For Alya
Title: Tan and Blue
Rating: PG
Characters: Chris and Rosalind
Prompt: Island
That he'd won the all-expenses-paid cruise to the Bahamas had been a surprise, and that he'd actually agreed to go had been even more of one. In all her knowledge of Christopher, he wasn't often given to frivolity, and it was a quality that she liked about him. Rosalind leaned back in her seat and surveyed the painting she was working on, and decided to add a bit more colour. White beach, green palm trees, carmine sunset and blue waters.
The postcard from Nassau had arrived in the post, a rectangle of glossy paper with a slice of paradise on one side and a neatly penned greeting on the other, and now she was reproducing the scene, adding a beach umbrella and a chair to it, a shock of dark hair just visible over the back of the chair of someone gazing out to the distance. There weren't more people in the scene-- the subject would prefer peace to frenetic activity, but perhaps he would manage to find time to relax. The last time she'd seen him, there was the definite impression that he worked too hard.
She pushed a few locks of her hair out of her eyes and dappled the painted sea with silver, and didn't hear the sound of Apparition. Belatedly feeling eyes on her, she turned, and broke into a rare grin not entirely devoid of ruefulness. "I was going to meet you at the portkey station. I lost track of time."
He laughed slightly at that and stepped forward towards her. "That's rather unlike you. What were you working on?"
She gestured the mostly-finished painting on the easel. "Your postcard came today. It's a beautiful place." Giving him a quick once-over, she stepped forward as well. "You look very well. You seem to have gotten a tan." She couldn't really picture him out partying and making merry on the trip, perhaps, but in the very least, his hair was slightly lightened by sun and sea, and his face had lost some of its pallor. It was the most relaxed she'd seen him in quite some time, and she was glad.
He wrinkled his nose, and shrugged. "I'm fairly sure that I didn't spend QUITE as much time on the beach as everyone else did, but it was a pretty place. I'd hoped that you'd like the postcard." She was wearing a rather shapeless man's oxford, liberally splattered with paint, the sleeves rolled up to reveal small, fine-boned hands and wrists. It was somewhat of a departure from the aloof, prim and proper young girl he'd met back in their schooldays, and he found himself smiling in reminiscence. Both of them had been out of school for a few years now-- five for him, four for her. Some things had changed, but many had stayed the same. For both, he could be grateful, and he laughed.
"What's so funny?" she asked, brows furrowing over eyes a darker blue than the aquamarine ocean in the picture.
Reaching out, he touched her cheek lightly, paler than his hands now, and swiped away a patch of rose. "You've paint on your face."
"I lost track of time," she said, setting down her brush and pushing back her hair in a flustered movement, her hand brushing his. "I would've gotten cleaned up before meeting you at the station."
She looked just a tiny bit vexed at herself, and there was a streak of blue to join the pink on her face. He chuckled, contemplated telling her, and then decided against it.
Rating: PG
Characters: Chris and Rosalind
Prompt: Island
That he'd won the all-expenses-paid cruise to the Bahamas had been a surprise, and that he'd actually agreed to go had been even more of one. In all her knowledge of Christopher, he wasn't often given to frivolity, and it was a quality that she liked about him. Rosalind leaned back in her seat and surveyed the painting she was working on, and decided to add a bit more colour. White beach, green palm trees, carmine sunset and blue waters.
The postcard from Nassau had arrived in the post, a rectangle of glossy paper with a slice of paradise on one side and a neatly penned greeting on the other, and now she was reproducing the scene, adding a beach umbrella and a chair to it, a shock of dark hair just visible over the back of the chair of someone gazing out to the distance. There weren't more people in the scene-- the subject would prefer peace to frenetic activity, but perhaps he would manage to find time to relax. The last time she'd seen him, there was the definite impression that he worked too hard.
She pushed a few locks of her hair out of her eyes and dappled the painted sea with silver, and didn't hear the sound of Apparition. Belatedly feeling eyes on her, she turned, and broke into a rare grin not entirely devoid of ruefulness. "I was going to meet you at the portkey station. I lost track of time."
He laughed slightly at that and stepped forward towards her. "That's rather unlike you. What were you working on?"
She gestured the mostly-finished painting on the easel. "Your postcard came today. It's a beautiful place." Giving him a quick once-over, she stepped forward as well. "You look very well. You seem to have gotten a tan." She couldn't really picture him out partying and making merry on the trip, perhaps, but in the very least, his hair was slightly lightened by sun and sea, and his face had lost some of its pallor. It was the most relaxed she'd seen him in quite some time, and she was glad.
He wrinkled his nose, and shrugged. "I'm fairly sure that I didn't spend QUITE as much time on the beach as everyone else did, but it was a pretty place. I'd hoped that you'd like the postcard." She was wearing a rather shapeless man's oxford, liberally splattered with paint, the sleeves rolled up to reveal small, fine-boned hands and wrists. It was somewhat of a departure from the aloof, prim and proper young girl he'd met back in their schooldays, and he found himself smiling in reminiscence. Both of them had been out of school for a few years now-- five for him, four for her. Some things had changed, but many had stayed the same. For both, he could be grateful, and he laughed.
"What's so funny?" she asked, brows furrowing over eyes a darker blue than the aquamarine ocean in the picture.
Reaching out, he touched her cheek lightly, paler than his hands now, and swiped away a patch of rose. "You've paint on your face."
"I lost track of time," she said, setting down her brush and pushing back her hair in a flustered movement, her hand brushing his. "I would've gotten cleaned up before meeting you at the station."
She looked just a tiny bit vexed at herself, and there was a streak of blue to join the pink on her face. He chuckled, contemplated telling her, and then decided against it.