3 Sentence Fics
I finally got back to the ficathon today, and a truly wonderful and awesome person prompted a ton of English Patient!!! Favorite. Book. Ever. So I did, uh, a few...
The English Patient (preferably book?), Caravaggio/Hana, found his voice for her
They took his thumbs, took his hands. But a thief is not all thumbs - a good thief is at least half words, and for months he feels that knife sawing away at his voice, lack of use dulling the desire to speak. Hana, though, deserves at least half of him, and she gives him morphine, and he gives her the words he steals from delirium.
The English Patient, Caravaggio/Hana, garden
"I brought you something," he says, dropping a few tiny seeds into her dirt-covered palm.
"Basil - the women down in the village say it wards from evil," he smirks.
"Well then," she says, and kneels to plant them in front of her crucifix scarecrow.
The English Patient, Hana, 2 a.m. Everyone is asleep but her.
Caravaggio snores gently, and the English patient hisses out desert-wind sighs in his sleep, and in his tent Kip will be maintaining a slow steady in-and-out of air. She knows their breathing, each a different dialect of pain. She wishes she could hear her own.
The English Patient (book), Caravaggio & Hana, talking about Patrick
"I had a letter from him, before," Caravaggio offers. "He was proud of you."
She gets up and leaves.
The English Patient, Caravaggio/Hana, burning like phosphorus
She finds him lying in the dirt, in the rain, and when she rolls him onto his back he leaves a deep impression in the earth. "If you drown yourself I won't fix you," she murmurs crossly, but she loosens his collar, collects rainwater in her palms and splashes it on his forehead. She knows what it is to burn inside.
The English Patient (preferably book?), Hana/Caravaggio or Hana & Caravaggio, her love for him always in her heart like the page in the book where she wrote it down
There is a man, and he is a man, his suffering is not saintlike as the English patient's but more human. The man in the bed spins words out into the air as easily as he breathes. Caravaggio's words are heavier, thicker; he forces them out and she gathers them in close to her.
And then Betsy prompted Vincent and the Doctor, so I rewatched that and wrote this.
Doctor Who, art scholars, speculation on "for Amy"
Whomever 'Amy' was - a lover, a stranger - the painting she inspired is a full, if quiet manifestation of Van Gogh's talent, rich colors and masterful strokes. Whomever Amy was, to have formed such a connection with a famously lonely artist, to have given him such inspiration, she must have been special indeed.
Amelia Pond closes her Van Gogh book with a sigh and wishes she could have known him.
The English Patient (preferably book?), Caravaggio/Hana, found his voice for her
They took his thumbs, took his hands. But a thief is not all thumbs - a good thief is at least half words, and for months he feels that knife sawing away at his voice, lack of use dulling the desire to speak. Hana, though, deserves at least half of him, and she gives him morphine, and he gives her the words he steals from delirium.
The English Patient, Caravaggio/Hana, garden
"I brought you something," he says, dropping a few tiny seeds into her dirt-covered palm.
"Basil - the women down in the village say it wards from evil," he smirks.
"Well then," she says, and kneels to plant them in front of her crucifix scarecrow.
The English Patient, Hana, 2 a.m. Everyone is asleep but her.
Caravaggio snores gently, and the English patient hisses out desert-wind sighs in his sleep, and in his tent Kip will be maintaining a slow steady in-and-out of air. She knows their breathing, each a different dialect of pain. She wishes she could hear her own.
The English Patient (book), Caravaggio & Hana, talking about Patrick
"I had a letter from him, before," Caravaggio offers. "He was proud of you."
She gets up and leaves.
The English Patient, Caravaggio/Hana, burning like phosphorus
She finds him lying in the dirt, in the rain, and when she rolls him onto his back he leaves a deep impression in the earth. "If you drown yourself I won't fix you," she murmurs crossly, but she loosens his collar, collects rainwater in her palms and splashes it on his forehead. She knows what it is to burn inside.
The English Patient (preferably book?), Hana/Caravaggio or Hana & Caravaggio, her love for him always in her heart like the page in the book where she wrote it down
There is a man, and he is a man, his suffering is not saintlike as the English patient's but more human. The man in the bed spins words out into the air as easily as he breathes. Caravaggio's words are heavier, thicker; he forces them out and she gathers them in close to her.
And then Betsy prompted Vincent and the Doctor, so I rewatched that and wrote this.
Doctor Who, art scholars, speculation on "for Amy"
Whomever 'Amy' was - a lover, a stranger - the painting she inspired is a full, if quiet manifestation of Van Gogh's talent, rich colors and masterful strokes. Whomever Amy was, to have formed such a connection with a famously lonely artist, to have given him such inspiration, she must have been special indeed.
Amelia Pond closes her Van Gogh book with a sigh and wishes she could have known him.