pistachio and butter pecan with caramel and fresh peaches
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Tenacity
Rating: PG
Challenge: Pistachio #19: a shoulder to cry on, Butter Pecan #26: loose
Toppings/Extras: caramel, fresh peaches
Wordcount: 658
Summary: Robyn Walshe’s flat is burned down by Scarlet Blackledge.
Notes: I really want to post something about the moon-kart racing because that was possibly my favourite part of it to write. This is just after. The Moonquartz Mystery timeline! Peaches: If you’ve held off taking action, now is the time to boldly move forwards with confidence and a sense of purpose.
It was burning; the whole place was burning to the ground. Perhaps part of the building could be saved but certainly not the part that had contained her apartment. Robyn stared up at what had once been a block of flats, still wearing her jumpsuit from the moon-kart track, absolutely swathed in silver moondust. She took a step forwards and then stopped.
Around her the world was in commotion. Fire engines had arrived long ago and most of the fire was out-leaving a crusty, blackened shell. People stood in the streets: some shocked homeowners, some gawping bystanders. An ambulance took off with a choking patient inside. Smoke cascaded towards the top of the dome Valetta City nestled in.
“No,” she said weakly. Victor stepped forwards next to her and stared up at the bay-coloured tower block that had been Robyn’s home, now with holes eaten into it by flame, charred and destroyed.
Scarlet Blackledge had made sure there would be nothing left of it.
“I’m sorry…” he said.
There was a long silence as Robyn stared up through the blizzard of ashes for a while longer. She felt panicky and sick, but most of all she felt anger at Scarlet. How could she? How could anyone?
“It’s not your fault,” she said, swallowing. “It was just… things, anyway. It doesn’t matter. It’s all just stuff. You can’t take it with you, right?” She stuffed her hands into her pockets to hide that they were curled into fists. They were two unmoving figures amongst a slurry of weaving, ducking, pointing, nervously chattering people.
“It’s OK,” Victor said softly. “It’s OK to be upset.”
Robyn really didn’t know why she continued to be surprised by Victor’s compassionate and generally affectionate nature. When she had first met him all of those years ago, her judgment of him had been the same as everyone else’s: that he was emotionally cold. His true disposition shone through only in small amounts, but she didn’t know why it came as such a surprise every time.
Taking a deep breath, she tore her gaze from the burnt-out shell of her old home.
“It’s just… it’s all gone…” she mumbled. “All those books I never got to read… I was going to, I swear… the picture with Wolfgang and the… oh, fuck, the big scrapbook my whole platoon signed with photos and everything, and my… oh, Victor, this isn’t fair. It’s been my home for four years. It wasn’t perfect, but…”
Robyn didn’t cry. She did not. But this was the closest she’d been for a long time.
Not being an innately cuddly person, the few times that Victor had hugged her had scarcely felt like hugs at all. He hugged so carefully, like he’d vigilantly studied it in a book called ‘How To Hug Your Friend’ and was terrified of getting it wrong. Oh, bless him, the moron! She couldn’t help but feel better even though he was terrible at hugging people. She drew away from him and gave him a watery smile.
“They didn’t get rid of the evidence, anyway,” Robyn said, stirring up some resolve from somewhere. She had a core of steel-grim tenacity filled in the gaps.
“That’s right,” Victor said, seeming a little embarrassed. The moondust on her clothes from her tumble on the track was streaked over his clothes but he didn’t seem to mind. “We gave a copy of the photographs to D.S. Bower.”
“We are so on top of this,” Robyn said. Suddenly she spun away from the burnt wreckage of the apartment block. “Did you find out anything useful at the moon-kart racing track?”
“Yes, actually,” Victor said. He turned away too, brushing some stray ash from her hair. His grey eyes fixed onto hers worriedly.
“Tell me,” she said. “We can work from your flat, right? She wouldn’t dare touch that.”
Victor smiled a little and nodded.
