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Cheeseburger 10. srsly and Blueberry Yogurt #21. Blackmail
Story : There Are No Small Parts
Rating : PG
Word Count : 1226
I started this for one of my game prompts but it kind of got away from the prompts, so I'm going to keep them for later use. Takes place before Fran's arrival. Seems I can't have a canon without some baby/paternity drama.
Sylvia leaned back as Gilda made to pull the first curler from her hair. She gave the door a glance to be sure Merry was really gone and caught Gilda’s eye. “So when are you going to let Flo tell us the real reason he let Rory go on tour?”
Gilda gave the curler a twist and the first thick roll of pale blue hair bounced down over Sylvia’s shoulder. “What makes you think I have anything to do with it?”
“Please, I’m not blind. And neither is everyone else. It’s not like you can just cover it up forever.”
There was another pinch and snap atop her head and more curls tumbled free. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Gilda.
“The baggy shirts,” said Sylvia, plucking at the fabric that billowed around Gilda’s middle as she leaned in again. “The dresses cinched under you breasts instead of at the waist. For gods’ sakes you had a bow over your gut the other day. You can’t try telling me that’s come in fashion now.”
Gilda straightened herself, tossed another curler and pin into the tray with their fellows, and fixed her with a quizzical look. “If I did, would you take my word for it and wear one?”
“I’d sooner be seen in one of Flo’s hats.”
Gilda circled around her, aiming for a curler on the other side, but she was peering past her now, trying to spot herself in the mirror, twisting her middle a bit and frowning at her reflection. “So I’ve put on a few pounds lately. I fail to see how that’s any business of yours. Or Flo’s or Rory’s or anyone’s for that matter.”
Eyes on the mirror, Sylvia snaked a hand behind her and caught the hem of Gilda’s shirt and flicked it up so they could both see the perfectly round swell beneath it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Gilda snapped, swatting her hand away.
“You’re what? About four months?”
Gilda stood gaping in horror at Sylvia’s reflection rather than facing her. After a moment, she forced her mouth shut and reached for the next curler. “I was going to tell you,” she said. “Eventually.”
“What? After we all figured it out for ourselves? The only one you’re managing to hide it from is Rory.”
Gilda chucked the curler at the tray. It bounced off the rim and rolled across the floor, but she was already back to frowning at the mirror. “Is it really that obvious?” She gathered her shirt in back, pulling it tight over her belly. “Oh gods, I look like a cow, don’t I?”
“You know, I have a show to get ready for here.”
Gilda shot her a glare before twisting in front of the mirror some more. “But how could you tell it was four months?”
“That’s easy. Four months ago was when we closed your big show and the two of you spent the night holed up in his dressing room with a bottle of wine.” She watched all the color drain from Gilda’s face and the fabric fall from her hands to hang loose around her belly again. “He fessed up to Merry after it happened. Not that he needed to, we all knew.”
“You did?”
“Mmm.” She reached up to feel about the back of her head for curlers. That snapped Gilda out of her daze and in a moment she was waving her away and taking care of it herself. Sylvia grinned to herself. “So, what are you going to do to him when he gets back?”
“Nothing,” said Gilda, her fingers flying through Sylvia’s hair. One curler and then another fell into the tray. “Why didn’t Merry say anything?”
“Nothing?” said Sylvia, ignoring the question. “If he did that to me, I’d make him pay.”
Gilda sniffed. “You make it sound like I’m a victim in this. I’m fairly certain I was in that bed too.” She had her hands on the last curler, but her eyes were back on the mirror. “Why didn’t anyone say anything? Here I am walking around with ridiculous bows on, thinking no one’s noticed.”
Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that what I’m doing now?” she said, and Gilda shook her head. “So you’re going to play the noble little martyr and take care of it yourself.” Gilda’s eyes narrowed at that, but Sylvia didn’t give her a chance to open her mouth. “What I still don’t understand is why you don’t want to tell Rory. Clearly that’s why Flo let him go, so you could avoid your messy little heart to heart. And don’t worry,” she said, as Gilda tried to get a word in again. “No one else has told him. Yet. But he’s coming back eventually, and you can’t stick a bow on the kid and pretend it’s not there.”
