Fics: You Can't Know & Proper Training Done Properly (SP)
Title: You Can't Know
Prompt: Childhood
Word Count: 608
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original - Streetlight People 'verse
Pairings (if any) none
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/RPF etc): none
Summary: Kilce works up the nerve to finally tell Pliya what her childhood was like.
I don't remember how I got back to my room but I do have bits and pieces of time that I was lucid. Not that I was doing anything but lying on my side, cradling my still throbbing hand against my middle. Still, I felt safe and didn't have any insane urges to jump out a window to get free of whatever it was that was causing the pain... again. When I woke up, really woke up, Pliya was bending over me with a cool cloth and glass of water. It was slightly tepid, just the temperature that I liked it to be. As I gulped the water down, she wiped my face. It was the closest to normal I'd felt in a long time.
"Ready to talk about it?" she asks, sinking down so that her head is closer to mine so that I don't have to strain to see her.
"Talk about what? About how I ended up being a kicking dummy for a gang of thugs? How I had no idea what they wanted but that didn't seem to matter? How they left me for dead?" I might have started crying because she wiped at my cheeks again. Even though I don't feel calm, all the emotions right back on the surface now that I'm awake and can't just sink back into unconsciousness and have it seem plausible. Besides, Pliya deserves some answers for being so nice to me and washing the sweat and tears off my face like the mother I'd always wished for when I was younger.
Enough time goes by without either of us saying anything that she seems to think I was going to stay silent on the subject. When she starts to get up, I reach out my good hand to keep her in place. "When I was growing up, I lived on the streets."
"Old business, Kilce. You've already told me about that."
I shake my head but the motion makes my vision cloud for an instant. No abrupt movements for awhile, it seems. "I gave you the glossy picture. The kind that makes it seem like a fairy tale. It was anything but. I stole food and money, not just for myself but for some of the gangs that were in charge of the streets I walked. I refused to join any one of them but they didn't bother me as long as I brought them a tribute." When I wait for Pliya to say something, I'm disappointed. Instead, she smiles at me as if waiting for the inevitable conclusion so she can tell me that it's going to be all right. It won't, though. She's not going to like this part. "And then I started stealing because I liked it. Not just little things. Bigger things for people who paid me for them. Bigger things... like paintings."
Realization dawns in her eyes. "The Everett exhibit? But..."
"But I'm just a little girl?" I roll over, closing my eyes so that I can't see the horror in her expression. "Yeah, I know. That's what the guards thought. I was perfect for the job."
I wait for her to leave but, instead, she lays her head down on the covers. At first, I think she's crying until I realize that she's laughing. "My father," she starts to say but can't continue as the mirth overtakes her. "He was livid. For weeks, it was all he would talk about. Please, Kilce. Please let me take you home with me someday. I want him to shake your hand. No, I take that back. I want him to hug you like a daughter."
Title: Proper Training Done Properly
Prompt: Injustice
Word Count: 523
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original - Streetlight People 'verse
Pairings (if any) vague hints at Cyril Ann/Xie
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/RPF etc): a little bit of violence
Summary: If you want something done right, you need to do it yourself.
Lady Cyril Ann stretched her arms and legs out until all her joints cracked. She was tired but her day was really just beginning. Her night, really. She hadn't thought through the ramifications of a double life when she'd started this path she was currently on. If it hadn't been for the fact that Taj could mimic her handwriting and had a decent brain behind his dopey grin, she might have had to kill herself with her course work. As it was, she was just putting herself behind when it came to sleep. One day, she would go back to sleeping all night and would enjoy every single minute of it.
"I want you to tell me if you think your work tonight is going to bear fruit." When the boy whom she was addressing only looked at her with a narrowed gaze, she changed the wording of her question so that it fit more with a vernacular that he was familiar with. "Did you scare the girl enough?"
This time, he smiled widely. "Oh, we scared her, all right. Scared her good."
"And what of her injuries?" Cyril Ann cocked her head to the side but kept the sweet expression firmly in place even though she wanted to rant and rave at the lunatic who thought up that idea. They'd tried to keep it quiet from her but she was having none of that. There were no secrets from her, even though they still hadn't learned that lesson yet. This particular instance was going a long way toward making them see how wrong they were to try to go over her head with their own ideas. "Do you think she'll recover from them well enough that we can use her when the time comes?"
There wasn't a single eye on her as every boy hung his head. She could dress them well enough to get them on campus but she'd never be able to beat the thug out of them. It was times like this that she missed Xie. Having her best friend and compatriot taken from her was like a knife wound burning in her side, a constant ache just below her heart. He took the punishment for her so that she wouldn't have to endure the months of confinement in the brig but he'd left her with the unfinished work of turning these boys into a working team.
When no one answered, she stood up. It was time to show them just how angry she was. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled a pin knives from her hair. They looked fragile but they were deadly in the right hands and Cyril Ann had the right hands for this weapon. Before any of them could move, she threw the knife with deadly accuracy so that only half of it was sticking out of the boy's hand.
"An eye for an eye. Isn't that what they say on the streets? Well, in this case, it should be a hand for a hand. Hope and pray she keeps it or you'll have more than just a tiny bit of metal piercing yours."
