him out of the office. After all, true love never had to wait for paperwork in any of Shakespeare's plays.
The Difference Between Being in Love and Just Holding On
by Suaine
HE wouldn't have believed it three months ago. Had someone come up to him and said: "Hey, Kowalski, you are going to fall in love with Canada." that person might have ended up with a black eye. Or was that about him being gay? Ray shook his head, smiling. Didn't matter either way. He was in love, and not just with a Canadian but with Canada itself.
"It must be something in the water," he said to Fraser when he realized he didn't want to leave.
And Fraser just looked at him, so happy it hurt to watch, and shrugged. Apparently, the water here was different than anywhere in the world.
For one, they didn't have indoor plumbing. In the summer this meant getting water from the little stream not far off and bathing farther down where the stream turned into a river. Ray tried not to think what no-indoor-plumbing would mean come winter time.
And maybe it was just his imagination, but tap water in the States never tasted this good. Back when he considered a pizza without extra cheese healthy living, drinking water had the bitter taste of too much chlorine and traces of rust.
He liked the water here. It had character.
So he stumbled down to the stream, his eyes still firmly closed against the early morning light - this far north early morning was unbearably cheerful and bright - and brought the can for his morning coffee. Not even Fraser could out-do strong, chocolaty coffee in his affections. Well, maybe it was a tie.
He dipped the can in the clear water, no longer terribly concerned about germs and dirt. A little bit of dirt, he had learned in his time here, did the body good. Too much of a thing, even of hygiene, could have rather unsavory consequences. Or so he was told. He still refused to eat anything raw.
Down by the stream, Ray saw a bird. It was a large bird, one of those fish-eating kinds - he made a mental note to tell Fraser about it later - and the bird looked back at him. Such a small thing, but it was all the difference between Canada and the States, between being in love and just holding on. Nowhere in Chicago could a guy go out of his house and stare a bird in the face. Maybe if that guy lived close to a bird park, but that really wasn't the point here.
Ray came closer, carefully watching his steps so as not to startle the creature. The bird didn't mind him much and after a time, as Ray proved to be no one who wanted to eat it, the bird returned to its bath. With its beak it threw water on its feathers, ruffling and smoothing them in turn. For a while Ray watched, mesmerized, until he remembered that water was needed for coffee and he should hurry to get back, if Fraser hadn't already sent out a search party.
The search party, no other than Dief himself, came barreling down the slope and jumped headlong in the water, splashing the clear liquid right in Ray's face.
"What ya do that for? Now, see what you did, the bird's gone."
The bird had flown away at the first sign of trouble, bringing its newly sorted feathers to a safer place. Dief, however, was grinning from ear to ear, the way only wolves - or maybe only this special wolf - could do and Ray returned the smile.
"C'mon, let's see what Fraser is up to."
If wolves could moan, groan or roll their eyes, Dief did all of that. He splashed some more water on Ray and ran up to the cabin, leaving Ray laughing in his wake.
Ray went upstream and filled the can. The water was clear and untroubled, much like himself after all this time.
- - -
Her Own Personal Shakespeare
by Suaine
Francesca never had a mind for proper words and great themes. It was easier to count the days that she didn't fall asleep in English Lit, even though the teacher was quite the hottie (okay, so his hair was falling out and he had a gut, but he was funny and smart and all the things Frannie knew she could never be). Sometimes she thought she was just dumb, nothing wrong with that, but most of the time she figured it was just because she lacked the proper motivation.
Despite every heartbreak and all those wasted dreams, Benton Fraser was definitely a mount of inspiration. To impress him she started reading up on everything from Aristotle (that Roman guy, right? With the crown of honor thing?) to Zeus (some really powerful guy, threw around lightning bolts). She started writing poetry, at first because the love that wasn't consummated (and if Ray Kowalski, her good for nothing, fake brother had anything to say about it, never would be) needed an outlet and later because the structure and tight form of poetry gave her something of a hold when things started falling apart.
Of all these things, Shakespeare was the only one that appealed to her right away. Once she got through the archaic (one of those words she picked up around Fraser like other women pick up dirty socks) language his plays were funny and beautifully tragic. His sonnets were to the point but never quite easy to understand, like there was some hidden message between the words of love.
