2-in-1 return from vacation
Author: Nathalia
Rating: PG
Challenge:
Quince #30 - no questions asked
Tropical Punch #19 - elbow room
Extras / Toppings: none
Word Count: 769
Summary: a game show involving midgets in drag and a tense audience.
Notes: the icebreaker. thanks to everyone who’s already read it!
After it’s all over, we sit on the couch and watch a foreign language dating show that is hosted by a man who has painted his face black for no apparent reason and is assisted by two midgets. One of the midgets is dressed in a monkey costume, the other, clearly a man with a very round face is heavily made up and in a straw skirt and a long black wig.
It’s so surreal, that I find myself glued to the screen and don’t even mind that I don’t understand a word they are saying. It seems to consist of a simple pattern: A man comes into the studio, talks for a little bit, a minute or so and then the row of girls seated in the back, all with long legs and a surprising amount of them with braces, all take their turn turning him down. Once everyone has told the guy they aren’t interested, he is dragged away by the midgets and sat down in a part of the studio decorated like a jungle where they are then harassed by the midgets and two others that I think are men dressed like Neanderthals.
We sit as far from each other on the love seat as possible and I can still feel the tension between us but is starts to slowly subside as we watch one man after the other being dragged away by midgets. I know you’re having the hardest time not saying anything about how politically incorrect and awful all of this is and that they shouldn’t be allowed to show this and that you probably pick up some of the crude words they are saying that go right over my head. Still, you haven’t said anything but slowly, your giggles turn into full-on laughter.
I can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. The past few weeks you haven’t done anything but grumble and complain about everything. The price of gas, the food’s lack of salt, how I move around in bed too much and steal the blankets. You haven’t said a nice word to me in weeks and despite that -- or maybe because of it --, it’s nice to sit here with you in silence and watch this program where the host has now changed into a mini skirt and a ripped shirt. He has obviously fake tattoos on his arms and chest and a huge crazy wig on his head that makes his make-up, wild and not very well-done but still better than the blackface from before. He starts dancing to playback music and I watch in disbelief, wondering what the hell the people who produce this were high on when they decided that this would be a good idea.
There are pictures of a woman, I’m guessing the one the host is trying to imitate on screens in the background. I assume it’s a local singer, Putty or something, the font is hard to read, red on black. Who had that great idea anyway? You don’t have to be a graphic designer to know how bad an idea that color combination is.
By the end of the song, the Neanderthals and midgets have joined the host in drag who can pull off that mini skirt a lot better than me. I self-consciously look down at my legs, knowing you are too amused by the TV to look and get annoyed by that once again as you usually do when I pull my long skirt back down over my legs to hide them. You’ve stopped really downright complaining about it, just silently shake your head and then look away. Now you are too engrossed by the host’s thin legs to look at.
I start to laugh at my silly notion and you look at m, raising a confused eyebrow the way you always do. “It just went to commercial break,” you say and I shrug.
“I just thought of something,” I lie. “How ridiculous it is for us to yell at each other and then watch this.”
“Yeah.”
That’s all you say before turning away, watching the commercials that feel as if they are from the last century. We wouldn’t show unprofessional stuff like that around here but then again, we don’t show midgets in drag on TV all that much.
By the time the commercials are over and Jane, the tiny man with the long black wig and the straw skirt, is back on the screen, I look sidewards to you only to notice that you’ve inched considerably closer to me. I don’t say anything but do the same.
---
Author: Nathalia
Rating: G
Challenge:
Quince #09 - whose side are you on?
Tropical Punch #28 - the ground you walk on
Extras / Toppings: none
Word Count: 497
Story: Misfits
Summary: Stella visits both parties after Winter and Dennis break up.
Notes: I’m not really happy with this but I needed to get it out. Writing has been hard recently.
“You broke up with Dennis?”
Stella was barely in the door when she asked the question, the doorknob still in her hand and the people who were passing by Winter’s office stopped at this sudden outburst. Stella didn’t pay Winter’s look of surprise of the curious onlookers any attention, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.
