Butter Pecan 14; Red Currant 5
Author: Marina
Story: The Dragon World
Challenge: Butter Pecan 14 (quiet), Red Currant 5 (dry spell)
Toppings/Extras: Caramel, Malt (Summer Challenge, Ice Cream 46: “Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird”)
Word Count: 1,268
Rating: PG
Summary: Carrie’s graphics tablet is broken.
Notes: Writing Nina’s Dear Santa request got me thinking about what happens to the cast over the first decade post-story-in particular, Carrie, who ends up a freelance artist and a mother of three. She’s just shy of nineteen in this piece.
Carrie threw her stylus down on the desk and covered her face with her hands. This damn thing would pick today to crap out, she thought miserably. Now I’ll have to draw the thing by hand. Stupid…
Her drawing tablet had been on its last legs for quite some time. She had managed to make it last longer than it otherwise would have by babying it, patiently re-drawing the lines it would not pick up instead of boring the stylus against it in frustration. She planned to ask for a new one for her birthday, and had hoped to make the old one last until then, but three attempts at a concept exercise for a class proved that it could not go any longer.
She took several deep breaths, reached for a sheet of paper, eyed it critically, and laid it down again. I’ll go get a snack and calm down first, she decided.
As she got up from her desk chair, her cell phone buzzed. She plucked it from its perch atop a stack of textbooks, and let out an excited squeak when she saw the caller ID. She opened it as she made her way into the hall. “Grandpa!”
“Hello, Carrie,” said Richard Michaels, in his usual gruff-yet-pleasant tone.
“How are you?” Carrie asked.
“As well as usual. Business is keeping me fairly busy.”
She smiled at that, a little worriedly. “Well, I hope you’re not working too hard.”
“Just enough to keep sane, don’t worry,” he said lightly. “How are you, granddaughter? Having a pleasant afternoon, I hope.”
“Not at all,” Carrie said, with an exasperated snort. Sketches heard it and looked up from clawing at the cat tree, taking her presence for a sign that it was feeding time. The cat mewed as pathetically as she could, hopped off, and trotted into the kitchen. “My tablet’s dead and I have an assignment I need it for,” Carrie continued as she followed. “I just spent the past two hours trying to get it to work, my shoulders hurt, and now the cat expects me to drop everything and feed her. Honestly.”
Richard chuckled. “That’s why I’ve never been much for house pets. They pick the most unfortunate times to need things.”
Strolling through the kitchen archway, she caught sight of Sketches’ sweetly hopeful expression and had to grin. “They’re worth it, though.”
“To each his own. I’m sorry your day isn’t going well. You said your tablet isn’t working?”
Carrie glanced into the refrigerator for an already opened can of cat food, pulled it out, and gave Sketches one of the pre-cut portions in her dish. “Yeah, my drawing tablet? The one that goes with the computer program I got when I started college? It’s been dying for a while now and today it wouldn’t work at all. I tried restarting it three times and it won’t pick anything up.”
“Ah, yes.” She could see his brows furrowing in her mind’s eye. “I remember now. Would you like a new one for your birthday?”
The question relieved her. He could more than afford to buy her expensive presents, but she had inherited her mother’s pride and disliked asking. “If you want to, that would be wonderful. Nice ones are expensive, though.”
“Don’t worry about the money. I’ll send you a check and you can pick one out.”
At this, her heart sank. “You’re not coming out for my birthday?”
“I’m afraid I can’t this year,” he said, with audible regret. “There is an incredibly important conference starting Tuesday and flying out for just one day would be too much for me.”
“Yeah, okay,” Carrie agreed. “You’d better get your rest. I’ll see you for Thanksgiving.”
“I look forward to it,” said Richard. “How much do you need for the tablet?”
She cringed. “I’d have to do some research to tell you an exact price, but I think a good one that would last a while is close to two hundred dollars now.”
“That’s fine, Carrie. I consider this an investment in your future career, and I know you’ll make me proud by using it well.”
Carrie leaned back against the kitchen counter, biting her lip for a moment in an attempt to figure out her reply. “Thanks, Grandpa,” she said, after a minute. “I really appreciate it and I’ll do my best.”
“You sound worried, Carrie. What is it?”
“Oh, nothing, just…it’s probably going to be a long time before I can make a living off my artwork. Mom keeps saying that it doesn’t pay when you’re just starting out. I know she’s right, but that’s all I want to do.”
“You’ll find a way,” said Richard. “If it’s what you really want, then you have to push for it until you get there.”
