X-Mas Drabble Revisited
Title: Christmas Drabble
Fandom/Original: Original
Pairing(s): None
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Implications of prostitution.
Summary: See notes.
Notes
I revisited that X-mas drabble again and began work on it. I think so far in this draft, I only want to elaborate a little more on the home, but I think I will carry that out after I am done discussing her family and her position in it. I've just hit a slight block, so I'm stopping for now. (And as for my plans, trust me, they make sense. I'm going to compare what her family is now compared to then and her position in society rather than her family, since she'll clearly have none.)
Christmas Drabble
The only light seeping in through the tiny and gaping holes in the blinds belonged to the streetlamps. They reluctantly shared with the tiny apartment in the early hours of night, and then gave too much during the early hours of the morning. At least that’s what she’d like to blame her insomnia on. She didn’t like to think about the demons lurking in the shadows about her apartment.
She was sixteen when she began to walk down this path. Her parents thought it would do her some good to be amongst children her own age instead of private lessons in their ritzy home. Had they known the effects of this change would strongly grip and eventually drown their little princess, perhaps they would have thought twice about such exposure and emersion into common life. Now, instead of a cushy mattress that gently supported her while she slumbered, she was met with the harsh poking and prodding of springs in a mattress she had managed to find out on the street. There was a reason it was no longer wanted, but she had ignored it. It was better than the floor or the recliner that was left behind.
At night, when she could fall asleep, she dreamed of the life she once called her own. Lydia Bates, sole heiress to the empire that her great-great grandfather had begun. She lived comfortably. Her parents owned a summer home in every corner of the country, or what it seemed like to the younger version of the broken girl. But their main home was in LA, of course. It was the cliché castle of a modern princess.
Large, wrought-iron gates split an ornate B in half when welcoming a friend, business associate to their less than humble abode. Two stories high and filled with countless expensive pieces of art, top of the line technology, and any other method they desired to show off their wealth, there was only one thing missing amongst the riches. But it was not love.
Love existed in the household. Graham Bates loved going to the country club to play a few rounds of tennis. He also had a fondness of spending time with his business associates, even those lower on the food chain, at the racetrack, drinking dark beer and smoking rich, Cuban cigars in their box high-above like demi-gods. He loved seeing his daughter’s piano recitals when they didn’t interfere with a business meeting. He loved Armani suits and would settle for nothing less. Graham Bates loved his wife even, a woman who craved nothing less than the best.
Sylvia Bates, formerly known as Sylvia Chase, was ambitious. Although well-off by her own rights, Sylvia was not satisfied. She loved expensive cars. She lavished in jewelry and fine artwork. Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Armani, anything designer and she loved it. Anything less than cashmere or fine silk, and Sylvia did not like it. It was probably why she had some slight contempt for herself over her daughter. It was not the son she was supposed to bear. The Bates family name would die with Lydia and although Sylvia loved her daughter, she blamed herself every day that Lydia grew older and she failed to conceive for the imminent doom of the family.
Fandom/Original: Original
Pairing(s): None
Rating: PG
Warning(s): Implications of prostitution.
Summary: See notes.
Notes
I revisited that X-mas drabble again and began work on it. I think so far in this draft, I only want to elaborate a little more on the home, but I think I will carry that out after I am done discussing her family and her position in it. I've just hit a slight block, so I'm stopping for now. (And as for my plans, trust me, they make sense. I'm going to compare what her family is now compared to then and her position in society rather than her family, since she'll clearly have none.)
Christmas Drabble
The only light seeping in through the tiny and gaping holes in the blinds belonged to the streetlamps. They reluctantly shared with the tiny apartment in the early hours of night, and then gave too much during the early hours of the morning. At least that’s what she’d like to blame her insomnia on. She didn’t like to think about the demons lurking in the shadows about her apartment.
She was sixteen when she began to walk down this path. Her parents thought it would do her some good to be amongst children her own age instead of private lessons in their ritzy home. Had they known the effects of this change would strongly grip and eventually drown their little princess, perhaps they would have thought twice about such exposure and emersion into common life. Now, instead of a cushy mattress that gently supported her while she slumbered, she was met with the harsh poking and prodding of springs in a mattress she had managed to find out on the street. There was a reason it was no longer wanted, but she had ignored it. It was better than the floor or the recliner that was left behind.
At night, when she could fall asleep, she dreamed of the life she once called her own. Lydia Bates, sole heiress to the empire that her great-great grandfather had begun. She lived comfortably. Her parents owned a summer home in every corner of the country, or what it seemed like to the younger version of the broken girl. But their main home was in LA, of course. It was the cliché castle of a modern princess.
Large, wrought-iron gates split an ornate B in half when welcoming a friend, business associate to their less than humble abode. Two stories high and filled with countless expensive pieces of art, top of the line technology, and any other method they desired to show off their wealth, there was only one thing missing amongst the riches. But it was not love.
Love existed in the household. Graham Bates loved going to the country club to play a few rounds of tennis. He also had a fondness of spending time with his business associates, even those lower on the food chain, at the racetrack, drinking dark beer and smoking rich, Cuban cigars in their box high-above like demi-gods. He loved seeing his daughter’s piano recitals when they didn’t interfere with a business meeting. He loved Armani suits and would settle for nothing less. Graham Bates loved his wife even, a woman who craved nothing less than the best.
Sylvia Bates, formerly known as Sylvia Chase, was ambitious. Although well-off by her own rights, Sylvia was not satisfied. She loved expensive cars. She lavished in jewelry and fine artwork. Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Armani, anything designer and she loved it. Anything less than cashmere or fine silk, and Sylvia did not like it. It was probably why she had some slight contempt for herself over her daughter. It was not the son she was supposed to bear. The Bates family name would die with Lydia and although Sylvia loved her daughter, she blamed herself every day that Lydia grew older and she failed to conceive for the imminent doom of the family.