ooc - one sentence challenge
I just want somewhere to put it, so why the fuck not. Plus, some of them are going to end up being very firmly Luceti!verse Kay. (None of them are really solely Farverse, though it'd be fun to do a purely Farverse set sometime. No, wait, #29 is Farverse if I use "Some Enchanted Evening." Hold on, I'll pick out a different song.) (Also, I gotta say, using semi-colons is starting to feel like cheating here.)
This is the third set from here. I'm just doing it for fun.
Even numbers are Kay up through the end of her stint in college. Odd numbers are Kay as an adult.
#01 - Ring: At least once a day since the evening she first slipped the ring on, Kay has found herself distracted by the glint of gold on her left hand; she's hard-pressed to say she minds.
#02 - Hero: Sometimes at lunch, after she's finished her sandwich and before they're called in, Kay imagines that she's Atalanta in the footrace, swift as the wind and never enticed by the flash of a golden apple.
#03 - Memory: "Oh, I rarely think on it--it's no matter," Julius lies, leaving Kay with no way to respond but to stroke his back and wish that the cover of darkness was enough to pry honesty from him when it really counted.
#04 - Box: "Just a late birthday present--must've forgot to give it to you last month," Daddy says gruffly as he hands the box to her, but when she opens it and finds several worn but perfectly serviceable Oz books she hasn't yet read, Kay knows he didn't get them but a few days ago, after she was sighing over having nothing to read.
#05 - Run: She's breathing heavily by the time she reaches the subway platform, feeling like she might split in two from the effort, but at least she's assured of making her interview on time.
#06 - Hurricane: Her mother's cherry-coloured hurricane lamp, which sits in the parlor near the front window, is one of the most beautiful things Kay has ever seen; she likes to watch the red glow cast by the flame inside its glass chimney and wonder how nice it must look to passersby outside.
#07 - Wings: She leans over and runs a single fingertip over the ridge of one of Julius' wings, her eyes inches from his; it works every time.
#08 - Cold: Once, on an already frigid walk home from school, Morton Singleton pushes her into a snowbank; if not for the ice on the streets, she'd tear after him, screaming bloody murder, she tells herself.
#09 - Red: She never feels quite set for the morning until her lips are crimson, even when she doesn't plan on leaving the house.
#10 - Drink: She can hear her mother's footsteps in the hall, coming to give her another dose of medicine, and Kay wishes she wasn't; she doesn't want to drink anything, only to curl into a ball so tight that she couldn't cough if she wanted to.
(Adult!Kay: She knows better than to try and drink more than two cocktails in an evening, but tonight, she approaches the endeavour with grim determination.)
#11 - Midnight: The words pour out of her like she's a lightning rod and they're pure electricity, so quickly that she doesn't know if she can really take credit; Julius is asleep at the moment, one room over, but as soon as the clack of the keys slows, she knows he'll be poking his head over her shoulder, squinting at the page and asking if it's his turn.
(Small!Kay: Kay doesn't see why she shouldn't stay up so late, when she won't be going anywhere in the morning; she'll stay awake until the sun rises if she wants to, and see if anyone can stop her.)
#12 - Temptation: Charlie Howe is just as persistent in the back seat as everyone says he is, but Kay's been longing to stop putting up a fight for ages now.
#13 - View: Some days, the temptation to dawdle through the morning is just overwhelming, and it's not helped any by the fact that lying in bed so long means she gets to watch Julius dress for the day.
(Julius!pov: One morning, when Kay's still in her nightgown by the time he's tying his ascot, Julius stretches out on the unmade bed and says he has all the time in the world, go on and get dressed. They're late for the office by an hour.)
#14 - Music: They don't have a piano, which seems to be a source of considerable shame to her mother, but considering how often Irene's mother makes her practice her scales, Kay doesn't mind.
#15 - Silk: The pressure of Julius' hands, sliding down her sides and coming to rest at her hips, is all the more intense for the negligee still lying between him and her skin.
(Julius!pov: The silk beneath his fingertips does nothing to conceal the curve of Kay's hips, nor the heat of her skin; he draws her back toward the bed, making no effort to swallow a growl when she pulls him down atop her.)
#16 - Cover: Lying in bed that first night at school, nearly a thousand miles from home in a strange dormitory room with a complete stranger for a roomie, Kay begins to cry.
#17 - Promise: It might not have been all that glamorous, standing before a justice of the peace and signing legal documents, but Kay thinks there was some romance in saying their vows in the near-privacy of a quiet office overlooking Central Park.
