Willow Drabbles
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Four Scenes
By Willow - Alison on Terry, Illyana and Lorna; Jamie and Miles.
Alison wonders if people get it, sometimes. If people understand that when Terry is being short and nigh monosyllabical with someone, it's because she is quite busy contemplating the inscrutable depths their stupidity can attain and that's no small task at all.
She truly wonders if people understand that when Terry isn't joking or flirting with you, it's because you're being so monumentally dumb that if you can't figure it out just by the change of tone in her voice or her writing, then you don't deserve to get told anyway because anyone that dense deserves what they've got coming to them, frankly.
And sometimes, just sometimes, Alison wonders if Terry was always like that, or if she picked that up from her.
~*~
Talking to Illyana is simple, really.
All you need to do is play with her. Talking is Illyana's playground, words the only toys she knows. You just have to always remember to do it on her own terms. To Illyana words are also weapons and her language is pure offence, each expression used to gain some ground, each sentence a careful trap lying in wait to be sprung. Talking is life and death for her, literally so.
Alison delights in that game – it's the one she knows as true as her heart, the one she's always been best at.
Words are not just Alison's trade, they're also her love and her passion. Talking to Illyana is all about crafting – a story, a song, a moment in time that will mean just as much to her as it will to the girl with daggers in her mind.
Illyana will remember it all.
And being able to just leap into the fray will wild abandon and know that no matter what blades come her way won't be about the hurt but about the duel itself, all about the contest and the razor sharp wit is what really makes Illyana an open book, aching to be read and understood.
Alison reads her only one page at a time, carefully so and as Illyana allows, and treasures each new secret revealed to her.
As it should be.
~*~
She remembers the first time they met. Flashing green eyes and in a too delicate face framed by brown hair, oddly dull and out of place somehow. The sass and laughter hiding the desire to be accepted which Alison had seen often enough in the faces of those girls left on the sidelines. Those refused from the cheerleading team, those not part of the popular social circles at school.
The day they first met, she remembered being in high school, where being blonde and pretty wasn't a guarantee of popularity, no matter what some might think. Being blonde, pretty and ruthless enough however, was. Being rich just made the rest of the road to popularity easier. Being smart as opposed to cunning meant victory was assured.
She remembers the day they first met, how the other girl hovered in the doorway of her new roommate's bedroom, sarcastic quips interspersed with barely noticeable pauses, hesitation overrun by the need to live up to expectations both social and personal, both real and imaginary. Alison remembers turning around and catching a glimpse of green among the brown and smiling to herself, enviously wondering how the glimpses of brilliant green must have sent all social expectations out the window and tumbling to the road.
She looks out the window, at the fading grass outside, its slow death marked by the progress of brown and gold across the lawn. Alison remembers the first day her friend decided to walk outside of the mansion and how winter's slow win over fall was suddenly halted for a moment, life blazing under the sunlight as Lorna's hair gleamed in all its brilliant, verdant glory.
The only reminder of this now is the green gleaming on her fingernails, the same color of green she wore as the last day they spent together, giggling like schoolgirls cutting school.
It is the only shade of nail polish Alison wears these days.
~*~
It was a very delicate procedure, really, and the small boy knew well enough to plan every step of it accordingly. Hammer safely wedged in the belt of his pants (the haft stuck out one pant leg, nearly hitting the ground which each step the boy took), bucket carefully held up just high enough so that the bottom did not scrape the ground, a careful path was picked along the snow bedecked ground towards the treehouse neatly tucked away in the patch of trees in the middle of the cornfield.
Tongue sticking out now and then, though never when the metal handle wavered near his face (there was no way he was repeating that experience ever again), Jamie peeked inside now and then, grinning in delight at the haul of still steaming hot chocolate chips cookies safely nestled within, neatly protected by a red and white napkin. The smell was all he needed to move along, intent on reaching the tree house and nailing in the last few steps he'd need to be able to climb up inside and celebrate in grand old country farm style.
That each cookie he had was nearly as big as his face only made the whole venture that much more fun for the five year old, really.
---
"Wow, Miles. Those sure are big..."
The small boy grinned up at Jamie and nodded enthusiastically, carefully balancing the cookies on a plate, careful not to bend or snap a single one of them in the process.
"...you know... I know the perfect spot to eat cookies like these."
An interrogative look greeted that remark, curiosity dawning at the nostalgic undertone to Jamie's voice. It only took following Jamie's gaze out the kitchen's large baywindow to get the idea, though.
"Race you to the treehouse!"
A napkin, red and white, was snapped down on the plate to keep the cookies safe and with happy whoops of delight, both boys raced out the kitchen and towards the main door.
