[fic] Jugglers
Jan. 5th, 2008 08:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Jugglers
Fandom: Mirrormask
Characters: Helena, not-Valentine
Word Count: 1,109 words
Rating: PG
Summary: Helena has to remember that he's not Valentine, but sometimes it's hard. Romantic, written for the Yuletide New Year's Resolution challenge
He didn't know why she laughed the first time they juggled together to the tune of a fiddle, as though it were a joke they had been making all their lives. He still didn't know why she'd said he would make a terrible waiter. Not that he'd ever wanted to be a waiter, so that was all right.
He didn't know why she gave him some sidelong glances; they seemed further along than he was, as though he'd come into the middle of a courtship that somehow involved him, although he hadn't managed to figure that one out either. It wasn't as irritating as he half expected, describing it to Pingo once. It was puzzling, baffling most of the time, but it was also rather nice.
She was very kind about it, too. For all that she treated him like her long-established boyfriend half the time and like she wasn't sure she wanted him to be the other half, she was always polite and apologetic when she realized he had no idea what she was on about.
"Of course not," she said once, with a smile that spoke of that secret joke again. "You're a very important person."
"I… I am?"
Well, of course he was, her eyes said. But her smile said of course he didn't know what she was talking about, and it was sad.
Which was the only reason, really, why he did it.
She had to remember that he wasn't Valentine, even if he looked like it. Acted like it, sounded like it. Was Valentine, in a way, in the way that she was the Dark Princess, but wasn't at the same time.
Really, she had thought it would be easier to keep them separate; after all, she hadn't been much like the Dark Princess at all, in the end. Valentine shouldn't have been so much like, well, like him. Or he shouldn't have been so much like Valentine but he rather was. With the non-sequiturs and the silly commentary, the slightly sarcastic wit. He was nicer than Valentine, and she didn't think he was likely to betray anyone and sell them to evil queens. Not that there were evil queens around to be sold to, either.
She liked him. She wasn't sure whether or not she should. Some days it seemed like a betrayal of Valentine, other times it seemed as though there was no difference at all between the two young men.
Mostly, really, she tried to remember to behave as though nothing had happened. Which was how she acted all the time and it was easy for the most part, except when he was around. Not-Valentine. It took her the better part of a week to stop calling him that.
Her mother had said that was a perfect stage name for him. Helena groaned and refused to tell anyone why.
"Do you think…"
"I try not to."
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Leather sewn balls slapped lightly from palm to palm.
"Do you think, sometimes, that…"
"I think about that all the time."
Thwap. The ball bounced off his shoulder with somewhat more than the usual amount of force.
"Stop that. Let me finish." She waited for him to interrupt her again. One, two little juggling balls landed at her feet. But he did stop.
She took a deep breath, licked her lips, and looked down at the grass when she started again. "Do you think that sometimes there's more to life than just this?"
After he didn't say anything for a minute or so she looked up to find that he was giving her a very thoughtful look. Hopefully he was giving her words some very weighty consideration, and hadn't simply decided that this confirmed his opinion that she was mental. Although she might not disagree with that assessment. And he was taking too bloody long to decide what to say.
"I don't know," he said finally.
She picked up one of the balls and threw it at him. "Oh that is such a load of washed-up…"
"I don't! Okay?" he ducked, knocking her next missile away. "Stop throwing things at me! Sometimes I think …"
She did stop throwing things at him so he could talk.
"Sometimes I think I do, all right? Sometimes…" his hands worked an invisible ball of thought-shaped clay. "Sometimes it feels like I'm on the edge of something. Like it's on the tip of my tongue, like I can just about see it… and then…"
She was very quiet now. Knew what it was like to have something in your mind that sounded foolish out loud, except when you were saying it to yourself in your trailer with all the noise outside keeping anyone from hearing, and she didn't want to interrupt him.
"And, I don't know, other times… nothing." He shrugged. How disappointing.
She heard it in the voice of the ape-birds, disappointing. It made her giggle.
"Oh, what, now you think I'm crazy, don't you."
"No! No," she flapped one hand so fast it started to feel like rubber. "No, nothing like that. It's just… It's a… I was just thinking." She swallowed. "It reminded me…"
He waited somewhat less than patiently while she tried to stop giggling.
"Regrettable."
It came out sounding exactly the way the ape-bird-man had said it and then she was gone.
He crouched over her while she rolled onto her side in the grass, clutching her aching ribs. His expression seemed to have calmed down from irritated confusion to amused bafflement. So that was something, at least. "You're not quite right, yeah?"
"Oh, so, now you're calling me crazy." She pushed herself up on one elbow as he sat down cross-legged in front of her, both of them smiling again. "You're still not my boyfriend."
"Are you sure?"
It was, she thought, supposed to be mischievous. And she said that sort of thing often enough, and at least it was a sort of a normal thing to say (unlike asking him where his mask was or telling him he was a very important man), but with the two of them so very close together it took on rather a different meaning. And it looked as though he hadn't quite realized that until he'd said it, too.
"Well," she said, poking his knee with a fingertip, only there wasn't anything that came after that well.
"That's a rather deep subject."
She laughed. Only a little bit, quietly. "That's a horrible joke."
"Yeah, I know."
"Been done to death."
"I'm not really good at jokes."
"Better at…"
"…juggling."
She smiled. She remembered.
