sheldon/penny: fiction friday #1
sheldon_penny is hosting a summer challenge called Paradox-O-Rama and today is Fiction Friday! This is going to be the dumping ground for the drabbles I can manage to come up with, of variable quality but probably all trending down toward crap. Enjoy.
Drabble #1:
Penny's pretty sure she's going to fail this class. There's no way she can learn a semester's worth of classical philosophy in the next seven hours, no matter how many times she reads the notes she's got highlighted in the textbook that, until a few hours ago, was lost to the depths of her trunk. She's going to fail the class, and then she's going to fail out of college entirely, and then she's going to be stuck taking tickets and sweeping up popcorn at the Pasadena multiplex for the rest of her life.
Penny has a plan. Go to college, earn her degree, work in the industry long enough to gain experience and save up money to eventually open her own shop. Failing isn't on her list of things to do this week, but when she looks at the textbook and its long string of complex, convoluted theories, all she can do is drop her head onto her arms, her blonde hair spilling out over the table.
"That's unsanitary." Penny doesn't lift her head immediately, just takes in the voice, the cadence, the general disdain for humanity that sits just beneath the words. She doesn't even have to look up to know who it is.
"Sheldon, I don't have time for this right now." Her words are muffled by the table and her arms, and the nagging sense of doom she can't get rid of. "Can you come back and bother me later?"
"Human hair sheds mites and dander, and you're transferring them to the surface of this table." He pulls out the chair beside her and lowers himself into it. The thud of his books as he sets them on the table rings loud in her ears and she groans. "Penny, people eat and drink at this table."
"We're not supposed to have food in the library."
"That's never stopped you before."
Penny sits up suddenly, and her voice is a loud hiss as she leans into Sheldon and says, "It's finals week, okay? I'm on edge--everyone in this building is on edge. I'm going to fail my philosophy exam which is in--oh yeah--seven hours, and then I'm going to fail out of college and for the rest of my life I'm going to be stuck asking, 'Would you like butter on your popcorn?!'"
Penny's voice isn't a hiss so much as a rumble by now, and several angry students turn to vehemently shush her. It's been this way since she met him at a dorm function two years ago--he egged her on then, expressed disdain and disbelief at the idea that she could win the Halo tournament he'd organized for his floor--and ever since it's been a biting and enjoyable back and forth. He belittles and insults, and she mocks and yells. Everyone couple has their own thing, and this is theirs.
Sheldon's used to getting yelled at in exasperation or threat or victory, so he doesn't respond much when she seethes at him now, besides lifting an eyebrow slightly in her direction. He clears his throat and then reaches over and pulls her textbook toward her.
"In Defense of Philosophy: Classical Wisdom," he reads. "Any easy enough topic, I should think. Even for the unwashed idiocy that passes for academia in your class."
Penny deflates a little, turning away and dropping her head back onto her crossed arms as they rest atop the work table. "Sheldon, if you can't help me, then please just--"
"Of course I came to help you." His voice is quieter as he leans toward her, and she feels his fingers settle against the back of her neck. She doesn't relax immediately, but the longer he works his thumb against the nape of her neck, the more she feels her breathing start to calm and her head start to clear.
She turns her head toward him, her cheek rested against her forearm. Sheldon is still leaning toward her, and his hand has slipped to her jaw, his thumb pressed soft against her cheek. She forgets why she loves him sometimes, until she remembers, in quick, peaceful moments like this: the way he looks at her, into her, the deep, easy feeling that settles into her chest. The way her breath catches at the blue in his eyes. The way he makes her feel like she can do anything she wants with her life, and she will.
Her voice is small when she asks, quiet and playful. "Don't you need to study?"
Sheldon tucks her hair behind her ear quickly and then draws his hand away, flipping open her textbook. "Why would I need to study?"
She laughs to herself, and then pushes up, her spine rigid against the back of the chair. She flattens her hands against the table, her fingers strong, her palms sturdy. She takes a deep breath and pulls her shoulders back. "Okay," she says, "hit me." She can do this. She can do anything. This will be easy.
Sheldon's voice is clipped and professional as he reads from the book. "Using Socrates' trial and Parmenides' parricide, explain the difference between the physical and the logical."
