WCMI contest entry
Since the contest's over and I didn't win anything, I figured I'd post the drabble I wrote anyway. I hope broadway_bound3 reads it and is amused by it. :D
Title: A Slippery Fish
Author: queenofsocks
Rating: PG
In a shadowy, sunlit glade, a square quilt had been spread across the grass. Atop the quilt, an array of objects had been arranged-cracked china, a steaming teapot, and several chipped teacups, among other things. Butter and jam stained the soft material, having been spread by a careless hand over many slices of bread. The same hand was now busy trying to open a jar of pickles. It was proving to be a rather difficult task.
Muttering a string of curses, Reginald tugged off one white glove with his teeth and tried again, fitting the cap to his large hand. His face grew red with the exertion, and finally he flung the jar away from him, settling into a very dramatic pout. He couldn’t even have some stupid pickles now. And it was all that silly girl’s fault.
At first, he reflected, her anger had charmed him. It was something that none of the others had, something that she must get from living in that strange country of hers. It hadn’t taken long at all to wear the others down.
He had dropped his best lines on her; he had reduced himself to downright begging…what did he have to do now? Dress in drag and do the hula?
No, he was pretty sure someone else had already tried that…
Not for the first time, Reginald wondered why he bothered anyway. He had told the March Hare she was more than the conquest, but was she? What had him spending all of his time trying to woo her?
He spread jam onto another slice of bread, stuffing it idly into his teacup. Some of the tea sloshed, but he didn’t notice.
Maybe it was her ability to argue with him. None of the others had tried that, either. She had answered every single one of his wittiest insults with ones of her own, and had never backed down…she had proven herself deaf to some of his best tricks, which for the love of his hat he could not understand…
She was very slippery. And some part of him hoped that it was due to something else, and not just him. He couldn’t have lost his touch! Surely he could not have been so weakened by her?
Stupid jar of pickles.
Reginald stilled as he heard a rustling in the trees nearby. There was no time to try and run. Peeking up from over the jar, Reginald met the irritated eyes of Alice.
“What are you doing in my backyard?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
“Nursing the wounds you inflicted upon me, my cricket,” he replied smoothly, twisting at the top again. Dratted gloves.
Alice gave an exaggerated sigh, and came to stand before him. She pointed one slender finger at his nose. “Go home,” she instructed, stressing her words slightly. “You’re being pathetic.”
“I’m-guhh-only trying to open a jar of pickles!”
“Well, that’s not the way to go about it!” she exclaimed, snatching the jar from his hands. With one smart twist, the top came off in her hands. She tossed the open jar into his stunned hands, turning her back on him. “Get out of my backyard!” she yelled as she went.
He stared down at the open jar, then at her retreating back. That black dress was really quite torturous of her, he thought randomly. It clung to her form more than that silly blue frock ever had.
And she was stronger than him. Was that another mark against him? Didn’t women in her country value the strength of men?
He wondered if he could show her how strong he really was. He bet he could climb that gigantic tree beside her window…
Anyway, aamalie, I am trying to finish your giftfic and I know it's really late (since I promised it for Xmas), but I'm having a hard time with it. I am trying, though. ^^ Hopefully it'll be done soon.
Title: A Slippery Fish
Author: queenofsocks
Rating: PG
In a shadowy, sunlit glade, a square quilt had been spread across the grass. Atop the quilt, an array of objects had been arranged-cracked china, a steaming teapot, and several chipped teacups, among other things. Butter and jam stained the soft material, having been spread by a careless hand over many slices of bread. The same hand was now busy trying to open a jar of pickles. It was proving to be a rather difficult task.
Muttering a string of curses, Reginald tugged off one white glove with his teeth and tried again, fitting the cap to his large hand. His face grew red with the exertion, and finally he flung the jar away from him, settling into a very dramatic pout. He couldn’t even have some stupid pickles now. And it was all that silly girl’s fault.
At first, he reflected, her anger had charmed him. It was something that none of the others had, something that she must get from living in that strange country of hers. It hadn’t taken long at all to wear the others down.
He had dropped his best lines on her; he had reduced himself to downright begging…what did he have to do now? Dress in drag and do the hula?
No, he was pretty sure someone else had already tried that…
Not for the first time, Reginald wondered why he bothered anyway. He had told the March Hare she was more than the conquest, but was she? What had him spending all of his time trying to woo her?
He spread jam onto another slice of bread, stuffing it idly into his teacup. Some of the tea sloshed, but he didn’t notice.
Maybe it was her ability to argue with him. None of the others had tried that, either. She had answered every single one of his wittiest insults with ones of her own, and had never backed down…she had proven herself deaf to some of his best tricks, which for the love of his hat he could not understand…
She was very slippery. And some part of him hoped that it was due to something else, and not just him. He couldn’t have lost his touch! Surely he could not have been so weakened by her?
Stupid jar of pickles.
Reginald stilled as he heard a rustling in the trees nearby. There was no time to try and run. Peeking up from over the jar, Reginald met the irritated eyes of Alice.
“What are you doing in my backyard?” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
“Nursing the wounds you inflicted upon me, my cricket,” he replied smoothly, twisting at the top again. Dratted gloves.
Alice gave an exaggerated sigh, and came to stand before him. She pointed one slender finger at his nose. “Go home,” she instructed, stressing her words slightly. “You’re being pathetic.”
“I’m-guhh-only trying to open a jar of pickles!”
“Well, that’s not the way to go about it!” she exclaimed, snatching the jar from his hands. With one smart twist, the top came off in her hands. She tossed the open jar into his stunned hands, turning her back on him. “Get out of my backyard!” she yelled as she went.
He stared down at the open jar, then at her retreating back. That black dress was really quite torturous of her, he thought randomly. It clung to her form more than that silly blue frock ever had.
And she was stronger than him. Was that another mark against him? Didn’t women in her country value the strength of men?
He wondered if he could show her how strong he really was. He bet he could climb that gigantic tree beside her window…
Anyway, aamalie, I am trying to finish your giftfic and I know it's really late (since I promised it for Xmas), but I'm having a hard time with it. I am trying, though. ^^ Hopefully it'll be done soon.