She glanced at the clock. 4:23. That would make it almost 6:30 in Austin. He was likely waiting for dinner in the parlor, sitting comfortably in his favorite leather armchair with his headset on and a glass of brandy in one hand. The idea made her smile a little. Richard Michaels had always been a firm believer in pushing for things. That philosophy had made him a very rich man, ensuring him an easy retirement, if he ever wanted one. In the meantime, he had reaped the material rewards of his labor and helped many other ambitious, driven folk using the resources available to him. His financial backing had helped her mother considerably during the first few years of their life in California.
When she said nothing, he continued. “Your grandmother would agree with me, if she were still with us.”
Carrie outright laughed at the statement. “Grandma would not say any such thing. She never thought art was anything better than a hobby. She’d tell me to marry Dean and let him earn the money.”
“That’s certainly true enough,” agreed Richard, with a conspiratorial chuckle, “but your father never received the marital stipend we had put aside for him, and she felt as badly as I still do about that. Whatever her opinion was, she would have wanted you to have what you needed.”
“Oh, Grandpa,” said Carrie. She hated it when he brought up the old bitterness. “I wish you’d let it go.”
He let out a quiet, regretful sigh. “Parental guilt is a funny thing, Carrie. It never really goes away. Time can temper it, but it won’t undo the cause.”
She frowned deeply. There was nothing she could say that would make that statement false. She mentally filed it away with the other uncomfortable things people had told her about the world-things she tried to disregard if possible. “Love you, Grandpa,” she said softly.
“I love you too, Carrie.” She could hear the faint voice of the cook in the background. A pause, in which Richard probably nodded and waved her away, was followed by more cheerful words. “My supper is ready, so I’ll let you get back to your work. I’ll send your card and the check tomorrow, but you aren’t to open them until Monday, understand?”
“Got it.” Carrie pushed herself off the counter and went back to the fridge. “I’ll call you soon, okay?”
“See that you do, and take care of yourself.”
“You too. Bye.” She shut her phone and stood still, staring at the fridge door, for several seconds.
Sketches’ claws in her pant leg brought her out of her reverie. “No, you are not getting any more food, you bad cat,” she said, scooping up the offender and ruffling her behind the ears. “Knock it off with the claws, will you?”
Story: The Dragon World
Challenge: Butter Pecan 14 (quiet), Red Currant 5 (dry spell)
Toppings/Extras: Caramel, Malt (Summer Challenge, Ice Cream 46: “Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird”)
Word Count: 1,268
Rating: PG
Summary: Carrie’s graphics tablet is broken.
Notes: Writing Nina’s Dear Santa request got me thinking about what happens to the cast over the first decade post-story-in particular, Carrie, who ends up a freelance artist and a mother of three. She’s just shy of nineteen in this piece.
Carrie threw her stylus down on the desk and covered her face with her hands. This damn thing would pick today to crap out, she thought miserably. Now I’ll have to draw the thing by hand. Stupid…
Her drawing tablet had been on its last legs for quite some time. She had managed to make it last longer than it otherwise would have by babying it, patiently re-drawing the lines it would not pick up instead of boring the stylus against it in frustration. She planned to ask for a new one for her birthday, and had hoped to make the old one last until then, but three attempts at a concept exercise for a class proved that it could not go any longer.
She took several deep breaths, reached for a sheet of paper, eyed it critically, and laid it down again. I’ll go get a snack and calm down first, she decided.
As she got up from her desk chair, her cell phone buzzed. She plucked it from its perch atop a stack of textbooks, and let out an excited squeak when she saw the caller ID. She opened it as she made her way into the hall. “Grandpa!”
“Hello, Carrie,” said Richard Michaels, in his usual gruff-yet-pleasant tone.
“How are you?” Carrie asked.
“As well as usual. Business is keeping me fairly busy.”
She smiled at that, a little worriedly. “Well, I hope you’re not working too hard.”
“Just enough to keep sane, don’t worry,” he said lightly. “How are you, granddaughter? Having a pleasant afternoon, I hope.”
“Not at all,” Carrie said, with an exasperated snort. Sketches heard it and looked up from clawing at the cat tree, taking her presence for a sign that it was feeding time. The cat mewed as pathetically as she could, hopped off, and trotted into the kitchen. “My tablet’s dead and I have an assignment I need it for,” Carrie continued as she followed. “I just spent the past two hours trying to get it to work, my shoulders hurt, and now the cat expects me to drop everything and feed her. Honestly.”
