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[fic] Mermaid Song
Dec. 13th, 2009 05:41 pmTitle: Mermaid Song
Word Count: 933
Rating: PG
A/N: You know.
"Aren't you going to explain?"
"If you have to explain the joke, it's not funny." Sidelong glance. "And you know you hate it when you have to explain what you mean to people."
It's true. Some explanation when he realizes he's been unclear is one thing. When the audience is just too dim to understand he tires of it, quickly.
Something plops into the water. A frog. A diving duck; a rock. It's getting too dark to tell. Across the lake with its waters wind-stippled the monument lights click on, bathing everything in the surreal glow of too-white artificial light. Perfect for a night shoot in a spy movie.
She shivers. The cold is so acute that it's sharp on her skin, but smooth, like sheet metal.
"You should have worn a warmer coat."
"If you were a gentleman you'd lend me your jacket."
He snorts. He's no gentleman. But she's no lady, either, so it works out.
The wind picks up and blows the cherry blossoms around their feet. Brown petals, soft pink petals crisping at the edges, bits of trash with them. Wrappers from the popsicles despite the chill of the day, late for the year, and the sandwiches and soda caps skittering along the pavement. The tourist brochures don't mention that when they sell this location. They talk about the beautiful trees all pink and black-and-white against the still waters and white marble of the monument. They don't talk about the fact that tourists are noisy and messy.
"You've gotten cynical in your old age."
"Hm?"
"Nothing."
And she's still cold. She shivers.
"Let's go for a walk."
Their fingers brush against each other as they walk, neither of them daring to take the other's hand but when their fingers meet they slide against each other, almost interlocking. Her index finger curls around his middle digit and for three steps they walk like that, connected.
Then she looks down and laughs softly to herself and he gives her that questioning glare and the moment is broken again.
They cross the grass, the volleyball courts. They cross roads between the cars that still rush along them, leaving their late-night office appointments with stacks of papers and conference calls and the occasional hasty affair on a squeaky leather couch. She can imagine all kinds of things.
"Where are we going?"
She has no idea. They were walking left but now she tugs him right, down towards the castle, dark gray in the light of the crescent moon. It wasn't exactly a castle, but it was as close as they would come in this time and place.
Sand crunches under their feet. Grass yields where they walk. Somewhere around the corner of the building as they come to the front he reaches for her hand, and she lets him. Their fingers curl around each other with enough space between them to fit a dowel rod through, but she doesn't mind the space and he doesn't mind the intimacy. His fingers are skinnier than she'd expected.
"Are we going to have a picnic on the grass?" He sounds amused. She looks over at him, eyebrows raised.
"Did you bring food for one?"
"Nah."
She smiles a little. "Well, neither did I."
"No picnic, then." He doesn't sound too disappointed.
She laughs. "We can go on the carousel."
It's locked, of course. And by 'go on' she says she means clamber around the horses, pretend to ride, pretend to be going around in circles and sing-song the music to him in an effort to coax him into at least humming along. Alas, to no avail. She pouts and then finds one of the benches, curling up on it, away from the wind.
He comes and curls up beside her, taking off his coat and putting it over them both. "We could just go inside," he points out, points at the still-flickering lights to their far left. The event is still going on, will continue at least until midnight, but she doesn't feel a need to rejoin them, and says so.
"Let's not and say we did."
Silence for a little while. "It's still cold."
It shouldn't be, not at this time of year, but it is. Strange patterns. She huddles deeper under the coat and he pulls her under his arm, pulling it closer around them. They sit and pretend the carousel is moving.
"Yesterday a child came out to wonder..."
Singing makes her self conscious when it makes him look at her curiously. She has, he claims, a better voice than he does, but you wouldn't know it. It's more the way he looks at her, his attention swinging to her fully, than her singing. When his attention focuses on her she grows nervous, her gaze drops for just a moment and her equilibrium is lost.
Just for the first moment. It's all right when they start speaking again.
"What's that?"
"Just a song."
"Oh."
And it's all right again.
Leaning against him, starting to drift in the cold, it almost feels like the carousel's turning around again. They should get back. The trains will stop running soon, and though they could call for a cab easily enough it seems better to stay in their half-world outside of things that beep and things that buzz and things that light up. Outside of connections through devices and wires, here where things are real. And unreal at the same time. Outside of outside connections they can pull his coat around them and be their own little world.
