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[Becoming Jane, Pushing Daisies] Drabbles for Kate
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ceitfianna:
Tom/Jane - "all things out of season"
Spring has come and gone, leading Her into a hot English summer. The time for fresh love and life and mates is past.
London is the smell of human piss and sweat, a far cry from the steaming manure and perspiration of the animals attempting to keep cool in their pens.
He's never done this before, had his hands wrapped tightly around the soft pink utters of a cow, squeezing hot milk into a bucket.
Beside him, his lady beams, wipes the sweat from her brow and murmurs something about how strange it is ('and it is strange, Mr Lefroy'), bringing back to mind how out of place this all should be.
But as the day ends, bringing night (and stars and a cool breeze that makes the goosepimples on her arms rise), and a hard day's work is done -
lying in the straw on their backs, him shirtless and her with her skirts hiked up, it is perfect.
All things in their lives are done out of season, but fit perfectly nonetheless.
___
Forceitfianna:
Ned - "these prizes are for living men"
"You didn't understand," he says, his hands drawn out before him - as though bracing for the possibility of it happening, "you've taken it all for granted, treated it like you were entitled to have it. You're not. It's not a right to be loved, you have to earn it. And sometimes it gets taken away, even when it shouldn't, but the only way you'll get to experience it is when you keep living.
"Love is the end game, the prize at the carnival when the bells chime and little fluorescent lights blink; it is the trophy, the victory cry after each battle. And only living men can experience it."
He takes a breath before inclining his head towards the small, proud girl with the long curly brown hair beside him, and his chiseled expression grows softer.
"This prize is for the living to take and to experience and to share with everyone else before they can't anymore."
He turns back to the man by the ledge, his hands still held up. "We know you're lonely, but please. It's not worth it."
ceitfianna:Tom/Jane - "all things out of season"
Spring has come and gone, leading Her into a hot English summer. The time for fresh love and life and mates is past.
London is the smell of human piss and sweat, a far cry from the steaming manure and perspiration of the animals attempting to keep cool in their pens.
He's never done this before, had his hands wrapped tightly around the soft pink utters of a cow, squeezing hot milk into a bucket.
Beside him, his lady beams, wipes the sweat from her brow and murmurs something about how strange it is ('and it is strange, Mr Lefroy'), bringing back to mind how out of place this all should be.
But as the day ends, bringing night (and stars and a cool breeze that makes the goosepimples on her arms rise), and a hard day's work is done -
lying in the straw on their backs, him shirtless and her with her skirts hiked up, it is perfect.
All things in their lives are done out of season, but fit perfectly nonetheless.
___
For
ceitfianna:Ned - "these prizes are for living men"
"You didn't understand," he says, his hands drawn out before him - as though bracing for the possibility of it happening, "you've taken it all for granted, treated it like you were entitled to have it. You're not. It's not a right to be loved, you have to earn it. And sometimes it gets taken away, even when it shouldn't, but the only way you'll get to experience it is when you keep living.
"Love is the end game, the prize at the carnival when the bells chime and little fluorescent lights blink; it is the trophy, the victory cry after each battle. And only living men can experience it."
He takes a breath before inclining his head towards the small, proud girl with the long curly brown hair beside him, and his chiseled expression grows softer.
"This prize is for the living to take and to experience and to share with everyone else before they can't anymore."
He turns back to the man by the ledge, his hands still held up. "We know you're lonely, but please. It's not worth it."