A follow up
One of my mini ideas has blossomed into a possibility. A genuine one.
Entirely un-edited, but my first drafts usually aren't too awful. If you have ten minutes, give it a glance and tell me what you think. Please try to ignore the fact that, so far, all the characters are me. I'm sure that'll change. Emily's already turning into my sister Bethan, and I rather suspect Dr Walker is turning into Snape.
Chapter One
The plane banked, and Emily swallowed heavily, squeezed her eyes tight shut and held her breath. With a smirk, her younger brother attempted to prise her right hand from the arm rest. "Come on," he wheedled, mostly in good nature, "It's been seven hours. Give it up, Em."
"Don't. Like. Flying," Emily ground out, gasping as the plane seemed to put on the breaks in mid-air.
Aaron couldn't help his quiet whoop of glee as his heart rose up in his throat at the sensation, even as his sister shuddered with fear. She had been largely silent for the full length of the flight. It had been quiet -- very little turbulence, considering the amount of cloud cover, and the airline had even put on some decent movies -- but Emily had only opened her eyes to look at the food that was put in front of her. And then refuse it. Some of the time, Aaron hadn't been sure whether she had fallen asleep, but she had not once loosened her grip on their shared arm rest. More than once, he had had to lean forward and smile apologetically at the grumpy looking man on Emily's other side.
Craning his neck, a wide smile split Aaron's face. "I can see the ground now, Em. And the cloud's so low, we must pretty much be landed. See, there the runway."
"Where?" she demanded, her eyes flying open, as she too shifted to catch a glimpse of the grey strip through the tiny portal window, just as there was a bump and rush while the plane slowed on the runway. Emily's pale brown eyebrows drew together, as she surveyed the world outside. "What time is it, Aaron?"
"Um, it's ten-twenty local time," Aaron said, consulting the sports watch Dad had bought him for his thriteenth birthday. It was already dirty around the nylon strap, but he refused to ever take it off.
"Why is it so dark? Jesus, it's supposed to be summer," Emily complained.
"Make the most of it," Aaron replied. "You turn into a lobster back home."
Emily scowled. The expression didn't suit her, her brother thought idly. His friends all thought she was really cute, because her hair was blonde in the summer or when she dyed it, and because she was skinny. Their Dad had said she was pretty because she had her mother's bottle-glass blue eyes and the same dimple when she smiled. But Emily hadn't smiled in ages, and last week the blonde hair had gone as well. A bottle of black hair dye, and another three in her luggage for the roots. This made him chuckle, "You're going to look like an emo after a month here."
"Shut up, dork," she muttered half-heartedly, too tired to inflect any real venom in the insult.
With a louder than necessary 'bink' the seatbelt light went out, and a mass of clicking through the fuselage. People shifted and collected their belongings without much care who their elbows hit. Emily was in no rush to leave, and happily waited for a clear spot to pull down their backpacks at a leisurely pace. She half-heartedly patted down her younger brother's hair, which earned her a shove backwards before he ran for the xit. Emily shook her head, following him with an air of non-chalance. She smiled the half-smile that had been filling in for her genuine one for the last two weeks, at the air stewardess. "Enjoy your stay," the stewardess chirped.
Immigration wasn't as hard as Emily had been told to expect. She kept Aaron close to her and gave truthful answers to every question, along with the letter from the solicitor, the photocopy of her father's will and the papers provided by Mr Glover at the British Embassy. After half an hour, they were free to collect their luggage, and ride the flat escalators to the arrivals lounge.
Emily heaved a breath as they walked out into the crowded, open space, eyes shifting all around. She rest a hand on Aaron's shoulder, instinctively keeping him close. "OK, Dr Walker said that she would have a sign for us. Can you see her?"
"You're taller than me, doofus."
"Just, look around, OK?"
Aaron sighed, suddenly irritable and tired. "Whatever."
A panic was beginning to rise within her. What, exactly, were they supposed to do if this woman didn't bother to show up? Or if she'd gone home because they took too long in immigration? They had no address, no contact number -- and Emily certainly wasn't climbing straight back on a plane to go home!
"Excuse me." Emily turned sharply, jumping at the close proximity of the voice.
A woman in her late twenties, with long brown hair and a freckled, crooked nose was looking at her with intent hazel eyes. "Emily Heaver?"
