Prose Prompt: Flighty
I seem to have disregarded the word count. ^_^;;
When I saw the word "flighty," I immediately thought of someone who, in spite of everything, is still very dear to me. And I was inspired.
***
"A Bachelor's Button"
Adrian sat in the wicker chair, playing a gin-swirling, clearly insane old man. It was a domestic scene, and he was overdressed. Adrian was normally overdressed, but here, finally, was a situation that called for it. Gin-swirling and silk vests seemed to go well together, and it was the obvious choice for the character. As was Adrian’s manic grin, all the more off-putting for the incisors that were filed flat. It seemed like the kind of idiosyncracy you would see from an older person.
“So, Florence!” he roared from the corner, glass in hand, rising from his chair. “We meet again!”
“Yes, Uncle,” Stephen replied, playing Florence, in a tired voice. Adrian had thought that it would be funny if Florence always responded to the old man with a familiar boredom. “Any luck with the horses today?” he asked, skimming the newspaper placed on an end table and chewing on a black filter.
“Feh!” Adrian spat, summoning geriatric disgust. “That gypsy cheated me again! This is the fourth time! Do not wonder at the cause if I’m found with an Indian blade in my heart by the ides of the following month!”
“Uncle, you’ll have to find a less expensive hobby if you expect any further generosity from my father. We keep telling you to get some sun. Why not take up badminton again?”
“Perhaps when your father decides to put out the good cake for the outdoor lunch afterwards. Hospitality is not reserved for arts patrons from France!”
Stephen sighed, summoned patience, and said, “I’m going to bring in the post. I’ll be right back.” He turned gracefully and exited the doorway, and Emily shouted to cut.
“Finally!” she said, as pent up laughter was unloosed from the other students. The scene, not extremely funny in context, but hysterically funny if you had been working with Adrian for longer than twenty minutes, had held them up for quite some time.
“I really didn’t think I could hold it in!” Stephen said, red with hilarity. “And your fucking eyes!”
Adrian duplicated the expression and more laughter erupted.
“It’s going to be so funny after edits - they’re going to see you in the background with your crazy little eyes walking toward Stephen, oh god!”
“I was thinking we could score that first closeup with really dramatic music, and then it would stop as soon as we see the nephew,” Stephen said.
“That’s perfect! Like he’s the star of his own little insular drama,” Adrian said, and repeated his line. “So, Florence! - dah-dah-daaaaaaaah! - we meet again!”
“Where’s Sean? Let’s tell him to do that!”
Stephen hesitated, but Adrian answered for him. “Sean’s switched to another group.”
“Oh,” Emily said. “How come?” She had wondered at his sudden absence from her outings with Adrian. “Did…you two have a fight or something?”
“We’ve had a bit of a falling out, yes,” Adrian replied, amused.
“Over what?” Emily asked.
“Oh, I met his new crowd at lunch last week and…didn’t care for them!” he said, laughing.
“Why’s that?”
“They’re just not…with it,” he said, the reason evidently not being much more than a feeling. “Told him that and he decided to be a bitch about it. Fine by me,” he finished airily.
Emily boggled. Only a week ago the two of them had been standing on the cafeteria tables, Sean playing his guitar and Adrian shouting made up lyrics about professors and passerby until the three of them collapsed in hysterics. She thought he had liked Sean. Adrian was always seemed so enthusiastic about everything, and especially about people. How many times had he crooked an arm around Sean’s neck and raise his fist as if together, they could rule the world? Suddenly she felt very insecure. She thought of all the times she had sat in his behemoth town car, laughing as he said enigmatic things to pedestrians and turned up his They Might Be Giants album to outblast the ghetto beats, feeling so happy that he had chosen her for a companion. Every time he told her she was cute or sweet, every time he complimented something she was wearing, every time he pulled her close by the shoulder and said, “Let’s go, Em!” she felt that she had a friend with whom she could stand against anyone. She felt that he loved her. Did he take his friendship with her as lightly as he did this one? Would he one day cast her aside as easily as he did Sean now? Words from a novel came to her: “…I have given away my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day.”
“Hey, Em, you free this afternoon?” she heard Adrian saying. “Stephen and I are gonna see the latest Tim Burton. You wanna come?”
She shook herself from her thoughts. “Oh…yeah, I’d love to!”
She shouldn’t worry, she thought. Other people didn’t worry about things like this. She had always suspected that relationships were as ephemeral as flowers…perhaps it really was true. If she were only a bachelor’s button, there was little point in being surprised.
***
Any criticism is welcome. :)
(A bachelor's button, in case anyone would like to know, is a type of flower named so because it was once commonly worn in a man's lapel. (And the quote, in case anyone would like to know, is from The Picture of Dorian Gray. (And, I seem to have accidentally tagged this as a "feature: friday prose prompt" when I had every intention of tagging it as "type: prompt response." Apologies. (And, yes, parentheticals amuse me.))))