Penny tenses her hands harder atop the wood. Maybe it won't be that easy after all, but when she feels Sheldon settles his fingers on her knee, she’s pretty sure she’ll figure something out.
----
Drabble #2:
The play’s a period piece, lots of frilled skirts and white gloves, gentle mannerisms and demure smiles. Penny takes to it easily, the slight bend of her wrist, the coy angle of her chin. She is elegant and sharp, playing the character perfectly: daughter of a wealthy barrister, teasing and smart and dangerous. She’s not the play’s lead, but she gets more laughs than the rest of the cast with her well-timed barbs and insults. They don’t sound rehearsed, despite the fact that she practically slept with the script under her pillow for two months.
On opening night, her first curtain call is met with thunderous applause, and Penny can’t help that wide, elated smile that spreads across her face. When the curtain closes, the cast wraps their arms around each other and Denny gives the usual speech and there is a wild, wondrous energy in the air. They were good-better than good. They were fantastic.
Penny gets a few calls of “Great job!” or “Terrific performance!” on her way back to her shared dressing room. Leona and Stacy are still out backstage, and Penny shuts the door and leans heavily against it. There is a tight feeling in her chest, like this is it, right here, she’s finally found her place. This is her chance, her shot. This could be her break. She tries not to think about it as she undresses and wipes off her stage make-up, and she almost manages to keep the shake from her hands as she gathers up her things and heads to the front of the theater.
She finds the boys at the stage door, hands full of flowers and wide smiles on their faces.
“Congratulations!” Howard says, pulling her into an awkward hug. Raj nods enthusiastically beside him and Leonard holds out the bouquet he brought her, a tasteful bunch of roses. “You were great! The play was terrific!”
Penny steps back and smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Thank you so much for coming. It means so much to have you guys here for this.”
Leonard steps forward and sets the flowers in her arms. “Penny, the play was really good.” He turns and smiles at the rest of the guys. “Didn’t you guys think the play was really good?”
“There was a lighting malfunction in the second act,” Sheldon says, hands behind his back and eyes on the ground. He looks up and Penny narrows her eyebrows at him, and he swallows and continues begrudgingly, “But the cast overcame it adequately and the rest was quite entertaining.”
“Thank you,” Penny says, clutching her flowers to her chest. “Now you guys are coming to the cast party, right?” Leonard, Howard and Raj all grin madly, and start talking amongst themselves about who gets dibs on which cast members, and Penny laughs to herself as she trails behind them to her car.
“Penny,” Sheldon says, stopping her with a light touch to her arm. When she looks at him, there’s something hesitant on his face, a pause to his voice that’s not usually there.
“What is it, Sheldon?”
“I got you this.” He lifts his arm to her, hand outstretched and holding a glass jar of something white and, to be honest, pretty gross-looking. He looks at her expectantly and she slowly lifts her hand to take the jar. “It’s pickled herring,” he continues, starting toward the car as she falls in step beside him. “It’s supposed to be served on opening night of a new production, for luck.”
Penny doesn’t answer right away, just weighs the jar in her hand and looks up at him, eyes bewildered and confused. “Where did you come up with this?” It’s one of the grossest things Penny’s ever held in her hand, but somehow it’s sweet, that he went to the trouble.
He grins at her, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I googled it.” Penny opens her mouth to thank him, hug him, tell him she’s glad he was here to see this part of her life that feels so important, but he looks over her shoulder and calls out, “You’re not sitting in the front seat! The front seat is my seat!”
She laughs to herself as she watches him scurry over to the car and yank Howard away from the door handle, and the jar in her hand warms slowly against her skin.
“Alright, boys,” she says, opening the door and climbing into the front seat. She hands the jar back to Sheldon to hold for the ride, and their fingers brush quickly and she smiles at him, genuine and grateful. “I’m going to very clearly lay out the ground rules for the party, is that understood?”
“Is there any chance I’m going to be allowed to talk to the chick who played the prostitute?”
Penny laughs as she throws the car into reverse. The night is young, and she’s an actress, and there’s a whole wide world out there, just ripe for the picking. She meets Howard’s eyes in the rear view mirror and dips her chins and smiles demurely, the trappings of her character creeping into her eyes even without all the frills and lace. “Not a chance.”
