ylla
in
perfect_duet
Advent Calendar 2011 Day 17: two small scraps
After deliberately asking for a late date, I didn't manage to write anything new after all, so I'm afraid you'll have to make do with what I had around.
The first is a scrap of Ionian Mission oakum, inspired by the question of why Stephen never wishes Jack were there. The second is a real drabble, from some unspecified late date, is not at all cheerful and christmassy, and was inspired by this! :)
Barcelona
Stephen had not yet given up hope of sleep, lying relaxed and still with the small satisfactions and gains of the last few days spread out in his mind for review; and after all it would not matter greatly tonight if he lay awake until the small hours or later. The bottle in his bag was a talisman - a guarantee of sleep when it would be most needed, if the knowledge of that refuge was not in itself enough - but he had no intention of touching it now, with those meetings and negotiations behind him, and the immediate future holding only another journey.
The church bells began to ring, drawing him back from his thoughts, and he counted off the strokes of midnight, almost the only sound in the city around him. The Barcelona of his boyhood, changed and unchanged; a friendly city again, as it had not been when he was last there. Hostile then in name at least; he had always felt it had some kindness for him, even in an enemy land, even rising in anger against the French; the connection had been forged long ago.
This sense of the past made him strongly aware of other times and other places, of the things that might lie just beyond the dark. It would be almost midnight in London, and Diana would be dancing, or talking, or laughing, in another world. And just after midnight on the ship, out to the east - or was that the wrong way around? Just after or just before, Jack would be more than likely fast asleep, with the life of the ship moving in steady patterns around him, tired by his work, content to be where he belonged.
It was almost safe to think of these things now; almost safe to let the future and the rest of the world back in. One thing at a time. This short rest. Port Mahon. Then he could think of the return to Worcester; an unloved, unlovely ship, but her own small world.
He could almost hear the wind in the rigging, almost feel the swell, as thoughts tangled into dreams.
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Wishes
"If you were suddenly granted one wish, what would you ask for?" Jack asked.
"Correspondents who appreciate that others must read their writing," Stephen said irritably, taking off his spectacles and pressing his hands to his eyes.
He looked up after a moment, distant and bleak.
"But in truth, I would not meddle in such things. There is a tale of a goddess who wished that her human lover would never die, and neither he did, but she did not ask that he would never grow old, and so he lived forever in helpless imbecility. Better to leave well alone."
The first is a scrap of Ionian Mission oakum, inspired by the question of why Stephen never wishes Jack were there. The second is a real drabble, from some unspecified late date, is not at all cheerful and christmassy, and was inspired by this! :)
Barcelona
Stephen had not yet given up hope of sleep, lying relaxed and still with the small satisfactions and gains of the last few days spread out in his mind for review; and after all it would not matter greatly tonight if he lay awake until the small hours or later. The bottle in his bag was a talisman - a guarantee of sleep when it would be most needed, if the knowledge of that refuge was not in itself enough - but he had no intention of touching it now, with those meetings and negotiations behind him, and the immediate future holding only another journey.
The church bells began to ring, drawing him back from his thoughts, and he counted off the strokes of midnight, almost the only sound in the city around him. The Barcelona of his boyhood, changed and unchanged; a friendly city again, as it had not been when he was last there. Hostile then in name at least; he had always felt it had some kindness for him, even in an enemy land, even rising in anger against the French; the connection had been forged long ago.
This sense of the past made him strongly aware of other times and other places, of the things that might lie just beyond the dark. It would be almost midnight in London, and Diana would be dancing, or talking, or laughing, in another world. And just after midnight on the ship, out to the east - or was that the wrong way around? Just after or just before, Jack would be more than likely fast asleep, with the life of the ship moving in steady patterns around him, tired by his work, content to be where he belonged.
It was almost safe to think of these things now; almost safe to let the future and the rest of the world back in. One thing at a time. This short rest. Port Mahon. Then he could think of the return to Worcester; an unloved, unlovely ship, but her own small world.
He could almost hear the wind in the rigging, almost feel the swell, as thoughts tangled into dreams.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wishes
"If you were suddenly granted one wish, what would you ask for?" Jack asked.
"Correspondents who appreciate that others must read their writing," Stephen said irritably, taking off his spectacles and pressing his hands to his eyes.
He looked up after a moment, distant and bleak.
"But in truth, I would not meddle in such things. There is a tale of a goddess who wished that her human lover would never die, and neither he did, but she did not ask that he would never grow old, and so he lived forever in helpless imbecility. Better to leave well alone."