rhubarb, grapefruit and rocky road with whipped cream, caramel, malt and a pocky chain
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: My Father
Rating: G
Challenge: Rhubarb ‘My Treat’ #19: we have ways of making you talk (Ashdown and Lidia), Grapefruit #26: in the wind, Rocky Road #19: the breakfast table
Toppings/Extras: malt, pocky chain, whipped cream (first few), caramel (final pocky)
Wordcount: 800
Summary: Jacob Graham and James Ashdown: professionals first, fathers second.
Notes: Probably not what was meant to come of Marina’s treat (AT ALL) but the parallel just sprang at me all of a sudden. Their ages: four, eight, thirteen, twenty. Grapefruit PFAH: Ashdown : You can never trust a monster.
Edward watched his father shuffling down the gangplank from the Gallantry with his brow furrowed over his grey eyes. It was one of the first memories he had of the sea. The gusting ocean air engulfed him, sending the velvet of his tiny coat blasting behind him.
His father had been gone for a while. He’d been two the last time he’d seen him-Edward couldn’t really remember what he looked like.
As ever, James Ashdown was perfectly on schedule. His shoes clipped sharply against the soggy pier. Edward admired his poise, kind of, in a four-year-old sort of way.
-----
Once again he’d let her down.
In her short life Lidia didn’t think she had ever felt such a dreadful pang of disappointment. Her third birthday hadn’t quite been the same-it had been easier to jolly her along. But at four she knew that today was a special day and a day her father said he would be there for her.
She kept her eyes fixed to the taut aquamarine line of the horizon, a hot shimmer glinting from the glass-sharp sea. Mid-July sun beat down on her dark hair.
Then she made her way back to the farm.
-----
Breakfast was silent. Edward spooned some more sugar-laced porridge into his mouth and glanced sidelong at his sister. Her gaze was plastered to the gleaming mahogany surface of the table, her moon-blonde hair dripping into her glass of milk.
It was a special day because their father was home.
Both of them glanced towards him simultaneously when he coughed in an abrupt rumble.
He didn’t look up from his food.
It was two months before Edward was off to boarding school. He doubted he would get homesick-he was just a little iffy about being thrust into the deep countryside.
-----
Mealtimes were always rather strained when her father was there.
Gaspard always glared at him across the table-though usually he didn’t stay long. And her mother had become less and less fond of him over the years. They used to hold hands and he would whisper things in her ear, tucking her thick dark hair behind one ear. They didn’t any more.
Lidia smiled at him across the table and he smiled back. He had good, straight teeth and a nice smile. Her gaze dropped to the bracelet he’d brought for her.
She wondered where it had come from.
-----
By the time he was thirteen, his every opinion had crystallised. Edward’s mind developed quickly. His opinions were set in stone before he was fully grown.
The slim, slightly gawky boy tugged his pristine gloves off as he strode across the grass, gleaming riding boots biting into the damp turf. His expression was one of intense disinterest; he had learned that very young too. It flipped clinically into a fixed smile as he reached his father-who had summoned him-standing on the patio.
As always, they shook hands.
I hate you, Edward thought calmly, smile never leaving his face.
-----
“Papa,” Lidia said in a wheedling tone, holding his hand tightly even though she was a teenager now, a young woman, and holding the hand of a parent was best reserved for children. Her large brown eyes rolled up to meet those of her father.
“Yes, little sweet?”
“What is it you do?”
It was designed to bite. Lidia already knew perfectly well what he did. His eyebrows rose and he looked down at her.
“Sail,” he said blankly.
“What else?”
“Oh, this ‘n that, ‘ee know…”
That was certainly not good enough.
“Papa.”
He would get used to that.
-----
Edward inspected his nails with the faintest of puckers in his brow being the only indication of any emotion. Behind him stood his aide, Isaac Prowse, arms folded over his broad chest.
“I’m not lending you anything,” he said finally. Edward always had a very precise way of speaking; there was no blurring between words, no single consonant left out that was there to be said aloud. Finally his gaze snapped up to meet his father’s.
“Son,” James Ashdown said, visibly shocked.
“You got yourself into this,” Edward replied coldly. “I made this money myself. It’s mine. Good evening, Father.”
-----
The fact that he named his new ship Camila made her smile.
“It’s all out there somewhere,” her father was rambling in that way he had, “far and bright and big. Big!”
Who knew what he was looking for? She didn’t really care anyway. Lidia turned her nose to the soothing breeze and smiled to herself, dark curls draping loose around her face.
“An’ we’ll find it. Am I right, girlie?”
She grinned over at the silly, reckless, foolhardy man she called her father. He looked excited as always, ready for whatever may come.