She couldn't help the way her eyes widened in surprise. If this was Aunt Megan, she really couldn't have been much older than Emily herself. And she was fairly sure doctors -- stuffy, academic researchers -- didn't normally go around in tight jeans and low-cut shirts. Even if she wasn't pretty, which she most certainly was not, Emily had to admit she was ten times the woman Emily had been expecting. "Dr Walker?"
Thin lips curved into a tight smile, which didn't crease her eyes. "It's very nice to meet you," she said in a clipped, typically English accent. Not quite as bad as the Queen, but she couldn't certainly have a job on a 1940s BBC broadcast.
The hand that the marginally older woman held out was thin and pale. Emily took it, and was surprised to feel a great deal of warmth in the other woman's skin. "Yes, I'm Emily, and this is Aaron."
With a practiced air, Dr Walker held out her hand to him. Aaron glanced quickly at Emily, hiding a smirk, before taking her hand also. They shook once, before Dr Walker quickly took back her hand, hiding it in her back pocket. "Well, let's not bugger about. Is this everything?" she asked, gesturing to Emily and Aaron's worldly possessions, condensed into two suitcases and a guitar case. Dr Walker stooped, and picked up a suitcase in each hand. "Are you alright with the rest?" she asked over her shoulder, already striding towards the terminal exit.
Emily picked up her guitar, lovingly smothered in punk rock stickers, and hurried after her new guardian. "Oh, we're fine, but please, Dr Walker, let me help with those."
"You've just come off an overnight flight from Canada. That's eight hours, probably without sleep, and then a grilling from the suspicious morons who control our country's immigration. I suspect I am the more capable of the three of us. And I know where the car is." She glanced over her shoulder with what might have been a half smile. "Come on, boy, keep up!" Aaron skipped ahead of Emily, sticking his tongue out at her as he trotted a bad mimicry of Dr Walker's long strides.
ETA: For anyone who, as I suggested, skipped over my scribblings in the last post, you didn't miss much on background or context. I want to write about two kids moving from Lindsay, Ontario (my home away from home) to Nant Ffrancon, North Wales (My almost actual home -- a little more picturesque than my village by the sea!) I've done rather more plotting now, filled a side of A5 with my scrawled little handwriting. There's a full storyline. I'm actually quite scared. Oh! And a talking cat called (what else but) Severa.
Entirely un-edited, but my first drafts usually aren't too awful. If you have ten minutes, give it a glance and tell me what you think. Please try to ignore the fact that, so far, all the characters are me. I'm sure that'll change. Emily's already turning into my sister Bethan, and I rather suspect Dr Walker is turning into Snape.
Chapter One
The plane banked, and Emily swallowed heavily, squeezed her eyes tight shut and held her breath. With a smirk, her younger brother attempted to prise her right hand from the arm rest. "Come on," he wheedled, mostly in good nature, "It's been seven hours. Give it up, Em."
"Don't. Like. Flying," Emily ground out, gasping as the plane seemed to put on the breaks in mid-air.
Aaron couldn't help his quiet whoop of glee as his heart rose up in his throat at the sensation, even as his sister shuddered with fear. She had been largely silent for the full length of the flight. It had been quiet -- very little turbulence, considering the amount of cloud cover, and the airline had even put on some decent movies -- but Emily had only opened her eyes to look at the food that was put in front of her. And then refuse it. Some of the time, Aaron hadn't been sure whether she had fallen asleep, but she had not once loosened her grip on their shared arm rest. More than once, he had had to lean forward and smile apologetically at the grumpy looking man on Emily's other side.
Craning his neck, a wide smile split Aaron's face. "I can see the ground now, Em. And the cloud's so low, we must pretty much be landed. See, there the runway."
"Where?" she demanded, her eyes flying open, as she too shifted to catch a glimpse of the grey strip through the tiny portal window, just as there was a bump and rush while the plane slowed on the runway. Emily's pale brown eyebrows drew together, as she surveyed the world outside. "What time is it, Aaron?"
"Um, it's ten-twenty local time," Aaron said, consulting the sports watch Dad had bought him for his thriteenth birthday. It was already dirty around the nylon strap, but he refused to ever take it off.
"Why is it so dark? Jesus, it's supposed to be summer," Emily complained.
"Make the most of it," Aaron replied. "You turn into a lobster back home."
