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noblealiceworksnote: because when you can't write anything new, you go back to what you've written months ago and polish it up. I'm uber nervous because I love this movie so much and it doesn't really have a large fandom/fic and I don't want to ruin it. Also, thinking of titles is lame and hard.
sometimes we fool ourselves, sometimes we fool others (pg)
Roy, Alexandria (The Fall)
1,300 words
She walks toward him with purpose and that scares him. No one comes to talk to him these days.
Not unless they have to.
Her mouth slips into a comfortable smile, like she can see right through to his heart and knows that there was a time before it was black and scarred.
He holds out his hand at first, expecting an introduction from this stranger but she’s always been blunt and begins their conversation from the middle, like they had only been stopped in Act Two and the intermission was twenty years long.
“I thought I saw you.” She says with the slight trace of an accent. “All the time!”
She waits for his hand to drop and shifts her weight from foot to foot. It takes time for her voice to register and she continues to fill in the silence while his brain tries to place her. “In every flicker.” At this, she seems to catch herself.
“Film.” She corrects, her voice more decided.
Finally the locks tumble into place and he smiles. “You always did have an over-active imagination.”
“You always had a knack for telling lies.”
With that, she cuts to the heart of it and he feels himself go cold. He fidgets uncomfortably under the weight of the memory. He doesn’t want to catch her eyes.
“What?” She asks, seemingly unaware of what she has drug up with her sudden appearance.
“I’m trying to decide if it’s just that your English is better or if you’re more perceptive now.”
“I always saw more than I was meant to. I just understand it better now.”
She has rough, tanned skin and a nose that looks like it was broken without being set properly. Her practical clothes are worn but sturdy and her hair is easily swept out of her eyes with a gentle wave that looks like an attempt at a curl.
“I’m sorry.” He pleads, hoping it will be enough. “I was foolish. And lonely.”
“Don’t. I’m glad that the doctors saved you.” She ignores his raised eyebrow at the word ‘miracle’ and continues. “I don’t have such a miracle to lay claim to. I’m only here today because the church saw fit to take us in after my mother died.”
He decides to move on, resolute that there will always be some things they don’t agree on.
“Perhaps that’s just as well; the orange groves have a reputation.”
“Trust me. This wasn’t much better. Probably as bad as prohibition was on you.” Her face contorts to a sneer and it’s not a good look on her. He ignores the well-placed jibe, she’s far surpassed the days of sounding out letters and she must have seen the marked bottle on his dresser, and tries to steer the conversation back into neutral territory.
“But you’re hearty. You would have survived no matter what. You’ve a knack for it.”
She tries not to roll her eyes, but he can see it in the shrug of her shoulders. She looks at a spot on the wall behind him, intent on avoiding her past.
He wonders if her mother ever remarried, or if--
“No more of your fancy stories and lies. I should leave.” Her soft voice still manages to shatter all his thoughts and he wants to clutch at the pieces before they float away.
“Will you come back?”
“I don’t know. I can’t trust you to always be here, can I?” She kicks at his foot with the toe of her shoe and he can’t escape her chocolate brown eyes. “I don’t think I could bear that disappointment.”
“It’s different now.” He says.
He wants to add “I don’t wake up each day wishing it were my last. I’ve moved on.” But he doesn’t.
She condescendingly pats him on the back, her body half turned before she speaks again. “Go to sleep. I can’t see you like this.”
“You used to hate when I fell asleep before finishing a story.” He raises his voice, trying to follow her outside with just the sound.
“I’m not that naive little girl anymore, Roy.” She’s framed in the doorway again and turns to look back at him, the fingers of one hand are dancing to make shapes on the opposite wall.
“I used to think, y’know, about how you were so curious and trusting. I hoped you’d be smarter when you grew up – but I can’t think of a greater tragedy now that I’m faced with it.” He’s reaching, and they both know it. But he’s convinced that if he could just hook her in--
“Pretty hard to hide the devil within when I’ve got my eyes open.” She snaps her head sharply to look over her shoulder and her eyes flicker like an angry cat.
Something has happened to bring out this reaction, something unknown to him. He wonders how hard her life has been before he responds, “You know I don’t hide.”
“No. You’re the evil in plain sight that no-one sees because you’re so busy with misdirection.”
His chin had been somewhat defiant until now, but he’s steadily losing his blustering courage. He begins her name with all the force of a breeze. “Alex—”
“People call me Andrea now.” She cuts him off like the sash of a window as it slams down to secure a room from the outside wind.
“Afraid of your warrior roots?” He asks softly, almost resigned.
“Not nearly as afraid as I am of you.” She’s taken a step toward him by now, but she pauses when she sees the hurt on his face. “Sorry. I can’t help it, you know.”
“You had to grow up sometime. And being angrier is easier.”
“Like hell it is.”
A silence embraces them both and he feels claustrophobic.
He thinks that he scares himself now. It’s mostly hate, though. He hates that she pities him now. He wants to scream loud enough that it will scrape the look off her face.
“I used to be a wonder.” He tries not to notice that his eyes sting and his voice cracks like he’s at her wedding again.
“That’s not my fault.” She shuffles her feet again, as if her body must be constantly moving and the action produces a short series of muffled thumps that seem to ring against his brain despite being across the room.
“No. Don’t s’pose it is.” He looks down at her practical shoes and he hates them automatically. He wants to yell at her to take them off; to run around in her stockings. “I’ll keep you in my thoughts. Every time I eat an orange.”