This entry was cross posted at dreamwidth - where the cool kids hang out.
Prompt: Childhood
Word Count: 608
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original - Streetlight People 'verse
Pairings (if any) none
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/RPF etc): none
Summary: Kilce works up the nerve to finally tell Pliya what her childhood was like.
I don't remember how I got back to my room but I do have bits and pieces of time that I was lucid. Not that I was doing anything but lying on my side, cradling my still throbbing hand against my middle. Still, I felt safe and didn't have any insane urges to jump out a window to get free of whatever it was that was causing the pain... again. When I woke up, really woke up, Pliya was bending over me with a cool cloth and glass of water. It was slightly tepid, just the temperature that I liked it to be. As I gulped the water down, she wiped my face. It was the closest to normal I'd felt in a long time.
"Ready to talk about it?" she asks, sinking down so that her head is closer to mine so that I don't have to strain to see her.
"Talk about what? About how I ended up being a kicking dummy for a gang of thugs? How I had no idea what they wanted but that didn't seem to matter? How they left me for dead?" I might have started crying because she wiped at my cheeks again. Even though I don't feel calm, all the emotions right back on the surface now that I'm awake and can't just sink back into unconsciousness and have it seem plausible. Besides, Pliya deserves some answers for being so nice to me and washing the sweat and tears off my face like the mother I'd always wished for when I was younger.
Enough time goes by without either of us saying anything that she seems to think I was going to stay silent on the subject. When she starts to get up, I reach out my good hand to keep her in place. "When I was growing up, I lived on the streets."
"Old business, Kilce. You've already told me about that."
I shake my head but the motion makes my vision cloud for an instant. No abrupt movements for awhile, it seems. "I gave you the glossy picture. The kind that makes it seem like a fairy tale. It was anything but. I stole food and money, not just for myself but for some of the gangs that were in charge of the streets I walked. I refused to join any one of them but they didn't bother me as long as I brought them a tribute." When I wait for Pliya to say something, I'm disappointed. Instead, she smiles at me as if waiting for the inevitable conclusion so she can tell me that it's going to be all right. It won't, though. She's not going to like this part. "And then I started stealing because I liked it. Not just little things. Bigger things for people who paid me for them. Bigger things... like paintings."
Realization dawns in her eyes. "The Everett exhibit? But..."
"But I'm just a little girl?" I roll over, closing my eyes so that I can't see the horror in her expression. "Yeah, I know. That's what the guards thought. I was perfect for the job."
I wait for her to leave but, instead, she lays her head down on the covers. At first, I think she's crying until I realize that she's laughing. "My father," she starts to say but can't continue as the mirth overtakes her. "He was livid. For weeks, it was all he would talk about. Please, Kilce. Please let me take you home with me someday. I want him to shake your hand. No, I take that back. I want him to hug you like a daughter."
Title: Proper Training Done Properly
Prompt: Injustice
Word Count: 523
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original - Streetlight People 'verse
Pairings (if any) vague hints at Cyril Ann/Xie
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/RPF etc): a little bit of violence
Summary: If you want something done right, you need to do it yourself.
Lady Cyril Ann stretched her arms and legs out until all her joints cracked. She was tired but her day was really just beginning. Her night, really. She hadn't thought through the ramifications of a double life when she'd started this path she was currently on. If it hadn't been for the fact that Taj could mimic her handwriting and had a decent brain behind his dopey grin, she might have had to kill herself with her course work. As it was, she was just putting herself behind when it came to sleep. One day, she would go back to sleeping all night and would enjoy every single minute of it.
"I want you to tell me if you think your work tonight is going to bear fruit." When the boy whom she was addressing only looked at her with a narrowed gaze, she changed the wording of her question so that it fit more with a vernacular that he was familiar with. "Did you scare the girl enough?"
This time, he smiled widely. "Oh, we scared her, all right. Scared her good."
"And what of her injuries?" Cyril Ann cocked her head to the side but kept the sweet expression firmly in place even though she wanted to rant and rave at the lunatic who thought up that idea. They'd tried to keep it quiet from her but she was having none of that. There were no secrets from her, even though they still hadn't learned that lesson yet. This particular instance was going a long way toward making them see how wrong they were to try to go over her head with their own ideas. "Do you think she'll recover from them well enough that we can use her when the time comes?"
There wasn't a single eye on her as every boy hung his head. She could dress them well enough to get them on campus but she'd never be able to beat the thug out of them. It was times like this that she missed Xie. Having her best friend and compatriot taken from her was like a knife wound burning in her side, a constant ache just below her heart. He took the punishment for her so that she wouldn't have to endure the months of confinement in the brig but he'd left her with the unfinished work of turning these boys into a working team.
When no one answered, she stood up. It was time to show them just how angry she was. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled a pin knives from her hair. They looked fragile but they were deadly in the right hands and Cyril Ann had the right hands for this weapon. Before any of them could move, she threw the knife with deadly accuracy so that only half of it was sticking out of the boy's hand.
"An eye for an eye. Isn't that what they say on the streets? Well, in this case, it should be a hand for a hand. Hope and pray she keeps it or you'll have more than just a tiny bit of metal piercing yours."
This entry was cross posted at dreamwidth - where the cool kids hang out.