“I’m not being a martyr.” She tossed the last curler and picked up a brush. “I’m being sensible, and I’m giving it up. Rory will be coming back to the same theater he left.”
“Unless someone else tells him.”
Gilda stopped, a wad of springy blue curls in one hand, a brush in the other, and a hairpin tucked between her teeth, to glare at Sylvia in the mirror. “You wouldn’t.”
Sylvia shrugged. “I might slip,” she said. “I’m sure I could be persuaded not to though.”
“You want me to buy your silence.” The hand in her hair tightened its grip. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to be making such a request.
“You make it sound so…dirty.”
“It’s not?” Gilda pulled and pinned her hair in place with a bit more force than was really necessary.
Sylvia winced as Gilda gathered another bunch of hair. “I’m not the one trying to hide a baby from the man I had a drunken one night stand with.”
“It’s for his own good.”
“Really?” Sylvia squirmed in her chair, trying to avoid being pulled by the hair. “You know, if I do tell him, I’ll be sure to include that.”
“Can you even imagine Rory trying to raise a child?”
“No,” said Sylvia, shifting again as a pin grazed her scalp. “But that’s not the point right now.” Gilda’s only response was another forcefully placed pin. “No, we’re supposed to be figuring out what you’re going to do to keep my mouth shut. I can think of several-”
“What about Merry?”
“Oh, I’m sure there are things you could do for her too.”
“I mean she’s not going to like it any more than I will if you go telling him.” Done taking her aggressions out on Sylvia’s scalp, she let her hair fall with a bit of careful fluffing and frowning at the mirror.
“Hmph.”
“You know,” she said, leaning low over Sylvia’s shoulder to inspect her work in the mirror. “If Rory hadn’t gone on tour, I was going to leave. I still could. Then who would make you look this good?”
Sylvia looked herself over, the perfect fountain of curls spilling down around her head, layer upon layer of delicately stitched skirts tucked around her knees. They’d had critics say before that the costumes and props alone were worth the ticket price. “Now who’s playing dirty?”
Gilda shrugged. “I believe there is a stage waiting for you. We’ll talk about this later.”
Story : There Are No Small Parts
Rating : PG
Word Count : 1226
I started this for one of my game prompts but it kind of got away from the prompts, so I'm going to keep them for later use. Takes place before Fran's arrival. Seems I can't have a canon without some baby/paternity drama.
Sylvia leaned back as Gilda made to pull the first curler from her hair. She gave the door a glance to be sure Merry was really gone and caught Gilda’s eye. “So when are you going to let Flo tell us the real reason he let Rory go on tour?”
Gilda gave the curler a twist and the first thick roll of pale blue hair bounced down over Sylvia’s shoulder. “What makes you think I have anything to do with it?”
“Please, I’m not blind. And neither is everyone else. It’s not like you can just cover it up forever.”
There was another pinch and snap atop her head and more curls tumbled free. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Gilda.
“The baggy shirts,” said Sylvia, plucking at the fabric that billowed around Gilda’s middle as she leaned in again. “The dresses cinched under you breasts instead of at the waist. For gods’ sakes you had a bow over your gut the other day. You can’t try telling me that’s come in fashion now.”
Gilda straightened herself, tossed another curler and pin into the tray with their fellows, and fixed her with a quizzical look. “If I did, would you take my word for it and wear one?”
“I’d sooner be seen in one of Flo’s hats.”
Gilda circled around her, aiming for a curler on the other side, but she was peering past her now, trying to spot herself in the mirror, twisting her middle a bit and frowning at her reflection. “So I’ve put on a few pounds lately. I fail to see how that’s any business of yours. Or Flo’s or Rory’s or anyone’s for that matter.”
Eyes on the mirror, Sylvia snaked a hand behind her and caught the hem of Gilda’s shirt and flicked it up so they could both see the perfectly round swell beneath it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Gilda snapped, swatting her hand away.
“You’re what? About four months?”
Gilda stood gaping in horror at Sylvia’s reflection rather than facing her. After a moment, she forced her mouth shut and reached for the next curler. “I was going to tell you,” she said. “Eventually.”
