Drabble: World of Words: Angel Hair
Author: Cobalt Mystic
Title: World of Words: Angel Hair
Pairing: Spike (sorta, more William)/Xander- implied
Rating: G with that pesky PG warning for boy playing
Feedback: Mys has decided that she actually likes FB, so… constructive crit is fine, just be prepared for Mys to defend/explain her choices, and try not to do any permanent damage, k.
Disclaimer: Just playing with the pretty kittens. Unfortunately, they are not mine, but I will gladly groom and bathe them before sending them back home to Daddy (aka Joss/Mutant Enemy/et al).
Warnings/Squicks: abstract writing and wanton William-y-ness
Summary: Capturing an angel with words
AN1: A couple hours ago my Xandra told me she needed William… as if Mys could say no to her Xandra
AN2: “Angel Hair” has a couple different meanings (aside from the pasta) one being this rather odd but vaguely appropriate reference; the other referring to several varieties of spun Christmas decoration. The one Mys is most familiar with is a very fine, almost whispy ‘snow’ or ‘cloud’ type substance- it’s light, fluffy, rare, sticks to anything, and is damn near impossible to get rid of… see the connection?
*********
Candlelight flickered and flared over the cherry wood desk, casting shadows and tendrils of light across the sallow features of the young man’s softly chiselled face. The light seeming to chase his hand as it lightly scratched it’s way from one side of parchment to the other. He knew the candlelight was unnecessary- gas lighting had come to them years ago- just as he knew the loose leafs of parchment were almost archaic in this booming industrial age. But, try as he might, the consistency of gas flame and the disposability of mundane mass-produced paper stifled his words, smothering them in a wash of here, now, faster.
His words had to grow, had to be tended and nurtured. Words that told of beauty and laughter, of dark eyes that shone as bright as their owner’s smile, of acceptance and warmth, and of a future he knew could never be.
That’s why the words were so important. They had to capture every detail, every sight, sound, and breath. They had to capture the warm, sunny smile, the tender, heated looks, the voice- playful and sultry, the scent of cinnamon apples and cocoa that permeated the air. They had to capture his desire, his mind, his very heart.
His meagre, tawdry words had to capture the embodiment of an angel- an angel named Alexander.
Title: World of Words: Angel Hair
Pairing: Spike (sorta, more William)/Xander- implied
Rating: G with that pesky PG warning for boy playing
Feedback: Mys has decided that she actually likes FB, so… constructive crit is fine, just be prepared for Mys to defend/explain her choices, and try not to do any permanent damage, k.
Disclaimer: Just playing with the pretty kittens. Unfortunately, they are not mine, but I will gladly groom and bathe them before sending them back home to Daddy (aka Joss/Mutant Enemy/et al).
Warnings/Squicks: abstract writing and wanton William-y-ness
Summary: Capturing an angel with words
AN1: A couple hours ago my Xandra told me she needed William… as if Mys could say no to her Xandra
AN2: “Angel Hair” has a couple different meanings (aside from the pasta) one being this rather odd but vaguely appropriate reference; the other referring to several varieties of spun Christmas decoration. The one Mys is most familiar with is a very fine, almost whispy ‘snow’ or ‘cloud’ type substance- it’s light, fluffy, rare, sticks to anything, and is damn near impossible to get rid of… see the connection?
*********
Candlelight flickered and flared over the cherry wood desk, casting shadows and tendrils of light across the sallow features of the young man’s softly chiselled face. The light seeming to chase his hand as it lightly scratched it’s way from one side of parchment to the other. He knew the candlelight was unnecessary- gas lighting had come to them years ago- just as he knew the loose leafs of parchment were almost archaic in this booming industrial age. But, try as he might, the consistency of gas flame and the disposability of mundane mass-produced paper stifled his words, smothering them in a wash of here, now, faster.
His words had to grow, had to be tended and nurtured. Words that told of beauty and laughter, of dark eyes that shone as bright as their owner’s smile, of acceptance and warmth, and of a future he knew could never be.
That’s why the words were so important. They had to capture every detail, every sight, sound, and breath. They had to capture the warm, sunny smile, the tender, heated looks, the voice- playful and sultry, the scent of cinnamon apples and cocoa that permeated the air. They had to capture his desire, his mind, his very heart.
His meagre, tawdry words had to capture the embodiment of an angel- an angel named Alexander.