la vie en colour
Title: la vie en colour
Author: Amata le Fay
Story: Coded Politics (RP)
Flavor(s): Rainbow Sherbert binge
Toppings: none
Extras: pocky chain
Rating: PG13 for abusive parenting and implied swearing
Word Count: 1406
Notes: A study of the relationship between Lucretia Borgia and Stephen Sondheim/Farran Gray. (Because I like naming characters after historical people.) Concrit very much welcome.
gray
She's seen him often and heard of him thousands of times, but when she recognizes his face it's through pictures, not memories. They've never met. He left just after Lía was born, stealing away in the dead of night to leave his black hat behind for one of a lighter color.
The Gray Hats. A dangerous organization lead by a dangerous man. Then again, she likes dangerous men. They're sure as hell better than normal ones.
When he introduces himself as “Farran,” Luc goes along with it. It's not as if she hasn't tried to change her name before.
brown
“In case you didn't notice, I never asked to come along.”
He looks up to meet her glare, which he knows is directed at him and not the pillow she's ostensibly staring at. Avis-ever the optimist-goes up and hugs her, but the girl only draws back.
He shifts his weight from foot to foot, trying to find the right words to say. Nothing fits. “I just thought...”
“Well, you thought wrong.” Her eyes are icy. Bitter. Untouchable. But if the gray eyes were brown and a bit softer, they would be Geneviève's eyes. And, for Farran, that's all that matters.
orange
She tries to distract herself by staring out the window at the glow of the sunset, but all that does is make her even more conscious of the man in the chair next to her. The silence is deafening. She breaks it, eventually.
“I know what you're thinking. What you have to be thinking. Asking yourself.”
“Mm?”
“What is Roderigo Borgia's daughter doing here? What the hell screwed her up so bad that he'd abandon her in this crappy little town with only a psychotic brother for company?”
He barely looks up. “Don't want to know.”
The sincerity is... new.
blue
Avis and Cyan have just left-ostensibly to retrieve school supplies, actually to flirt with each other and possibly check if Cesare's dead. Farran knows he should be worried about them. He would be worried about them, if not for... Luc. Luc, Luc, Luc.
He-
All they do is talk to pass the time away. Nothing else happens-nothing else matters, not really. They talk of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of color-based name meanings and pointillist art on a molecular scale, all without saying a single thing.
Time passes by slowly, but he never once looks at the clock.
green
She has a necklace-a pretty, shiny, useless pendant on a chain, made with the finest emeralds blood-stained money could buy. Roderigo sent it to her on November eighth-God, she still remembers the date?-along with a note: “Be a good girl and you can come home.”
Well, look at me now, father dear. Befriending Avis Ladongale, allying with a Medici and living at the house of Stephen Sondheim. What could I do worse?
She briefly thinks of that cliché-girls dating guys their fathers hate-then dismisses it. Not because she doesn't like Farran, but because Roderigo would find the irony too delicious.
yellow
“Who's Johanna?” she oh-so-casually asks from behind. He jumps about a foot in the air.
“How-”
“How did I get in here? Well, it wasn't like you locked the door or anything.” She leans forward, half-teasing, half-not. “Very impressive, maestro. Singing to the walls. Or, to someone named Johanna. So who's Johanna?”
He bites his lip-to remind himself to breathe-and points to the picture frame placed lovingly on top of the piano. Geneviève's portrait. “Her. That's Johanna.”
A beat. Then from Luc: “Nice try.” She snatches the lyrics and reads them back to him. “Buried sweetly in your yellow hair.”
white
They both knew that, one day, this... thing of theirs would have to stop, or at least fade a little while, but they certainly never pictured it like this. Cold, crashing, sudden, unfair. Why did they have to be interrupted by the too-bright headlight beams of Roderigo Borgia's car? Why did they have to be dragged back into the world of white-hot electricity coursing through their veins, forcing them to dance the steps of this twisted gavotte, of these coded politics?
Luc reaches out to touch his arm. Their eyes meet. Hold me. If only to hold me back.
gold
His world starts to break down the moment he sees Roderigo's face. That man, that f-king devil incarnate, the man he's spent all of his life running from and fighting against. And now he's here at last, the claim his “prizes”-is there any other option for Farran than to struggle with all his soul, strength, and mind?
“Luc, sedate him,” Roderigo says.
She glares back at him, defiant. “No!”
He doesn't know how many times the man hits her or how hard-the only thing Farran registers is the cut on her cheek that comes from Roderigo's f-king 24-karat wedding ring.
purple
“Hey.” His fingers run over her cheek, where another bruise is just starting to sink into her skin. “What's this?”
She refuses to meet his eyes, knowing how bright the flames of anger will burn beneath his irises. She doesn't want to face him when he's angry. When good men are angry, people die and she can't let that happen, not when he himself is in the line of fire.
“How many times...?” He leaves the question unresolved. She leaves it unanswered. She loves Farran, undeniably, always, but this isn't something she talks about. Not to him. Never to him.
pink
“What, you two a couple or something?”
The “no” rises to his lips before he can even think about it. He cringes a little. What is he supposed to do, take it back? That would be weird. But before he can think of a justification, his mind registers that she said “no,” too.
He glances at her. She's blushing-just a little, just enough so he can see but hopefully no one else can. He can't help but smile a little.
“I officially ship you two,” Zetheus says with a grin.
Avis rolls her eyes. “You watch too much anime.”
red
She feels as if her soul is on fire as she runs, burning away everything that's happened to her the past few hours, days, weeks, years; everything chaotic and confusing and emotional lingering in the flames, singing the swan song of her situation. Because this is like death, in a way.
If I hold on to Farran, Roderigo will know that I love him and torture us both with it. This way, he's safe. This way, Roderigo will have a target other than him. Me.
At least, that's what she tells herself as she runs farther and farther away.
black
His world when she's not there is cold, lonely, and frightening. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her-off in the distance, hurt and scared and too goddamn stubborn to let anyone rescue her, which is the one thing he can't bring himself to do.
When he wakes up screaming from the nightmares of his teenage years, it's her name and not his sister's that rises to his lips. He searches in the bed for her warmth before he realizes that, once again, he's failed to save what matters most.
I am in the dark beside you, Johanna...
silver
Mother smiles a vapid smile-one of the ones that used to drive Luc insane when she was young and rebellious and didn't understand just how deep Roderigo's brainwashing could go-and places her hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Well, at least you're back home, safe and sound.” A laugh. “It's true, what they say-every cloud has a silver lining!”
Luc pulls away but doesn't glare or admonish. She doesn't know any better. She's like a child. She can't think for herself. So she just grits her teeth and stares into the distance and says, “You don't know anything about clouds.”
rainbow
He sits in the chair by the window, watching streaks of color burst through the sky and remembering... remembering everything, he supposes. Not even just about her. Everything in his life leading up to her. Everything dark and muted and gray, a muddle of black and white and that twilight in-between, and then... her. Color, and light.
Notes twist into some kind of melody in the back of his head. Color and light... there's only color and light... yellow and white... and red and purple and white...
He sits up, suddenly, and whispers to himself. “I will find you.”