Fic: RingBack
For sayonaradarling who prompted "I want to write you a poem where ideas kiss similes so deeply, metaphors get jealous."
RingBack
Demi/Selena - Disney RPF
G | 1,184 words
Selena makes a phone call.
Demi was going to be late. She had overslept and then spent far too long in the shower. Her hair was clean, sure, but very wet. She doesn't hear the phone ring the first time over the hum of the blow-dryer. It's plugged into its charger on the other side of the hotel room, so the second time it starts ringing, Demi seriously reconsiders answering it.
When she catches sight of the caller ID, she grins and taps “answer.”
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Selena's voice comes over the line bored and slow. “What are you doing?”
“My hair. I am so late right now.”
“I'm bored,” Selena sighs. “Uh, why am I suddenly echoing?”
“You're on speaker, loser. I can't hold the phone and curl my hair at the s-Ow!”
“What?”
“I just burned my ear.”
“Serves you right for calling me a loser.”
“Shut up.”
“And now you're telling me to shut up. You don't respect me at all.”
“Not even a little.”
“You take me for granted, Demi Lovato.”
“Yeah,” Demi smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “I feel just sick about it.”
“Clearly, if you're burning yourself in penance. I suppose I could absolve you, then.”
“Well, I appreciate that. It's very generous of you.”
“I thought so, too.” Selena sighed again. “I'm still bored.”
“How can you be bored talking to me?”
“This isn't exactly the most enlightened conversation we've ever had.”
“Forgive me for not having a physics textbook or poetry anthology on hand to refer to.”
“What have I told you? You should always have a poetry anthology on hand. What would you have done if I had called wanting to discuss Eliot or Whitman instead of your hair, right now?”
“You did not call to discuss my hair; you just happened to call while I was doing my hair.”
“Okay, your response, while entirely relevant, is completely beside the point.” There was a pause while Demi leaned across the sink to apply her eyeliner. “I'm waiting for an answer.”
“That wasn't a question. I don't remember what you wanted me to answer.”
“What would you have done if I had called wanting to discuss Eliot or Whitman instead of your hair?”
“I still maintain that you did not call to discuss my hair and so this entire line of questioning-”
“Fine. What would you have done if I had just called to discuss poetry?”
“Without a poetry anthology on hand, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I would've drawn from my vast knowledge of poetry and literature without help. It's expansive, you know.”
“Oh, what? Your ego?”
“My knowledge,” Demi clarified. She capped her lipgloss and blotted on a tissue.
“What are you wearing?” Selena asked innocently. It brought Demi up short and she stared at her phone for a few seconds before Selena's laugh bubbled up from the countertop.
“What shade are you wearing? God. I heard you smacking just now. You just put on lipstick, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Perv.”
“You're the one making suggestive comments!”
“I asked a legitimate question! You interpreted it suggestively. Because you're a perv.”
“I'm pretty sure that 'What are you wearing' is always interpreted suggestively.”
“Yeah. By pervs.”
“By everyone in America and abroad.”
“Because you've met everyone in America and abroad and you've asked them all what they were wearing?”
“Yes. Yes, I have. And they all thought I was coming onto them because it's such a suggestive thing to say.”
“Wow. You're like, really slutty, then.”
“I know. It's not something I like to brag about.” Demi dropped her phone and sat next to it on the bed to pull her boots on.
“Can I ask what shoes you're putting on right now, or would that be suggestive, too?”
“See, now if you had just asked what lipgloss I was wearing instead of-”
“What shoes are you wearing, Demi?”
Demi smiled as she pulled the zipper up on her boot. “Those black boots you liked, that kind of ruffle? Or something, up the leg.”
“I didn't like those. In fact, I think I even told you not to get them.”
“No, you're thinking of the ones from Anthropologie that were kind of suede. I'm talking about the ones from Forever 21 that are almost leather.”
“Oh, okay. I did like those. They were cute.”
“Duh.”
“'Duh'? You've got that vast, expansive knowledge over there and that's the best you can come up with?”
“Hey, to be fair, I said I had a vast, expansive knowledge of poetry and literature. Not like, SAT words.”
“'Duh' is not an SAT word. And I've yet to see this knowledge in action.”
