FIC: The Lady Wore Red, by jediknighttalin, PG
Title: The Lady Wore Red
Author: Nicole (jediknighttalin)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Chenzel
Notes: This sorta came from a convo that fresh_tart and I had about the colors women wear. We concluded that blondes look best in black, redheads look best in green and blue, and brunettes look best in red.
Oh yeah, and I have no clue WTF the last line means... it just came to mind, so I wrote it LOL
It was the part that Kristin dreaded. After all, there were only so many colors one could associate with people, and they'd already done green, blue, yellow, pink, white, black, orange and purple.
Of course, Kristin really didn't think she needed to see a shrink anyway, but the producers insisted that all the stars see someone during the shoot. Why, Kristin had no idea, but here she was, anyway.
"All right, Kristin, who do you think of when you think of the color red?"
She tried not to say her name. The name the popped into her mind to suddenly, so vibrantly. The name she could never forget.
"Kristin?"
Her mind raced, another name, another person, another anything.
"Kristin, just say the first thing you think of."
"Idina," she blurted, then nearly smacked herself for it.
"All right, that's good."
She wanted to smack the therapist now, instead, with her soothing voice and dulcet tones. No, no it wasn't good.
"Why do you associate the color red with Idina?"
At least the woman hadn't asked Kristin who Idina was.
"Kristin?"
She was taking longer to answer than she ever had with these questions, but the therapist was looking at her as patiently as ever.
"She's... she wore red," Kristin finally said.
"A lot of people wear red."
She shook her head. "She wore red for me."
"What do you mean?"
How could Kristin describe it? The flutters she felt in her stomach, and lower, at the vision of Idina, dolled up in a red dress, her hair pulled up in an elegant twist, or dressed down in jeans and a red t-shirt. How could she explain how, after Kristin had mentioned loving red on brunettes, Idina had shown up wearing red for two weeks straight, then didn't let a week go by without wearing red at least once. How could she reveal how, once, when Idina went three weeks without wearing red, Kristin had asked about it, and gotten a private strip tease, the brunette slowly revealing lacy red underwear.
How could she show that red meant passion, and passion was Idina -- her hair, her eyes, her fingers, her mouth?
"Kristin?"
Red was love, and love was what Idina declared to her, showered her in, covered her with.
She thought of the red roses Idina gave her, the red tinfoil-wrapped chocolates for Valentine's Day. She thought of the red lingerie Idina had bought her, and how she had protested, saying that red wasn't her color. She thought of how Idina had made her wear it, then the passion of that night as Idina took her, still wearing the lingerie. It hadn't escaped unscathed, and by morning had almost a half-dozen small rips in it, and Idina had laughed and promised to buy her a new set.
"Kristin. What do you mean, she wore red for you?"
Red was also the color of anger, of rage, and it was with red tainting her vision that they had screamed at one another, hurling accusations and razor sharp insults.
She remembered the glass, a vase, red stained glass, expensive and delicate -- Idina had bought it for her, filled it with red roses and had it couriered to her dressing room. She had walked in one afternoon, seen it and sprinted to Idina's dressing room, pinning her up against the wall and kissing her for five minutes. But in her apartment, the red glass became a mosaic of red and white, glass on carpet, and the roses, wet and trampled under angry footsteps, left blood-like stains.
She remembered bending to clean up the glass, and cutting her finger, and watching with a detached fascination as the red dripped, turning the carpet red where it wasn't already.
"Kristin."
She blinked, coming back to reality. "Nothing," she said softly, content at last with the color red. "She just wore it. Many people do." Smiling, Kristin stood and left the office, belatedly realizing that tears had left trails down her cheeks, and she wiped them away, then brought her hand up in front of her eyes.
Not red.
Author: Nicole (jediknighttalin)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Chenzel
Notes: This sorta came from a convo that fresh_tart and I had about the colors women wear. We concluded that blondes look best in black, redheads look best in green and blue, and brunettes look best in red.
Oh yeah, and I have no clue WTF the last line means... it just came to mind, so I wrote it LOL
It was the part that Kristin dreaded. After all, there were only so many colors one could associate with people, and they'd already done green, blue, yellow, pink, white, black, orange and purple.
Of course, Kristin really didn't think she needed to see a shrink anyway, but the producers insisted that all the stars see someone during the shoot. Why, Kristin had no idea, but here she was, anyway.
"All right, Kristin, who do you think of when you think of the color red?"
She tried not to say her name. The name the popped into her mind to suddenly, so vibrantly. The name she could never forget.
"Kristin?"
Her mind raced, another name, another person, another anything.
"Kristin, just say the first thing you think of."
"Idina," she blurted, then nearly smacked herself for it.
"All right, that's good."
She wanted to smack the therapist now, instead, with her soothing voice and dulcet tones. No, no it wasn't good.
"Why do you associate the color red with Idina?"
At least the woman hadn't asked Kristin who Idina was.
"Kristin?"
She was taking longer to answer than she ever had with these questions, but the therapist was looking at her as patiently as ever.
"She's... she wore red," Kristin finally said.
"A lot of people wear red."
She shook her head. "She wore red for me."
"What do you mean?"
How could Kristin describe it? The flutters she felt in her stomach, and lower, at the vision of Idina, dolled up in a red dress, her hair pulled up in an elegant twist, or dressed down in jeans and a red t-shirt. How could she explain how, after Kristin had mentioned loving red on brunettes, Idina had shown up wearing red for two weeks straight, then didn't let a week go by without wearing red at least once. How could she reveal how, once, when Idina went three weeks without wearing red, Kristin had asked about it, and gotten a private strip tease, the brunette slowly revealing lacy red underwear.
How could she show that red meant passion, and passion was Idina -- her hair, her eyes, her fingers, her mouth?
"Kristin?"
Red was love, and love was what Idina declared to her, showered her in, covered her with.
She thought of the red roses Idina gave her, the red tinfoil-wrapped chocolates for Valentine's Day. She thought of the red lingerie Idina had bought her, and how she had protested, saying that red wasn't her color. She thought of how Idina had made her wear it, then the passion of that night as Idina took her, still wearing the lingerie. It hadn't escaped unscathed, and by morning had almost a half-dozen small rips in it, and Idina had laughed and promised to buy her a new set.
"Kristin. What do you mean, she wore red for you?"
Red was also the color of anger, of rage, and it was with red tainting her vision that they had screamed at one another, hurling accusations and razor sharp insults.
She remembered the glass, a vase, red stained glass, expensive and delicate -- Idina had bought it for her, filled it with red roses and had it couriered to her dressing room. She had walked in one afternoon, seen it and sprinted to Idina's dressing room, pinning her up against the wall and kissing her for five minutes. But in her apartment, the red glass became a mosaic of red and white, glass on carpet, and the roses, wet and trampled under angry footsteps, left blood-like stains.
She remembered bending to clean up the glass, and cutting her finger, and watching with a detached fascination as the red dripped, turning the carpet red where it wasn't already.
"Kristin."
She blinked, coming back to reality. "Nothing," she said softly, content at last with the color red. "She just wore it. Many people do." Smiling, Kristin stood and left the office, belatedly realizing that tears had left trails down her cheeks, and she wiped them away, then brought her hand up in front of her eyes.
Not red.