#18 - Dream: Her nightmares are filled with hydras and moonmen, and occasionally, saying hello to Milt Harvey on the way into school before realizing that she's not wearing more than a slip.
#19 - Candle: The blackout leaves them writing by the flickering glow of a candle, contouring their faces more sharply in the jittery shadows--and within forty-five minutes, the flutter of the light proves too much a distraction for completing work.
#20 - Talent: Kay stashes all her notebooks in the bottom drawer of her desk and hopes no one goes snooping through her things; she doesn't think her mother would care about her writing stories, but she'd catch hell if Ma knew what they were about.
#21 - Silence: Three months after their return from Indiana, Kay hasn't received a single letter from her parents; she supposes you get what you give and tells herself she doesn't care.
#22 - Journey: Kay spends most of the train ride to New York staring out the window until she's too dizzy to look at the scenery flying past her, each mile a little less like Indiana than the one before it.
#23 - Fire: The apartment is filling with smoke before Julius looks up from the page, frowning as he asks, "Is...something wrong with dinner, dear?"
#24 - Strength: Sometimes she is quite convinced she is going to die, because God couldn't possibly make someone so sick and miserable and not mean it for a reason.
#25 - Mask: When she can go to the occasional convention and sign the occasional book without causing an incident, she still has the grimly amusing pleasure of revealing to some latecomer that K. C. Hunter is actually a petite woman with red hair that grows paler by the year.
#26 - Ice: Returning home to a freezing-cold bedroom is a small price to pay for the opportunity to go skating with Elsie and Mildred every Saturday she can convince Ma she won't catch hypothermia and die.
#27 - Fall: Some Octobers, Kay misses the dry, smoky scent of burning leaves, but a turn around the park, with its golden leaves falling brittle to the sidewalk, keeps her from longing for more than she already has.
#28 - Forgotten: At first, Kay is proud that her parents trust her to stay home alone on evenings when everyone else is otherwise engaged; then, it occurs to her that it's because she's not going to do more than lie in bed anyhow.
#29 - Dance: They're about to go to the coatroom when the band starts up with "Deep Purple," and after a moment's glance at each other, they turn back toward the dance floor.
#30 - Body: Her mother doesn't approve of the brassieres that really flatten a girl's chest out properly, but Kay doesn't mind too much; she doesn't have so much up there that she'll look unfashionable without.
#31 - Sacred: The chatter they've kept up throughout the streets of London dies away the moment they step into Westminster Abbey, where--despite the other tourists crowding around cenotaphs and murmuring away--Kay's breath catches in her throat to see the marble walls vaulting to a point far overhead.
#32 - Farewells: Dottie, radiant in Ma's old wedding dress and a new veil so long it trails behind her, gives each of them a kiss before the wedding begins, and already, the house feels a little emptier.
#33 - World: When Julius asked her where they ought to go on vacation next, she laughed and said Australia; she didn't expect him to come home with tickets.
#34 - Formal: The thing she remembers most about the twelfth-grade prom is the dress she wore: pale blue crepe with a scarf neckline and silk stockings, the most grown-up outfit she'd ever worn, and not one bit of it a hand-me-down.
#35 - Fever: It's almost comforting to shake from chills one moment and feel like she's about to burn up the next; it's nearly like she's saying hello to an old friend fallen by the wayside.
#36 - Laugh: If she asks real nice, Ma will let her put the radio on while she dusts, and then it's only half so boring a chore.
#37 - Lies: She pulls out a sheet of paper for her response before she's finished reading Mr. Wright's acceptance--yes, she'll accept a hundred dollars for her story, no, she doesn't mind if the byline reads 'K. C. Hunter.'
#38 - Forever: "I won't be gone that long," she tells her mother at the train station, in an effort to keep her from crying, "only four years."
#39 - Overwhelmed: Kay slept three hours last night, made one bagel suffice for breakfast and lunch, and nearly fainted on the train home; she suspects her plan to keep her secretarial position is beginning to come apart at the seams, for all that she can't justifiably live on stories alone.
#40 - Whisper: Mildred says in an undertone that she's glad Kay's back at school this morning, moving her lips as little as possible for fear that Miss Dickson might catch them talking.
#41 - Wait: "No," Kay says with a wicked grin, stepping out of Julius' reach, "I think I'll unbutton my own blouse tonight--slowly."