Drabble #1:
Penny's pretty sure she's going to fail this class. There's no way she can learn a semester's worth of classical philosophy in the next seven hours, no matter how many times she reads the notes she's got highlighted in the textbook that, until a few hours ago, was lost to the depths of her trunk. She's going to fail the class, and then she's going to fail out of college entirely, and then she's going to be stuck taking tickets and sweeping up popcorn at the Pasadena multiplex for the rest of her life.
Penny has a plan. Go to college, earn her degree, work in the industry long enough to gain experience and save up money to eventually open her own shop. Failing isn't on her list of things to do this week, but when she looks at the textbook and its long string of complex, convoluted theories, all she can do is drop her head onto her arms, her blonde hair spilling out over the table.
"That's unsanitary." Penny doesn't lift her head immediately, just takes in the voice, the cadence, the general disdain for humanity that sits just beneath the words. She doesn't even have to look up to know who it is.
"Sheldon, I don't have time for this right now." Her words are muffled by the table and her arms, and the nagging sense of doom she can't get rid of. "Can you come back and bother me later?"
"Human hair sheds mites and dander, and you're transferring them to the surface of this table." He pulls out the chair beside her and lowers himself into it. The thud of his books as he sets them on the table rings loud in her ears and she groans. "Penny, people eat and drink at this table."
"We're not supposed to have food in the library."
"That's never stopped you before."
Penny sits up suddenly, and her voice is a loud hiss as she leans into Sheldon and says, "It's finals week, okay? I'm on edge--everyone in this building is on edge. I'm going to fail my philosophy exam which is in--oh yeah--seven hours, and then I'm going to fail out of college and for the rest of my life I'm going to be stuck asking, 'Would you like butter on your popcorn?!'"
Penny's voice isn't a hiss so much as a rumble by now, and several angry students turn to vehemently shush her. It's been this way since she met him at a dorm function two years ago--he egged her on then, expressed disdain and disbelief at the idea that she could win the Halo tournament he'd organized for his floor--and ever since it's been a biting and enjoyable back and forth. He belittles and insults, and she mocks and yells. Everyone couple has their own thing, and this is theirs.
Sheldon's used to getting yelled at in exasperation or threat or victory, so he doesn't respond much when she seethes at him now, besides lifting an eyebrow slightly in her direction. He clears his throat and then reaches over and pulls her textbook toward her.
"In Defense of Philosophy: Classical Wisdom," he reads. "Any easy enough topic, I should think. Even for the unwashed idiocy that passes for academia in your class."
Penny deflates a little, turning away and dropping her head back onto her crossed arms as they rest atop the work table. "Sheldon, if you can't help me, then please just--"
"Of course I came to help you." His voice is quieter as he leans toward her, and she feels his fingers settle against the back of her neck. She doesn't relax immediately, but the longer he works his thumb against the nape of her neck, the more she feels her breathing start to calm and her head start to clear.
She turns her head toward him, her cheek rested against her forearm. Sheldon is still leaning toward her, and his hand has slipped to her jaw, his thumb pressed soft against her cheek. She forgets why she loves him sometimes, until she remembers, in quick, peaceful moments like this: the way he looks at her, into her, the deep, easy feeling that settles into her chest. The way her breath catches at the blue in his eyes. The way he makes her feel like she can do anything she wants with her life, and she will.
Her voice is small when she asks, quiet and playful. "Don't you need to study?"
Sheldon tucks her hair behind her ear quickly and then draws his hand away, flipping open her textbook. "Why would I need to study?"
She laughs to herself, and then pushes up, her spine rigid against the back of the chair. She flattens her hands against the table, her fingers strong, her palms sturdy. She takes a deep breath and pulls her shoulders back. "Okay," she says, "hit me." She can do this. She can do anything. This will be easy.
Sheldon's voice is clipped and professional as he reads from the book. "Using Socrates' trial and Parmenides' parricide, explain the difference between the physical and the logical."
Penny tenses her hands harder atop the wood. Maybe it won't be that easy after all, but when she feels Sheldon settles his fingers on her knee, she’s pretty sure she’ll figure something out.
