Drabble: Pie, G Characters: Willow and Cordelia
I had originally intended this to be NC-17, but as I was writing this scene occurred to me. I admit, I was eating lemon meringue at the time. *g* It's tragic, I think - what could have been between these two.
Title: Pie
Author: maryfic
Disclaimer: The girls aren’t mind - sadly. I could make them bend in so many fun ways if they were.
Feedback: I. Am. A. Whore. For. Feedback.
Rating/Pairing: G, no pairing.
Word count: 127
Characters: Cordelia, Willow
Setting: Season One
A/N: For the Thanksgiving Drabble Challenge. Yes, okay, I know I gave myself a *broad* definition of drabble. *sigh* I am trying to cut back, lol.
Every Saturday the phone call came.
“Yes, I have it.”
Fifteen minutes later, the car arrived.
It was a twelve minute drive to the *estate*. She never figured out what the driver did for the other three minutes.
She walked up the path between the perfectly manicured landscaping and around the back, up to a terrace with French doors that matched her own.
“Did you bring it?”
The package was delivered.
“Come in, Willow.”
Every Saturday for nearly a year, they’d shared pie and conversation, building the sort of relationship that can only be held together by lemon and meringue.
The Monday coming would be no different than every other Monday.
It looked like Xander wasn’t the worst offender in the We Hate Cordelia Club after all.
END Pie
Title: Pie
Author: maryfic
Disclaimer: The girls aren’t mind - sadly. I could make them bend in so many fun ways if they were.
Feedback: I. Am. A. Whore. For. Feedback.
Rating/Pairing: G, no pairing.
Word count: 127
Characters: Cordelia, Willow
Setting: Season One
A/N: For the Thanksgiving Drabble Challenge. Yes, okay, I know I gave myself a *broad* definition of drabble. *sigh* I am trying to cut back, lol.
Every Saturday the phone call came.
“Yes, I have it.”
Fifteen minutes later, the car arrived.
It was a twelve minute drive to the *estate*. She never figured out what the driver did for the other three minutes.
She walked up the path between the perfectly manicured landscaping and around the back, up to a terrace with French doors that matched her own.
“Did you bring it?”
The package was delivered.
“Come in, Willow.”
Every Saturday for nearly a year, they’d shared pie and conversation, building the sort of relationship that can only be held together by lemon and meringue.
The Monday coming would be no different than every other Monday.
It looked like Xander wasn’t the worst offender in the We Hate Cordelia Club after all.
END Pie