They walked away and they didn’t look back.
Title: Tenacity
Rating: PG
Challenge: Pistachio #19: a shoulder to cry on, Butter Pecan #26: loose
Toppings/Extras: caramel, fresh peaches
Wordcount: 658
Summary: Robyn Walshe’s flat is burned down by Scarlet Blackledge.
Notes: I really want to post something about the moon-kart racing because that was possibly my favourite part of it to write. This is just after. The Moonquartz Mystery timeline! Peaches: If you’ve held off taking action, now is the time to boldly move forwards with confidence and a sense of purpose.
It was burning; the whole place was burning to the ground. Perhaps part of the building could be saved but certainly not the part that had contained her apartment. Robyn stared up at what had once been a block of flats, still wearing her jumpsuit from the moon-kart track, absolutely swathed in silver moondust. She took a step forwards and then stopped.
Around her the world was in commotion. Fire engines had arrived long ago and most of the fire was out-leaving a crusty, blackened shell. People stood in the streets: some shocked homeowners, some gawping bystanders. An ambulance took off with a choking patient inside. Smoke cascaded towards the top of the dome Valetta City nestled in.
“No,” she said weakly. Victor stepped forwards next to her and stared up at the bay-coloured tower block that had been Robyn’s home, now with holes eaten into it by flame, charred and destroyed.
Scarlet Blackledge had made sure there would be nothing left of it.
“I’m sorry…” he said.
There was a long silence as Robyn stared up through the blizzard of ashes for a while longer. She felt panicky and sick, but most of all she felt anger at Scarlet. How could she? How could anyone?
“It’s not your fault,” she said, swallowing. “It was just… things, anyway. It doesn’t matter. It’s all just stuff. You can’t take it with you, right?” She stuffed her hands into her pockets to hide that they were curled into fists. They were two unmoving figures amongst a slurry of weaving, ducking, pointing, nervously chattering people.
“It’s OK,” Victor said softly. “It’s OK to be upset.”
Robyn really didn’t know why she continued to be surprised by Victor’s compassionate and generally affectionate nature. When she had first met him all of those years ago, her judgment of him had been the same as everyone else’s: that he was emotionally cold. His true disposition shone through only in small amounts, but she didn’t know why it came as such a surprise every time.
Taking a deep breath, she tore her gaze from the burnt-out shell of her old home.
“It’s just… it’s all gone…” she mumbled. “All those books I never got to read… I was going to, I swear… the picture with Wolfgang and the… oh, fuck, the big scrapbook my whole platoon signed with photos and everything, and my… oh, Victor, this isn’t fair. It’s been my home for four years. It wasn’t perfect, but…”
Robyn didn’t cry. She did not. But this was the closest she’d been for a long time.
Not being an innately cuddly person, the few times that Victor had hugged her had scarcely felt like hugs at all. He hugged so carefully, like he’d vigilantly studied it in a book called ‘How To Hug Your Friend’ and was terrified of getting it wrong. Oh, bless him, the moron! She couldn’t help but feel better even though he was terrible at hugging people. She drew away from him and gave him a watery smile.
“They didn’t get rid of the evidence, anyway,” Robyn said, stirring up some resolve from somewhere. She had a core of steel-grim tenacity filled in the gaps.
“That’s right,” Victor said, seeming a little embarrassed. The moondust on her clothes from her tumble on the track was streaked over his clothes but he didn’t seem to mind. “We gave a copy of the photographs to D.S. Bower.”
“We are so on top of this,” Robyn said. Suddenly she spun away from the burnt wreckage of the apartment block. “Did you find out anything useful at the moon-kart racing track?”
“Yes, actually,” Victor said. He turned away too, brushing some stray ash from her hair. His grey eyes fixed onto hers worriedly.
“Tell me,” she said. “We can work from your flat, right? She wouldn’t dare touch that.”
Victor smiled a little and nodded.
They walked away and they didn’t look back.