For the prompt 558 - memory
Title: Art
Fandom: Desert Hearts
Pairing: Vivian Bell/Cay Rivers
Rating: T
Word Count: 250
Summary: She frequents the gallery, always on the lookout for something beautiful & familiar
Vivian finds herself frequenting the School of the Arts on campus. She’s drawn to pottery and sculptures displayed throughout their gallery, always looking for something beautiful and familiar. As she gazes at a piece, her mind calls up a woman with dark hair and long fingers, molding the creation into shape. The woman looks up from her project and smiles.
Vivian blinks the image away, knowing it to be a false memory. She’s seen Cay’s work, but she never watched Cay at work. Never saw Cay’s fingers delving into a piece of clay, kneading it until it softened- engaging in a push-pull battle, until she could manipulate it into something that was both clay and the artist’s vision.
Vivian barks out a laugh which echoes in the silence of the gallery. It is ridiculous, she thinks, to be jealous of an inanimate object, but, somewhere in the Nevada desert, Cay’s fingers move over a piece of clay, caressing it, giving it her undivided attention.
“What do you think?” Cay asks.
“It’s beautiful. It’s you,” replies Vivian.
“You’re biased.”
“Come to New York.”
Years pass and Vivian continues to frequent the gallery, always on the lookout for something beautiful and familiar. One day, she notices a new sculpture on display. She’s drawn to it, reaching out instinctively toward it. Cay’s reflection appears next to hers in the glass of the display case.
“What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s you.”
“It’s us.” Vivian reaches over and entwines her fingers in Cay’s.
Fandom: Desert Hearts
Pairing: Vivian Bell/Cay Rivers
Rating: T
Word Count: 250
Summary: She frequents the gallery, always on the lookout for something beautiful & familiar
Vivian finds herself frequenting the School of the Arts on campus. She’s drawn to pottery and sculptures displayed throughout their gallery, always looking for something beautiful and familiar. As she gazes at a piece, her mind calls up a woman with dark hair and long fingers, molding the creation into shape. The woman looks up from her project and smiles.
Vivian blinks the image away, knowing it to be a false memory. She’s seen Cay’s work, but she never watched Cay at work. Never saw Cay’s fingers delving into a piece of clay, kneading it until it softened- engaging in a push-pull battle, until she could manipulate it into something that was both clay and the artist’s vision.
Vivian barks out a laugh which echoes in the silence of the gallery. It is ridiculous, she thinks, to be jealous of an inanimate object, but, somewhere in the Nevada desert, Cay’s fingers move over a piece of clay, caressing it, giving it her undivided attention.
“What do you think?” Cay asks.
“It’s beautiful. It’s you,” replies Vivian.
“You’re biased.”
“Come to New York.”
Years pass and Vivian continues to frequent the gallery, always on the lookout for something beautiful and familiar. One day, she notices a new sculpture on display. She’s drawn to it, reaching out instinctively toward it. Cay’s reflection appears next to hers in the glass of the display case.
“What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s you.”
“It’s us.” Vivian reaches over and entwines her fingers in Cay’s.