December 13
Remember back when lostinapapercup and I ran a RP game called outpost_12? I do. ♥ For today's entry in the December meme, lostinapapercup asked for people at outpost_12 getting into the holiday spirit. I decided to keep the fic solely to some of the characters the two of us played, because those are the ones I know best.
"I can't be bothered with Christmas." Faye looks down at her fingernails (perfect, of course) and lets out a long line of smoke. She chances a glance over at the lunkhead sitting nearby, his long legs stretched out in just the right way so anyone else would have to walk around or step over him. It figures, she thinks, that he would just be lounging there, taking up precious real estate, and not doing anything. The fleeting thought crosses her mind that with that green hair, all he needs is a Christmas cap and he could stand around and be the tree. The thought almost puts a smile on her face.
"I hate holidays," Spike mumbles. His eyes move to the garlands someone-probably the robots-put up all around the lobby overnight.
Faye takes in a sniff of air. "You hate everything.” Really, she ought to be insulted by his insolence, but she's taken aback by the tiny smile on his face.
"Not quite everything." He sits up a little bit more now, taps out a fresh cigarette, and flicks on his lighter. It's a wonder that thing doesn't singe the stupid hair on his head. He's so reckless. It bothers her more than it should and she's momentarily annoyed, although she doesn't let it show.
"That's right." Her voice is droll, dry. "You like to smoke."
Spike grins, but shakes his head. "That's not what I was thinking about."
Exasperated, Faye's eyes roll. "Then what were you thinking about?"
Still grinning like a stupid cat who just ate his owner's precious bird, Spike taps ashes off the end of his cigarette into a nearby tray. His eyes shift to the holiday decorations: the garland, the tinsel, the wreath at the front desk, the tree in the corner… and then move to a spot just over her head. His gaze stays there.
"What?" When Faye looks up, the only thing that betrays her ice-cool veneer is a tiny tug of her bottom lip between her teeth. Dangling above her head is a sprig of mistletoe.
She looks away slowly, one eyebrow raised. "I didn't sit beneath it on purpose, you know." Although she can feel the heat rising from her face, she steadfastly refuses to let her expression soften.
"Yeah, yeah." With that smile still plastered on his face, Spike springs to his feet in one swift move, the cigarette still lit between his fingers. "Sure, Faye."
Her recoil against the back of the chair is automatic. For a moment she's convinced he's about to lean in, and he does… just enough to pluck that piece of mistletoe from its string.
"Green's not your color." Spike folds the mistletoe into his palm before sticking that smoke between his teeth and sauntering off. He's still grinning.
"Where are you going with that?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he just makes a huge show of dangling the stupid thing over his head before tucking it away pointedly into a jacket pocket.
Ugh! She hates him, just as much as always. Maybe even more, after a stunt like that.
*
"I don't think the Santa hat becomes you." Kate can barely suppress her smile.
"What, you ain't never seen a southern Santa before?" The grin on Sawyer's face shows off his ladykiller dimples, but it's the tray of food in his hands that really catches her attention.
"Southern Santas bearing gifts?" Now she lets the smile take over.
"Finest dining on the whole damn rock, sweetheart." He takes a seat by her side, the tray balanced on his knees. "Didn't have no time to wrap ‘em, but I figured they ain't for wrappin' anyhow."
"French fries. You brought me french fries for Christmas." Grabbing one, she pops it between her teeth. "Thanks, Sawyer."
His grin would be even more endearing if she didn't know that it was usually accompanied by some selfish scheme or other. That's a truth about him she does know, and it's only rarely that Kate admits the two of them are more alike than they are different. Sometimes a person has to take what they can get, and knowing the truth about another human being makes their flaws and shining moments a little bit easier to understand.
"And a burger, and a cherry Coke."
Kate laughs. "You remembered."
The dimples still show on his face and his expression doesn't change, except for a flash of something in his eyes. "Course I remembered, Freckles."
What she hears is something more along the lines of how could I forget? She reminds herself that everything in life is temporary and that the most dangerous thing a person can do is fall. She's already fallen from the sky on Oceanic Flight 815 and that, she struggles sometimes to remind herself, was enough falling to last a lifetime.
Then she looks up at the hat perched jauntily on top of Sawyer's head, making him look like a vastly oversized elf, and has to laugh. Sometimes, falling just a little is okay.
*
"I'm unfamiliar with this holiday." Alex moves stiffly today, and it looks like that old injury is bothering him. Never prone to being the nurturing sort, Kara doesn't mention anything about it. She knows this thing they have is only temporary, but a good frak is a good frak and she'll take one wherever and whenever she can get one.
"Me either, but it looks like the whole frakking town is turning out for it." Outpost 12 City is decorated for winter. Trees have popped up on every godsdamn corner, with lights and baubles and crap all over them. Someone went and frosted all the streetlights, and groups of people stand around singing.
The street cart where they usually get a quick bite is serving mulled cider. Alex buys two cups and presses one into her hand. "Lieutenant."
