Feng Shui Readjustment #2 (Good Boy, Good Girl) / gift fic for the gingersnap
Title: Feng Shui Readjustment #2 (Good Boy, Good Girl)
Challenge: Borrowing without Permission
Fandom: Downed*Angel
Media: Original ficlet
Characters: Tommy; Immer
AN: what’s been borrowed without permission here is one of the characters; Lillian is from sunshine_pill‘s fic “Appropriation.”
Crit:: w/e - I have NO idea what’s going on in this story…it's like...Great Expectations meets Loveless.
Good Boy, Good Girl
Immer opens the door on a woman who looks like she’s been wired together from spare parts. She looks up at him and a thread of smoke rises from between her lips. Her eyes are sleepy and sharp, a pair of old ivory knives.
Crazy.
“You got a dog in here?”
Immer relaxes against the doorframe, arms crossed. “No.”
“One of the other tenants says she hears an animal crying in here. No animals allowed in this building.” Her gaze wanders past Immer and passes over Tommy, curled on the couch under a quilt. “Could be it’s him.”
He pulls himself up a little, goes wary. Maybe she’s not crazy - and what’s making him want to straighten a tie he hasn’t worn since Sunday school? He wonders if she’s going to ask if he’s accepted Jesus in his heart, then knows that’s not why she’s here as the first sting of chaos energy touches him, radiating out of her like the moving spines of a sea-urchin.
“He’s not a dog.”
She cuts her eyes back at him, drops her smoke on the hall linoleum and grinds it out with the toe of her shoe. “He’s not what he looks like, either. You had him long?”
“Two years.”
Maybe he’s the crazy one. He doesn’t have to talk to this scarecrow.
“You hard to him?”
“Sometimes.”
“Good. You have a responsibility, you know. You don’t want Them taking him back. ”
“Ma’am?”
The woman gives him a patient look, taps his chest with the back of her fingers as if they’re sharing a secret. “Oh, you know what I’m talking about, honey. They give with the right hand and take away with the left. You have to hold on tight.” She frowns and pats the pockets of her long blue sweater. “Damn. Left them downstairs. You got a cigarette?”
Immer slides the box of Marlboros out of his own pocket and hands her one, lights it for her. Behind him he hears Tommy move, the creak of the couch as he sits up.
“Im?”
The spines retract a little, feeling Tommy.
“It’s all right, baby,” Immer says, moving a step so his body’s across the doorway. It’s a small, instinctive movement, a message.
The woman laughs, a sound like an iron gate creaking open. “Hey, which of us you trying to protect? Don’t worry; I got one of my own, I don’t need yours.” She looks him up and down. “You a card-playing man, Mr. Im?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought you might be. Got anything to drink?”
“Six-pack in the icebox.”
“Good enough. Ask me in.”
He can’t block it out, it’ll just come through anyway, worse for being denied. So keep it where you can see it.
“Come on in, Miss -“
“Lillian.”
“Miss Lillian.” He steps out of the way and she moves into the apartment, the top of her head at a level with his shoulder. He smells lilac, and beneath that, dark cold, like a snowed-under garden.
Passing the couch on the way to the kitchen, she stops and studies Tommy, who scuffles to his feet, quilt slipping onto the floor.
“Hey, pretty. You like games?”
“Ye-es…” Immer feels Tommy’s look without seeing it.
“Y’all ought to go downstairs. I got a girl around your age, and I’ve been teaching her. Ever played Beggar your neighbour? That’s an old one…”
“No, ma’am.”
The woman cocks her head like a bird-dog bitch; reaches out a hand and takes a strand of Tommy’s hair between her fingers, rubbing it almost absently. The energy in the room shifts, roiling and smoking, beating around him, but it can’t seem to cling and Immer feels it turn itself inside out, go back where it came from.
Yes, baby...
Tommy jerks his head sharply, and the woman lets his hair slide through her fingertips. He looks a little as if someone just clipped him with a brick, but he’s still on his feet. Immer knows better than to touch him, although he wants to.
“Im…”
“Go on, baby. Go downstairs.” Go see what else we’ve got here.
“That’s right, pretty, you go. Apartment 3F. My Lainey will kick your little butt for you.” The woman grins, showing a flash of gold wrapped around one tooth.
The door closes behind Tommy.
“Yeah, you’ve got a good boy there. But nothing’s as good as my girl.” The woman sits down at the kitchen table, sighing like something hurts. She pulls a scuffed pack of cards from her sweater pocket and starts to shuffle them, a rattling red blur between her fingers. “You know what we’re gonna play?”
“Yeah.” Immer takes the chair across from her, watches her deal. When she stops, she glances over at him, and for a second he sees the endless black behind her eyes.
