[ooc; nexus100; 088]
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Characters: Elizabeth Weir, Clinton (OC)
Prompt: School
Word Count: 482
Rating: PG
Summary: A snapshot of Elizabeth at seventeen, as seen through the eyes of her boyfriend of the month.
Her name was Elizabeth Weir.
She was Lizzie when she was in a good mood, with bright laughter in her eyes and brown curls bouncing across her cheekbones. His sister, who had an eye for these things, could've told him that in a few years, when her face slimmed down a little more, Elizabeth would have amazing cheekbones, but he never asked and she never had much interest in his girlfriends, who came and went.
Not Elizabeth, though. She had that cockiness he recognised in girls too smart for everyone else's own good -- she knew more than a little so she thought she knew a lot. He didn't use the word 'arrogant', but his sister did, after she'd left and he was wondering exactly what had just happened to him. He knew how her father would eye him, and he figured he wasn't the only one who'd picked up on how goddamn sure of herself the girl was.
It'd probably get her into trouble. Not with him, though. He was just along for the ride. He liked her, the way she always seemed to be genuinely interested in the things that mattered to him (except football, but he figured that was one of the downsides of being female, like periods and having to shave everything). She paid attention to him, and remembered things he'd said to use them thoughtfully later. (This was less cool when she used it to get annoyed with him.)
She was pretty, and confident, and had opinions, many of which went over his head. She tried to explain anyway, which had mixed results. He tried reading the news after one such conversation (she was thoroughly researched, he'd learned, after she tried to have a reasoned debate with his dad about their local politicians), but it just depressed him. There was something about her, though, something that didn't get worn out by bleak headlines day after day. An eternal optimism and conviction. His dad said he liked her, one night, and in the same breath told him she'd be burned out on it by the time she was twenty-five.
Everyone said she was going places.
He reckoned they had no idea just how far. He didn't, either, but maybe she'd send him a postcard when she got there, with the imprint of that red lipstick she wore on their dates and the smell of her perfume. Maybe she'd tell him all about it -- broaden his horizons a little, like she was always trying to do.
Maybe one day he'd get all that. In the meantime, he was okay with telling her stupid jokes (she always laughed) and picking her up (she always shrieked) and kissing her (she always blushed).
(When he talked to her, she always listened.)
Characters: Elizabeth Weir, Clinton (OC)
Prompt: School
Word Count: 482
Rating: PG
Summary: A snapshot of Elizabeth at seventeen, as seen through the eyes of her boyfriend of the month.
Her name was Elizabeth Weir.
She was Lizzie when she was in a good mood, with bright laughter in her eyes and brown curls bouncing across her cheekbones. His sister, who had an eye for these things, could've told him that in a few years, when her face slimmed down a little more, Elizabeth would have amazing cheekbones, but he never asked and she never had much interest in his girlfriends, who came and went.
Not Elizabeth, though. She had that cockiness he recognised in girls too smart for everyone else's own good -- she knew more than a little so she thought she knew a lot. He didn't use the word 'arrogant', but his sister did, after she'd left and he was wondering exactly what had just happened to him. He knew how her father would eye him, and he figured he wasn't the only one who'd picked up on how goddamn sure of herself the girl was.
It'd probably get her into trouble. Not with him, though. He was just along for the ride. He liked her, the way she always seemed to be genuinely interested in the things that mattered to him (except football, but he figured that was one of the downsides of being female, like periods and having to shave everything). She paid attention to him, and remembered things he'd said to use them thoughtfully later. (This was less cool when she used it to get annoyed with him.)
She was pretty, and confident, and had opinions, many of which went over his head. She tried to explain anyway, which had mixed results. He tried reading the news after one such conversation (she was thoroughly researched, he'd learned, after she tried to have a reasoned debate with his dad about their local politicians), but it just depressed him. There was something about her, though, something that didn't get worn out by bleak headlines day after day. An eternal optimism and conviction. His dad said he liked her, one night, and in the same breath told him she'd be burned out on it by the time she was twenty-five.
Everyone said she was going places.
He reckoned they had no idea just how far. He didn't, either, but maybe she'd send him a postcard when she got there, with the imprint of that red lipstick she wore on their dates and the smell of her perfume. Maybe she'd tell him all about it -- broaden his horizons a little, like she was always trying to do.
Maybe one day he'd get all that. In the meantime, he was okay with telling her stupid jokes (she always laughed) and picking her up (she always shrieked) and kissing her (she always blushed).
(When he talked to her, she always listened.)