Prompts
Note from Willow: I offered to write prompt based drabbles to a few people last night, and here are the results. :) Enjoy!
Miles, Nathan, chocolate cupcakes.
It was a dire way to make his point, but Miles thought it was about time someone did, before Nathan tripped over his own lower lip in the midst of all the moping.
With great solemnity, the nine year old boy picked up a chocolate cupcake and smooshed it all over Nathan's face.
~*~
Rahne peeked through the doorway and out the window, feeling both guilt and anticipation. One certain no one was looking, she tugged a red ribbon out of her pocket and let it unfold to the ground, swaying temptingly.
Catseye pounced and before long was curled up around one of the ribbon, purring gleefully. Rahne giggled and tugged at the ribbon without ever taking it out of Catseye's reach, her laughter the light and carefree sound of a child catching up on many lost years of joy.
~*~
Nathan kept giving Pete innocent looks, all the while playing like a pro. Finally, Pete decided it was time to get even. And sure, it was childish to use a hot knife to propel the golf ball away and even worse to throw the club as far as he could pitch it, but damn it felt good.
Nathan was left staring at a ruined green, feeling far more stunned by the fact that the half-a-golf-ball had been dunked in a perfect, one shot score than the fact that Pete had demolished the entire course so neatly.
He was supposed to be the one to blow things up, dammitall.
~*~
Scott, Haroun, radio-controlled plane
They had managed to cooperate long enough to build the toy plane, and long enough to active the whole mess of wires and batteries required to put the tiny aircraft in the sky.
As some of the younger children watched on, mouths hanging open in surprise, the two grown men finally settled on an arm-wrestling contest to see who would win the right to fly the plane first.
It took only three seconds for Miles and Artie to scramble off to fetch Cain, in a bid to win first dibs on the toy plane for themselves.
~*~
Cain glared up at the tree and shook his fist, the entire gesture ruined in one moment as a nut bounced off his forehead and skittered to the ground. The squirrel hopped to a higher brand and chattered back fiercely at Cain, another acorn soon following the first, Cain briefly cross-eyed as the projectile was neatly bounced off his nose.
Rachel, at the top of the tree, giggling and crowed. Between one moment and the next, a veritable rain of acorns fell from the tree towards Cain.
The squirrels ended up with very good stores of food, that winter.
~*~
Alison smiles knowingly, a secret held in her eyes shared with the man waiting for her at the end of the isle, known by none of the others in the room save for the man in the wheelchair beside her. Red fabric whirls and shushes about as she moves forward, the waterfall of red roses from her bouquet dripping petals that spill behind them in a trail of crimson velvet.
Charles' wheelchair moves steadily as he walks her down the isle and Haroun watches their progress with the gaze of a man wondering if reality might suddenly turn out to be a wild, intangible dream.
Her hand in his dispels the illusion, granting him a truth far more solid and precious than he'd ever dared to hope for.
~*~
Kylun, Monastery days.
The boy's eyes opened slowly, staring up at a ceiling upon which myriad patterns unfurled and wound, over and over again. The mysteries of the world etched on faded stone, flecks of gold still lingering amongst the occasionally vivid splotches of blue or yellow.
A face hovered over his, suddenly - old and wizened and beaming at him in a delighted, toothless smile. A fingertip stained with ink reached down and tapped his nose lightly, laughter bright and impish rolling through the room and down a hallway, from which younger peals of joy resonated back instantly in response.
For the first time, Kylun knew the absence of fear and thought that one of the greatest and grandest mysteries of all had finally been laid bare at his feet, between one moment and the next.
~*~
The song's lyrics drifted in the background, the droning buzz of a pollen laden bee humming along to the rhythm of the words.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
Take these broken wings, and learn to fly
The boy stayed in the chair he had been guided too, eyes tightly screwed shut, smelling the rich and opulent scent of wood and heavy drapes, of a room so filled with books that a veritable forest might be held within its walls.
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
"Hello, Scott." The voice was warm and deep, lilting over a British accent and so very modulated the boy thought it might be part of the song, for a brief, fanciful moment. He felt something being slid along the sides of his face but didn't move, habit long having dug in to not move and to never open his eyes not give in to surprise. He felt something rest lightly on the bridge of his nose and frowned, just a bit. Puzzled, and just as intensely curious since the orphanage caretaker had told him he was being moved to a new place.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
"You can open your eyes, now, Scott."
Though it was the last thing he expected to hear, somehow, Scott wanted to believe the voice. Feet dangling, swinging in the empty air from the chair he was sitting in, he sighed.
Scott wanted very much to think that it was possible.