----
Drabble #2:
The play’s a period piece, lots of frilled skirts and white gloves, gentle mannerisms and demure smiles. Penny takes to it easily, the slight bend of her wrist, the coy angle of her chin. She is elegant and sharp, playing the character perfectly: daughter of a wealthy barrister, teasing and smart and dangerous. She’s not the play’s lead, but she gets more laughs than the rest of the cast with her well-timed barbs and insults. They don’t sound rehearsed, despite the fact that she practically slept with the script under her pillow for two months.
On opening night, her first curtain call is met with thunderous applause, and Penny can’t help that wide, elated smile that spreads across her face. When the curtain closes, the cast wraps their arms around each other and Denny gives the usual speech and there is a wild, wondrous energy in the air. They were good-better than good. They were fantastic.
Penny gets a few calls of “Great job!” or “Terrific performance!” on her way back to her shared dressing room. Leona and Stacy are still out backstage, and Penny shuts the door and leans heavily against it. There is a tight feeling in her chest, like this is it, right here, she’s finally found her place. This is her chance, her shot. This could be her break. She tries not to think about it as she undresses and wipes off her stage make-up, and she almost manages to keep the shake from her hands as she gathers up her things and heads to the front of the theater.
She finds the boys at the stage door, hands full of flowers and wide smiles on their faces.
“Congratulations!” Howard says, pulling her into an awkward hug. Raj nods enthusiastically beside him and Leonard holds out the bouquet he brought her, a tasteful bunch of roses. “You were great! The play was terrific!”
Penny steps back and smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Thank you so much for coming. It means so much to have you guys here for this.”
Leonard steps forward and sets the flowers in her arms. “Penny, the play was really good.” He turns and smiles at the rest of the guys. “Didn’t you guys think the play was really good?”
“There was a lighting malfunction in the second act,” Sheldon says, hands behind his back and eyes on the ground. He looks up and Penny narrows her eyebrows at him, and he swallows and continues begrudgingly, “But the cast overcame it adequately and the rest was quite entertaining.”
“Thank you,” Penny says, clutching her flowers to her chest. “Now you guys are coming to the cast party, right?” Leonard, Howard and Raj all grin madly, and start talking amongst themselves about who gets dibs on which cast members, and Penny laughs to herself as she trails behind them to her car.
“Penny,” Sheldon says, stopping her with a light touch to her arm. When she looks at him, there’s something hesitant on his face, a pause to his voice that’s not usually there.
“What is it, Sheldon?”
“I got you this.” He lifts his arm to her, hand outstretched and holding a glass jar of something white and, to be honest, pretty gross-looking. He looks at her expectantly and she slowly lifts her hand to take the jar. “It’s pickled herring,” he continues, starting toward the car as she falls in step beside him. “It’s supposed to be served on opening night of a new production, for luck.”
Penny doesn’t answer right away, just weighs the jar in her hand and looks up at him, eyes bewildered and confused. “Where did you come up with this?” It’s one of the grossest things Penny’s ever held in her hand, but somehow it’s sweet, that he went to the trouble.
He grins at her, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I googled it.” Penny opens her mouth to thank him, hug him, tell him she’s glad he was here to see this part of her life that feels so important, but he looks over her shoulder and calls out, “You’re not sitting in the front seat! The front seat is my seat!”
She laughs to herself as she watches him scurry over to the car and yank Howard away from the door handle, and the jar in her hand warms slowly against her skin.
“Alright, boys,” she says, opening the door and climbing into the front seat. She hands the jar back to Sheldon to hold for the ride, and their fingers brush quickly and she smiles at him, genuine and grateful. “I’m going to very clearly lay out the ground rules for the party, is that understood?”
“Is there any chance I’m going to be allowed to talk to the chick who played the prostitute?”
Penny laughs as she throws the car into reverse. The night is young, and she’s an actress, and there’s a whole wide world out there, just ripe for the picking. She meets Howard’s eyes in the rear view mirror and dips her chins and smiles demurely, the trappings of her character creeping into her eyes even without all the frills and lace. “Not a chance.”