“What, am I supposed to quote some literary prose at you on demand?”
“Yes. Or write some yourself, off the top of your head. You're the songwriter, after all.”
“I can't write something this second; I do have an event to get ready for. That I'm late for.”
“Excuses, excuses. If you can't do it, you can't do it. That's okay, but you should admit your failure, is all I'm saying.”
“Look, I could write something if I really wanted to.”
“Oh, I'm sure.”
“Spare me the sarcasm, all right? I could. I could write you a poem where ideas kiss similes so deeply, metaphors get jealous.”
“I don't know what that means,” Selena laughed. “But I bet you couldn't”
“I could compose an ode right now, extolling all your virtues.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah,” Demi echoed. “But seeing as you don't have any, my hands are pretty tied.”
“Oh, she's funny, too.”
“I am. It's among my many talents.”
“Many meaning few?”
“Many meaning many.” Demi smiled as the driver pulled open the door for her. “Hey, I'm getting in the car right now, so let me call you tonight. Will you still be bored five hours from now?”
“This is going to take you five hours?”
“They tend to run really long and it's like, forty-something minutes away.”
“Do you at least have something good to listen to?”
“If that's your not-at-all-subtle way of asking if I still have that CD you made me, then yes. I have something good to listen to.”
“It was and I'm glad.”
“Now, if I recall correctly, that CD came with some literary prose of its own.”
“No, it didn't. You're recalling incorrectly.”
“No, I don't think so. I'm fairly certain there was an original composition in that card.”
“I'm fairly certain that you're wrong and there wasn't.”
“Nope, I'm quite sure.”
“Shut up.”
“Now who's being disrespectful?”
“It was a joke. A joke poem that I wrote because I was joking.”
“Now, how did it go? Oh, yes.”
“Oh, god...”
“'Roses are red/ Violets are blue/ I love you a lot/ But I can't write poetry so here's that new CD you wanted.'”
“It was a joke!”
“Don't sell yourself short, that's some quality stuff there.”
“I'm hanging up now.”
“No, you're not. I'll call you tonight, okay?”
“Okay. Have fun.”
“It'd be more fun if you were here. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Bye, Demi.”
“Bye, Selena.”
RingBack
Demi/Selena - Disney RPF
G | 1,184 words
Selena makes a phone call.
Demi was going to be late. She had overslept and then spent far too long in the shower. Her hair was clean, sure, but very wet. She doesn't hear the phone ring the first time over the hum of the blow-dryer. It's plugged into its charger on the other side of the hotel room, so the second time it starts ringing, Demi seriously reconsiders answering it.
When she catches sight of the caller ID, she grins and taps “answer.”
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Selena's voice comes over the line bored and slow. “What are you doing?”
“My hair. I am so late right now.”
“I'm bored,” Selena sighs. “Uh, why am I suddenly echoing?”
“You're on speaker, loser. I can't hold the phone and curl my hair at the s-Ow!”
“What?”
“I just burned my ear.”
“Serves you right for calling me a loser.”
“Shut up.”
“And now you're telling me to shut up. You don't respect me at all.”
“Not even a little.”
“You take me for granted, Demi Lovato.”
“Yeah,” Demi smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “I feel just sick about it.”
“Clearly, if you're burning yourself in penance. I suppose I could absolve you, then.”
“Well, I appreciate that. It's very generous of you.”
“I thought so, too.” Selena sighed again. “I'm still bored.”
“How can you be bored talking to me?”
“This isn't exactly the most enlightened conversation we've ever had.”
“Forgive me for not having a physics textbook or poetry anthology on hand to refer to.”
“What have I told you? You should always have a poetry anthology on hand. What would you have done if I had called wanting to discuss Eliot or Whitman instead of your hair, right now?”
“You did not call to discuss my hair; you just happened to call while I was doing my hair.”
“Okay, your response, while entirely relevant, is completely beside the point.” There was a pause while Demi leaned across the sink to apply her eyeliner. “I'm waiting for an answer.”
“That wasn't a question. I don't remember what you wanted me to answer.”
“What would you have done if I had called wanting to discuss Eliot or Whitman instead of your hair?”
“I still maintain that you did not call to discuss my hair and so this entire line of questioning-”
“Fine. What would you have done if I had just called to discuss poetry?”