"Captain." She can barely keep the laughter in her throat. He's so frakking serious all the time. She's never met another person who takes protocol to heart as much as he does. It can be endearing, but it can also be pretty godsdamn frustrating. Still, breaking down peoples' walls is a specialty of hers, whether by coercion or force or seduction. She likes getting people to drop the bullshit and just be themselves.
Alex might not be capable of that. If that's the case then that's the case and she won't spend a whole lot of time trying to figure it out. But while she's here she's sure as hell going to take advantage of everything this place has to offer, with the emphasis on everything.
He takes a cautious sip of the mulled cider ("Hmmm"); she gulps it down. He takes a moment to savor the aroma; she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and grins.
"It's good." Kara's tempted to poke him in the ribs, to grab his hand, to do something, anything, to break that through that stoic veneer of his. "Don't you think? I like it."
Alex looks down at her, his eyes full of some long-ago wind storm. That kind of scrutiny makes her uncomfortable at the best of times, especially from a superior officer, but she's not so enamored by military protocol that she lets it bother her. They're not even from the same world.
That's why his words surprise her.
"I like what I see."
Her smile is instantaneous. She feels it in her cheeks. "Aren't you just full of surprises, Captain."
The tiny hint of grin on Alex's face is proof enough that she's starting to get through. She'll soften him up yet.
*
From his spot on the rooftop, Vincent watches. His arms are folded over his chest but a breeze catches the edge of his cloak, making it ripple. Tonight, the light from the climate control tower blinks in alternating shades of red and green instead of its usual blue. For this one day only, the temperature has turned uncharacteristically cold. A light layer of snow coats the ground and more trickles down from the skies above.
In the distance, he hears the sounds of people singing, the mingled voices of people deep in happy conversation, of children running and playing. He thinks of distant friends: Tifa, Cloud, Yuffie, Barret, Nanaki, Cid. Little Marlene. Even their lost friend Aerith, returned to the Lifestream. Eyes closed, he imagines himself not in this world apart, but in the comfortable bowels of Midgar with his true family. If he were there… but, well, he isn't. Circumstance has led him to this place instead, and he's more aware than most people that time soldiers on, whether or not one wants it to. There is no going back to what was.
In an act of desperation mixed with self-preservation he promises not to think about Lucrecia but knows that by virtue of making the promise, he has already failed. What's one more sin? Nothing new. He lets the memory of his beloved wash over him. He would give anything to hold her in his arms one more time.
Holidays, like each and every day, are times for remembering. Lucrecia is always in his heart, with him everywhere he goes. Shaking the snow from his cloak, he glides quietly to the street below. It's time to lose himself in the outskirts of the evening's festivities. He knows with poignant intimacy that the only way to stop dwelling on the losses of the past is to look for the value of the present. The lesson is not an easy one for him to learn, but at least he tries.
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"I can't be bothered with Christmas." Faye looks down at her fingernails (perfect, of course) and lets out a long line of smoke. She chances a glance over at the lunkhead sitting nearby, his long legs stretched out in just the right way so anyone else would have to walk around or step over him. It figures, she thinks, that he would just be lounging there, taking up precious real estate, and not doing anything. The fleeting thought crosses her mind that with that green hair, all he needs is a Christmas cap and he could stand around and be the tree. The thought almost puts a smile on her face.
"I hate holidays," Spike mumbles. His eyes move to the garlands someone-probably the robots-put up all around the lobby overnight.
Faye takes in a sniff of air. "You hate everything.” Really, she ought to be insulted by his insolence, but she's taken aback by the tiny smile on his face.
"Not quite everything." He sits up a little bit more now, taps out a fresh cigarette, and flicks on his lighter. It's a wonder that thing doesn't singe the stupid hair on his head. He's so reckless. It bothers her more than it should and she's momentarily annoyed, although she doesn't let it show.
"That's right." Her voice is droll, dry. "You like to smoke."
Spike grins, but shakes his head. "That's not what I was thinking about."
Exasperated, Faye's eyes roll. "Then what were you thinking about?"
Still grinning like a stupid cat who just ate his owner's precious bird, Spike taps ashes off the end of his cigarette into a nearby tray. His eyes shift to the holiday decorations: the garland, the tinsel, the wreath at the front desk, the tree in the corner… and then move to a spot just over her head. His gaze stays there.
"What?" When Faye looks up, the only thing that betrays her ice-cool veneer is a tiny tug of her bottom lip between her teeth. Dangling above her head is a sprig of mistletoe.
She looks away slowly, one eyebrow raised. "I didn't sit beneath it on purpose, you know." Although she can feel the heat rising from her face, she steadfastly refuses to let her expression soften.
"Yeah, yeah." With that smile still plastered on his face, Spike springs to his feet in one swift move, the cigarette still lit between his fingers. "Sure, Faye."
Her recoil against the back of the chair is automatic. For a moment she's convinced he's about to lean in, and he does… just enough to pluck that piece of mistletoe from its string.
"Green's not your color." Spike folds the mistletoe into his palm before sticking that smoke between his teeth and sauntering off. He's still grinning.
"Where are you going with that?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he just makes a huge show of dangling the stupid thing over his head before tucking it away pointedly into a jacket pocket.
