Apple Pie, Rum Raisin
Author: Indie
Rating: G
Challenge: Apple Pie #20 (my first place), Rum Raisin #10 (guardian)
Word Count: 535
Story: Tally Harlow Rosenkrantz. (Index)
Notes: Rosa babysits a twenty year old Tally. :) (ROFL sorry for all the posting; I promise I'll slow down when school starts back up again.)
“Rosa,” she whispered against the cool of the glossed Purpleheart wood of her kitchen, because sometimes she did that, as if she could summon people with her voice.
Most people would call this a conceited quirk, built in her by the millions of little girls making fan pages about her on the internet and seeing her own pictures in teenybopper magazines, but she’d been doing it since she was a little girl, when it was only her mom and dad that told her she was a princess, and not the whole of preteen America.
She lived with Rosa, because she was a legal adult (despite what gossip-rags called her) but three years ago she'd only been a seventeen year old who refused to choose between her two parents, and instead, had forged option three: use her own money to live in her own house. So, mom had hired (without her consent!) her a woman whose job description sounded suspiciously like “baby sitter”. (Which was ridiculous. Tally could sort-of cook, and definitely knew how to order pizza, and could do her own laundry.)
She wanted to cry, like, was right on the verge, because seriously, every time! but was mostly just making huffing and hyperventilating sounds.
When Rosa opened the front door, a brown-paper grocery bag against one hip like a small child to find her pressed against the floor of the kitchen, she stepped over her without saying anything (although she was probably giving Tally a look. Tally would know for sure, but she was too busy examining the grain of the wood an inch from her face and trying to cry to look at her.) and went to pull a pot down from the cabinet.
“Rosa, the answer is not food,” Tally insisted, from the floor.
“That answer is always food,” Rosa replied, and they’d had this conversation a hundred times, because Rosa was of the firm conviction that Tally’s hunger manifested itself as sadness, and nothing would ever sway her. Rosa started puttering around, setting something edible in motion, and then brought her something she could put in her mouth immediately.
Embarrassingly enough, it was sort of a habit.
“I do not want an apple,” Tally enunciated angrily, but Rosa shoved a slice in her mouth anyways, and Tally dutifully chewed on it. Rosa set the plate right by her face, and then went back to work with spices and boiling water or whatever.
By the time she’d swallowed the first apple wedge, Tally went to reach for another, but then remembered that she was definitely not hungry, and Rosa was a bossypants.
“Put it in your mouth,” the older woman demanded, cheerfully, without turning away from her cooking.
Tally glared at her back, and proceeded to demolish the apple.
“I have to choose between the role of a lifetime,” she finally explained, staring at her empty plate, sprinkled with a small puddle of liquefied apple. “And disappointing Miles.”
Rosa frowned and put another plate full of cored, sliced apple in front of her. “I’ve never seen fruit disappear so fast,” she explained, with a laugh and a wink when Tally scowled at her.
She meant to not touch it out of spite, but then her resolve crumbled and she ate it, too. They were probably small apples before you put the pieces back together, she justified to herself. Itty bitty. Practically newborns.
Rating: G
Challenge: Apple Pie #20 (my first place), Rum Raisin #10 (guardian)
Word Count: 535
Story: Tally Harlow Rosenkrantz. (Index)
Notes: Rosa babysits a twenty year old Tally. :) (ROFL sorry for all the posting; I promise I'll slow down when school starts back up again.)
“Rosa,” she whispered against the cool of the glossed Purpleheart wood of her kitchen, because sometimes she did that, as if she could summon people with her voice.
Most people would call this a conceited quirk, built in her by the millions of little girls making fan pages about her on the internet and seeing her own pictures in teenybopper magazines, but she’d been doing it since she was a little girl, when it was only her mom and dad that told her she was a princess, and not the whole of preteen America.
She lived with Rosa, because she was a legal adult (despite what gossip-rags called her) but three years ago she'd only been a seventeen year old who refused to choose between her two parents, and instead, had forged option three: use her own money to live in her own house. So, mom had hired (without her consent!) her a woman whose job description sounded suspiciously like “baby sitter”. (Which was ridiculous. Tally could sort-of cook, and definitely knew how to order pizza, and could do her own laundry.)
She wanted to cry, like, was right on the verge, because seriously, every time! but was mostly just making huffing and hyperventilating sounds.
When Rosa opened the front door, a brown-paper grocery bag against one hip like a small child to find her pressed against the floor of the kitchen, she stepped over her without saying anything (although she was probably giving Tally a look. Tally would know for sure, but she was too busy examining the grain of the wood an inch from her face and trying to cry to look at her.) and went to pull a pot down from the cabinet.
“Rosa, the answer is not food,” Tally insisted, from the floor.
“That answer is always food,” Rosa replied, and they’d had this conversation a hundred times, because Rosa was of the firm conviction that Tally’s hunger manifested itself as sadness, and nothing would ever sway her. Rosa started puttering around, setting something edible in motion, and then brought her something she could put in her mouth immediately.
Embarrassingly enough, it was sort of a habit.
“I do not want an apple,” Tally enunciated angrily, but Rosa shoved a slice in her mouth anyways, and Tally dutifully chewed on it. Rosa set the plate right by her face, and then went back to work with spices and boiling water or whatever.
By the time she’d swallowed the first apple wedge, Tally went to reach for another, but then remembered that she was definitely not hungry, and Rosa was a bossypants.
“Put it in your mouth,” the older woman demanded, cheerfully, without turning away from her cooking.
Tally glared at her back, and proceeded to demolish the apple.
“I have to choose between the role of a lifetime,” she finally explained, staring at her empty plate, sprinkled with a small puddle of liquefied apple. “And disappointing Miles.”
Rosa frowned and put another plate full of cored, sliced apple in front of her. “I’ve never seen fruit disappear so fast,” she explained, with a laugh and a wink when Tally scowled at her.
She meant to not touch it out of spite, but then her resolve crumbled and she ate it, too. They were probably small apples before you put the pieces back together, she justified to herself. Itty bitty. Practically newborns.