Yearling - JULY 2008
The Jellyroll of Trouble comes bearing a new treat. This solo endeavor comes as a result of just the absolute weirdest thought derailment ever. It is, at its most fundamental, an overview of the nature of...friendship.
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada does not belong to me. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. I'm just redecorating. When finished, I will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
AN: This story disregards the novel completely, utilizing only the movie as its base.
*** *** *** *** ***
Yearling
By Ruari
JULY 2008
“Sometimes the measure of friendship isn’t your ability to not harm but your capacity to forgive the things done to you and ask forgiveness for your own mistakes.”
~ Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 11/07/05
*** *** *** *** ***
Andy rushed about her small apartment, cleaning with a frenzy not experienced since she’d moved out of the space she’d shared with Nate. Her new apartment, though still an efficiency, was in a cleaner building in a slightly nicer neighborhood. The young brunette budgeted her expenses with a ferocity that would make any accountant proud and was, therefore, able to afford the new accommodations with careful monthly planning. The fact that The Mirror paid her a tiny bit more than Runway had-minus the lovely wardrobe, of course-also helped.
And every month she had just a small amount left over to buy what she termed a “luxury.” Sometimes it was a new outfit or a few new books. Sometimes she saved her money for a couple months for larger purchases: a new couch, a new bed. Slowly but surely, she’d fitted her tiny home with quality furnishings, stamped with her own unique personality.
Late in the afternoon, with evening fast approaching, Andy decided her apartment was as ready as it was going to get without making it less “Andy-esque.” And all in all, she was quite proud of her little abode. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave told Andy she had a little more than ninety minutes to make a roundtrip to the market and take a shower before the Judgment Hour.
Miranda Priestly was coming to dinner.
*** *** *** *** ***
Miranda stared out the window, gazing sightlessly at the passing storefronts and pedestrians as Roy drove her toward Andrea’s apartment. As was constantly the case, her mind was swirling with the thoughts of a dozen different issues. Runway and her children and the minutiae that accompanied those ever-important aspects of her life. And now this. An unlikely budding friendship with a novice journalist some twenty-five years her junior.
She was having dinner with her former assistant. It was the fourth meeting between them since their initial one in the park a month ago. It would make three dinners and a lunch.
Miranda wasn’t quite able to keep her eyes from rolling.
*** *** *** *** ***
“Hey.” Andy made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Come on in.” She took Miranda’s bag and set it on a small side table. “You get to help prepare dinner.”
Miranda stopped abruptly and narrowed her gaze. “Yet more evidence,” she murmured, her tone eerie and mysterious.
Andy frowned as she passed the older woman and continued in to the kitchen area. “Evidence of what?”
“You have lost your mind.”
Once Andy started giggling, she was hard-pressed to stop for quite some time.
*** *** *** *** ***
Miranda frowned mightily down at the cutting board and the assorted vegetables surrounding it. She gingerly picked up the knife Andrea had “thoughtfully” laid out for her and murmured, “I have paid thousands and thousands of dollars for years to avoid just this sort of thing, you know.”
Andy snorted. “What sort of thing? Cooking?” At the other woman’s hum of agreement, she chuckled lightly. “Well, you weren’t friends with anyone who cooked for you. It’s just not possible.”
“Why is that impossible?”
Andy breathed a sigh of relief when she detected only curiosity in the question rather than the arctic chill it could have been had Miranda taken offense to her comment. “Simply because ‘real’ friends don’t expect payment, nor would he or she accept it. Especially if they planned to share the meal. It’s one of the rules.”
Miranda glanced up from her careful chopping, brow raised skeptically. “Rules? Do tell.”
“Yep. Rules. A whole book full of ‘em.” Andy spoke over the clattering of her sauté pan which she set upon the stove. She reached into a cupboard by Miranda’s left shoulder for olive oil and teased, “They’re vegetables, Miranda. Not people. They won’t scream if you chop ‘em with some oomph!”
“How disappointing,” Miranda drawled. “That is so often the very best part.”
It was, once again, many minutes before Andy managed to stop giggling.
*** *** ***
Miranda settled into a corner of Andrea’s sofa with the last of the wine they’d enjoyed with dinner on the end table at her elbow. “Tell me, Andrea. These rules you spoke of. Where might I find a copy of this so called rulebook?”
Andy just shook her head at her former boss, teeth glowing in the dim light as she smiled widely from her perch upon an ottoman across the small living room. “You can’t just acquire one. It has to be given to you by a real friend.” She happily gestured at nothing as she continued her explanation. “You know, like, after you earn enough ‘merit’ badges or something.”
Miranda fought to hide her amusement as she played along. “I see. Then however shall I learn these rules?”
The brunette leaned forward. “I guess I can let you in on a couple each time you ‘earn’ a badge.”
“I see.” Miranda’s lips twitched.
“Uh huh. And I already owe you one.” Andy waggled her brows comically.
“I’m listening.” Miranda tapped her lips with her forefinger. “What trial did I pass for which I am due remuneration?”