Richard chuckled. “That’s why I’ve never been much for house pets. They pick the most unfortunate times to need things.”
Strolling through the kitchen archway, she caught sight of Sketches’ sweetly hopeful expression and had to grin. “They’re worth it, though.”
“To each his own. I’m sorry your day isn’t going well. You said your tablet isn’t working?”
Carrie glanced into the refrigerator for an already opened can of cat food, pulled it out, and gave Sketches one of the pre-cut portions in her dish. “Yeah, my drawing tablet? The one that goes with the computer program I got when I started college? It’s been dying for a while now and today it wouldn’t work at all. I tried restarting it three times and it won’t pick anything up.”
“Ah, yes.” She could see his brows furrowing in her mind’s eye. “I remember now. Would you like a new one for your birthday?”
The question relieved her. He could more than afford to buy her expensive presents, but she had inherited her mother’s pride and disliked asking. “If you want to, that would be wonderful. Nice ones are expensive, though.”
“Don’t worry about the money. I’ll send you a check and you can pick one out.”
At this, her heart sank. “You’re not coming out for my birthday?”
“I’m afraid I can’t this year,” he said, with audible regret. “There is an incredibly important conference starting Tuesday and flying out for just one day would be too much for me.”
“Yeah, okay,” Carrie agreed. “You’d better get your rest. I’ll see you for Thanksgiving.”
“I look forward to it,” said Richard. “How much do you need for the tablet?”
She cringed. “I’d have to do some research to tell you an exact price, but I think a good one that would last a while is close to two hundred dollars now.”
“That’s fine, Carrie. I consider this an investment in your future career, and I know you’ll make me proud by using it well.”
Carrie leaned back against the kitchen counter, biting her lip for a moment in an attempt to figure out her reply. “Thanks, Grandpa,” she said, after a minute. “I really appreciate it and I’ll do my best.”
“You sound worried, Carrie. What is it?”
“Oh, nothing, just…it’s probably going to be a long time before I can make a living off my artwork. Mom keeps saying that it doesn’t pay when you’re just starting out. I know she’s right, but that’s all I want to do.”
“You’ll find a way,” said Richard. “If it’s what you really want, then you have to push for it until you get there.”
She glanced at the clock. 4:23. That would make it almost 6:30 in Austin. He was likely waiting for dinner in the parlor, sitting comfortably in his favorite leather armchair with his headset on and a glass of brandy in one hand. The idea made her smile a little. Richard Michaels had always been a firm believer in pushing for things. That philosophy had made him a very rich man, ensuring him an easy retirement, if he ever wanted one. In the meantime, he had reaped the material rewards of his labor and helped many other ambitious, driven folk using the resources available to him. His financial backing had helped her mother considerably during the first few years of their life in California.
When she said nothing, he continued. “Your grandmother would agree with me, if she were still with us.”
Carrie outright laughed at the statement. “Grandma would not say any such thing. She never thought art was anything better than a hobby. She’d tell me to marry Dean and let him earn the money.”
“That’s certainly true enough,” agreed Richard, with a conspiratorial chuckle, “but your father never received the marital stipend we had put aside for him, and she felt as badly as I still do about that. Whatever her opinion was, she would have wanted you to have what you needed.”
“Oh, Grandpa,” said Carrie. She hated it when he brought up the old bitterness. “I wish you’d let it go.”
He let out a quiet, regretful sigh. “Parental guilt is a funny thing, Carrie. It never really goes away. Time can temper it, but it won’t undo the cause.”
She frowned deeply. There was nothing she could say that would make that statement false. She mentally filed it away with the other uncomfortable things people had told her about the world-things she tried to disregard if possible. “Love you, Grandpa,” she said softly.
“I love you too, Carrie.” She could hear the faint voice of the cook in the background. A pause, in which Richard probably nodded and waved her away, was followed by more cheerful words. “My supper is ready, so I’ll let you get back to your work. I’ll send your card and the check tomorrow, but you aren’t to open them until Monday, understand?”
“Got it.” Carrie pushed herself off the counter and went back to the fridge. “I’ll call you soon, okay?”
“See that you do, and take care of yourself.”
“You too. Bye.” She shut her phone and stood still, staring at the fridge door, for several seconds.
Sketches’ claws in her pant leg brought her out of her reverie. “No, you are not getting any more food, you bad cat,” she said, scooping up the offender and ruffling her behind the ears. “Knock it off with the claws, will you?”