"Yeah," she said softly, right before he kissed her. "But you need a partner."
Fandom: Mirrormask
Characters: Helena, not-Valentine
Word Count: 1,109 words
Rating: PG
Summary: Helena has to remember that he's not Valentine, but sometimes it's hard. Romantic, written for the Yuletide New Year's Resolution challenge
He didn't know why she laughed the first time they juggled together to the tune of a fiddle, as though it were a joke they had been making all their lives. He still didn't know why she'd said he would make a terrible waiter. Not that he'd ever wanted to be a waiter, so that was all right.
He didn't know why she gave him some sidelong glances; they seemed further along than he was, as though he'd come into the middle of a courtship that somehow involved him, although he hadn't managed to figure that one out either. It wasn't as irritating as he half expected, describing it to Pingo once. It was puzzling, baffling most of the time, but it was also rather nice.
She was very kind about it, too. For all that she treated him like her long-established boyfriend half the time and like she wasn't sure she wanted him to be the other half, she was always polite and apologetic when she realized he had no idea what she was on about.
"Of course not," she said once, with a smile that spoke of that secret joke again. "You're a very important person."
"I… I am?"
Well, of course he was, her eyes said. But her smile said of course he didn't know what she was talking about, and it was sad.
Which was the only reason, really, why he did it.
She had to remember that he wasn't Valentine, even if he looked like it. Acted like it, sounded like it. Was Valentine, in a way, in the way that she was the Dark Princess, but wasn't at the same time.
Really, she had thought it would be easier to keep them separate; after all, she hadn't been much like the Dark Princess at all, in the end. Valentine shouldn't have been so much like, well, like him. Or he shouldn't have been so much like Valentine but he rather was. With the non-sequiturs and the silly commentary, the slightly sarcastic wit. He was nicer than Valentine, and she didn't think he was likely to betray anyone and sell them to evil queens. Not that there were evil queens around to be sold to, either.
She liked him. She wasn't sure whether or not she should. Some days it seemed like a betrayal of Valentine, other times it seemed as though there was no difference at all between the two young men.
Mostly, really, she tried to remember to behave as though nothing had happened. Which was how she acted all the time and it was easy for the most part, except when he was around. Not-Valentine. It took her the better part of a week to stop calling him that.
Her mother had said that was a perfect stage name for him. Helena groaned and refused to tell anyone why.
"Do you think…"
"I try not to."
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Leather sewn balls slapped lightly from palm to palm.
"Do you think, sometimes, that…"
"I think about that all the time."
Thwap. The ball bounced off his shoulder with somewhat more than the usual amount of force.
"Stop that. Let me finish." She waited for him to interrupt her again. One, two little juggling balls landed at her feet. But he did stop.
She took a deep breath, licked her lips, and looked down at the grass when she started again. "Do you think that sometimes there's more to life than just this?"
After he didn't say anything for a minute or so she looked up to find that he was giving her a very thoughtful look. Hopefully he was giving her words some very weighty consideration, and hadn't simply decided that this confirmed his opinion that she was mental. Although she might not disagree with that assessment. And he was taking too bloody long to decide what to say.
"I don't know," he said finally.
She picked up one of the balls and threw it at him. "Oh that is such a load of washed-up…"
"I don't! Okay?" he ducked, knocking her next missile away. "Stop throwing things at me! Sometimes I think …"
She did stop throwing things at him so he could talk.
"Sometimes I think I do, all right? Sometimes…" his hands worked an invisible ball of thought-shaped clay. "Sometimes it feels like I'm on the edge of something. Like it's on the tip of my tongue, like I can just about see it… and then…"
She was very quiet now. Knew what it was like to have something in your mind that sounded foolish out loud, except when you were saying it to yourself in your trailer with all the noise outside keeping anyone from hearing, and she didn't want to interrupt him.
"And, I don't know, other times… nothing." He shrugged. How disappointing.
She heard it in the voice of the ape-birds, disappointing. It made her giggle.
"Oh, what, now you think I'm crazy, don't you."
"No! No," she flapped one hand so fast it started to feel like rubber. "No, nothing like that. It's just… It's a… I was just thinking." She swallowed. "It reminded me…"
He waited somewhat less than patiently while she tried to stop giggling.
"Regrettable."
It came out sounding exactly the way the ape-bird-man had said it and then she was gone.
He crouched over her while she rolled onto her side in the grass, clutching her aching ribs. His expression seemed to have calmed down from irritated confusion to amused bafflement. So that was something, at least. "You're not quite right, yeah?"
"Oh, so, now you're calling me crazy." She pushed herself up on one elbow as he sat down cross-legged in front of her, both of them smiling again. "You're still not my boyfriend."
"Are you sure?"
It was, she thought, supposed to be mischievous. And she said that sort of thing often enough, and at least it was a sort of a normal thing to say (unlike asking him where his mask was or telling him he was a very important man), but with the two of them so very close together it took on rather a different meaning. And it looked as though he hadn't quite realized that until he'd said it, too.
"Well," she said, poking his knee with a fingertip, only there wasn't anything that came after that well.
"That's a rather deep subject."
She laughed. Only a little bit, quietly. "That's a horrible joke."
"Yeah, I know."
"Been done to death."
"I'm not really good at jokes."
"Better at…"
"…juggling."
She smiled. She remembered.
"Yeah," she said softly, right before he kissed her. "But you need a partner."