Drabble-mania

[lodessa]

Alayne turned down the offered help with dressing for her wedding, a small part of her still uncomfortable with weddings and maybe always would. Besides, she could manage better on her own after all this time as a Stone. So she twisted her own hair up with pearl tipped pins. She was startled when the door opened, but it was only her father, Petyr Baelish. She blushed when he told her how fine she looked and offered her face up for a kiss. He held Alayne close, promising to ease her fears, though she’d lied and said she had none.




All the grownups had gone hunting, so the Tully daughters had been left alone in the drawing room with their foster brother Petyr. Catelyn was curled up by the fireplace, reading some tale of chivalry, Petyr lying by her feet, despite Lysa’s attempts to draw him over to the window seat. The hour was late when, Catelyn retreated to her chamber, refusing Petyr’s offer of an escort, and Petyr fled to his own quarters, tears in his eyes. Lysa waited until the maid finished stirring the hearth before following Petyr, dropping items of clothing as she went; no one saw her.




Ned told himself it was his duty to go with Robert to the taverns and keep an eye on him. It wasn’t like he could dissuade alone, and John Arryn wasn’t there to back him. 7 hours and countless pints of ale later, Ned was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. Robert protested loudly against leaving, leaning against Ned the whole way home, his bulk obtrusive for the smaller man. When they reached the garrison, Ned thought that his worries were over, but then Robert backed him against the wall slurring, “Who needs wenches where there’s my Neddy...”




Cersei hated when Jaime had tanned out in the sun with activity. She preferred his limbs be milky white like her own, so that when they intertwined it was impossible to see where one body ended and another began. When, Rheaghar married Elia, Cersei’s eyes were bowed with sorrow and she could not look into his face and see herself, so she burt him till his woe was like hers, till his shoulders drooped mournfully and his kiss tasted of bitter disappointment. She looked into his grieving face, and loved him once again. Pain it seemed brought joy once more.






He waits until after hours for confession are over to enter, runs his hand along the grate feeling its sharpness. He doesn’t think about as searching for meaning, but that’s probably what it is. Maybe, it’s sense and not meaning he’s trying for, but that’s really a very small shade of difference if he’s honest with himself. It’s dark when he emerges and he stands for moment, in what is supposed to be the sanctuary, looking at the gloriously gory image of the crucifixion. He doesn’t notice the priest sitting in the pew a few rows back until he speaks.





Logan finds that, after Weevil’s fall from power, he cannot keep his eyes off of him. Silent, restive, honor clings to him. Somehow he’s even more untouchable now than he was with a slew of bodyguards. In some ways it’s reminiscent of Veronica after her fall from grace, but more powerfully it is different. Dick mocks the former gang leader, and Logan finds himself ducking into the bathroom, pressing his cheek against the cool tile, familiar from when Weevil’s fist sent him flying into it, as much as from when he’d been pressed there by Veronica’s kisses. His entirety shakes.





Sometimes Veronica hears Lilly laugh, sees her from the corner of her eye, but when she turns finds Weevil instead. She never asks if he sees Lilly too; seeing the dead is lunacy or grief. Another year since Lilly’s been gone but she’s laughing, leading Veronica down the beach till she finds Weevil walking towards her. “Ever think that maybe you were the love of her life?” he asks, there’s no need to say who he means. Yes, everyone did, but, “It was a torrid love/hate relationship with herself that did her in” is the final conclusion they’ve all reached.




Apparently there is more than one might think to be learned at Harvard. Other than holding people out of 4th story windows as a way of obtaining information, Clarence credits Harvard with, among other things, his way of sneaking up on people unexpectedly, the ability to find the only excuse that cannot be argued in a given situation, the finer arts of seeming to drink excessively without actually doing so, and how to have sex out in the cold without freezing to death. Veronica finds that the last is possibly the most valuable skill, at least in the current moment.




Logan used to like to torture Duncan by talking overly specifically about the sexual exploits he has with Lilly. This always made Duncan squirm; what Logan didn’t realize was that the reason it flustered his best friend so much to hear about his sister’s sex life, wasn’t exactly brotherly. What made Duncan squirm was the memory of exactly what Lilly’s mouth felt like against your skin when she was teasing you the way that Logan was talking about, or the look in his sister’s eyes when she was feeling particularly lusty, just before she discarded the last of her clothing.





“Do you know how Persephone was made?”

“The city or the planet?”

“No, Simon… the goddess.”

“River...”

“You think it’s antiquated, not relevant, but you’re wrong.”

“Fine, how was Persephone made? From the melting snow?”

“Don’t be silly Simon. She was made like this.”

“This?”

“Yes this, her mother was Demeter, goddess of the Harvest and her father was Demeter’s brother Zeus, the lighting god king of all the immortals.”

“And they…”

“…Had intercourse. For a doctor you are stupid.”

“Why do you put up with me?”

“I’m Zeus and you’re Demeter.”

“Didn’t Persephone die?”

“Yes, but she came back.”




Kaylee was more delicate than she looked when you got your hands on her. She emanated being more solid than her frame really allowed. Perhaps it was like the corona around the sun… making the borders seem father out. Her sunshine smile took up more room. She was powerful light though, when Simon picked her up and laid her down on the bed. Perhaps not unlike the sun in more ways than one though, she drew him to her, with a force just as powerful as gravity. Being a fugitive had its advantages if you only let yourself enjoy them.




If Jayne didn’t like the doc he figured it was well within his rights. Boy was trouble. Hard enough in their line of work without the feds looking for you, and the doc’s effect on Kaylee, part where he had her crying every week or so…Jayne didn’t like women crying. Weren’t nothin’ chivalrous; was just a damned sight unsettling and then they needed comforting, and that was best avoided; ‘sides weepy mechanic meant unhappy ship and Jayne wasn’t keen on dying out in the black. Weren’t nothin’ personal to it at all. Wasn’t about that smile of hers or nothin’.

Comments

[kethlenda.livejournal.com]

I especially love the Firefly "Persephone" drabble. It's such a very IC question for River to ask, given that it's the name of the major planet, and then the mythological take on it is great. The justification of incest via mythology...the theme of death and resurrection...just right up my alley. Yum.

[lodessa.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much. I am all about Tamcest and mythological allusions and justifications.
Not to self pimp but I wrote a Simon/River ficlet using Egyptian justifications (http://lodessa.livejournal.com/35946.html) if you are interested

[hobviously.livejournal.com]

Sweet guy, can you please lj cut these? They are all over my flist and it is distressing (and also very hard to read since they are so close together).

[lodessa.livejournal.com]

Only for you my guy.

Also I expect feedback in return.

*is demanding*