rain on my umbrella (some call it noise), Ilana, PG-13
Title: rain on my umbrella (some call it noise)
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Ilana, various
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 774
Summary: She's never needed a reason. (for the lovely weatheredlaw , who requested Inspired by Music at the lostsquee Luau)
There's a boy in her dreams she's never met, a boy who doesn't smile, not really. He sings to her about happy little birds, his eyes sad. The grass tickles her bare feet as she dances, her pink cotton dress swishing about her knees.
Why do you do that? he asks her, his thin fingers twitching over guitar strings. Ilana laughs, it's so obvious.
Because I can.
Ilana is six and her mother is crying (her mother never cries). Jacob drinks tea from a delicate cup and speaks softly, it's going to be alright and sit still, Ilana. She wants to escape the sound of the rickety heater in the corner of the room, to run out into the snow. Ilana will scream love songs to the clouds, pretending the white specks that fall on her tongue are powdered sugar, like the sky itself is offering her a treat.
Jacob raises a stern eyebrow, so she contents herself with swinging her legs back and forth, seeing how fast she can go without falling out of her chair. The adults talk about silly things like proper schooling and destiny. Ilana giggles.
She's never needed a reason just to be alive.
At thirteen she's stealing money for ballet lessons. Her mother insists she stay inside, surrounded by dusty books that stare at her in perfect straight lines, like paper soldiers doomed to march in place forever. Ilana dances wherever her mother's not looking, in the schoolyard and in the bathroom of their tiny apartment and on sidewalks slick with ice. She falls and hears something snapping in her leg.
Jacob appears like an omen, fixing her up and keeping her secret. There's a price (always), a friendly smirk and behave yourself. She can feel the change in her limbs, heavy and solemn like a familiar nightmare. That night Ilana stares at the ceiling and whispers a song, don't worry about a thing.
For once it can't stop the tears from sliding into her pillow.
She's barely eighteen when she learns how to get under Jacob's skin, making out with every young (and not so young) man she can get her hands on. My father would want to protect me. He stares ahead guiltily as they take a bus to the middle of nowhere. I am protecting you, Ilana. I wish you could understand that.
In the office of a makeshift hospital, Jacob can't look at a man who can't look at him. One of them is her father and one (both) a liar. She can't decide which is which.
The man is as empty as the dry landscape (empty like her mother, like Jacob) and she excuses herself.
Across the road is a chirping sparrow of a girl, stick-thin legs and big eyes that remind her of a dream. She smiles and waves at Ilana.
The girl she used to be is the only person who's allowed to see her cry.
Ilana's still too young to be lying about her age when she starts doing it anyway. Her life is made up of pointless secrets, photographs hidden behind blank folders handed to her by a man with an equally blank face. They sneak around in fancy suits and black dresses, the lipstick on her mouth too deep a red to fit anyone other than prostitutes and spies (she thinks they might mean the same).
She's not sure she wants him, but no one's telling her she should be with him, and no one says she can't. Ilana twists her legs about him in tune to his gruff voice, always muttering about duty and we owe Jacob.
In a rare moment of his own rebellion he threads dark fingers through her hair, offering to tell her about the man Jacob calls her father. She shakes her head.
I'm going to be who I want to be.
Ilana feels older than the dirt she can't get out of her clothes. Her legs hurt from running around the jungle, chasing or leading people who can't make up their minds. She misses Jacob (she needs someone to blame for all this, blame for herself). Linus ends up with the brunt of her frustrations, if only because he's there.
She barges into his tent, ranting and smacking her fists into his chest. Minutes later he's flat on his back in the sand, helping her shrug off her grimy vest. His hands are nervous against her sweaty shoulders, probably fearing she'll snap back into a rampage just as quick.
Why do you do that? he grumbles as he defends himself with sweet, rough kisses.
She laughs into his mouth. Because I can.
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Ilana, various
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 774
Summary: She's never needed a reason. (for the lovely weatheredlaw , who requested Inspired by Music at the lostsquee Luau)
There's a boy in her dreams she's never met, a boy who doesn't smile, not really. He sings to her about happy little birds, his eyes sad. The grass tickles her bare feet as she dances, her pink cotton dress swishing about her knees.
Why do you do that? he asks her, his thin fingers twitching over guitar strings. Ilana laughs, it's so obvious.
Because I can.
Ilana is six and her mother is crying (her mother never cries). Jacob drinks tea from a delicate cup and speaks softly, it's going to be alright and sit still, Ilana. She wants to escape the sound of the rickety heater in the corner of the room, to run out into the snow. Ilana will scream love songs to the clouds, pretending the white specks that fall on her tongue are powdered sugar, like the sky itself is offering her a treat.
Jacob raises a stern eyebrow, so she contents herself with swinging her legs back and forth, seeing how fast she can go without falling out of her chair. The adults talk about silly things like proper schooling and destiny. Ilana giggles.
She's never needed a reason just to be alive.
At thirteen she's stealing money for ballet lessons. Her mother insists she stay inside, surrounded by dusty books that stare at her in perfect straight lines, like paper soldiers doomed to march in place forever. Ilana dances wherever her mother's not looking, in the schoolyard and in the bathroom of their tiny apartment and on sidewalks slick with ice. She falls and hears something snapping in her leg.
Jacob appears like an omen, fixing her up and keeping her secret. There's a price (always), a friendly smirk and behave yourself. She can feel the change in her limbs, heavy and solemn like a familiar nightmare. That night Ilana stares at the ceiling and whispers a song, don't worry about a thing.
For once it can't stop the tears from sliding into her pillow.
She's barely eighteen when she learns how to get under Jacob's skin, making out with every young (and not so young) man she can get her hands on. My father would want to protect me. He stares ahead guiltily as they take a bus to the middle of nowhere. I am protecting you, Ilana. I wish you could understand that.
In the office of a makeshift hospital, Jacob can't look at a man who can't look at him. One of them is her father and one (both) a liar. She can't decide which is which.
The man is as empty as the dry landscape (empty like her mother, like Jacob) and she excuses herself.
Across the road is a chirping sparrow of a girl, stick-thin legs and big eyes that remind her of a dream. She smiles and waves at Ilana.
The girl she used to be is the only person who's allowed to see her cry.
Ilana's still too young to be lying about her age when she starts doing it anyway. Her life is made up of pointless secrets, photographs hidden behind blank folders handed to her by a man with an equally blank face. They sneak around in fancy suits and black dresses, the lipstick on her mouth too deep a red to fit anyone other than prostitutes and spies (she thinks they might mean the same).
She's not sure she wants him, but no one's telling her she should be with him, and no one says she can't. Ilana twists her legs about him in tune to his gruff voice, always muttering about duty and we owe Jacob.
In a rare moment of his own rebellion he threads dark fingers through her hair, offering to tell her about the man Jacob calls her father. She shakes her head.
I'm going to be who I want to be.
Ilana feels older than the dirt she can't get out of her clothes. Her legs hurt from running around the jungle, chasing or leading people who can't make up their minds. She misses Jacob (she needs someone to blame for all this, blame for herself). Linus ends up with the brunt of her frustrations, if only because he's there.
She barges into his tent, ranting and smacking her fists into his chest. Minutes later he's flat on his back in the sand, helping her shrug off her grimy vest. His hands are nervous against her sweaty shoulders, probably fearing she'll snap back into a rampage just as quick.
Why do you do that? he grumbles as he defends himself with sweet, rough kisses.
She laughs into his mouth. Because I can.