“Mind keeping my private life private?” Winter groaned in lieu of a greeting.
“You broke up with Dennis!” Stella repeated, every hint of question having faded from her voice now when she saw that the picture of Winter and Dennis that had always been on the desk right next to the computer was gone. She had taken it herself, when they had been in Maine, visiting family and Stella felt like she had memorized it by heart, the very angle of Dennis broad smile, the fine lines on Winter’s face. It felt odd not to see it. “Why?”
“None of your business.” Winter didn’t even look up from the screen as she typed furiously. “Shouldn’t you be here offering me a shoulder to cry on or something?”
Stella raised a questioning eyebrow. “Are you kidding? As much as I care about you, there is no reason on earth I should console you if you broke up with the man who worshipped the ground you walk on.”
“We weren’t right for each other,” Winter muttered, finally looking down to her lap so that her dark hair fell over her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand. You and Joseph are different.”
“Don’t make this all about me.” Stella got up. “You know, I was going to side with you in this matter, but I changed my mind. You are a cold-hearted bitch and I shouldn’t be here with you but checking on Dennis.”
Without any further warning, she walked out.
***
“I made this for you,” Stella said, handing Dennis a tupperware that was still warm. “Eat it up quick so it doesn’t get cold.”
Dennis looked at it suspiciously, not even opening it, then looked at Stella who returned the look with a glint of expectation in her eyes. “Is this poisonous?”
“Why would I want to poison you? Except for the obvious reasons, I mean. This is a half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. I wanted to cook you something but I didn’t really have anything at home, so...” She trailed off and pointed to the tupper ware in Dennis’ hands as if that was explanations enough.
He slowly opened it and sniffed at rice, then smiled. “Rice with onions and garlic,” he concluded. “My favorite dish before both of us learned to cook.”
Stella nodded. “Sorry I couldn’t come up with anything better but I didn’t really have all that much time.”
“This is perfect,” Dennis smiled, producing a spoon out of a drawer. “Thanks, Star. I was expecting you to yell at me, not cook for me.”
“I was going to yell but I changed my mind.”
“Good idea.”
Rating: PG
Challenge:
Quince #30 - no questions asked
Tropical Punch #19 - elbow room
Extras / Toppings: none
Word Count: 769
Summary: a game show involving midgets in drag and a tense audience.
Notes: the icebreaker. thanks to everyone who’s already read it!
After it’s all over, we sit on the couch and watch a foreign language dating show that is hosted by a man who has painted his face black for no apparent reason and is assisted by two midgets. One of the midgets is dressed in a monkey costume, the other, clearly a man with a very round face is heavily made up and in a straw skirt and a long black wig.
It’s so surreal, that I find myself glued to the screen and don’t even mind that I don’t understand a word they are saying. It seems to consist of a simple pattern: A man comes into the studio, talks for a little bit, a minute or so and then the row of girls seated in the back, all with long legs and a surprising amount of them with braces, all take their turn turning him down. Once everyone has told the guy they aren’t interested, he is dragged away by the midgets and sat down in a part of the studio decorated like a jungle where they are then harassed by the midgets and two others that I think are men dressed like Neanderthals.
We sit as far from each other on the love seat as possible and I can still feel the tension between us but is starts to slowly subside as we watch one man after the other being dragged away by midgets. I know you’re having the hardest time not saying anything about how politically incorrect and awful all of this is and that they shouldn’t be allowed to show this and that you probably pick up some of the crude words they are saying that go right over my head. Still, you haven’t said anything but slowly, your giggles turn into full-on laughter.
I can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. The past few weeks you haven’t done anything but grumble and complain about everything. The price of gas, the food’s lack of salt, how I move around in bed too much and steal the blankets. You haven’t said a nice word to me in weeks and despite that -- or maybe because of it --, it’s nice to sit here with you in silence and watch this program where the host has now changed into a mini skirt and a ripped shirt. He has obviously fake tattoos on his arms and chest and a huge crazy wig on his head that makes his make-up, wild and not very well-done but still better than the blackface from before. He starts dancing to playback music and I watch in disbelief, wondering what the hell the people who produce this were high on when they decided that this would be a good idea.