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.
For the first time since as far as he could remember, the boy opened his eyes. Into a world tinted in shades of red, and to the smile of a man who seemed to be just as delighted as the boy was, to finally be able to see without destroying.
~*~
Note: Not game canon, obviously. :)
Drabbles By Request
Prompts by Sil
~*~
There were many kinds of gold which Sean knew about, though foremost among them all were the traditional tales which spoke of finding a leprechaun and the myriad ways to trick it into turning over its pot o' gold.
And yet, each time he saw Terry in a hallway at the school, ducking out of his sight as soon as she noticed him nearby, he couldn't help but think that there was no pot of gold worth even the slighest chance of reconciliation with his daughter.
Terry, crescendo.
~*~
Terry stood outside in the gardens, unmoving and silent, trying to make herself as unnoticeable as possible. The bright shock of red hair lured in many a bird, as opposed to making them flit away and to her delight, she soon found herself surrounded by several swallows, each of them chirping away as they greeted spring with small chirps while hopping about the grass at the girl's feet.
The sound of their wings was echoed by another, far larger wingspan high above and Terry thought that the brightest of crescendos didn't need voices to carry it aloft, after all.
Lorna, sea turtles.
~*~
Lorna floated between heaven and earth, the currents skimming across her skin alternating between warm and cool in an oddly soothing way. Strands of seaweed drifted about her, the sand glistening under stray bolts of sunlight as though it were made of millions of tiny precious stones.
The turtle finally dared to swim closer, until it was finally near enough to nose at green braid of hair which had first attracted its attention. Almost delicately, it opened its mouth and then sampled the seaweed-not-seaweed, unaware of the widening green eyes staring at it in stunned surprise.
The baby turtle peeking up from under the larger turtle's shadow, eyeing the braid with equal curiosity, was Lorna's undoing. Maybe she'd just settle for a hair trim that afternoon, after all.
Miles, tower of couch cushions.
~*~
Miles stared up and up and up some more, reflecting that maybe he had gotten just a little bit ambitious with this particular living room castle. But then the blanket floated up and moored itself to the top tower of cushions perfectly and when both he and Artie turned around to see who had helped them they saw grey eyes turning to a shade of blue typical of the little boy now staring out of the man's eyes, causing them both to smile instantly in welcome.
It wasn't often, that Davey came out to play, after all. Or that any of the others sharing his mind actually helped along before slowly stepping aside and letting the child take the lead.
The mansion's brats (young Terry, Angel, Jubilee, Bobby, Kitty).
~*~
Oh his first day at the mansion, Bobby did his best to hide in his room and not come out. He was different and his family hated him and no one would want to talk to him, even if this stupid school was supposed to be for "kids like him", whatever that meant.
All Bobby knew was that he didn't want to be like that, when all was said and done.
Then a girl walked right through his door and bossily told him that the afternoon snack was ready and if he didn't get up now and move, she'd sick Terry on him, or even worse, Jubilee. And while Bobby wasn't sure if that was bad, the dark haired boy suddenly popping up at his window to wave cheerfully at the girl, only to topple backwards in an explosion of many bodies had him so surprised that it gave the girl all the time in the world she needed to kick him out the window he'd been leaning out of.
The boy with the wings caught him in mid-fall, laughing cheerfully the entire time at the look on his face, while a short haired redhead shook a finger at them all and berated everyone assembled in the front yard with a thick, scottish accent, though Bobby could see the smile trying to take over.
And as he was gently set down, Bobby watched the welcoming party taking shape and thought that maybe it wasn't such a bad thing he could make ice cream, because they didn't seem to have nearly enough to satisfy that many kids.
~*~
Rachel paused in her bid for baby freedom, entranced by the sight before her. Snow drifted and floated about, each snowflake floating anew after its first fall to the ground as Kylun whirled in a sometimes slow, sometimes lightning fast pattern, dancing with winter. The blades flickered through the sunlight and the snow lived once more as it joined in the weave of life, a powdering of light and life wrapping itself about a core of heat and humanity.
When Moira finally caught up, Rachel had joined the dance in her own way, kicking up small tufts of snow in the air for Kylun's blades to pick up and add to the swirling mass around him, both of them laughing with the freedom of innocents.
~*~
~*~
Dani and Rahne stood in the doorway to the kitchen, one eyeing the sparkling clean counters and ovens warily while the other leaned forward, scenting the air with casual carefulness.
Lorna was gone but the kitchen was still, somehow, inescapably her domain, merely lent out to the rest of the mansion in her absence. Both girls had to learn its current condition by heart before stepping in, they knew, so that when Lorna returned, the kitchen would be awaiting her, exactly in the condition she'd left it.
