So...I wrote fic ~
There was a fic challenge at nvrleaveharlan and I signed up. ~waves smelling salts about~ Here's the Justified fic that resulted.
Title: Slope Holler
Characters Loretta, Raylan,
Rating: G
Word count: 891
Spoilers: None, after the early eps of S2, where we get to know Loretta’s backstory.
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
A/N: First and foremost, I want to thank my good friend, janellla, who rose to the occasion of a last minute beta request. Appreciate it so very much, my dear. As for anything else, I’ll just say that I haven’t written in... … … a really long time, so thank you for allowing me to shake off the rust and participate in the Hillybilly Remix Challenge. Thanks, also, to norgbelulah for manning the helm and making this whole experience possible. Oh, and Slope Holler is an actual place in eastern Kentucky, not far from Fugitt Creek, just off of State Hwy 179.
Summary: Raylan takes Loretta for a hike to his old stompin’ grounds. What could possibly go wrong?
SLOPE HOLLER
“It is beyond me,” she said, all matter of fact and in his face, “how a man of your worldly skills could find yourself in a predicament such as the one we have here.”
He righted himself as best he could, looking to her for a helping hand. “You could at least ask if I’m okay,” he hissed, teeth clinched against the pain.
“No need,” she replied. “I can see full well that you are far from it. It appears your elbow had a mind to reverse itself after that slide you just took down the mountain.” She laid his hat in his lap, thinking it might bring him the comfort of familiarity. She was mostly right. “What made you think you could hike the trail to Slope Holler in those low-country, slick-bottomed bug-squishers?”
“Wasn’t so slopey last time I hiked here.” He took the water bottle she offered and drank it dry, wincing at the look she gave him, her brow arching right off her forehead. “And I wasn’t so old.”
*****
He swam up from the blackness that had taken him, sparing him for some time from the excruciating pain that radiated from his elbow. He slowly became aware of the autumn sun shining down, warming him and the flat slope of shale where he lay, head pillowed on her back pack, his hat resting on his chest. He realized she was talking, not to him as much as for him.
“Daddy and me read us a lot of fairy tales after mama died,” the voice was saying. “I was beyond that in my years, but we both took some comfort in it, sitting on that old green sofa that mama loved. If a body was to sit real still and turn their head just right, they could still catch a whiff of her scent, like it was hidin’ deep down in the heart of her place of comfort and joy.”
She hadn’t spoken of her parents for some time now, and he suspected she only did so because she had run out of other words to share, and because she thought he couldn’t hear.
“Sometimes daddy read out loud, but most times I had that honor. He was usually too deep in the fog of memory to remember I was there, thinking it was her own sweet voice he was hearin’ once again.” She breathed out a small, wistful sigh and paused, perhaps imagining herself sitting on that sofa again, surrounded by a mother’s love rather than a forest of silence.
“Mama’s mama had read them stories to her brood using the same old book with the faded red cover that I still have to this day. When I was just a little thing and I couldn’t understand all of the words, I lost myself in the pictures. Old black and white drawings with lots of lines and scratches all wove together to make something just about real enough to walk right in to. Even now I can see them as I’m laying in the dark, thinking about mama and daddy. I can hear mama readin’ to me and I can feel daddy beside me as we listened.” Another pause as she reached over to touch his forehead, feeling for fever, checking his breathing - he really couldn’t say.
“I can’t say it gives me great comfort, on account of them both being gone now, sittin’ together with Jesus on the front porch of the Lord’s Heavenly mansion.”
He roused himself then, wanting to distract her from slipping further down a darkening path. Eyes still closed, he raised his hand a few inches and waggled his index finger slowly in the air.
“I’ll bet you played at being the beautiful princesses, waiting for Prince Charming to come rescue you from life in the holler.” The effort cost him, and he swore under his breath as fire raced from injured elbow to shoulder and down to his fingertips.
“Do I look like some damn lah-dee-dah princess to you?” The usual sting was missing from her words. He thought he detected a wayward bit of tenderness in them, but might also chalk that up to the onset of delirium.
“Language,” he said, not having to fake the smile that curled the corners of his mouth. “That’s no way for a princess to talk.”
A short chuff of air shot through her nose, laughter wrapped in imaginary disdain. “It appears to be you who needs rescuing,” she said, laying a cool hand to his forehead again, letting it lie this time. “I would say that makes you the hapless princess.”
The laugh that escaped him was short, heartfelt and painful. “And you would be...?”
“The charming prince, of course, here to save you from yourself and your inappropriate footwear.”
Best to ignore the jibe and move on, he reasoned. “Don’t suppose you have a white charger stashed around here somewhere, do you?”
“No, but from the ruckus raised by that bunch I hear headed up the holler, I would say your pumpkin and six white mice await at the bottom of the trail.”
“Magic wand?” he asked. “ First of three wishes?”
“Cell phone,” she answered, and this time the tenderness was right there on top, plain as day for him to hear.