Frannie discovered Shakespeare and it was the best thing Benton Fraser ever did to her short of leaving for Canada with Ray.
* * *
"Get this lunatic out of my office. Now!"
Lt. Welsh was on the edge of a cliff, and if Frannie didn't help this poor insane man out of the Lieutenant's reach, it wouldn't be Welsh falling to his death. But Frannie was fearless. Against her charm and beauty not even the grim Harding Welsh stood a chance. Okay, so maybe she was reading to many Fantasy romance novels since Fraser wasn't around anymore, but Welsh did have some resemblance to a dragon.
Not that she would mind being his kidnapped princess.
"I am William Shakespeare and I command you to help me in my quest," the guy, whose name appeared to be neither William nor Shakespeare but the somewhat more down-to-earth Joe Burns, cried as he started to climb Welsh's desk.
Frannie spared the harassed Lieutenant (looking good today, despite the unnatural angry red) a half-grin as she tugged softly at the ruby red cape and tried to get Mr. Burns out of the office in one piece. Welsh gave her a grateful smile for her efforts at which her stomach made a funny flip.
"Now, Mr. Shakespeare, why don't you come and sit down right there. I'm a great fan, you know... of your work."
The guy's eyes lit up and Frannie knew she was doomed. Only a man about to start reciting poems for hours, someone who just found a worthy victim, would have that look of utter pleasure. She fought the urge to slam her head against her desk repeatedly, hoping she could at least get some work done before someone picked him up. So far, no one had been able to reach his daughter, who was listed as his next of kin in case of emergencies.
Frannie realized soon that Mr. Burns had other reasons for not being William Shakespeare, despite the obvious. His poems were atrocious. Twenty minutes in, Frannie was going to stick a sharp object through her eardrums just to make it stop.
"Uhm, Mr. Shakespeare... or can I call you William?"
He looked at her, his eyes wide with confusion. "Why would you be calling me William?"
Frannie frowned, "Isn't that your... you know, just forget about it. What I meant to ask... is there any way that we can reach your daughter? Do you know where she is?"
Mr. Burns seemed lost in thought until his eyes brightened and he started reciting a poem again. This time, though, Frannie caught the meaning more easily.
In the Realm of the Wind,
the daughter of the poet walks,
she leads the king's beasts to do their daily tasks,
for she is the wolven tamer.
The poet speaks of many things,
the truth in many hearts he sees,
but clouded is his eye to those
who do not see his wisdom.
"What, your daughter is taking out dogs for a walk?"
Burns' expression lightened, he smiled at her. "The fair princess of the land far away has caught the poet's meaning."
"Okay, and when will she be back?"
And the poet told her.
* * *
At the end of the day, Frannie never felt so glad to get out of the stationhouse. She was the last to leave, except for the Lieutenant, who apparently lived in his office more often than not. She turned to leave when the parting words of her own personal Shakespeare came to mind.
"The poet's eyes are never wrong and hearts he sees here breaking, for one so bright the princess should not let be this dream forsaken."
She breathed deeply and knocked at the office door.
"It's open," a gruff voice reminded her. Why was she feeling nervous all of a sudden when she'd waltzed in here all times of day and night before? Maybe because this, for once, wasn't about any kind of work. Or Fraser.
Welsh looked up as she entered. "What is it, Francesca?"
And Frannie smiled. "Have you eaten?"
Welsh seemed startled and not quite sure what to say to that, but he put the pen down and got up. A bit of banter and he would follow her anywhere. It wasn't a date or anything, but it was a start.
She had to remember to send Mr. Bur- Shakespeare a thank you card. She grabbed Harding Welsh, the grim dragon of her of Shakespearean sonnet, by the arm and dragged him out of the office. After all, true love never had to wait for paperwork in any of Shakespeare's plays.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-01-03 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-03 10:17 pm (UTC)Yes! A convert, a convert! Hehehe.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-04 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-04 05:50 pm (UTC)LOL! Adorable. I also really liked Ray in love with Canada. I never think of him falling for it, but why not?