When I saw the word "flighty," I immediately thought of someone who, in spite of everything, is still very dear to me. And I was inspired.
***
"A Bachelor's Button"
Adrian sat in the wicker chair, playing a gin-swirling, clearly insane old man. It was a domestic scene, and he was overdressed. Adrian was normally overdressed, but here, finally, was a situation that called for it. Gin-swirling and silk vests seemed to go well together, and it was the obvious choice for the character. As was Adrian’s manic grin, all the more off-putting for the incisors that were filed flat. It seemed like the kind of idiosyncracy you would see from an older person.
“So, Florence!” he roared from the corner, glass in hand, rising from his chair. “We meet again!”
“Yes, Uncle,” Stephen replied, playing Florence, in a tired voice. Adrian had thought that it would be funny if Florence always responded to the old man with a familiar boredom. “Any luck with the horses today?” he asked, skimming the newspaper placed on an end table and chewing on a black filter.
“Feh!” Adrian spat, summoning geriatric disgust. “That gypsy cheated me again! This is the fourth time! Do not wonder at the cause if I’m found with an Indian blade in my heart by the ides of the following month!”
“Uncle, you’ll have to find a less expensive hobby if you expect any further generosity from my father. We keep telling you to get some sun. Why not take up badminton again?”
“Perhaps when your father decides to put out the good cake for the outdoor lunch afterwards. Hospitality is not reserved for arts patrons from France!”
Stephen sighed, summoned patience, and said, “I’m going to bring in the post. I’ll be right back.” He turned gracefully and exited the doorway, and Emily shouted to cut.
“Finally!” she said, as pent up laughter was unloosed from the other students. The scene, not extremely funny in context, but hysterically funny if you had been working with Adrian for longer than twenty minutes, had held them up for quite some time.
“I really didn’t think I could hold it in!” Stephen said, red with hilarity. “And your fucking eyes!”
Adrian duplicated the expression and more laughter erupted.
“It’s going to be so funny after edits - they’re going to see you in the background with your crazy little eyes walking toward Stephen, oh god!”
“I was thinking we could score that first closeup with really dramatic music, and then it would stop as soon as we see the nephew,” Stephen said.
“That’s perfect! Like he’s the star of his own little insular drama,” Adrian said, and repeated his line. “So, Florence! - dah-dah-daaaaaaaah! - we meet again!”
“Where’s Sean? Let’s tell him to do that!”
Stephen hesitated, but Adrian answered for him. “Sean’s switched to another group.”
“Oh,” Emily said. “How come?” She had wondered at his sudden absence from her outings with Adrian. “Did…you two have a fight or something?”
“We’ve had a bit of a falling out, yes,” Adrian replied, amused.
“Over what?” Emily asked.
“Oh, I met his new crowd at lunch last week and…didn’t care for them!” he said, laughing.
“Why’s that?”
“They’re just not…with it,” he said, the reason evidently not being much more than a feeling. “Told him that and he decided to be a bitch about it. Fine by me,” he finished airily.
Emily boggled. Only a week ago the two of them had been standing on the cafeteria tables, Sean playing his guitar and Adrian shouting made up lyrics about professors and passerby until the three of them collapsed in hysterics. She thought he had liked Sean. Adrian was always seemed so enthusiastic about everything, and especially about people. How many times had he crooked an arm around Sean’s neck and raise his fist as if together, they could rule the world? Suddenly she felt very insecure. She thought of all the times she had sat in his behemoth town car, laughing as he said enigmatic things to pedestrians and turned up his They Might Be Giants album to outblast the ghetto beats, feeling so happy that he had chosen her for a companion. Every time he told her she was cute or sweet, every time he complimented something she was wearing, every time he pulled her close by the shoulder and said, “Let’s go, Em!” she felt that she had a friend with whom she could stand against anyone. She felt that he loved her. Did he take his friendship with her as lightly as he did this one? Would he one day cast her aside as easily as he did Sean now? Words from a novel came to her: “…I have given away my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day.”
“Hey, Em, you free this afternoon?” she heard Adrian saying. “Stephen and I are gonna see the latest Tim Burton. You wanna come?”
She shook herself from her thoughts. “Oh…yeah, I’d love to!”
She shouldn’t worry, she thought. Other people didn’t worry about things like this. She had always suspected that relationships were as ephemeral as flowers…perhaps it really was true. If she were only a bachelor’s button, there was little point in being surprised.
***
Any criticism is welcome. :)
(A bachelor's button, in case anyone would like to know, is a type of flower named so because it was once commonly worn in a man's lapel. (And the quote, in case anyone would like to know, is from The Picture of Dorian Gray. (And, I seem to have accidentally tagged this as a "feature: friday prose prompt" when I had every intention of tagging it as "type: prompt response." Apologies. (And, yes, parentheticals amuse me.))))