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Title: Slope Holler
Characters Loretta, Raylan,
Rating: G
Word count: 891
Spoilers: None, after the early eps of S2, where we get to know Loretta’s backstory.
Disclaimer: Justified belongs to Elmore Leonard and Graham Yost.
A/N: First and foremost, I want to thank my good friend, janellla, who rose to the occasion of a last minute beta request. Appreciate it so very much, my dear. As for anything else, I’ll just say that I haven’t written in... … … a really long time, so thank you for allowing me to shake off the rust and participate in the Hillybilly Remix Challenge. Thanks, also, to norgbelulah for manning the helm and making this whole experience possible. Oh, and Slope Holler is an actual place in eastern Kentucky, not far from Fugitt Creek, just off of State Hwy 179.
Summary: Raylan takes Loretta for a hike to his old stompin’ grounds. What could possibly go wrong?
SLOPE HOLLER
“It is beyond me,” she said, all matter of fact and in his face, “how a man of your worldly skills could find yourself in a predicament such as the one we have here.”
He righted himself as best he could, looking to her for a helping hand. “You could at least ask if I’m okay,” he hissed, teeth clinched against the pain.
“No need,” she replied. “I can see full well that you are far from it. It appears your elbow had a mind to reverse itself after that slide you just took down the mountain.” She laid his hat in his lap, thinking it might bring him the comfort of familiarity. She was mostly right. “What made you think you could hike the trail to Slope Holler in those low-country, slick-bottomed bug-squishers?”
“Wasn’t so slopey last time I hiked here.” He took the water bottle she offered and drank it dry, wincing at the look she gave him, her brow arching right off her forehead. “And I wasn’t so old.”
*****
He swam up from the blackness that had taken him, sparing him for some time from the excruciating pain that radiated from his elbow. He slowly became aware of the autumn sun shining down, warming him and the flat slope of shale where he lay, head pillowed on her back pack, his hat resting on his chest. He realized she was talking, not to him as much as for him.
“Daddy and me read us a lot of fairy tales after mama died,” the voice was saying. “I was beyond that in my years, but we both took some comfort in it, sitting on that old green sofa that mama loved. If a body was to sit real still and turn their head just right, they could still catch a whiff of her scent, like it was hidin’ deep down in the heart of her place of comfort and joy.”
She hadn’t spoken of her parents for some time now, and he suspected she only did so because she had run out of other words to share, and because she thought he couldn’t hear.
“Sometimes daddy read out loud, but most times I had that honor. He was usually too deep in the fog of memory to remember I was there, thinking it was her own sweet voice he was hearin’ once again.” She breathed out a small, wistful sigh and paused, perhaps imagining herself sitting on that sofa again, surrounded by a mother’s love rather than a forest of silence.
“Mama’s mama had read them stories to her brood using the same old book with the faded red cover that I still have to this day. When I was just a little thing and I couldn’t understand all of the words, I lost myself in the pictures. Old black and white drawings with lots of lines and scratches all wove together to make something just about real enough to walk right in to. Even now I can see them as I’m laying in the dark, thinking about mama and daddy. I can hear mama readin’ to me and I can feel daddy beside me as we listened.” Another pause as she reached over to touch his forehead, feeling for fever, checking his breathing - he really couldn’t say.
“I can’t say it gives me great comfort, on account of them both being gone now, sittin’ together with Jesus on the front porch of the Lord’s Heavenly mansion.”
He roused himself then, wanting to distract her from slipping further down a darkening path. Eyes still closed, he raised his hand a few inches and waggled his index finger slowly in the air.
“I’ll bet you played at being the beautiful princesses, waiting for Prince Charming to come rescue you from life in the holler.” The effort cost him, and he swore under his breath as fire raced from injured elbow to shoulder and down to his fingertips.
“Do I look like some damn lah-dee-dah princess to you?” The usual sting was missing from her words. He thought he detected a wayward bit of tenderness in them, but might also chalk that up to the onset of delirium.
“Language,” he said, not having to fake the smile that curled the corners of his mouth. “That’s no way for a princess to talk.”
A short chuff of air shot through her nose, laughter wrapped in imaginary disdain. “It appears to be you who needs rescuing,” she said, laying a cool hand to his forehead again, letting it lie this time. “I would say that makes you the hapless princess.”
The laugh that escaped him was short, heartfelt and painful. “And you would be...?”
“The charming prince, of course, here to save you from yourself and your inappropriate footwear.”
Best to ignore the jibe and move on, he reasoned. “Don’t suppose you have a white charger stashed around here somewhere, do you?”
“No, but from the ruckus raised by that bunch I hear headed up the holler, I would say your pumpkin and six white mice await at the bottom of the trail.”
“Magic wand?” he asked. “ First of three wishes?”
“Cell phone,” she answered, and this time the tenderness was right there on top, plain as day for him to hear.
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