Andy’s face was suffused with an unexpected fondness for the silver-haired fashionista. “You’ve shown me aspects of your personality that if I had to wager, I’d say were traits to which very few people on this planet have ever been privy.” Andy read the question on Miranda’s face. “Humor. A willingness to ‘play.’ To adapt.”
Miranda’s hum was non-committal.
Andy sighed and expounded further. “To most people, you show a sarcastic wit. That is soooo not the same thing as finding humor in a situation or being willing to ‘play.’ And Miranda Priestly, editor-in-chief of Runway magazine and fashion icon to the world, does not adapt. She forces others to do so. This Miranda,” Andy gestured to the relaxed form ensconced on her couch, “actually chopped vegetables and boiled pasta for dinner with only a token protest.”
Miranda nodded her acceptance of the explanation. “Very well.” Her lips again formed a small smile against her will. “Pay up.”
Andy laughed. “Ok, ok.” She drummed her fingers on her knee for a second as she gazed off in thought before snapping her fingers as the “rule” came to her. “Ok, this one is important. ‘Small talk’ is no longer to be considered a heinous social crime. Between friends, you’ll soon find most of what you label as such isn’t really small at all. Just part of a larger whole.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “I’m now doomed to know what you buy every single time you go shopping, aren’t I?”
Andy beamed.
*** *** ***
“I’ve never apologized to you.”
“Don’t be silly.” Miranda waved a careless hand. “You apologized to me so often I dare say you followed a script.”
Andy’s lips twisted into a wry smile of agreement. “Ok, you’re right.” She took a deep breath. “But not for Paris.”
Miranda halted in mid-lift of her wineglass and stared at the brunette. After another beat, she hastily sat the glass back down to mutter, “Must you do so now?”
Andy tipped her head and wondered aloud, “Do you know how the American Heritage Dictionary defines the word ‘forgive’? It’s worded with just enough difference to cast potent meaning to an often overused word.”
Miranda opened her mouth to issue a somewhat scathing retort but quickly closed it upon seeing the look on Andrea’s face. “How do they define it?” she asked instead.
Andy gave a minute smile. “To renounce anger or resentment against.”
Miranda’s brows rose high. “And why is that definition so much more potent than others?” She was fascinated by the younger woman’s thought processes.
Andy stared down at her hands as she nervously rubbed them together. “Friendships can survive anger.” She looked up to meet Miranda’s laser-like stare. “But not resentment.”
The editor’s gaze softened slightly as she digested Andrea’s words. Both sat in silence for many minutes, one sipping thoughtfully at a wineglass while the other fidgeted.
“I forgive you, Andrea.”
JULY 2008
“Sometimes the measure of friendship isn’t your ability to not harm but your capacity to forgive the things done to you and ask forgiveness for your own mistakes.”
~ Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 11/07/05
(August)
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada does not belong to me. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. I'm just redecorating. When finished, I will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
AN: This story disregards the novel completely, utilizing only the movie as its base.
*** *** *** *** ***
Yearling
By Ruari
JULY 2008
“Sometimes the measure of friendship isn’t your ability to not harm but your capacity to forgive the things done to you and ask forgiveness for your own mistakes.”
~ Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 11/07/05
*** *** *** *** ***
Andy rushed about her small apartment, cleaning with a frenzy not experienced since she’d moved out of the space she’d shared with Nate. Her new apartment, though still an efficiency, was in a cleaner building in a slightly nicer neighborhood. The young brunette budgeted her expenses with a ferocity that would make any accountant proud and was, therefore, able to afford the new accommodations with careful monthly planning. The fact that The Mirror paid her a tiny bit more than Runway had-minus the lovely wardrobe, of course-also helped.
And every month she had just a small amount left over to buy what she termed a “luxury.” Sometimes it was a new outfit or a few new books. Sometimes she saved her money for a couple months for larger purchases: a new couch, a new bed. Slowly but surely, she’d fitted her tiny home with quality furnishings, stamped with her own unique personality.
Late in the afternoon, with evening fast approaching, Andy decided her apartment was as ready as it was going to get without making it less “Andy-esque.” And all in all, she was quite proud of her little abode. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave told Andy she had a little more than ninety minutes to make a roundtrip to the market and take a shower before the Judgment Hour.
Miranda Priestly was coming to dinner.
*** *** *** *** ***
Miranda stared out the window, gazing sightlessly at the passing storefronts and pedestrians as Roy drove her toward Andrea’s apartment. As was constantly the case, her mind was swirling with the thoughts of a dozen different issues. Runway and her children and the minutiae that accompanied those ever-important aspects of her life. And now this. An unlikely budding friendship with a novice journalist some twenty-five years her junior.
She was having dinner with her former assistant. It was the fourth meeting between them since their initial one in the park a month ago. It would make three dinners and a lunch.
Miranda wasn’t quite able to keep her eyes from rolling.
*** *** *** *** ***
“Hey.” Andy made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Come on in.” She took Miranda’s bag and set it on a small side table. “You get to help prepare dinner.”
Miranda stopped abruptly and narrowed her gaze. “Yet more evidence,” she murmured, her tone eerie and mysterious.
Andy frowned as she passed the older woman and continued in to the kitchen area. “Evidence of what?”
“You have lost your mind.”
