Two Dollhouse Fics, both lovingly written for Whedonland
Title: The Mind Can Try, But The Eye Can't Lie
Rating: G
Pairing: DeWitt/Dominic
Word Count: 421
Notes: Written for a prompt challenge at whedonland.
Prompt: Someone runs a flea market stall on Saturdays.
Disclaimer: Dollhouse is not mine.
It was a truth she'd long ago accepted.
The Dollhouse never truly sleeps, and it definitely doesn't close up shop for the weekend. However, being the boss did confer a few perks. Taking an afternoon for herself, once a month or so, was one of those perks. Today, a sunny Saturday of eighty-one degrees, was her self-proclaimed day off. Sitting in her office earlier, staring out at the bustling city below, the need to feel the warm summer air on her skin had her buzzing Judith into her office only to shoo her off for the day. It had been shaping up to be a rather slow day anyhow. The House was in order, there were no meetings with prospective clients scheduled, and Mr. Dominic had asked for a personal day, so their weekly debriefing had been moved to Sunday.
Now she found herself wandering the stalls at one of Los Angeles's many flea markets, a favourite (though not often indulged) pastime.
A familiar voice, coming from the stall across, pulled her from her examination of a chain of freshwater pearls, "Yeah, I do them myself."
It couldn't be.
A woman, her voice too soft to be heard clearly (damn it), asked another question, her tone lifting at the end of her sentence.
"Yeah, I guess a delicate touch is required."
Was he flirting?? Wait, it probably isn't even him. Turning around would answer the question, but did she really want to know? She could easily continue on her way, carefully avoiding that stall with a buffer of ten feet, and life would continue on as normal. But she wanted to know. She had to know.
Without thinking of the consequences, an unusual tact that seemed appropriate for these unusual circumstances, she turned around. The man looked up, as if sensing her stare.
As blue eyes bore into blue-grey (and vice versa), and surprise turned into an odd sort of awkwardness (sort of like when you'd see a teacher out of school as a child), an understanding was quickly forged. Adelle blinked slowly, taking the time to reorient her idea of the man in front of her, and then turned back to her freshwater pearls.
Later, as she passed a stall selling flowers, the hand blown glass vase on her desk (given to her in the company Secret Santa exchange last year) suddenly came to mind and she stopped. And smiled.
Some truths were more pleasurable to accept than others (and then securely tucked away, never to be thought of again).
○--------------------------------○
Title: A Honeyed Tongue Catches More Than Flies
Rating: PG
Pairing: DeWitt/Dominic
Word Count: 500
Notes: Written for the Speaking in Tongues challenge at whedonland, and tied for second place with one of my fellow dolls! Go Team Morally Grey! Also, I apologize in advance for any mistakes in my translations and/or Latin. Hopefully I got it right.
Disclaimer: Dollhouse is not mine.
"Veritas omnia vincit." Her words hung in the air, heavy and taunting.
Adelle couldn't seem to recall how they'd gotten to this point. Lying on the floor of her office, sloshed beyond the telling of it. Had something trying happened today? The details eluded her.
"Veritas vos liberabit."
The voice startled her from her drunken introspection. She'd momentarily forgotten he was there. Strange, considering his sweatpant-clad legs were currently her pillow. Where was the man's suit? Again, details were lacking.
"You know Latin, Mr. Dominic?" She winced internally (and probably externally, for all she knew) at expressing her surprise so openly. Where was that bottle of vodka? Or had they moved on to the crate of Mouton-Rothschild?
He chuckled. "You thought I was an uneducated heathen Ma'am?"
Before she could confirm or deny, an open bottle of red wine appeared before her eyes, clutched in his hand. A bruised and bloodied hand, scrapes marring his knuckles.
"Always my savior," she whispered.
Adelle reached for the bottle, careful to avoid the hand curled around its neck. A bloodstream full of alcohol was doing lovely things to her coordination however, and she ended up sliding her fingers along his. The heat of his skin was a slight shock, reverberating along peripheral axons, skittering along her skin, to settle in lips that now tingled. Because of the alcohol, of course. A short exhalation escaping from between said lips was the only betrayal of her response to the feel of his rough skin beneath her fingertips and palm.
"In vino, veritas." His words were like a scald of boiling water. Adelle pulled her hand from his quickly, tugged the bottle from his loose grip, and took a careless swig.
Equidem.
She didn't share this thought, instead uttering sagely, "Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari?"
Dominic's laughter surely roused the actives asleep stories below. She turned onto her side, the cotton of his pants soft against her cheek, and smirked up at him. She felt the bottle being tugged from her hands, watched as he brought it to his lips.
---
The next day, as she sat at her desk, blues skies beyond the windowpanes of her office, Adelle's thoughts wandered to the day before. Details once again seemed to elude her. She took a sip of her morning tea, pondering lightly, until a phrase bubbled up from the haze of memories: suppressio veri. Spoken between a gasp and a sigh, it was followed by his reply, a promise roughly whispered: equidem. And along with it came a sense memory. Rough hands, warm and sure.
She let memories of the night before wash over her, then took a deep breath, gathered each touch and caress and sigh, and deposited them into her carefully constructed vault of truths concealed, suppressed, and ultimately forgotten.
---
In her dreams, for years to come, she'd hear the words veritas numquam perit softly whispered in her ear, words forgotten as soon as light shone upon her eyes.
Translations:
Veritas omnia vincit: Truth conquers all
Veritas vos liberabit: The truth shall set you free
In vino, veritas: In wine, truth (Truth is told by one who is drunk)
Equidem: [in corroboration] Indeed
Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari?: How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
Suppressio veri: The suppression of truth
Equidem: [in concession] Of course, certainly
Veritas numquam perit: Truth never dies
Rating: G
Pairing: DeWitt/Dominic
Word Count: 421
Notes: Written for a prompt challenge at whedonland.
