ffffffffffff
Original fic, entirely out-of-context snippet I am posting here only to FORCE MYSELF to continue this story. HEY LET'S JUST CALL IT A CHARACTER SKETCH.
Blah I'll do a much belated fic dump soon.
“Well, you’re a mage, aren’t you?” Keely asked, clearing away a small circle of debris so she could sit down. “How are you purposed?”
“I’m not.”
“Oh,” Keely said. She willed her eyes to not widen quite so much, but they did, and suddenly she wanted to run home more than she ever had. The musty smell was worse (she couldn’t imagine the last time the house had been cleaned) and Owen wouldn’t look her in the eyes.
Then she laughed, and thought of Jane telling her not to bray like that in polite company. The laughter echoed off the rafters, as discomfort came back to her in waves.
“You...you can’t be serious?” She leaned forward as Owen moved back, just missing stumbling over the beat up sofa behind him where the cats were sleeping with mews of contentment. “You must!”
“Never have,” Owen said, suddenly very interested in his hands, “never will.”
“Someone must have mixed up your papers when you came of age,” Keely continued, not listening. One of the cats that was still awake, a scrawny calico, and it crawled onto her. “Maybe they’re just late! I mean, you can’t be much more than...how old are you, anyway?”
Owen looked at the ceiling, eyes distant as if he was counting to himself. “Well, I should be about fifteen now. Sixteen this winter.”
The cat flew off Keely’s lap with a screech of anger. Outside the circle her hands hit the dust, which scattered around them in a cloud of dancing motes.
Owen coughed, waving his hands in front of his face to clear it away. “Why,” he said, clearing his throat, “how old did you expect?”
“I don’t know what I expected.” Keely ran her eyes over the length of the living room again. “But it certainly wasn’t this.” She eyed the doorway to the kitchen and the spiral of the stairs leading to the second story. Everything was grey and outside the sun cut through the curtain in jagged beams of afternoon light.
Abruptly she stood and gathered her bags, her schoolbooks and homework she had brought, and for good measure one of the cats sleeping on the couch. It scratched at her hand but Keely ignored it, boots clamping up more dust as she laced them purposefully back up.
“Where are you going?” Owen asked, and Keely could recognize the edge of fear in his voice. Did he think she wouldn’t come back? She frowned. That was fine. That was good.
“I’m going home,” she said. “This place gives me the creeps, and you give me the creeps.”
“I thought we were friends,” Owen said, his voice now very small.
“We can be,” Keely said, gentler, as she opened the door. Sunlight streamed in, washing the foyer gold. “But I’m not sure how.”
It slammed and clicked behind her, and she didn’t look back until she was safely across the street and into her own front yard. Owen was watching her from the window, his eyes squinting in the light.
Keely was settled into her own room, trying to focus on her essay and not the remorse growing steadily in her like a bruise, when she realized just what she’d brought back with her. The cat sat contentedly on her bed, luxuriating in the down comforter.
“Oh, shit,” Keely said. “He’ll probably want that back.”
She tucked her head in her arms and groaned.
Blah I'll do a much belated fic dump soon.
“Well, you’re a mage, aren’t you?” Keely asked, clearing away a small circle of debris so she could sit down. “How are you purposed?”
“I’m not.”
“Oh,” Keely said. She willed her eyes to not widen quite so much, but they did, and suddenly she wanted to run home more than she ever had. The musty smell was worse (she couldn’t imagine the last time the house had been cleaned) and Owen wouldn’t look her in the eyes.
Then she laughed, and thought of Jane telling her not to bray like that in polite company. The laughter echoed off the rafters, as discomfort came back to her in waves.
“You...you can’t be serious?” She leaned forward as Owen moved back, just missing stumbling over the beat up sofa behind him where the cats were sleeping with mews of contentment. “You must!”
“Never have,” Owen said, suddenly very interested in his hands, “never will.”
“Someone must have mixed up your papers when you came of age,” Keely continued, not listening. One of the cats that was still awake, a scrawny calico, and it crawled onto her. “Maybe they’re just late! I mean, you can’t be much more than...how old are you, anyway?”
Owen looked at the ceiling, eyes distant as if he was counting to himself. “Well, I should be about fifteen now. Sixteen this winter.”
The cat flew off Keely’s lap with a screech of anger. Outside the circle her hands hit the dust, which scattered around them in a cloud of dancing motes.
Owen coughed, waving his hands in front of his face to clear it away. “Why,” he said, clearing his throat, “how old did you expect?”
“I don’t know what I expected.” Keely ran her eyes over the length of the living room again. “But it certainly wasn’t this.” She eyed the doorway to the kitchen and the spiral of the stairs leading to the second story. Everything was grey and outside the sun cut through the curtain in jagged beams of afternoon light.
Abruptly she stood and gathered her bags, her schoolbooks and homework she had brought, and for good measure one of the cats sleeping on the couch. It scratched at her hand but Keely ignored it, boots clamping up more dust as she laced them purposefully back up.
“Where are you going?” Owen asked, and Keely could recognize the edge of fear in his voice. Did he think she wouldn’t come back? She frowned. That was fine. That was good.
“I’m going home,” she said. “This place gives me the creeps, and you give me the creeps.”
“I thought we were friends,” Owen said, his voice now very small.
“We can be,” Keely said, gentler, as she opened the door. Sunlight streamed in, washing the foyer gold. “But I’m not sure how.”
It slammed and clicked behind her, and she didn’t look back until she was safely across the street and into her own front yard. Owen was watching her from the window, his eyes squinting in the light.
Keely was settled into her own room, trying to focus on her essay and not the remorse growing steadily in her like a bruise, when she realized just what she’d brought back with her. The cat sat contentedly on her bed, luxuriating in the down comforter.
“Oh, shit,” Keely said. “He’ll probably want that back.”
She tucked her head in her arms and groaned.