(no subject)
Rainbow Sherbet #6. Purple and Blueberry Yogurt #15. Just Out of Reach
with Gummy Bunnies
Story : There Are No Small Parts
Rating : PG
Word Count : 525
Gummy Prompt : 500themes 28. This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.
Purple isn't a color I often associate with characters. I thought it was going to be Flo's, but then Al stood up and demanded it for himeslf. Also, I have to mention I am in love with this, it comes up with some truly absurd names.
“I call it Extracts from Interfering Poetry,” said Al, with a proud sweep of his arms at the spectacle before them. “This is Scene with Trapped Limitation, Interlude in Lavender, Number Eight.”
Florian was staring at the tangled mass of bodies that had just come to rest on the stage, trying his best not to let his jaw drop, for fear of the tears he was sure would follow such a move. “Yes, love,” he said slowly, “but the real question is, what will the critics call it? Hmm?”
“You don’t like it,” said Al, and he tucked his lip between his teeth and frowned at the stage.
Flo caught him by the arm. “I didn’t say that, did I?”
Al turned on him with those big, pleading puppy dog eyes of his and Florian fumbled for the words to break it to him gently that his latest creation was actually quite dreadful.
“It just…it needs a little something.”
“Like a plot?” Sylvia called from the stage.
Caught between relief that someone else had said it for him and fear that Al was likely to respond by storming off and locking himself in his room for days, Flo barely had a chance to open his mouth.
“A plot?” said Al. “A plot? What do you think this is?”
“A play?” said Sylvia.
“A play!” Al laughed. “This,” he waved the script - was it still called a script if there wasn’t actually any coherent dialogue, Flo wondered - at her. “This is performance art.”
“Dear,” said Flo, catching his arm again, “It’s just that this, er, art might be perhaps a bit over the heads of our usual clientele.”
“Aren’t you the one that always is wanting to make this place classier?” said Al.
“Well, yes,” said Flo. “It’s just, well, this might be a bit over everyone’s head. I mean what is an interlude in lavender anyway?”
“Whatever it is,” called Rory, “I like it!” and everyone turned to glare at him, half buried under Merry and Sylvia as he was.
“And what, dare I ask,” Flo continued, “happened to numbers one through seven?”
Al sighed. “You just don’t understand.”
“We’re trying to,” said Flo.
“Some of us harder than others,” said Merry, peeling Rory’s hand off of her where it had begun to creep up her thigh.
“What?” said Rory. “I was getting bored waiting for the next round of charades.”
“Charades?” said Al, his voice rising again.
“See?” said Flo, calmly. “I told you, it’s just too…deep for, well, for everyone. I mean I don’t even know what all this waving your hands and rolling around on the stage is supposed to symbolize. It, er, does symbolize something, right?”
Al just stared at him in disbelief for a moment before putting the script down with a sigh. “You’re right,” he said. “Perhaps the world isn’t ready for my visions just yet.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” said Flo.
“No worries. I have another idea.” Al brightened. Flo hoped it wasn’t Interlude in Lavender Number Nine. “A love story,” he said. “In war-torn Vestia. And this time I mean to get Gilda on that stage.”
with Gummy Bunnies
Story : There Are No Small Parts
Rating : PG
Word Count : 525
Gummy Prompt : 500themes 28. This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.
Purple isn't a color I often associate with characters. I thought it was going to be Flo's, but then Al stood up and demanded it for himeslf. Also, I have to mention I am in love with this, it comes up with some truly absurd names.
“I call it Extracts from Interfering Poetry,” said Al, with a proud sweep of his arms at the spectacle before them. “This is Scene with Trapped Limitation, Interlude in Lavender, Number Eight.”
Florian was staring at the tangled mass of bodies that had just come to rest on the stage, trying his best not to let his jaw drop, for fear of the tears he was sure would follow such a move. “Yes, love,” he said slowly, “but the real question is, what will the critics call it? Hmm?”
“You don’t like it,” said Al, and he tucked his lip between his teeth and frowned at the stage.
Flo caught him by the arm. “I didn’t say that, did I?”
Al turned on him with those big, pleading puppy dog eyes of his and Florian fumbled for the words to break it to him gently that his latest creation was actually quite dreadful.
“It just…it needs a little something.”
“Like a plot?” Sylvia called from the stage.
Caught between relief that someone else had said it for him and fear that Al was likely to respond by storming off and locking himself in his room for days, Flo barely had a chance to open his mouth.
“A plot?” said Al. “A plot? What do you think this is?”
“A play?” said Sylvia.
“A play!” Al laughed. “This,” he waved the script - was it still called a script if there wasn’t actually any coherent dialogue, Flo wondered - at her. “This is performance art.”
“Dear,” said Flo, catching his arm again, “It’s just that this, er, art might be perhaps a bit over the heads of our usual clientele.”
“Aren’t you the one that always is wanting to make this place classier?” said Al.
“Well, yes,” said Flo. “It’s just, well, this might be a bit over everyone’s head. I mean what is an interlude in lavender anyway?”
“Whatever it is,” called Rory, “I like it!” and everyone turned to glare at him, half buried under Merry and Sylvia as he was.
“And what, dare I ask,” Flo continued, “happened to numbers one through seven?”
Al sighed. “You just don’t understand.”
“We’re trying to,” said Flo.
“Some of us harder than others,” said Merry, peeling Rory’s hand off of her where it had begun to creep up her thigh.
“What?” said Rory. “I was getting bored waiting for the next round of charades.”
“Charades?” said Al, his voice rising again.
“See?” said Flo, calmly. “I told you, it’s just too…deep for, well, for everyone. I mean I don’t even know what all this waving your hands and rolling around on the stage is supposed to symbolize. It, er, does symbolize something, right?”
Al just stared at him in disbelief for a moment before putting the script down with a sigh. “You’re right,” he said. “Perhaps the world isn’t ready for my visions just yet.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” said Flo.
“No worries. I have another idea.” Al brightened. Flo hoped it wasn’t Interlude in Lavender Number Nine. “A love story,” he said. “In war-torn Vestia. And this time I mean to get Gilda on that stage.”