“You’re right, Papa. We’ll find it.”
Title: My Father
Rating: G
Challenge: Rhubarb ‘My Treat’ #19: we have ways of making you talk (Ashdown and Lidia), Grapefruit #26: in the wind, Rocky Road #19: the breakfast table
Toppings/Extras: malt, pocky chain, whipped cream (first few), caramel (final pocky)
Wordcount: 800
Summary: Jacob Graham and James Ashdown: professionals first, fathers second.
Notes: Probably not what was meant to come of Marina’s treat (AT ALL) but the parallel just sprang at me all of a sudden. Their ages: four, eight, thirteen, twenty. Grapefruit PFAH: Ashdown : You can never trust a monster.
Edward watched his father shuffling down the gangplank from the Gallantry with his brow furrowed over his grey eyes. It was one of the first memories he had of the sea. The gusting ocean air engulfed him, sending the velvet of his tiny coat blasting behind him.
His father had been gone for a while. He’d been two the last time he’d seen him-Edward couldn’t really remember what he looked like.
As ever, James Ashdown was perfectly on schedule. His shoes clipped sharply against the soggy pier. Edward admired his poise, kind of, in a four-year-old sort of way.
-----
Once again he’d let her down.
In her short life Lidia didn’t think she had ever felt such a dreadful pang of disappointment. Her third birthday hadn’t quite been the same-it had been easier to jolly her along. But at four she knew that today was a special day and a day her father said he would be there for her.
She kept her eyes fixed to the taut aquamarine line of the horizon, a hot shimmer glinting from the glass-sharp sea. Mid-July sun beat down on her dark hair.
Then she made her way back to the farm.
-----
Breakfast was silent. Edward spooned some more sugar-laced porridge into his mouth and glanced sidelong at his sister. Her gaze was plastered to the gleaming mahogany surface of the table, her moon-blonde hair dripping into her glass of milk.
It was a special day because their father was home.
Both of them glanced towards him simultaneously when he coughed in an abrupt rumble.
He didn’t look up from his food.
It was two months before Edward was off to boarding school. He doubted he would get homesick-he was just a little iffy about being thrust into the deep countryside.
-----
Mealtimes were always rather strained when her father was there.
Gaspard always glared at him across the table-though usually he didn’t stay long. And her mother had become less and less fond of him over the years. They used to hold hands and he would whisper things in her ear, tucking her thick dark hair behind one ear. They didn’t any more.
Lidia smiled at him across the table and he smiled back. He had good, straight teeth and a nice smile. Her gaze dropped to the bracelet he’d brought for her.
She wondered where it had come from.
-----
By the time he was thirteen, his every opinion had crystallised. Edward’s mind developed quickly. His opinions were set in stone before he was fully grown.
The slim, slightly gawky boy tugged his pristine gloves off as he strode across the grass, gleaming riding boots biting into the damp turf. His expression was one of intense disinterest; he had learned that very young too. It flipped clinically into a fixed smile as he reached his father-who had summoned him-standing on the patio.
As always, they shook hands.
I hate you, Edward thought calmly, smile never leaving his face.
-----
“Papa,” Lidia said in a wheedling tone, holding his hand tightly even though she was a teenager now, a young woman, and holding the hand of a parent was best reserved for children. Her large brown eyes rolled up to meet those of her father.
“Yes, little sweet?”
“What is it you do?”
It was designed to bite. Lidia already knew perfectly well what he did. His eyebrows rose and he looked down at her.
“Sail,” he said blankly.
“What else?”
“Oh, this ‘n that, ‘ee know…”
That was certainly not good enough.
“Papa.”
He would get used to that.
-----
Edward inspected his nails with the faintest of puckers in his brow being the only indication of any emotion. Behind him stood his aide, Isaac Prowse, arms folded over his broad chest.
“I’m not lending you anything,” he said finally. Edward always had a very precise way of speaking; there was no blurring between words, no single consonant left out that was there to be said aloud. Finally his gaze snapped up to meet his father’s.
“Son,” James Ashdown said, visibly shocked.
“You got yourself into this,” Edward replied coldly. “I made this money myself. It’s mine. Good evening, Father.”
-----
The fact that he named his new ship Camila made her smile.
“It’s all out there somewhere,” her father was rambling in that way he had, “far and bright and big. Big!”
Who knew what he was looking for? She didn’t really care anyway. Lidia turned her nose to the soothing breeze and smiled to herself, dark curls draping loose around her face.
“An’ we’ll find it. Am I right, girlie?”
She grinned over at the silly, reckless, foolhardy man she called her father. He looked excited as always, ready for whatever may come.
“You’re right, Papa. We’ll find it.”