Jamie, wizard, shoes.
~*~
When he was young, Jamie had firmly believed that there was someone out there, someone magical and special who placed new shoes just inside his bedroom by the door, every time he outgrew the old ones. He'd tried to catch this mysterious person for many years, until finally, one day, the shoes had stopped showing up even though he hadn't finished growing yet.
Since then, every time Jamie wears out a pair of shoes (which happens faster than you'd think, from the accumulated wear of many a dupe), he sends them back home. His mother knows what to do with them, even though they've never spoken on the matter, and every now and then a pair of shoes replaced the worn one set there beforehand, forever marking the grave of Jamie's grandfather.
See grandpa? I figured out. And I still miss you, is the unspoken and unwritten message.
~*~
Jubilee had always been very firm about promoting her love of malls and big city lights, all shiny and sparkly and never fading.
But seeing Ororo hover several feet up in the air in the middle of the garden, brilliant white hair cascading about her in a swirling waterfall of suntouched brightness as she greets the dawning day causes her to forget about breathing or even thinking, and Jubilee has to admit at least to herself that there are some things the bright city lights just can't even begin to match.
~*~
It was the third TV to suffer the same fate, smoke curling out from its sides in a forlorn question mark. Sighing, Jay shook his head and gently retrieved the game pad from Jean's grasp, lips twitching at the half-embarassed, half-defiant look she sent his way.
"Miss Grey... Ah just don't think you ought to be playing them games no more. Not until ya'll stop tryin' to move them blocks about with that telekinesis instead of the game pad 'n all."
Prompts from Katschei:
~*~
There were things all farm boys knew about, whether they wanted to or not, and things all farm boys could handle.
So when Sam finally gave in to the good-natured teasing and proceeded to drink Nathan under the table, everyone but Jamie and Piotr was surprised, to say the least.
~*~
There were many things Shiro and Doug had brought back from Asgard, some of them tangible and some not.
But when insomnia struck and both boys found themselves in the kitchen, waiting for the hot chocolate to be ready (or tea, depending on who had arrived first), it was the thumb wrestling that won, every time.
But they always made sure never to play when Miles might be around, considering how scary good the smaller boy was at that particular game.
~*~
There were people that were easier to control than others - their fears drove them on, gifted them with easily found and used weaknesses which were always akin to the sweetest song for the creature named Selene.
The boy was among those easiest of all to control, for his fears had ruled him for so long already that he never noticed when one leash was replaced with another.
Jean, Thomas.
~*~
Jean has moved on and forgotten entirely about Thomas for the most part, thought every now and then she stops and remembers another life, briefly, as though it were now living on the other side of a mirror, distant and intangible.
So seeing Thomas on the doorstep one day is something of a shock. But then he pulls closer to himself a petite blonde, nervously tugging at a lock of hair while clinging to Thomas' arm, her blue antennae twitching slightly in nervousness and curiosity as she tries not to stare too obviously at the statuesque redhead in the doorway.
"Oh," she says, knowing instantly how close the two are, feeling the anxiousness radiating from Thomas. "Of course we'll help you, Thomas. Come inside!"
~*~
There is a particular joy which both Shiro and Lorna share, and the important people in their lives are not privy to it, neither Alex nor Leyu. It takes the shape of powers freely unleashed, abilities pushed to their limits and beyond, new ideas and notions shared and tested, and ultimately proven to be better than what was before.
One day, they hope, there will be an understanding shared with the special people in their hearts. But until then, they are content to share this between themselves. The joy as well as the hope for the future.
~*~
Betsy stares at Clarice's skin under the sun, and remembers the day when her hair and eyes turned purple, the outwards signs of something infinitely more sinister. For all of the hardships such an obvious mutation has given the younger girl, Betsy cannot help but envy Clarice.
For her changes are merely skin deep, a shift of tone and nothing more. They do not embody the signs of something far more encompassing and tragic, as the smaller and outwardly subtle changes upon Betsy themselves do.
~*~
There is a game that is played, every day, and both delight in it though they know the outcome will be the same, each and every time.
The cat lies in wait in the hallway, trying to dart inside the rooms Alison shares with Haroun. Each time, Alison manages to snag the furry purple creature, though one time the cougar sized cat did manage to tumble her over in a surprise shout of laughter before being dragged out into the hallway by the ear..
Haroun is allergic to cats, so Alison can't let the girl in, not while she's in either of her cat shapes. Catseye is still, in many essential ways, a cat - and always she'll try to sneak in, because that is what a cat does, when someone is allergic to them.
