fic: Coming Home
Media: Fic (original)
Title: Coming Home
Rating: PG
Spoilers: n/a
Warnings: None
Word count: 435
Beta: Unbetad, but extensivly edited. Anyone interested?
Completed: 02 April, 2009
Summary: Moira is still getting used to a new country and language, but there is somewhere she knows she can go. Based on my first time at Tels Quels Jeune.
Author Note: This was written in honour of my first time at Tels Quels Jeune, after almost two months of living in Belgium with next to no English! Merci Tels Quels!
Coming Home
With every step Moira took down that wet, narrow street, her heart thumped faster and faster against her rib cage. The light, spitting rain bespeckled her glasses, and left her hair damp, despite the scarf looped twice over her head. She glanced at the crumpled scrap of paper in her hand, and keep on walking. 96, 94, 92... Moira heard a splash, and glanced down as she felt the cold, filthy drain water soak into her canvas Converse. 'I really need some decent boots' she muttered to herself, shaking the excess water off her now sodden shoe, and continuing down the narrow rue. 84, 82, 80. This was it. Although there were no signs explaining the buildings purpose, the colourful rainbow posters advertising a film festival, another for the Pride parade three years ago confirmed that it was the right place.
The three story building was unremarkable. It was painted white, but was filthy from years of polluted rain. The door and windows were covered in chips, and there were four separate doorbells attached to the door. All the labeled names were unfamiliar and foreign, so Moira rung them each, one by one, until she heard a ringing from within. A door creaked, footsteps approached, a lock turned, and the battered front door swung open The guy that answered it was skinnier than Moira, but a head taller. His blond, gel-loaded hair was straight, and was combed so his fringe just covered his forehead. 'Bonjour,' he said, in a soft voice, stepping aside to let Moira into the entrance hall.
'Bonjour,' she replied, 'Palez vous anglais?' He shook his head.
'Petit peu', and gestured to a second door at the back of the hall. Moira walked forwards, and looked round the open door, only to be greeted by a room full of smiling faces, squished onto couches round a coffee table. The floorboards had cracks, the room was dim, and the chairs were miss-matched, but Moira didn't even notice. 'Bonjour,' she said again, 'Je m'appelle Moira. Je viens d'Australie. Palez vous anglais?' This time, half the group answered in the affirmative. A women with long, dark curly hair stood up and greeted Moira in a slightly accented voice.
'Hello! I'm Julie. Welcome!' She gestured to a squashy, beige armchair. 'Come sit down!' Moira smiled shyly, and did so. 'Well,' continued Julie, 'we were just celebrating Fanny's birthday, but this is exciting! It's not often we have someone new, and never an Australian. Tell us about yourself!'
For the first time since she had arrived in this strange, new country, Moira felt at home
Title: Coming Home
Rating: PG
Spoilers: n/a
Warnings: None
Word count: 435
Beta: Unbetad, but extensivly edited. Anyone interested?
Completed: 02 April, 2009
Summary: Moira is still getting used to a new country and language, but there is somewhere she knows she can go. Based on my first time at Tels Quels Jeune.
Author Note: This was written in honour of my first time at Tels Quels Jeune, after almost two months of living in Belgium with next to no English! Merci Tels Quels!
Coming Home
With every step Moira took down that wet, narrow street, her heart thumped faster and faster against her rib cage. The light, spitting rain bespeckled her glasses, and left her hair damp, despite the scarf looped twice over her head. She glanced at the crumpled scrap of paper in her hand, and keep on walking. 96, 94, 92... Moira heard a splash, and glanced down as she felt the cold, filthy drain water soak into her canvas Converse. 'I really need some decent boots' she muttered to herself, shaking the excess water off her now sodden shoe, and continuing down the narrow rue. 84, 82, 80. This was it. Although there were no signs explaining the buildings purpose, the colourful rainbow posters advertising a film festival, another for the Pride parade three years ago confirmed that it was the right place.
The three story building was unremarkable. It was painted white, but was filthy from years of polluted rain. The door and windows were covered in chips, and there were four separate doorbells attached to the door. All the labeled names were unfamiliar and foreign, so Moira rung them each, one by one, until she heard a ringing from within. A door creaked, footsteps approached, a lock turned, and the battered front door swung open The guy that answered it was skinnier than Moira, but a head taller. His blond, gel-loaded hair was straight, and was combed so his fringe just covered his forehead. 'Bonjour,' he said, in a soft voice, stepping aside to let Moira into the entrance hall.
'Bonjour,' she replied, 'Palez vous anglais?' He shook his head.
'Petit peu', and gestured to a second door at the back of the hall. Moira walked forwards, and looked round the open door, only to be greeted by a room full of smiling faces, squished onto couches round a coffee table. The floorboards had cracks, the room was dim, and the chairs were miss-matched, but Moira didn't even notice. 'Bonjour,' she said again, 'Je m'appelle Moira. Je viens d'Australie. Palez vous anglais?' This time, half the group answered in the affirmative. A women with long, dark curly hair stood up and greeted Moira in a slightly accented voice.
'Hello! I'm Julie. Welcome!' She gestured to a squashy, beige armchair. 'Come sit down!' Moira smiled shyly, and did so. 'Well,' continued Julie, 'we were just celebrating Fanny's birthday, but this is exciting! It's not often we have someone new, and never an Australian. Tell us about yourself!'
For the first time since she had arrived in this strange, new country, Moira felt at home