Prompt: Someone runs a flea market stall on Saturdays.
Disclaimer: Dollhouse is not mine.
It was a truth she'd long ago accepted.
The Dollhouse never truly sleeps, and it definitely doesn't close up shop for the weekend. However, being the boss did confer a few perks. Taking an afternoon for herself, once a month or so, was one of those perks. Today, a sunny Saturday of eighty-one degrees, was her self-proclaimed day off. Sitting in her office earlier, staring out at the bustling city below, the need to feel the warm summer air on her skin had her buzzing Judith into her office only to shoo her off for the day. It had been shaping up to be a rather slow day anyhow. The House was in order, there were no meetings with prospective clients scheduled, and Mr. Dominic had asked for a personal day, so their weekly debriefing had been moved to Sunday.
Now she found herself wandering the stalls at one of Los Angeles's many flea markets, a favourite (though not often indulged) pastime.
A familiar voice, coming from the stall across, pulled her from her examination of a chain of freshwater pearls, "Yeah, I do them myself."
It couldn't be.
A woman, her voice too soft to be heard clearly (damn it), asked another question, her tone lifting at the end of her sentence.
"Yeah, I guess a delicate touch is required."
Was he flirting?? Wait, it probably isn't even him. Turning around would answer the question, but did she really want to know? She could easily continue on her way, carefully avoiding that stall with a buffer of ten feet, and life would continue on as normal. But she wanted to know. She had to know.
Without thinking of the consequences, an unusual tact that seemed appropriate for these unusual circumstances, she turned around. The man looked up, as if sensing her stare.
As blue eyes bore into blue-grey (and vice versa), and surprise turned into an odd sort of awkwardness (sort of like when you'd see a teacher out of school as a child), an understanding was quickly forged. Adelle blinked slowly, taking the time to reorient her idea of the man in front of her, and then turned back to her freshwater pearls.
Later, as she passed a stall selling flowers, the hand blown glass vase on her desk (given to her in the company Secret Santa exchange last year) suddenly came to mind and she stopped. And smiled.
Some truths were more pleasurable to accept than others (and then securely tucked away, never to be thought of again).
○--------------------------------○
Title: A Honeyed Tongue Catches More Than Flies
Rating: PG
Pairing: DeWitt/Dominic
Word Count: 500
Notes: Written for the Speaking in Tongues challenge at whedonland, and tied for second place with one of my fellow dolls! Go Team Morally Grey! Also, I apologize in advance for any mistakes in my translations and/or Latin. Hopefully I got it right.
Disclaimer: Dollhouse is not mine.
"Veritas omnia vincit." Her words hung in the air, heavy and taunting.
Adelle couldn't seem to recall how they'd gotten to this point. Lying on the floor of her office, sloshed beyond the telling of it. Had something trying happened today? The details eluded her.
"Veritas vos liberabit."
The voice startled her from her drunken introspection. She'd momentarily forgotten he was there. Strange, considering his sweatpant-clad legs were currently her pillow. Where was the man's suit? Again, details were lacking.
"You know Latin, Mr. Dominic?" She winced internally (and probably externally, for all she knew) at expressing her surprise so openly. Where was that bottle of vodka? Or had they moved on to the crate of Mouton-Rothschild?
He chuckled. "You thought I was an uneducated heathen Ma'am?"
Before she could confirm or deny, an open bottle of red wine appeared before her eyes, clutched in his hand. A bruised and bloodied hand, scrapes marring his knuckles.
"Always my savior," she whispered.
Adelle reached for the bottle, careful to avoid the hand curled around its neck. A bloodstream full of alcohol was doing lovely things to her coordination however, and she ended up sliding her fingers along his. The heat of his skin was a slight shock, reverberating along peripheral axons, skittering along her skin, to settle in lips that now tingled. Because of the alcohol, of course. A short exhalation escaping from between said lips was the only betrayal of her response to the feel of his rough skin beneath her fingertips and palm.
"In vino, veritas." His words were like a scald of boiling water. Adelle pulled her hand from his quickly, tugged the bottle from his loose grip, and took a careless swig.
Equidem.
She didn't share this thought, instead uttering sagely, "Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari?"
Dominic's laughter surely roused the actives asleep stories below. She turned onto her side, the cotton of his pants soft against her cheek, and smirked up at him. She felt the bottle being tugged from her hands, watched as he brought it to his lips.
---
The next day, as she sat at her desk, blues skies beyond the windowpanes of her office, Adelle's thoughts wandered to the day before. Details once again seemed to elude her. She took a sip of her morning tea, pondering lightly, until a phrase bubbled up from the haze of memories: suppressio veri. Spoken between a gasp and a sigh, it was followed by his reply, a promise roughly whispered: equidem. And along with it came a sense memory. Rough hands, warm and sure.
She let memories of the night before wash over her, then took a deep breath, gathered each touch and caress and sigh, and deposited them into her carefully constructed vault of truths concealed, suppressed, and ultimately forgotten.
---
In her dreams, for years to come, she'd hear the words veritas numquam perit softly whispered in her ear, words forgotten as soon as light shone upon her eyes.
Translations:
Veritas omnia vincit: Truth conquers all
Veritas vos liberabit: The truth shall set you free
In vino, veritas: In wine, truth (Truth is told by one who is drunk)
Equidem: [in corroboration] Indeed
Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari?: How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
Suppressio veri: The suppression of truth
Equidem: [in concession] Of course, certainly
Veritas numquam perit: Truth never dies