#42 - Talk: When Dottie's in the mood to indulge her baby sister, she tells Kay about the dates she's been on with boys, to ice cream parlors and picture shows, and Kay takes it all in with wide eyes and a measure of covetousness.
#43 - Search: Scour the city though she might, Kay can't figure out where the hell she left her red leather clutch last night; she misses the purse itself more than the ten dollars inside by the time she gives up.
#44 - Hope: Kay runs for the mail first every day she can manage it, frowning when there are no letters from her, with or without the tell-tale return addresses of potential colleges.
#45 - Eclipse: The fact that the stories they wrote together end up repeatedly in anthologies bearing Julius' name alone never fails to piss her off.
#46 - Gravity: Kay remembers the first time she rode an elevator, holding tight to her mother's hand on the off-chance they might come to harm as they rushed up to the top floor.
#47 - Highway: The first ten miles, Kay regrets offering to drive after a decade of subway riding; from that point, she's flying along the asphalt.
#48 - Unknown: "We aren't sure what's wrong with her this time, Mrs. Hunter," said Doctor Atkins, whose face is one Kay is beginning to dread seeing, "but I'm sure we'll figure it out eventually."
#49 - Lock: Life'd be a hell of a lot easier if they had a larger apartment, if only because she wouldn't feel so damned guilty slamming the bedroom door on him after a fight.
#50 - Breathe: Kay doesn't mind sharing a room with her kid brother, for the most part; when it's late and she can't fall asleep, she can listen to Tommy's breathing and try to make hers match.
Notes (because of course I have factoids to add, ugh)
6. A cherry-coloured hurricane lamp. They're lamps with the tall sides, basically. idk.
29a. This is my favourite version of Deep Purple, which was wildly popular in 1939 (which is a year before Kay and Julius married). The reason the band (of "Smoke on the Water" fame, you know) is called Deep Purple is specifically after this song. Which is too bad, because it means people don't know the song so much anymore, and it's really pretty. ;;
29b. I was originally going to put down Mr. Perry Como's version of "Some Enchanted Evening" (also known as "the best version of 'Some Enchanted Evening'") from South Pacific, but it wouldn't have quite the same resonance because it dates to 1949. So that is the stuff of Farverse!them instead of Lucetific!them.
37. Farnsworth Wright was the editor of Weird Tales from 1924 to 1940--and I know that this is not how her acceptance would have gone, but dramatic convention requires a letter. :|
This is the third set from here. I'm just doing it for fun.
Even numbers are Kay up through the end of her stint in college. Odd numbers are Kay as an adult.
#01 - Ring: At least once a day since the evening she first slipped the ring on, Kay has found herself distracted by the glint of gold on her left hand; she's hard-pressed to say she minds.
#02 - Hero: Sometimes at lunch, after she's finished her sandwich and before they're called in, Kay imagines that she's Atalanta in the footrace, swift as the wind and never enticed by the flash of a golden apple.
#03 - Memory: "Oh, I rarely think on it--it's no matter," Julius lies, leaving Kay with no way to respond but to stroke his back and wish that the cover of darkness was enough to pry honesty from him when it really counted.
#04 - Box: "Just a late birthday present--must've forgot to give it to you last month," Daddy says gruffly as he hands the box to her, but when she opens it and finds several worn but perfectly serviceable Oz books she hasn't yet read, Kay knows he didn't get them but a few days ago, after she was sighing over having nothing to read.
#05 - Run: She's breathing heavily by the time she reaches the subway platform, feeling like she might split in two from the effort, but at least she's assured of making her interview on time.
#06 - Hurricane: Her mother's cherry-coloured hurricane lamp, which sits in the parlor near the front window, is one of the most beautiful things Kay has ever seen; she likes to watch the red glow cast by the flame inside its glass chimney and wonder how nice it must look to passersby outside.
#07 - Wings: She leans over and runs a single fingertip over the ridge of one of Julius' wings, her eyes inches from his; it works every time.
#08 - Cold: Once, on an already frigid walk home from school, Morton Singleton pushes her into a snowbank; if not for the ice on the streets, she'd tear after him, screaming bloody murder, she tells herself.
#09 - Red: She never feels quite set for the morning until her lips are crimson, even when she doesn't plan on leaving the house.
#10 - Drink: She can hear her mother's footsteps in the hall, coming to give her another dose of medicine, and Kay wishes she wasn't; she doesn't want to drink anything, only to curl into a ball so tight that she couldn't cough if she wanted to.
