[Fic] Jeremiah
Sep. 10th, 2010 04:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Jeremiah
Source: Long Road
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Characters: Ian?
Word Count: 766
Summary: A quiet night of contemplation for a man on a mission.
A/N: Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
mundane_bingo prompt "Listening to bullfrogs at night"
Sunglasses at night weren't only for singers and vampires. He couldn't explain why he found them comfortable, but definitely they didn't hamper his vision at all. He couldn't keep track of the visions in his eyes, though.
The grass was comfortable. Wet, but comfortable. The sky was full of stars, which wasn't all that common these days. He was enjoying the contrast, little pinprick holes of light against the blanket night of sky with colors only muted by the sunglasses. For whatever reason, he was pretty sure there was science behind it, colors were more vivid at night. They just washed out in the day, everything burnt bright by the sun, though he could adjust. Sort of. Right now the grass was a deep bottle green, the sky was a tie-dyed swirl of blues and purples that made him think of the last be-in he'd been at, smoking a blunt and entrancing girls with his accent. It made him smile.
Things were different here, in the United States. Things were big and loud and strange. Everything moved too fast. Was very serious, except when it wasn't serious at all. Hard families were laughed at, soft families were mocked, the comfortable family that knew each other was nowhere to be found. Cars, yeah, he knew cars, despite someone asking him, not joking, if they had electricity where he was from. Yeah, and indoor plumbing, too, he'd said. Didn't say that they hadn't had it when he was a lad, but he'd snarked back and they'd bought the next round. Strange people.
And somewhere in this crazy mess was his Da. No, he wouldn't call him that to his face, but he didn't know how else to say it. It was what it was.
Somewhere off to his left, a bullfrog splashed into the pond. Splop. The water rippled out in shades of blue and green and glimmering white.
He'd been given leave to camp here by the owners of the land. There was a cabin, but he preferred to sleep outdoors by the lake. But there was a roof over his head if he needed it, and a phone, and it worked well enough as a base of operations from which to conduct his search.
Ma would have hated it, he thought. It was nothing like the sea, too fresh. There was the smell of the green and the croak of bullfrogs. So-called, he decided, because they sounded like a bull in the field. The water came from a creek, more than enough for her but still not right. He was more or less content.
"Jeremiah was a bullfrog... "
Toe-tapping rhythm. He didn't have enough friends around to make up a good sing but he could make friends if he wanted to stay long enough. Sometimes he thought about it. Settling in, building a good group of friends around him.
Except when he started thinking of that he missed the smell of thatch and the fires and the bogs. He missed the rhythm of their speech, not just the music of it, the way American voices sounded so flat and a little nasal. He missed the old way of talking, what he was familiar with, what he'd been surrounded by for over a hundred years. And, if he was going to be a complete baby about it, he missed his Ma very much. He missed her tucking him in at night, feeding him, taking care of him even when he didn't need it.
"Oh, Ma..." he chuckled, pushing a hand back through his hair and letting his head fall onto the grass. "You'd be after me to put on a coat or get up out of the grass when there's a perfectly warm bed in there, wouldn't you."
Not that she would. She wasn't half-bred, she was full-born fae, and at home in the water. They had picnics on the beach and sometimes she would come into the town, examine his house and make sure he was all right. When he was little she had spent nights on the shore with him, leaving him to carry out his chores during the day. He had never asked her how she had managed when he was too young for leaving on his own.
"Jeremiah was a bullfrog... was a good friend of mine." To the left of his ear, one of the actual bullfrogs attempted to help him out with the tune. He laughed. "Joy to the world... all the boys and girls, now. Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea..."
Splop.
"Joy to you and me."
Source: Long Road
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Characters: Ian?
Word Count: 766
Summary: A quiet night of contemplation for a man on a mission.
A/N: Written for
mundane_bingo prompt "Listening to bullfrogs at night"Sunglasses at night weren't only for singers and vampires. He couldn't explain why he found them comfortable, but definitely they didn't hamper his vision at all. He couldn't keep track of the visions in his eyes, though.
The grass was comfortable. Wet, but comfortable. The sky was full of stars, which wasn't all that common these days. He was enjoying the contrast, little pinprick holes of light against the blanket night of sky with colors only muted by the sunglasses. For whatever reason, he was pretty sure there was science behind it, colors were more vivid at night. They just washed out in the day, everything burnt bright by the sun, though he could adjust. Sort of. Right now the grass was a deep bottle green, the sky was a tie-dyed swirl of blues and purples that made him think of the last be-in he'd been at, smoking a blunt and entrancing girls with his accent. It made him smile.
Things were different here, in the United States. Things were big and loud and strange. Everything moved too fast. Was very serious, except when it wasn't serious at all. Hard families were laughed at, soft families were mocked, the comfortable family that knew each other was nowhere to be found. Cars, yeah, he knew cars, despite someone asking him, not joking, if they had electricity where he was from. Yeah, and indoor plumbing, too, he'd said. Didn't say that they hadn't had it when he was a lad, but he'd snarked back and they'd bought the next round. Strange people.
And somewhere in this crazy mess was his Da. No, he wouldn't call him that to his face, but he didn't know how else to say it. It was what it was.
Somewhere off to his left, a bullfrog splashed into the pond. Splop. The water rippled out in shades of blue and green and glimmering white.
He'd been given leave to camp here by the owners of the land. There was a cabin, but he preferred to sleep outdoors by the lake. But there was a roof over his head if he needed it, and a phone, and it worked well enough as a base of operations from which to conduct his search.
Ma would have hated it, he thought. It was nothing like the sea, too fresh. There was the smell of the green and the croak of bullfrogs. So-called, he decided, because they sounded like a bull in the field. The water came from a creek, more than enough for her but still not right. He was more or less content.
"Jeremiah was a bullfrog... "
Toe-tapping rhythm. He didn't have enough friends around to make up a good sing but he could make friends if he wanted to stay long enough. Sometimes he thought about it. Settling in, building a good group of friends around him.
Except when he started thinking of that he missed the smell of thatch and the fires and the bogs. He missed the rhythm of their speech, not just the music of it, the way American voices sounded so flat and a little nasal. He missed the old way of talking, what he was familiar with, what he'd been surrounded by for over a hundred years. And, if he was going to be a complete baby about it, he missed his Ma very much. He missed her tucking him in at night, feeding him, taking care of him even when he didn't need it.
"Oh, Ma..." he chuckled, pushing a hand back through his hair and letting his head fall onto the grass. "You'd be after me to put on a coat or get up out of the grass when there's a perfectly warm bed in there, wouldn't you."
Not that she would. She wasn't half-bred, she was full-born fae, and at home in the water. They had picnics on the beach and sometimes she would come into the town, examine his house and make sure he was all right. When he was little she had spent nights on the shore with him, leaving him to carry out his chores during the day. He had never asked her how she had managed when he was too young for leaving on his own.
"Jeremiah was a bullfrog... was a good friend of mine." To the left of his ear, one of the actual bullfrogs attempted to help him out with the tune. He laughed. "Joy to the world... all the boys and girls, now. Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea..."
Splop.
"Joy to you and me."