Emily scowled. The expression didn't suit her, her brother thought idly. His friends all thought she was really cute, because her hair was blonde in the summer or when she dyed it, and because she was skinny. Their Dad had said she was pretty because she had her mother's bottle-glass blue eyes and the same dimple when she smiled. But Emily hadn't smiled in ages, and last week the blonde hair had gone as well. A bottle of black hair dye, and another three in her luggage for the roots. This made him chuckle, "You're going to look like an emo after a month here."
"Shut up, dork," she muttered half-heartedly, too tired to inflect any real venom in the insult.
With a louder than necessary 'bink' the seatbelt light went out, and a mass of clicking through the fuselage. People shifted and collected their belongings without much care who their elbows hit. Emily was in no rush to leave, and happily waited for a clear spot to pull down their backpacks at a leisurely pace. She half-heartedly patted down her younger brother's hair, which earned her a shove backwards before he ran for the xit. Emily shook her head, following him with an air of non-chalance. She smiled the half-smile that had been filling in for her genuine one for the last two weeks, at the air stewardess. "Enjoy your stay," the stewardess chirped.
Immigration wasn't as hard as Emily had been told to expect. She kept Aaron close to her and gave truthful answers to every question, along with the letter from the solicitor, the photocopy of her father's will and the papers provided by Mr Glover at the British Embassy. After half an hour, they were free to collect their luggage, and ride the flat escalators to the arrivals lounge.
Emily heaved a breath as they walked out into the crowded, open space, eyes shifting all around. She rest a hand on Aaron's shoulder, instinctively keeping him close. "OK, Dr Walker said that she would have a sign for us. Can you see her?"
"You're taller than me, doofus."
"Just, look around, OK?"
Aaron sighed, suddenly irritable and tired. "Whatever."
A panic was beginning to rise within her. What, exactly, were they supposed to do if this woman didn't bother to show up? Or if she'd gone home because they took too long in immigration? They had no address, no contact number -- and Emily certainly wasn't climbing straight back on a plane to go home!
"Excuse me." Emily turned sharply, jumping at the close proximity of the voice.
A woman in her late twenties, with long brown hair and a freckled, crooked nose was looking at her with intent hazel eyes. "Emily Heaver?"
She couldn't help the way her eyes widened in surprise. If this was Aunt Megan, she really couldn't have been much older than Emily herself. And she was fairly sure doctors -- stuffy, academic researchers -- didn't normally go around in tight jeans and low-cut shirts. Even if she wasn't pretty, which she most certainly was not, Emily had to admit she was ten times the woman Emily had been expecting. "Dr Walker?"
Thin lips curved into a tight smile, which didn't crease her eyes. "It's very nice to meet you," she said in a clipped, typically English accent. Not quite as bad as the Queen, but she couldn't certainly have a job on a 1940s BBC broadcast.
The hand that the marginally older woman held out was thin and pale. Emily took it, and was surprised to feel a great deal of warmth in the other woman's skin. "Yes, I'm Emily, and this is Aaron."
With a practiced air, Dr Walker held out her hand to him. Aaron glanced quickly at Emily, hiding a smirk, before taking her hand also. They shook once, before Dr Walker quickly took back her hand, hiding it in her back pocket. "Well, let's not bugger about. Is this everything?" she asked, gesturing to Emily and Aaron's worldly possessions, condensed into two suitcases and a guitar case. Dr Walker stooped, and picked up a suitcase in each hand. "Are you alright with the rest?" she asked over her shoulder, already striding towards the terminal exit.
Emily picked up her guitar, lovingly smothered in punk rock stickers, and hurried after her new guardian. "Oh, we're fine, but please, Dr Walker, let me help with those."
"You've just come off an overnight flight from Canada. That's eight hours, probably without sleep, and then a grilling from the suspicious morons who control our country's immigration. I suspect I am the more capable of the three of us. And I know where the car is." She glanced over her shoulder with what might have been a half smile. "Come on, boy, keep up!" Aaron skipped ahead of Emily, sticking his tongue out at her as he trotted a bad mimicry of Dr Walker's long strides.
ETA: For anyone who, as I suggested, skipped over my scribblings in the last post, you didn't miss much on background or context. I want to write about two kids moving from Lindsay, Ontario (my home away from home) to Nant Ffrancon, North Wales (My almost actual home -- a little more picturesque than my village by the sea!) I've done rather more plotting now, filled a side of A5 with my scrawled little handwriting. There's a full storyline. I'm actually quite scared. Oh! And a talking cat called (what else but) Severa.