(Adult!Kay: She knows better than to try and drink more than two cocktails in an evening, but tonight, she approaches the endeavour with grim determination.)
#11 - Midnight: The words pour out of her like she's a lightning rod and they're pure electricity, so quickly that she doesn't know if she can really take credit; Julius is asleep at the moment, one room over, but as soon as the clack of the keys slows, she knows he'll be poking his head over her shoulder, squinting at the page and asking if it's his turn.
(Small!Kay: Kay doesn't see why she shouldn't stay up so late, when she won't be going anywhere in the morning; she'll stay awake until the sun rises if she wants to, and see if anyone can stop her.)
#12 - Temptation: Charlie Howe is just as persistent in the back seat as everyone says he is, but Kay's been longing to stop putting up a fight for ages now.
#13 - View: Some days, the temptation to dawdle through the morning is just overwhelming, and it's not helped any by the fact that lying in bed so long means she gets to watch Julius dress for the day.
(Julius!pov: One morning, when Kay's still in her nightgown by the time he's tying his ascot, Julius stretches out on the unmade bed and says he has all the time in the world, go on and get dressed. They're late for the office by an hour.)
#14 - Music: They don't have a piano, which seems to be a source of considerable shame to her mother, but considering how often Irene's mother makes her practice her scales, Kay doesn't mind.
#15 - Silk: The pressure of Julius' hands, sliding down her sides and coming to rest at her hips, is all the more intense for the negligee still lying between him and her skin.
(Julius!pov: The silk beneath his fingertips does nothing to conceal the curve of Kay's hips, nor the heat of her skin; he draws her back toward the bed, making no effort to swallow a growl when she pulls him down atop her.)
#16 - Cover: Lying in bed that first night at school, nearly a thousand miles from home in a strange dormitory room with a complete stranger for a roomie, Kay begins to cry.
#17 - Promise: It might not have been all that glamorous, standing before a justice of the peace and signing legal documents, but Kay thinks there was some romance in saying their vows in the near-privacy of a quiet office overlooking Central Park.
#18 - Dream: Her nightmares are filled with hydras and moonmen, and occasionally, saying hello to Milt Harvey on the way into school before realizing that she's not wearing more than a slip.
#19 - Candle: The blackout leaves them writing by the flickering glow of a candle, contouring their faces more sharply in the jittery shadows--and within forty-five minutes, the flutter of the light proves too much a distraction for completing work.
#20 - Talent: Kay stashes all her notebooks in the bottom drawer of her desk and hopes no one goes snooping through her things; she doesn't think her mother would care about her writing stories, but she'd catch hell if Ma knew what they were about.
#21 - Silence: Three months after their return from Indiana, Kay hasn't received a single letter from her parents; she supposes you get what you give and tells herself she doesn't care.
#22 - Journey: Kay spends most of the train ride to New York staring out the window until she's too dizzy to look at the scenery flying past her, each mile a little less like Indiana than the one before it.
#23 - Fire: The apartment is filling with smoke before Julius looks up from the page, frowning as he asks, "Is...something wrong with dinner, dear?"
#24 - Strength: Sometimes she is quite convinced she is going to die, because God couldn't possibly make someone so sick and miserable and not mean it for a reason.
#25 - Mask: When she can go to the occasional convention and sign the occasional book without causing an incident, she still has the grimly amusing pleasure of revealing to some latecomer that K. C. Hunter is actually a petite woman with red hair that grows paler by the year.
#26 - Ice: Returning home to a freezing-cold bedroom is a small price to pay for the opportunity to go skating with Elsie and Mildred every Saturday she can convince Ma she won't catch hypothermia and die.
#27 - Fall: Some Octobers, Kay misses the dry, smoky scent of burning leaves, but a turn around the park, with its golden leaves falling brittle to the sidewalk, keeps her from longing for more than she already has.
#28 - Forgotten: At first, Kay is proud that her parents trust her to stay home alone on evenings when everyone else is otherwise engaged; then, it occurs to her that it's because she's not going to do more than lie in bed anyhow.
#29 - Dance: They're about to go to the coatroom when the band starts up with "Deep Purple," and after a moment's glance at each other, they turn back toward the dance floor.
#30 - Body: Her mother doesn't approve of the brassieres that really flatten a girl's chest out properly, but Kay doesn't mind too much; she doesn't have so much up there that she'll look unfashionable without.