“What? After we all figured it out for ourselves? The only one you’re managing to hide it from is Rory.”
Gilda chucked the curler at the tray. It bounced off the rim and rolled across the floor, but she was already back to frowning at the mirror. “Is it really that obvious?” She gathered her shirt in back, pulling it tight over her belly. “Oh gods, I look like a cow, don’t I?”
“You know, I have a show to get ready for here.”
Gilda shot her a glare before twisting in front of the mirror some more. “But how could you tell it was four months?”
“That’s easy. Four months ago was when we closed your big show and the two of you spent the night holed up in his dressing room with a bottle of wine.” She watched all the color drain from Gilda’s face and the fabric fall from her hands to hang loose around her belly again. “He fessed up to Merry after it happened. Not that he needed to, we all knew.”
“You did?”
“Mmm.” She reached up to feel about the back of her head for curlers. That snapped Gilda out of her daze and in a moment she was waving her away and taking care of it herself. Sylvia grinned to herself. “So, what are you going to do to him when he gets back?”
“Nothing,” said Gilda, her fingers flying through Sylvia’s hair. One curler and then another fell into the tray. “Why didn’t Merry say anything?”
“Nothing?” said Sylvia, ignoring the question. “If he did that to me, I’d make him pay.”
Gilda sniffed. “You make it sound like I’m a victim in this. I’m fairly certain I was in that bed too.” She had her hands on the last curler, but her eyes were back on the mirror. “Why didn’t anyone say anything? Here I am walking around with ridiculous bows on, thinking no one’s noticed.”
Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that what I’m doing now?” she said, and Gilda shook her head. “So you’re going to play the noble little martyr and take care of it yourself.” Gilda’s eyes narrowed at that, but Sylvia didn’t give her a chance to open her mouth. “What I still don’t understand is why you don’t want to tell Rory. Clearly that’s why Flo let him go, so you could avoid your messy little heart to heart. And don’t worry,” she said, as Gilda tried to get a word in again. “No one else has told him. Yet. But he’s coming back eventually, and you can’t stick a bow on the kid and pretend it’s not there.”
“I’m not being a martyr.” She tossed the last curler and picked up a brush. “I’m being sensible, and I’m giving it up. Rory will be coming back to the same theater he left.”
“Unless someone else tells him.”
Gilda stopped, a wad of springy blue curls in one hand, a brush in the other, and a hairpin tucked between her teeth, to glare at Sylvia in the mirror. “You wouldn’t.”
Sylvia shrugged. “I might slip,” she said. “I’m sure I could be persuaded not to though.”
“You want me to buy your silence.” The hand in her hair tightened its grip. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to be making such a request.
“You make it sound so…dirty.”
“It’s not?” Gilda pulled and pinned her hair in place with a bit more force than was really necessary.
Sylvia winced as Gilda gathered another bunch of hair. “I’m not the one trying to hide a baby from the man I had a drunken one night stand with.”
“It’s for his own good.”
“Really?” Sylvia squirmed in her chair, trying to avoid being pulled by the hair. “You know, if I do tell him, I’ll be sure to include that.”
“Can you even imagine Rory trying to raise a child?”
“No,” said Sylvia, shifting again as a pin grazed her scalp. “But that’s not the point right now.” Gilda’s only response was another forcefully placed pin. “No, we’re supposed to be figuring out what you’re going to do to keep my mouth shut. I can think of several-”
“What about Merry?”
“Oh, I’m sure there are things you could do for her too.”
“I mean she’s not going to like it any more than I will if you go telling him.” Done taking her aggressions out on Sylvia’s scalp, she let her hair fall with a bit of careful fluffing and frowning at the mirror.
“Hmph.”
“You know,” she said, leaning low over Sylvia’s shoulder to inspect her work in the mirror. “If Rory hadn’t gone on tour, I was going to leave. I still could. Then who would make you look this good?”
Sylvia looked herself over, the perfect fountain of curls spilling down around her head, layer upon layer of delicately stitched skirts tucked around her knees. They’d had critics say before that the costumes and props alone were worth the ticket price. “Now who’s playing dirty?”
Gilda shrugged. “I believe there is a stage waiting for you. We’ll talk about this later.”