Girl Next Door [3/4]
anonymous
April 19 2009, 10:17:10 UTC
"You were always so driven when you were little," her mother says before she dies. "I wonder what happened to you."
She touches her temples, runs her fingers over the first really visible traces of silver and gray. "Nothing I'm sorry about," she says.
Most of the time she even means it.
*
He slouches across her sofa, still looking for all the world like he's nineteen years old. He could pass as her son, now.
"This is such a mess," he says, never taking his eyes from the news. "I've never had a boss resign before."
"You'll survive," she says - less rude and unsympathetic than she sounds, because they both know it's true.
He slides down the sofa slowly, as if he's trying to melt off it, and makes a pathetic little noise that might be "ow." If she didn't know any better, she would think he's hung over.
She kicks at his feet until he shuffles them over - still making little pained noises under his breath - and sits at the edge of the sofa. "You look terrible," she says.
"You try having your boss resign. This is worse than Johnson."
"I wouldn't know," she says. She's never actually met the various presidents, just the others countries; she suspects the assorted "bosses" have never known she or any of the others before her exist, and she'd be annoyed about that if she didn't understand the reasoning behind it.
He slumps even further on the sofa - really, it's a miracle he doesn't just slide off it - and makes a motion as if to lean on her shoulder, although he's slouched so much that he's closer to the general vicinity of her waist.
"Knock me over and I'm making you sleep on the porch," she says.
He grins up at her, around what's probably an overexaggerated wince.
Girl Next Door [4/4]
anonymous
April 19 2009, 10:21:37 UTC
By the Eighties her hair is entirely gray. Her face is lined and her skin sags against her bones, but she refuses to try to disguise any of it. She is and always has been a proud, stubborn woman.
She does start refusing the offers to go to dinner, though.
"People will think I'm robbing the cradle," she says tartly right at the end of the decade, even though she supposes it's the other way around.
He frowns at her - still much taller than her, still exactly the same. "Since when do you care what people think?"
She presses her hands against his chest and shoves - hard - and doesn't even care that he looks at her like she's punched him in the stomach.
"You don't like me anymore?" he asks quietly.
She holds her clenched hands tight against her sides and sets her jaw and looks away. "You're a good person," she says. "You're a moron, but you're a good person and I love you for it."
He waits, silent. She can almost see the physical effort it's taking for him not to say something, but he doesn't - and yes, God help her, he really is a decent human being, whatever else he is, and he probably really wouldn't care about what the neighbors think or the gossip or that she is well into her sixth decade.
That doesn't make things any better.
"I'm not just a person," he says finally.
She nods.
"You don't like that, do you?"
"I don't mind it," she says, and is half-terrified to realize that she means it. "It's just that I thought I'd be a grandmother now. I thought there'd be someone getting old with me and you - you don't. It's lonely like this."
He seems to deflate before her eyes, folding in on himself. She can't make herself comfort him.
"Aren't you used to it by now?" she asks, visions of the others he told her about decades ago flashing through her mind. "Losing us?" Maybe she shouldn't ask - but she's never been quiet, never one to hold her tongue, and she knows that if she had run crying for her brothers instead of bashing him on the head with her broom, she wouldn't be where she is now.
He looks at her, appalled. "Why would I be used to it?"
"Because." She doesn't know exactly when she sighs and takes for his hand, thin fingers curling as far around his palm as she can reach. "You're hopeless."
"You're still mean to me," he says, but he smiles a little.
She remembers him spinning her around just a few months ago to celebrate the end of the Cold War - a mix of him belting out "we are the champions!" and her telling him that song is terrible and put her down - and wonders what it would be like to have squabbles that aren't international incidents and dinner guests who don't introduce themselves by geography.
"Of course I am," she says. "Someone has to be."
"I can get dinner. Takeout or something."
"No hamburgers," she says, in no particular hope that he'll listen to her.
Hopeless man. Country. Whatever.
*
She looks at the Christmas cards decorating the mantle - except France's, because it's obscene - and wonders if she can make fast food presentable on the good china and silently prays that the newest president won't inspire certain countries to take up the saxophone.
It isn't what she wanted - not any of it, not really.
Re: Girl Next Door [4/4]
anonymous
April 19 2009, 20:03:24 UTC
This was wonderfully, beautifully written. I love the caustic-humored, blunt OC, who really is incredibly endearing and very much human. I love Alfred's puppy dog personality but his genuine, almost heart-breaking dedication to this woman, despite the fact that he surely must know that she will grow old and die. It seems very much Alfred to do that. -wipes a tear from the corner of an eye-
The mentions of other nations are quite hilarious, particularly France, down to that last parting shot of an obscene Christmas card. I loved it! I loved it in all of its bittersweet, powerful glory.
Re: Girl Next Door [4/4]
anonymous
April 20 2009, 04:23:21 UTC
Ya had me grinning like an idiot throughout the entire story. Very very well written and very very amusing. I absolutely adore the lighthearted tone used throughout the entire story.
