Ficlet- Curiosity Killed The Cat (FNL)
Okay, I've had my issues with TWoP. The VM boards were absolutely terrifying. But most of the recappers are pretty funny and usually give me some good entertainment ove my morning coffee. But this week's FNL recap, by Jacob was like pure poetry, more like a literary criticism than snarky recap. It was a thing of beauty. And it made me long for more Santiago fic, and as it looks like I'm the only one writing him right now, I bring you a little ficlet (less than 450 words), loosely tied to my Matt ficlet from last week, Watch Your Hands-
"So, you're like, Buddy Garrity's new project, right?" she says, her face twisted up into this sneer that would be ugly on anyone else. On her, it's cute. He thinks maybe mud slinging off her long blonde hair would be cute. Cute as a button, that little Julie Taylor. "Is it true he hired you to chase hogs around his dealership?"
"Well, I'm living with him now, and he's like...my legal guardian. It's not like foster care," he's thinking about this a little too hard. He's been on the Panther starting line-up (Herrera, #17, cornerback) for exactly three days, and someone from the school paper has to run a profile on any new Panther varsities after their first game, and it looks like cute little Julie Taylor drew the short straw. But she doesn't want to know his favorite color, or his favorite food, she wants to crack his lifestory into a front-page headliner: Poor Brown Boy Under The Thumb Of Biggest Man In Town.
Well, he won't do that to Mr. Garrity. Yeah, he's not perfect, but still...more of a decent break than he's gotten in...well, ever. "Look, Mr. Garrity's good to me. You don't need to know any of this, what where I live is like. I've seen these things. So, it's name: Santiago Herrera, age: 17, number: 17, position: cornerback, favorite color: green, favorite food: coyotas, favorite movie-"
"Whoa, what was that for food?" And he sees her stop writing in her little notebook (how very fucking Lois Lane of her), chewing down on her plump lower lip and scrunching her left eye up as she tries to repeat him. "Coyotes?"
"Coyotas," he corrects her. His mouth is already watering when he thinks of the sweet, flaky pastry his mother used to make. He hasn't had it since she was sent back to Mexico. "Like a little flat pastry filled with brown sugar. So good."
She does this sort of little nod-and-smile to herself, and makes like she's writing down the recipe. He rolls his eyes. "Look, are we done here?"
"Actually, I have a couple more-"
He doesn't even let her finish before he turns and hightails it down the hallway. There's something irritating about her satisfied little smirk. Like she has him all figured out.
He's seen things that would make little Julie Taylor curl up into a ball and cry.
And then he thinks about how nice it would be to dry little Julie Taylor's tears, take her in her arms and make her stop being scared.
Something irritating about her satisfied little smirk...
"So, you're like, Buddy Garrity's new project, right?" she says, her face twisted up into this sneer that would be ugly on anyone else. On her, it's cute. He thinks maybe mud slinging off her long blonde hair would be cute. Cute as a button, that little Julie Taylor. "Is it true he hired you to chase hogs around his dealership?"
"Well, I'm living with him now, and he's like...my legal guardian. It's not like foster care," he's thinking about this a little too hard. He's been on the Panther starting line-up (Herrera, #17, cornerback) for exactly three days, and someone from the school paper has to run a profile on any new Panther varsities after their first game, and it looks like cute little Julie Taylor drew the short straw. But she doesn't want to know his favorite color, or his favorite food, she wants to crack his lifestory into a front-page headliner: Poor Brown Boy Under The Thumb Of Biggest Man In Town.
Well, he won't do that to Mr. Garrity. Yeah, he's not perfect, but still...more of a decent break than he's gotten in...well, ever. "Look, Mr. Garrity's good to me. You don't need to know any of this, what where I live is like. I've seen these things. So, it's name: Santiago Herrera, age: 17, number: 17, position: cornerback, favorite color: green, favorite food: coyotas, favorite movie-"
"Whoa, what was that for food?" And he sees her stop writing in her little notebook (how very fucking Lois Lane of her), chewing down on her plump lower lip and scrunching her left eye up as she tries to repeat him. "Coyotes?"
"Coyotas," he corrects her. His mouth is already watering when he thinks of the sweet, flaky pastry his mother used to make. He hasn't had it since she was sent back to Mexico. "Like a little flat pastry filled with brown sugar. So good."
She does this sort of little nod-and-smile to herself, and makes like she's writing down the recipe. He rolls his eyes. "Look, are we done here?"
"Actually, I have a couple more-"
He doesn't even let her finish before he turns and hightails it down the hallway. There's something irritating about her satisfied little smirk. Like she has him all figured out.
He's seen things that would make little Julie Taylor curl up into a ball and cry.
And then he thinks about how nice it would be to dry little Julie Taylor's tears, take her in her arms and make her stop being scared.
Something irritating about her satisfied little smirk...