Archiving older fic: Pieces of Me
Pieces of Me, by Eve11
Summary: Part of cofax's 155 word challenge
Author Notes: I came late (and had finals, like hossgal *g*), but please accept a 155-word flashfic from me. Thanks to cofax for the beta!
Story Notes: Timeframe: Post "Self-Inflicted Wounds"
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She had an herb for everything.
An infantry of identical canisters line her lab on stark shelves. It suited her, he thinks. There is a youth in asymmetry that Zhaan had outgrown -- the rakish tilt of a suitor's hat, the planned carelessness of a room furnished just-so. Hers was the grace of right angles and perfect cylinders, and as they sped toward yet another rich-soiled planet John would find her here, alone, meticulously labeling her apothecary. Stark had been angry, Aeryn reluctant, the others brooding and heartbroken.
So he stayed with her, listening.
Carrow, fourth row second, for a toothache.
Adrapeta, sixth row sixteenth, to dress a wound.
More he has forgotten, but there had been no cure for a Delvian Pa'u. Nothing for guilt, grief. The only comfort is the canisters themselves -- so like his mother's Japanese tea tins, he is sure he can smell a hint of jasmine in the air.
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Summary: Part of cofax's 155 word challenge
Author Notes: I came late (and had finals, like hossgal *g*), but please accept a 155-word flashfic from me. Thanks to cofax for the beta!
Story Notes: Timeframe: Post "Self-Inflicted Wounds"
------------------------
She had an herb for everything.
An infantry of identical canisters line her lab on stark shelves. It suited her, he thinks. There is a youth in asymmetry that Zhaan had outgrown -- the rakish tilt of a suitor's hat, the planned carelessness of a room furnished just-so. Hers was the grace of right angles and perfect cylinders, and as they sped toward yet another rich-soiled planet John would find her here, alone, meticulously labeling her apothecary. Stark had been angry, Aeryn reluctant, the others brooding and heartbroken.
So he stayed with her, listening.
Carrow, fourth row second, for a toothache.
Adrapeta, sixth row sixteenth, to dress a wound.
More he has forgotten, but there had been no cure for a Delvian Pa'u. Nothing for guilt, grief. The only comfort is the canisters themselves -- so like his mother's Japanese tea tins, he is sure he can smell a hint of jasmine in the air.
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