“Damn,” she says, and picks up her cards.
Challenge: Borrowing without Permission
Fandom: Downed*Angel
Media: Original ficlet
Characters: Tommy; Immer
AN: what’s been borrowed without permission here is one of the characters; Lillian is from sunshine_pill‘s fic “Appropriation.”
Crit:: w/e - I have NO idea what’s going on in this story…it's like...Great Expectations meets Loveless.
Good Boy, Good Girl
Immer opens the door on a woman who looks like she’s been wired together from spare parts. She looks up at him and a thread of smoke rises from between her lips. Her eyes are sleepy and sharp, a pair of old ivory knives.
Crazy.
“You got a dog in here?”
Immer relaxes against the doorframe, arms crossed. “No.”
“One of the other tenants says she hears an animal crying in here. No animals allowed in this building.” Her gaze wanders past Immer and passes over Tommy, curled on the couch under a quilt. “Could be it’s him.”
He pulls himself up a little, goes wary. Maybe she’s not crazy - and what’s making him want to straighten a tie he hasn’t worn since Sunday school? He wonders if she’s going to ask if he’s accepted Jesus in his heart, then knows that’s not why she’s here as the first sting of chaos energy touches him, radiating out of her like the moving spines of a sea-urchin.
“He’s not a dog.”
She cuts her eyes back at him, drops her smoke on the hall linoleum and grinds it out with the toe of her shoe. “He’s not what he looks like, either. You had him long?”
“Two years.”
Maybe he’s the crazy one. He doesn’t have to talk to this scarecrow.
“You hard to him?”
“Sometimes.”
“Good. You have a responsibility, you know. You don’t want Them taking him back. ”
“Ma’am?”
The woman gives him a patient look, taps his chest with the back of her fingers as if they’re sharing a secret. “Oh, you know what I’m talking about, honey. They give with the right hand and take away with the left. You have to hold on tight.” She frowns and pats the pockets of her long blue sweater. “Damn. Left them downstairs. You got a cigarette?”
Immer slides the box of Marlboros out of his own pocket and hands her one, lights it for her. Behind him he hears Tommy move, the creak of the couch as he sits up.
“Im?”
The spines retract a little, feeling Tommy.
“It’s all right, baby,” Immer says, moving a step so his body’s across the doorway. It’s a small, instinctive movement, a message.
The woman laughs, a sound like an iron gate creaking open. “Hey, which of us you trying to protect? Don’t worry; I got one of my own, I don’t need yours.” She looks him up and down. “You a card-playing man, Mr. Im?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought you might be. Got anything to drink?”
“Six-pack in the icebox.”
“Good enough. Ask me in.”
He can’t block it out, it’ll just come through anyway, worse for being denied. So keep it where you can see it.
“Come on in, Miss -“
“Lillian.”
“Miss Lillian.” He steps out of the way and she moves into the apartment, the top of her head at a level with his shoulder. He smells lilac, and beneath that, dark cold, like a snowed-under garden.
Passing the couch on the way to the kitchen, she stops and studies Tommy, who scuffles to his feet, quilt slipping onto the floor.
“Hey, pretty. You like games?”
“Ye-es…” Immer feels Tommy’s look without seeing it.
“Y’all ought to go downstairs. I got a girl around your age, and I’ve been teaching her. Ever played Beggar your neighbour? That’s an old one…”
“No, ma’am.”
The woman cocks her head like a bird-dog bitch; reaches out a hand and takes a strand of Tommy’s hair between her fingers, rubbing it almost absently. The energy in the room shifts, roiling and smoking, beating around him, but it can’t seem to cling and Immer feels it turn itself inside out, go back where it came from.
Yes, baby...
Tommy jerks his head sharply, and the woman lets his hair slide through her fingertips. He looks a little as if someone just clipped him with a brick, but he’s still on his feet. Immer knows better than to touch him, although he wants to.
“Im…”
“Go on, baby. Go downstairs.” Go see what else we’ve got here.
“That’s right, pretty, you go. Apartment 3F. My Lainey will kick your little butt for you.” The woman grins, showing a flash of gold wrapped around one tooth.
The door closes behind Tommy.
“Yeah, you’ve got a good boy there. But nothing’s as good as my girl.” The woman sits down at the kitchen table, sighing like something hurts. She pulls a scuffed pack of cards from her sweater pocket and starts to shuffle them, a rattling red blur between her fingers. “You know what we’re gonna play?”
“Yeah.” Immer takes the chair across from her, watches her deal. When she stops, she glances over at him, and for a second he sees the endless black behind her eyes.
“Damn,” she says, and picks up her cards.