Once Andy started giggling, she was hard-pressed to stop for quite some time.
*** *** *** *** ***
Miranda frowned mightily down at the cutting board and the assorted vegetables surrounding it. She gingerly picked up the knife Andrea had “thoughtfully” laid out for her and murmured, “I have paid thousands and thousands of dollars for years to avoid just this sort of thing, you know.”
Andy snorted. “What sort of thing? Cooking?” At the other woman’s hum of agreement, she chuckled lightly. “Well, you weren’t friends with anyone who cooked for you. It’s just not possible.”
“Why is that impossible?”
Andy breathed a sigh of relief when she detected only curiosity in the question rather than the arctic chill it could have been had Miranda taken offense to her comment. “Simply because ‘real’ friends don’t expect payment, nor would he or she accept it. Especially if they planned to share the meal. It’s one of the rules.”
Miranda glanced up from her careful chopping, brow raised skeptically. “Rules? Do tell.”
“Yep. Rules. A whole book full of ‘em.” Andy spoke over the clattering of her sauté pan which she set upon the stove. She reached into a cupboard by Miranda’s left shoulder for olive oil and teased, “They’re vegetables, Miranda. Not people. They won’t scream if you chop ‘em with some oomph!”
“How disappointing,” Miranda drawled. “That is so often the very best part.”
It was, once again, many minutes before Andy managed to stop giggling.
*** *** ***
Miranda settled into a corner of Andrea’s sofa with the last of the wine they’d enjoyed with dinner on the end table at her elbow. “Tell me, Andrea. These rules you spoke of. Where might I find a copy of this so called rulebook?”
Andy just shook her head at her former boss, teeth glowing in the dim light as she smiled widely from her perch upon an ottoman across the small living room. “You can’t just acquire one. It has to be given to you by a real friend.” She happily gestured at nothing as she continued her explanation. “You know, like, after you earn enough ‘merit’ badges or something.”
Miranda fought to hide her amusement as she played along. “I see. Then however shall I learn these rules?”
The brunette leaned forward. “I guess I can let you in on a couple each time you ‘earn’ a badge.”
“I see.” Miranda’s lips twitched.
“Uh huh. And I already owe you one.” Andy waggled her brows comically.
“I’m listening.” Miranda tapped her lips with her forefinger. “What trial did I pass for which I am due remuneration?”
Andy’s face was suffused with an unexpected fondness for the silver-haired fashionista. “You’ve shown me aspects of your personality that if I had to wager, I’d say were traits to which very few people on this planet have ever been privy.” Andy read the question on Miranda’s face. “Humor. A willingness to ‘play.’ To adapt.”
Miranda’s hum was non-committal.
Andy sighed and expounded further. “To most people, you show a sarcastic wit. That is soooo not the same thing as finding humor in a situation or being willing to ‘play.’ And Miranda Priestly, editor-in-chief of Runway magazine and fashion icon to the world, does not adapt. She forces others to do so. This Miranda,” Andy gestured to the relaxed form ensconced on her couch, “actually chopped vegetables and boiled pasta for dinner with only a token protest.”
Miranda nodded her acceptance of the explanation. “Very well.” Her lips again formed a small smile against her will. “Pay up.”
Andy laughed. “Ok, ok.” She drummed her fingers on her knee for a second as she gazed off in thought before snapping her fingers as the “rule” came to her. “Ok, this one is important. ‘Small talk’ is no longer to be considered a heinous social crime. Between friends, you’ll soon find most of what you label as such isn’t really small at all. Just part of a larger whole.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “I’m now doomed to know what you buy every single time you go shopping, aren’t I?”
Andy beamed.
*** *** ***
“I’ve never apologized to you.”
“Don’t be silly.” Miranda waved a careless hand. “You apologized to me so often I dare say you followed a script.”
Andy’s lips twisted into a wry smile of agreement. “Ok, you’re right.” She took a deep breath. “But not for Paris.”
Miranda halted in mid-lift of her wineglass and stared at the brunette. After another beat, she hastily sat the glass back down to mutter, “Must you do so now?”
Andy tipped her head and wondered aloud, “Do you know how the American Heritage Dictionary defines the word ‘forgive’? It’s worded with just enough difference to cast potent meaning to an often overused word.”
Miranda opened her mouth to issue a somewhat scathing retort but quickly closed it upon seeing the look on Andrea’s face. “How do they define it?” she asked instead.
Andy gave a minute smile. “To renounce anger or resentment against.”
Miranda’s brows rose high. “And why is that definition so much more potent than others?” She was fascinated by the younger woman’s thought processes.
Andy stared down at her hands as she nervously rubbed them together. “Friendships can survive anger.” She looked up to meet Miranda’s laser-like stare. “But not resentment.”
The editor’s gaze softened slightly as she digested Andrea’s words. Both sat in silence for many minutes, one sipping thoughtfully at a wineglass while the other fidgeted.
“I forgive you, Andrea.”
JULY 2008
“Sometimes the measure of friendship isn’t your ability to not harm but your capacity to forgive the things done to you and ask forgiveness for your own mistakes.”
~ Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 11/07/05
(August)