Fic: life, death, and other mysteries [dlm; george/rube]
life, death, and other mysteries, dead like me, george/rube, 348 words.
inspired by "i don't feel like dancing" by the scissor sisters. except sort of not at all.
for augrah. ilu. i'm not sure this is what you wanted, or even what i started out having in mind. either way, beats pre-calc studying.
wake up in the morning with a head like 'What you done?' / this used to be the life, but I don't need another one .../... so how come I feel so lonely when you're up getting down?
i'll just pretend that I know which way to bend
she grows her hair out, Daisy calls it “beautiful”, because she’s a girl for fucks sake. it swings around, arcs and twists. it’s dramatic, in the way she now craves in death.
she falls into music (a phase. searching for something different in forever). it’s music that makes Daisy crinkle her nose in that way she does, music that Mason will tolerate for less than an hour and that Roxy just doesn’t get.
-
there’s a visit without solid reason, Daisy driven out and a empty house filled to the brim with song.
his shout is required over the dim and through the door, “George, i thought we got over the whole ‘job rejection, teenage rebellion’ bullshit years ago”
the door swings open, to his surprise and there’s George, unnaturally cheerful, weirdly arching her back with one arm behind her head in the air, bare hipbones visible in the exposed plain of skin made visible below her t-shirt. she gives “hi Rube!” before disappearing back into the house.
“peanut, what the fuck is going on?” gets lost in the noise as he ventures into the house. she’s in the front room, rolling her head around and moving around in something that might resemble dancing.
he locates the source of the sound turns it off, dousing the house in sudden silence like a blanket. like a switch, she stops moving, at first confused until she sees him and comes over.
“You’d better have a helluva good explanation for this, Peanut.”
she closes her eyes, rocks back on her heels and takes a deep breath through her nose, like she’s taking extra consideration in this excuse. her mouth opens with a reply that stops at his lips. she’s warm and lithe and too distracting.
she reaches for the music again before he can react and is a blur away from him, all honey hair and color and then is suddenly gone again.
-
she wakes up on the floor, head pounding, limbs aching, the taste of bananas and coffee on her lips, with a yellow post-it note stuck to her forehead.
“Next time you feel the need to get high, do it on your own time.”
fin.
inspired by "i don't feel like dancing" by the scissor sisters. except sort of not at all.
for augrah. ilu. i'm not sure this is what you wanted, or even what i started out having in mind. either way, beats pre-calc studying.
wake up in the morning with a head like 'What you done?' / this used to be the life, but I don't need another one .../... so how come I feel so lonely when you're up getting down?
i'll just pretend that I know which way to bend
she grows her hair out, Daisy calls it “beautiful”, because she’s a girl for fucks sake. it swings around, arcs and twists. it’s dramatic, in the way she now craves in death.
she falls into music (a phase. searching for something different in forever). it’s music that makes Daisy crinkle her nose in that way she does, music that Mason will tolerate for less than an hour and that Roxy just doesn’t get.
-
there’s a visit without solid reason, Daisy driven out and a empty house filled to the brim with song.
his shout is required over the dim and through the door, “George, i thought we got over the whole ‘job rejection, teenage rebellion’ bullshit years ago”
the door swings open, to his surprise and there’s George, unnaturally cheerful, weirdly arching her back with one arm behind her head in the air, bare hipbones visible in the exposed plain of skin made visible below her t-shirt. she gives “hi Rube!” before disappearing back into the house.
“peanut, what the fuck is going on?” gets lost in the noise as he ventures into the house. she’s in the front room, rolling her head around and moving around in something that might resemble dancing.
he locates the source of the sound turns it off, dousing the house in sudden silence like a blanket. like a switch, she stops moving, at first confused until she sees him and comes over.
“You’d better have a helluva good explanation for this, Peanut.”
she closes her eyes, rocks back on her heels and takes a deep breath through her nose, like she’s taking extra consideration in this excuse. her mouth opens with a reply that stops at his lips. she’s warm and lithe and too distracting.
she reaches for the music again before he can react and is a blur away from him, all honey hair and color and then is suddenly gone again.
-
she wakes up on the floor, head pounding, limbs aching, the taste of bananas and coffee on her lips, with a yellow post-it note stuck to her forehead.
“Next time you feel the need to get high, do it on your own time.”
fin.