There are pictures of a woman, I’m guessing the one the host is trying to imitate on screens in the background. I assume it’s a local singer, Putty or something, the font is hard to read, red on black. Who had that great idea anyway? You don’t have to be a graphic designer to know how bad an idea that color combination is.
By the end of the song, the Neanderthals and midgets have joined the host in drag who can pull off that mini skirt a lot better than me. I self-consciously look down at my legs, knowing you are too amused by the TV to look and get annoyed by that once again as you usually do when I pull my long skirt back down over my legs to hide them. You’ve stopped really downright complaining about it, just silently shake your head and then look away. Now you are too engrossed by the host’s thin legs to look at.
I start to laugh at my silly notion and you look at m, raising a confused eyebrow the way you always do. “It just went to commercial break,” you say and I shrug.
“I just thought of something,” I lie. “How ridiculous it is for us to yell at each other and then watch this.”
“Yeah.”
That’s all you say before turning away, watching the commercials that feel as if they are from the last century. We wouldn’t show unprofessional stuff like that around here but then again, we don’t show midgets in drag on TV all that much.
By the time the commercials are over and Jane, the tiny man with the long black wig and the straw skirt, is back on the screen, I look sidewards to you only to notice that you’ve inched considerably closer to me. I don’t say anything but do the same.
---
Author: Nathalia
Rating: G
Challenge:
Quince #09 - whose side are you on?
Tropical Punch #28 - the ground you walk on
Extras / Toppings: none
Word Count: 497
Story: Misfits
Summary: Stella visits both parties after Winter and Dennis break up.
Notes: I’m not really happy with this but I needed to get it out. Writing has been hard recently.
“You broke up with Dennis?”
Stella was barely in the door when she asked the question, the doorknob still in her hand and the people who were passing by Winter’s office stopped at this sudden outburst. Stella didn’t pay Winter’s look of surprise of the curious onlookers any attention, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.
“Mind keeping my private life private?” Winter groaned in lieu of a greeting.
“You broke up with Dennis!” Stella repeated, every hint of question having faded from her voice now when she saw that the picture of Winter and Dennis that had always been on the desk right next to the computer was gone. She had taken it herself, when they had been in Maine, visiting family and Stella felt like she had memorized it by heart, the very angle of Dennis broad smile, the fine lines on Winter’s face. It felt odd not to see it. “Why?”
“None of your business.” Winter didn’t even look up from the screen as she typed furiously. “Shouldn’t you be here offering me a shoulder to cry on or something?”
Stella raised a questioning eyebrow. “Are you kidding? As much as I care about you, there is no reason on earth I should console you if you broke up with the man who worshipped the ground you walk on.”
“We weren’t right for each other,” Winter muttered, finally looking down to her lap so that her dark hair fell over her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand. You and Joseph are different.”
“Don’t make this all about me.” Stella got up. “You know, I was going to side with you in this matter, but I changed my mind. You are a cold-hearted bitch and I shouldn’t be here with you but checking on Dennis.”
Without any further warning, she walked out.
***
“I made this for you,” Stella said, handing Dennis a tupperware that was still warm. “Eat it up quick so it doesn’t get cold.”
Dennis looked at it suspiciously, not even opening it, then looked at Stella who returned the look with a glint of expectation in her eyes. “Is this poisonous?”
“Why would I want to poison you? Except for the obvious reasons, I mean. This is a half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. I wanted to cook you something but I didn’t really have anything at home, so...” She trailed off and pointed to the tupper ware in Dennis’ hands as if that was explanations enough.
He slowly opened it and sniffed at rice, then smiled. “Rice with onions and garlic,” he concluded. “My favorite dish before both of us learned to cook.”
Stella nodded. “Sorry I couldn’t come up with anything better but I didn’t really have all that much time.”
“This is perfect,” Dennis smiled, producing a spoon out of a drawer. “Thanks, Star. I was expecting you to yell at me, not cook for me.”
“I was going to yell but I changed my mind.”
“Good idea.”