Ugh! She hates him, just as much as always. Maybe even more, after a stunt like that.
*
"I don't think the Santa hat becomes you." Kate can barely suppress her smile.
"What, you ain't never seen a southern Santa before?" The grin on Sawyer's face shows off his ladykiller dimples, but it's the tray of food in his hands that really catches her attention.
"Southern Santas bearing gifts?" Now she lets the smile take over.
"Finest dining on the whole damn rock, sweetheart." He takes a seat by her side, the tray balanced on his knees. "Didn't have no time to wrap ‘em, but I figured they ain't for wrappin' anyhow."
"French fries. You brought me french fries for Christmas." Grabbing one, she pops it between her teeth. "Thanks, Sawyer."
His grin would be even more endearing if she didn't know that it was usually accompanied by some selfish scheme or other. That's a truth about him she does know, and it's only rarely that Kate admits the two of them are more alike than they are different. Sometimes a person has to take what they can get, and knowing the truth about another human being makes their flaws and shining moments a little bit easier to understand.
"And a burger, and a cherry Coke."
Kate laughs. "You remembered."
The dimples still show on his face and his expression doesn't change, except for a flash of something in his eyes. "Course I remembered, Freckles."
What she hears is something more along the lines of how could I forget? She reminds herself that everything in life is temporary and that the most dangerous thing a person can do is fall. She's already fallen from the sky on Oceanic Flight 815 and that, she struggles sometimes to remind herself, was enough falling to last a lifetime.
Then she looks up at the hat perched jauntily on top of Sawyer's head, making him look like a vastly oversized elf, and has to laugh. Sometimes, falling just a little is okay.
*
"I'm unfamiliar with this holiday." Alex moves stiffly today, and it looks like that old injury is bothering him. Never prone to being the nurturing sort, Kara doesn't mention anything about it. She knows this thing they have is only temporary, but a good frak is a good frak and she'll take one wherever and whenever she can get one.
"Me either, but it looks like the whole frakking town is turning out for it." Outpost 12 City is decorated for winter. Trees have popped up on every godsdamn corner, with lights and baubles and crap all over them. Someone went and frosted all the streetlights, and groups of people stand around singing.
The street cart where they usually get a quick bite is serving mulled cider. Alex buys two cups and presses one into her hand. "Lieutenant."
"Captain." She can barely keep the laughter in her throat. He's so frakking serious all the time. She's never met another person who takes protocol to heart as much as he does. It can be endearing, but it can also be pretty godsdamn frustrating. Still, breaking down peoples' walls is a specialty of hers, whether by coercion or force or seduction. She likes getting people to drop the bullshit and just be themselves.
Alex might not be capable of that. If that's the case then that's the case and she won't spend a whole lot of time trying to figure it out. But while she's here she's sure as hell going to take advantage of everything this place has to offer, with the emphasis on everything.
He takes a cautious sip of the mulled cider ("Hmmm"); she gulps it down. He takes a moment to savor the aroma; she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and grins.
"It's good." Kara's tempted to poke him in the ribs, to grab his hand, to do something, anything, to break that through that stoic veneer of his. "Don't you think? I like it."
Alex looks down at her, his eyes full of some long-ago wind storm. That kind of scrutiny makes her uncomfortable at the best of times, especially from a superior officer, but she's not so enamored by military protocol that she lets it bother her. They're not even from the same world.
That's why his words surprise her.
"I like what I see."
Her smile is instantaneous. She feels it in her cheeks. "Aren't you just full of surprises, Captain."
The tiny hint of grin on Alex's face is proof enough that she's starting to get through. She'll soften him up yet.
*
From his spot on the rooftop, Vincent watches. His arms are folded over his chest but a breeze catches the edge of his cloak, making it ripple. Tonight, the light from the climate control tower blinks in alternating shades of red and green instead of its usual blue. For this one day only, the temperature has turned uncharacteristically cold. A light layer of snow coats the ground and more trickles down from the skies above.
In the distance, he hears the sounds of people singing, the mingled voices of people deep in happy conversation, of children running and playing. He thinks of distant friends: Tifa, Cloud, Yuffie, Barret, Nanaki, Cid. Little Marlene. Even their lost friend Aerith, returned to the Lifestream. Eyes closed, he imagines himself not in this world apart, but in the comfortable bowels of Midgar with his true family. If he were there… but, well, he isn't. Circumstance has led him to this place instead, and he's more aware than most people that time soldiers on, whether or not one wants it to. There is no going back to what was.
In an act of desperation mixed with self-preservation he promises not to think about Lucrecia but knows that by virtue of making the promise, he has already failed. What's one more sin? Nothing new. He lets the memory of his beloved wash over him. He would give anything to hold her in his arms one more time.
Holidays, like each and every day, are times for remembering. Lucrecia is always in his heart, with him everywhere he goes. Shaking the snow from his cloak, he glides quietly to the street below. It's time to lose himself in the outskirts of the evening's festivities. He knows with poignant intimacy that the only way to stop dwelling on the losses of the past is to look for the value of the present. The lesson is not an easy one for him to learn, but at least he tries.
This entry's here too with
comments.