#31 - Sacred: The chatter they've kept up throughout the streets of London dies away the moment they step into Westminster Abbey, where--despite the other tourists crowding around cenotaphs and murmuring away--Kay's breath catches in her throat to see the marble walls vaulting to a point far overhead.
#32 - Farewells: Dottie, radiant in Ma's old wedding dress and a new veil so long it trails behind her, gives each of them a kiss before the wedding begins, and already, the house feels a little emptier.
#33 - World: When Julius asked her where they ought to go on vacation next, she laughed and said Australia; she didn't expect him to come home with tickets.
#34 - Formal: The thing she remembers most about the twelfth-grade prom is the dress she wore: pale blue crepe with a scarf neckline and silk stockings, the most grown-up outfit she'd ever worn, and not one bit of it a hand-me-down.
#35 - Fever: It's almost comforting to shake from chills one moment and feel like she's about to burn up the next; it's nearly like she's saying hello to an old friend fallen by the wayside.
#36 - Laugh: If she asks real nice, Ma will let her put the radio on while she dusts, and then it's only half so boring a chore.
#37 - Lies: She pulls out a sheet of paper for her response before she's finished reading Mr. Wright's acceptance--yes, she'll accept a hundred dollars for her story, no, she doesn't mind if the byline reads 'K. C. Hunter.'
#38 - Forever: "I won't be gone that long," she tells her mother at the train station, in an effort to keep her from crying, "only four years."
#39 - Overwhelmed: Kay slept three hours last night, made one bagel suffice for breakfast and lunch, and nearly fainted on the train home; she suspects her plan to keep her secretarial position is beginning to come apart at the seams, for all that she can't justifiably live on stories alone.
#40 - Whisper: Mildred says in an undertone that she's glad Kay's back at school this morning, moving her lips as little as possible for fear that Miss Dickson might catch them talking.
#41 - Wait: "No," Kay says with a wicked grin, stepping out of Julius' reach, "I think I'll unbutton my own blouse tonight--slowly."
#42 - Talk: When Dottie's in the mood to indulge her baby sister, she tells Kay about the dates she's been on with boys, to ice cream parlors and picture shows, and Kay takes it all in with wide eyes and a measure of covetousness.
#43 - Search: Scour the city though she might, Kay can't figure out where the hell she left her red leather clutch last night; she misses the purse itself more than the ten dollars inside by the time she gives up.
#44 - Hope: Kay runs for the mail first every day she can manage it, frowning when there are no letters from her, with or without the tell-tale return addresses of potential colleges.
#45 - Eclipse: The fact that the stories they wrote together end up repeatedly in anthologies bearing Julius' name alone never fails to piss her off.
#46 - Gravity: Kay remembers the first time she rode an elevator, holding tight to her mother's hand on the off-chance they might come to harm as they rushed up to the top floor.
#47 - Highway: The first ten miles, Kay regrets offering to drive after a decade of subway riding; from that point, she's flying along the asphalt.
#48 - Unknown: "We aren't sure what's wrong with her this time, Mrs. Hunter," said Doctor Atkins, whose face is one Kay is beginning to dread seeing, "but I'm sure we'll figure it out eventually."
#49 - Lock: Life'd be a hell of a lot easier if they had a larger apartment, if only because she wouldn't feel so damned guilty slamming the bedroom door on him after a fight.
#50 - Breathe: Kay doesn't mind sharing a room with her kid brother, for the most part; when it's late and she can't fall asleep, she can listen to Tommy's breathing and try to make hers match.
Notes (because of course I have factoids to add, ugh)
6. A cherry-coloured hurricane lamp. They're lamps with the tall sides, basically. idk.
29a. This is my favourite version of Deep Purple, which was wildly popular in 1939 (which is a year before Kay and Julius married). The reason the band (of "Smoke on the Water" fame, you know) is called Deep Purple is specifically after this song. Which is too bad, because it means people don't know the song so much anymore, and it's really pretty. ;;
29b. I was originally going to put down Mr. Perry Como's version of "Some Enchanted Evening" (also known as "the best version of 'Some Enchanted Evening'") from South Pacific, but it wouldn't have quite the same resonance because it dates to 1949. So that is the stuff of Farverse!them instead of Lucetific!them.
37. Farnsworth Wright was the editor of Weird Tales from 1924 to 1940--and I know that this is not how her acceptance would have gone, but dramatic convention requires a letter. :|