Personally, I don't care much for OCs but you managed to pull off an OC who is not only believable but also very enjoyable. In all the years of reading fanfics, I've rarely found an OC to be likable but you managed to pull it off. Thank you so much for the good read. =)
Re: Girl Next Door [4/4]
anonymous
April 20 2009, 06:19:34 UTC
Oh, anon, this was fanstastic. I love the sense of time passing both on a personal level and at a historical level (and the way that the two inevitably intersect). I loved how wonderfully practical your OC was, grounded and sensible in a way that made her a great foil to Alfred.
She touches her temples, runs her fingers over the first really visible traces of silver and gray. "Nothing I'm sorry about," she says.
Most of the time she even means it.
*
He slouches across her sofa, still looking for all the world like he's nineteen years old. He could pass as her son, now.
"This is such a mess," he says, never taking his eyes from the news. "I've never had a boss resign before."
"You'll survive," she says - less rude and unsympathetic than she sounds, because they both know it's true.
He slides down the sofa slowly, as if he's trying to melt off it, and makes a pathetic little noise that might be "ow." If she didn't know any better, she would think he's hung over.
She kicks at his feet until he shuffles them over - still making little pained noises under his breath - and sits at the edge of the sofa. "You look terrible," she says.
"You try having your boss resign. This is worse than Johnson."
"I wouldn't know," she says. She's never actually met the various presidents, just the others countries; she suspects the assorted "bosses" have never known she or any of the others before her exist, and she'd be annoyed about that if she didn't understand the reasoning behind it.
He slumps even further on the sofa - really, it's a miracle he doesn't just slide off it - and makes a motion as if to lean on her shoulder, although he's slouched so much that he's closer to the general vicinity of her waist.
"Knock me over and I'm making you sleep on the porch," she says.
He grins up at her, around what's probably an overexaggerated wince.
And he's still as handsome as before, damn him.
*
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She does start refusing the offers to go to dinner, though.
"People will think I'm robbing the cradle," she says tartly right at the end of the decade, even though she supposes it's the other way around.
He frowns at her - still much taller than her, still exactly the same. "Since when do you care what people think?"
She presses her hands against his chest and shoves - hard - and doesn't even care that he looks at her like she's punched him in the stomach.
"You don't like me anymore?" he asks quietly.
She holds her clenched hands tight against her sides and sets her jaw and looks away. "You're a good person," she says. "You're a moron, but you're a good person and I love you for it."
He waits, silent. She can almost see the physical effort it's taking for him not to say something, but he doesn't - and yes, God help her, he really is a decent human being, whatever else he is, and he probably really wouldn't care about what the neighbors think or the gossip or that she is well into her sixth decade.
That doesn't make things any better.
"I'm not just a person," he says finally.
She nods.
"You don't like that, do you?"
"I don't mind it," she says, and is half-terrified to realize that she means it. "It's just that I thought I'd be a grandmother now. I thought there'd be someone getting old with me and you - you don't. It's lonely like this."
He seems to deflate before her eyes, folding in on himself. She can't make herself comfort him.
"Aren't you used to it by now?" she asks, visions of the others he told her about decades ago flashing through her mind. "Losing us?" Maybe she shouldn't ask - but she's never been quiet, never one to hold her tongue, and she knows that if she had run crying for her brothers instead of bashing him on the head with her broom, she wouldn't be where she is now.
He looks at her, appalled. "Why would I be used to it?"
"Because." She doesn't know exactly when she sighs and takes for his hand, thin fingers curling as far around his palm as she can reach. "You're hopeless."
"You're still mean to me," he says, but he smiles a little.
She remembers him spinning her around just a few months ago to celebrate the end of the Cold War - a mix of him belting out "we are the champions!" and her telling him that song is terrible and put her down - and wonders what it would be like to have squabbles that aren't international incidents and dinner guests who don't introduce themselves by geography.
"Of course I am," she says. "Someone has to be."
"I can get dinner. Takeout or something."
"No hamburgers," she says, in no particular hope that he'll listen to her.
Hopeless man. Country. Whatever.
*
She looks at the Christmas cards decorating the mantle - except France's, because it's obscene - and wonders if she can make fast food presentable on the good china and silently prays that the newest president won't inspire certain countries to take up the saxophone.
It isn't what she wanted - not any of it, not really.
She decides that maybe she's okay with that.
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I laughed whenever you mentioned the other countries france XD
It reminded me of Benjamin Button and The Notebook >w<
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Thanks for filling my request! ♥♥♥♥♥
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The mentions of other nations are quite hilarious, particularly France, down to that last parting shot of an obscene Christmas card. I loved it! I loved it in all of its bittersweet, powerful glory.
Reply
Personally, I don't care much for OCs but you managed to pull off an OC who is not only believable but also very enjoyable. In all the years of reading fanfics, I've rarely found an OC to be likable but you managed to pull it off. Thank you so much for the good read. =)
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