two fic bits
two random-ass fic bits, more scenelets than actual stories, because apparently giving something a distinct beginning, middle, and end is beyond me. this is what i thought of today while i was walking around playing the same couple of songs over and over on my ipod.
Quince is surprised when Lidia tells him she has to leave not long after they shoo the last customer out the door of the bar, and can he close by himself? He's closed before, but never alone, but he says sure, no problem. If they want to trust him like this, he can be trustworthy. Lidia closes out the register for him and locks the front door behind her when she leaves. Quince counts the register drawer twice just to be sure and then locks it in the office so someone can deposit the money later. He pours himself a shot of vodka, knocks it back, and starts cleaning up. He collects dirty glasses and plates and wet napkins, wipes down tables, puts up chairs, tries to sweep. He wipes off the bar, straightens up behind it, wraps the Maraschino cherries and orange slices and lemon and lime wedges and puts them in the fridge. He writes a note for the afternoon shift, telling them what's running low and that one of the soda taps is wonky, and at the bottom he adds "Took a bottle of water, left $2". He puts the note on top of the register drawer in the office, pulls two dollar bills out of his wallet, drops them on top of the note, and locks the office again. He has another shot of vodka, grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, and goes out the front door. He locks the one lock that has to be done from outside, puts his earbuds in, finds a good playlist on his iPod, cracks open the water, and heads home.
He finds Jack unsurprisingly asleep when he gets in. He brushes his teeth, puts on his pajamas, and because the two shots and the music from his iPod have done their work, he falls asleep almost immediately.
(oh look, it's something from the original fic that the steve/bucky au spawned. and it is now christened c'mon c'mon, because that makes sense to me. (the au is tagged c'mon rogers c'mon. i can already see how this is going to confuse the hell out of me.) quince is plagued with intermittent insomnia - and thank you to everyone who kindly told me about their experiences - and if he's afraid he might not be able to sleep, a drink or two, or music, or both, will help.)
He's driving the county roads that will take him home, singing along to the radio, his right hand on the steering wheel and his left arm hanging out the window, hand keeping time against the side of the door. The sun is behind him, glinting in the rearview mirror. It won't set for a couple of hours yet. He steers with his knee so he can shift gears, taking the opportunity to use his right hand to bang out a countertempo to his left. If Corbin could see him, he'd laugh his head off, and the thought just makes Harley smile.
He sails past a field, horses chasing him along the fence. He waves to them. He wonders if they'd care that he spent his entire day among their cousins, that for an hour he even got to assist with a riding lesson. He speeds up, leaves them behind.
The radio is up loud and he has to raise his voice to hear himself over the wind rushing through the open windows. He got his singing voice from his mom, his dad used to say. She used to sing in her church's choir, but of course that was before she got pregnant. His dad also used to say that she would sing to him when he was a baby, when he was still only weeks or months old and she still thought she might want to be a mother at nineteen, and for a brief moment Harley wishes he had that memory of her.
But then the song on the radio segues into a new one, and the feeling passes. He might beat Corbin home. They'll grill hotdogs for dinner, finish the ice cream, sit outside and get bit by mosquitoes and wait for the sun to set. Maybe he'll write his dad, burn the letter in the grill. It was a good day, turning into a good evening, and there's no reason for it to end yet.
(more about harley and corbin here. the soundtrack for this bit - and one of the songs harley hears on the radio - is the red hot chili peppers' make you feel better.)
Quince is surprised when Lidia tells him she has to leave not long after they shoo the last customer out the door of the bar, and can he close by himself? He's closed before, but never alone, but he says sure, no problem. If they want to trust him like this, he can be trustworthy. Lidia closes out the register for him and locks the front door behind her when she leaves. Quince counts the register drawer twice just to be sure and then locks it in the office so someone can deposit the money later. He pours himself a shot of vodka, knocks it back, and starts cleaning up. He collects dirty glasses and plates and wet napkins, wipes down tables, puts up chairs, tries to sweep. He wipes off the bar, straightens up behind it, wraps the Maraschino cherries and orange slices and lemon and lime wedges and puts them in the fridge. He writes a note for the afternoon shift, telling them what's running low and that one of the soda taps is wonky, and at the bottom he adds "Took a bottle of water, left $2". He puts the note on top of the register drawer in the office, pulls two dollar bills out of his wallet, drops them on top of the note, and locks the office again. He has another shot of vodka, grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, and goes out the front door. He locks the one lock that has to be done from outside, puts his earbuds in, finds a good playlist on his iPod, cracks open the water, and heads home.
He finds Jack unsurprisingly asleep when he gets in. He brushes his teeth, puts on his pajamas, and because the two shots and the music from his iPod have done their work, he falls asleep almost immediately.
(oh look, it's something from the original fic that the steve/bucky au spawned. and it is now christened c'mon c'mon, because that makes sense to me. (the au is tagged c'mon rogers c'mon. i can already see how this is going to confuse the hell out of me.) quince is plagued with intermittent insomnia - and thank you to everyone who kindly told me about their experiences - and if he's afraid he might not be able to sleep, a drink or two, or music, or both, will help.)
He's driving the county roads that will take him home, singing along to the radio, his right hand on the steering wheel and his left arm hanging out the window, hand keeping time against the side of the door. The sun is behind him, glinting in the rearview mirror. It won't set for a couple of hours yet. He steers with his knee so he can shift gears, taking the opportunity to use his right hand to bang out a countertempo to his left. If Corbin could see him, he'd laugh his head off, and the thought just makes Harley smile.
He sails past a field, horses chasing him along the fence. He waves to them. He wonders if they'd care that he spent his entire day among their cousins, that for an hour he even got to assist with a riding lesson. He speeds up, leaves them behind.
The radio is up loud and he has to raise his voice to hear himself over the wind rushing through the open windows. He got his singing voice from his mom, his dad used to say. She used to sing in her church's choir, but of course that was before she got pregnant. His dad also used to say that she would sing to him when he was a baby, when he was still only weeks or months old and she still thought she might want to be a mother at nineteen, and for a brief moment Harley wishes he had that memory of her.
But then the song on the radio segues into a new one, and the feeling passes. He might beat Corbin home. They'll grill hotdogs for dinner, finish the ice cream, sit outside and get bit by mosquitoes and wait for the sun to set. Maybe he'll write his dad, burn the letter in the grill. It was a good day, turning into a good evening, and there's no reason for it to end yet.
(more about harley and corbin here. the soundtrack for this bit - and one of the songs harley hears on the radio - is the red hot chili peppers' make you feel better.)