“Without a poetry anthology on hand, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I would've drawn from my vast knowledge of poetry and literature without help. It's expansive, you know.”
“Oh, what? Your ego?”
“My knowledge,” Demi clarified. She capped her lipgloss and blotted on a tissue.
“What are you wearing?” Selena asked innocently. It brought Demi up short and she stared at her phone for a few seconds before Selena's laugh bubbled up from the countertop.
“What shade are you wearing? God. I heard you smacking just now. You just put on lipstick, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Perv.”
“You're the one making suggestive comments!”
“I asked a legitimate question! You interpreted it suggestively. Because you're a perv.”
“I'm pretty sure that 'What are you wearing' is always interpreted suggestively.”
“Yeah. By pervs.”
“By everyone in America and abroad.”
“Because you've met everyone in America and abroad and you've asked them all what they were wearing?”
“Yes. Yes, I have. And they all thought I was coming onto them because it's such a suggestive thing to say.”
“Wow. You're like, really slutty, then.”
“I know. It's not something I like to brag about.” Demi dropped her phone and sat next to it on the bed to pull her boots on.
“Can I ask what shoes you're putting on right now, or would that be suggestive, too?”
“See, now if you had just asked what lipgloss I was wearing instead of-”
“What shoes are you wearing, Demi?”
Demi smiled as she pulled the zipper up on her boot. “Those black boots you liked, that kind of ruffle? Or something, up the leg.”
“I didn't like those. In fact, I think I even told you not to get them.”
“No, you're thinking of the ones from Anthropologie that were kind of suede. I'm talking about the ones from Forever 21 that are almost leather.”
“Oh, okay. I did like those. They were cute.”
“Duh.”
“'Duh'? You've got that vast, expansive knowledge over there and that's the best you can come up with?”
“Hey, to be fair, I said I had a vast, expansive knowledge of poetry and literature. Not like, SAT words.”
“'Duh' is not an SAT word. And I've yet to see this knowledge in action.”
“What, am I supposed to quote some literary prose at you on demand?”
“Yes. Or write some yourself, off the top of your head. You're the songwriter, after all.”
“I can't write something this second; I do have an event to get ready for. That I'm late for.”
“Excuses, excuses. If you can't do it, you can't do it. That's okay, but you should admit your failure, is all I'm saying.”
“Look, I could write something if I really wanted to.”
“Oh, I'm sure.”
“Spare me the sarcasm, all right? I could. I could write you a poem where ideas kiss similes so deeply, metaphors get jealous.”
“I don't know what that means,” Selena laughed. “But I bet you couldn't”
“I could compose an ode right now, extolling all your virtues.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah,” Demi echoed. “But seeing as you don't have any, my hands are pretty tied.”
“Oh, she's funny, too.”
“I am. It's among my many talents.”
“Many meaning few?”
“Many meaning many.” Demi smiled as the driver pulled open the door for her. “Hey, I'm getting in the car right now, so let me call you tonight. Will you still be bored five hours from now?”
“This is going to take you five hours?”
“They tend to run really long and it's like, forty-something minutes away.”
“Do you at least have something good to listen to?”
“If that's your not-at-all-subtle way of asking if I still have that CD you made me, then yes. I have something good to listen to.”
“It was and I'm glad.”
“Now, if I recall correctly, that CD came with some literary prose of its own.”
“No, it didn't. You're recalling incorrectly.”
“No, I don't think so. I'm fairly certain there was an original composition in that card.”
“I'm fairly certain that you're wrong and there wasn't.”
“Nope, I'm quite sure.”
“Shut up.”
“Now who's being disrespectful?”
“It was a joke. A joke poem that I wrote because I was joking.”
“Now, how did it go? Oh, yes.”
“Oh, god...”
“'Roses are red/ Violets are blue/ I love you a lot/ But I can't write poetry so here's that new CD you wanted.'”
“It was a joke!”
“Don't sell yourself short, that's some quality stuff there.”
“I'm hanging up now.”
“No, you're not. I'll call you tonight, okay?”
“Okay. Have fun.”
“It'd be more fun if you were here. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Bye, Demi.”
“Bye, Selena.”