And so they are. Just for a little while.
Word Count: 933
Rating: PG
A/N: You know.
"Aren't you going to explain?"
"If you have to explain the joke, it's not funny." Sidelong glance. "And you know you hate it when you have to explain what you mean to people."
It's true. Some explanation when he realizes he's been unclear is one thing. When the audience is just too dim to understand he tires of it, quickly.
Something plops into the water. A frog. A diving duck; a rock. It's getting too dark to tell. Across the lake with its waters wind-stippled the monument lights click on, bathing everything in the surreal glow of too-white artificial light. Perfect for a night shoot in a spy movie.
She shivers. The cold is so acute that it's sharp on her skin, but smooth, like sheet metal.
"You should have worn a warmer coat."
"If you were a gentleman you'd lend me your jacket."
He snorts. He's no gentleman. But she's no lady, either, so it works out.
The wind picks up and blows the cherry blossoms around their feet. Brown petals, soft pink petals crisping at the edges, bits of trash with them. Wrappers from the popsicles despite the chill of the day, late for the year, and the sandwiches and soda caps skittering along the pavement. The tourist brochures don't mention that when they sell this location. They talk about the beautiful trees all pink and black-and-white against the still waters and white marble of the monument. They don't talk about the fact that tourists are noisy and messy.
"You've gotten cynical in your old age."
"Hm?"
"Nothing."
And she's still cold. She shivers.
"Let's go for a walk."
Their fingers brush against each other as they walk, neither of them daring to take the other's hand but when their fingers meet they slide against each other, almost interlocking. Her index finger curls around his middle digit and for three steps they walk like that, connected.
Then she looks down and laughs softly to herself and he gives her that questioning glare and the moment is broken again.
They cross the grass, the volleyball courts. They cross roads between the cars that still rush along them, leaving their late-night office appointments with stacks of papers and conference calls and the occasional hasty affair on a squeaky leather couch. She can imagine all kinds of things.
"Where are we going?"
She has no idea. They were walking left but now she tugs him right, down towards the castle, dark gray in the light of the crescent moon. It wasn't exactly a castle, but it was as close as they would come in this time and place.
Sand crunches under their feet. Grass yields where they walk. Somewhere around the corner of the building as they come to the front he reaches for her hand, and she lets him. Their fingers curl around each other with enough space between them to fit a dowel rod through, but she doesn't mind the space and he doesn't mind the intimacy. His fingers are skinnier than she'd expected.
"Are we going to have a picnic on the grass?" He sounds amused. She looks over at him, eyebrows raised.
"Did you bring food for one?"
"Nah."
She smiles a little. "Well, neither did I."
"No picnic, then." He doesn't sound too disappointed.
She laughs. "We can go on the carousel."
It's locked, of course. And by 'go on' she says she means clamber around the horses, pretend to ride, pretend to be going around in circles and sing-song the music to him in an effort to coax him into at least humming along. Alas, to no avail. She pouts and then finds one of the benches, curling up on it, away from the wind.
He comes and curls up beside her, taking off his coat and putting it over them both. "We could just go inside," he points out, points at the still-flickering lights to their far left. The event is still going on, will continue at least until midnight, but she doesn't feel a need to rejoin them, and says so.
"Let's not and say we did."
Silence for a little while. "It's still cold."
It shouldn't be, not at this time of year, but it is. Strange patterns. She huddles deeper under the coat and he pulls her under his arm, pulling it closer around them. They sit and pretend the carousel is moving.
"Yesterday a child came out to wonder..."
Singing makes her self conscious when it makes him look at her curiously. She has, he claims, a better voice than he does, but you wouldn't know it. It's more the way he looks at her, his attention swinging to her fully, than her singing. When his attention focuses on her she grows nervous, her gaze drops for just a moment and her equilibrium is lost.
Just for the first moment. It's all right when they start speaking again.
"What's that?"
"Just a song."
"Oh."
And it's all right again.
Leaning against him, starting to drift in the cold, it almost feels like the carousel's turning around again. They should get back. The trains will stop running soon, and though they could call for a cab easily enough it seems better to stay in their half-world outside of things that beep and things that buzz and things that light up. Outside of connections through devices and wires, here where things are real. And unreal at the same time. Outside of outside connections they can pull his coat around them and be their own little world.
And so they are. Just for a little while.
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