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ds_flashfiction2004-06-28 03:36 am
wildmachinery.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2004-06-28 03:36 am
Entry tags:
canoe amnesty
Canoes for the Amnesty Challenge. 335 words of events as they may have occurred after my #2 Water Challenge fic. (Yeah, that means Fraser's still dead. Sorry.)
Any Good Thing
"So, why the Nahanni?"
Fraser looks up at him. "I'm sorry?"
"Why'd you want to be ... y'know, scattered here? Why not somewhere a little closer to home?"
"Well, it's very beautiful here." Fraser slings his arm over the side of the canoe and trails his fingers in the water. They don't make ripples. Something about that just makes Ray start to boil, so he looks up at the trees instead, and keeps paddling.
"The people who lived here originally were nomads," Fraser continues. "Slavey Indians. They were first discovered by the outside world in the early 1800's when the fur-trading companies came through, establishing their outposts along the Mackenzie River." His voice is low and even as he tells his story, a counterpoint to the rhythmic strokes of the oar dipping into the river. "The desire for gold brought wandering prospectors to the area in the early 1900's, and several of them died under mysterious circumstances. Their deaths gave rise to the legends surrounding the Nahanni, and peaks and tributaries along the river are named for them."
The dappled sunlight on his face makes him looks so real.
"The area itself, however, and the river, are named for the nomads who first lived here." Fraser draws his hand back out of the water. It's perfectly dry. "Nahanni means, 'People over there far away.'" He flushes slightly, like he's given something of himself away, and looks away towards the shore.
Ray thinks for a bit, then nods slowly. "Yeah." At the dry rasp of his voice, Fraser turns back to him, and the loneliness in his eyes makes Ray want to crawl over the seats to get to him, to hold him, to pour out everything in his head, to tell him that he'll never be that far away again, because Ray won't let him go.
Ray won't let him leave again. "I get that, Fraser. But you're here now."
Fraser blinks a few times. "Yes." His eyes are soft, looking at the water. "I'm here now."
-end-
Title is from Act 1, Scene 1 of Hamlet:
Horatio: ... Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me:
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and, race to me,
Speak to me ...
Any Good Thing
"So, why the Nahanni?"
Fraser looks up at him. "I'm sorry?"
"Why'd you want to be ... y'know, scattered here? Why not somewhere a little closer to home?"
"Well, it's very beautiful here." Fraser slings his arm over the side of the canoe and trails his fingers in the water. They don't make ripples. Something about that just makes Ray start to boil, so he looks up at the trees instead, and keeps paddling.
"The people who lived here originally were nomads," Fraser continues. "Slavey Indians. They were first discovered by the outside world in the early 1800's when the fur-trading companies came through, establishing their outposts along the Mackenzie River." His voice is low and even as he tells his story, a counterpoint to the rhythmic strokes of the oar dipping into the river. "The desire for gold brought wandering prospectors to the area in the early 1900's, and several of them died under mysterious circumstances. Their deaths gave rise to the legends surrounding the Nahanni, and peaks and tributaries along the river are named for them."
The dappled sunlight on his face makes him looks so real.
"The area itself, however, and the river, are named for the nomads who first lived here." Fraser draws his hand back out of the water. It's perfectly dry. "Nahanni means, 'People over there far away.'" He flushes slightly, like he's given something of himself away, and looks away towards the shore.
Ray thinks for a bit, then nods slowly. "Yeah." At the dry rasp of his voice, Fraser turns back to him, and the loneliness in his eyes makes Ray want to crawl over the seats to get to him, to hold him, to pour out everything in his head, to tell him that he'll never be that far away again, because Ray won't let him go.
Ray won't let him leave again. "I get that, Fraser. But you're here now."
Fraser blinks a few times. "Yes." His eyes are soft, looking at the water. "I'm here now."
-end-
Title is from Act 1, Scene 1 of Hamlet:
Horatio: ... Stay, illusion!
If thou hast any sound, or use of voice,
Speak to me:
If there be any good thing to be done,
That may to thee do ease, and, race to me,
Speak to me ...