“I’ll see you ever time I go to a show.”
“Even if you don’t want to.” He smirks half-heartedly, truly sorry that she’s cursed with the memory of him. He realises he’s sorry for this afternoon. It’s not how he wants this to end.
Seeming to read his mind she whispers, “I don’t mind much, you’re always the hero in the films.”
“It’s a happier ending than any I could imagine.”
“Me too.” He answers.
He doesn’t expect her to smile at that, but she surprises him again and grants him one more look at her crinkled cheeks and teeth. Her smile doesn’t falter even when she walks toward him in her clunky shoes and he’s reminded of musty linen that’s been passed down too many generations, but is still used and loved because it’s been dried in the sun and smells of light.
She moves his chair to face the window and gently lays a hand on his shoulder. They stand there, observing all the actors of a different sort of story. He’s about to ask her about the sick author of this tale when he shifts his head and realises that she’s left already without him noticing it.
He turns back to the street.
(like what you see? watch this comm!)
sometimes we fool ourselves, sometimes we fool others (pg)
Roy, Alexandria (The Fall)
1,300 words
She walks toward him with purpose and that scares him. No one comes to talk to him these days.
Not unless they have to.
Her mouth slips into a comfortable smile, like she can see right through to his heart and knows that there was a time before it was black and scarred.
He holds out his hand at first, expecting an introduction from this stranger but she’s always been blunt and begins their conversation from the middle, like they had only been stopped in Act Two and the intermission was twenty years long.
“I thought I saw you.” She says with the slight trace of an accent. “All the time!”
She waits for his hand to drop and shifts her weight from foot to foot. It takes time for her voice to register and she continues to fill in the silence while his brain tries to place her. “In every flicker.” At this, she seems to catch herself.
“Film.” She corrects, her voice more decided.
Finally the locks tumble into place and he smiles. “You always did have an over-active imagination.”
“You always had a knack for telling lies.”
With that, she cuts to the heart of it and he feels himself go cold. He fidgets uncomfortably under the weight of the memory. He doesn’t want to catch her eyes.
“What?” She asks, seemingly unaware of what she has drug up with her sudden appearance.
“I’m trying to decide if it’s just that your English is better or if you’re more perceptive now.”
“I always saw more than I was meant to. I just understand it better now.”
She has rough, tanned skin and a nose that looks like it was broken without being set properly. Her practical clothes are worn but sturdy and her hair is easily swept out of her eyes with a gentle wave that looks like an attempt at a curl.
“I’m sorry.” He pleads, hoping it will be enough. “I was foolish. And lonely.”
“Don’t. I’m glad that the doctors saved you.” She ignores his raised eyebrow at the word ‘miracle’ and continues. “I don’t have such a miracle to lay claim to. I’m only here today because the church saw fit to take us in after my mother died.”
He decides to move on, resolute that there will always be some things they don’t agree on.
“Perhaps that’s just as well; the orange groves have a reputation.”
“Trust me. This wasn’t much better. Probably as bad as prohibition was on you.” Her face contorts to a sneer and it’s not a good look on her. He ignores the well-placed jibe, she’s far surpassed the days of sounding out letters and she must have seen the marked bottle on his dresser, and tries to steer the conversation back into neutral territory.
“But you’re hearty. You would have survived no matter what. You’ve a knack for it.”
She tries not to roll her eyes, but he can see it in the shrug of her shoulders. She looks at a spot on the wall behind him, intent on avoiding her past.
He wonders if her mother ever remarried, or if--
“No more of your fancy stories and lies. I should leave.” Her soft voice still manages to shatter all his thoughts and he wants to clutch at the pieces before they float away.
“Will you come back?”
“I don’t know. I can’t trust you to always be here, can I?” She kicks at his foot with the toe of her shoe and he can’t escape her chocolate brown eyes. “I don’t think I could bear that disappointment.”
“It’s different now.” He says.
He wants to add “I don’t wake up each day wishing it were my last. I’ve moved on.” But he doesn’t.
She condescendingly pats him on the back, her body half turned before she speaks again. “Go to sleep. I can’t see you like this.”
“You used to hate when I fell asleep before finishing a story.” He raises his voice, trying to follow her outside with just the sound.
“I’m not that naive little girl anymore, Roy.” She’s framed in the doorway again and turns to look back at him, the fingers of one hand are dancing to make shapes on the opposite wall.
“I used to think, y’know, about how you were so curious and trusting. I hoped you’d be smarter when you grew up – but I can’t think of a greater tragedy now that I’m faced with it.” He’s reaching, and they both know it. But he’s convinced that if he could just hook her in--
“Pretty hard to hide the devil within when I’ve got my eyes open.” She snaps her head sharply to look over her shoulder and her eyes flicker like an angry cat.
Something has happened to bring out this reaction, something unknown to him. He wonders how hard her life has been before he responds, “You know I don’t hide.”
“No. You’re the evil in plain sight that no-one sees because you’re so busy with misdirection.”
His chin had been somewhat defiant until now, but he’s steadily losing his blustering courage. He begins her name with all the force of a breeze. “Alex—”
“People call me Andrea now.” She cuts him off like the sash of a window as it slams down to secure a room from the outside wind.
“Afraid of your warrior roots?” He asks softly, almost resigned.
“Not nearly as afraid as I am of you.” She’s taken a step toward him by now, but she pauses when she sees the hurt on his face. “Sorry. I can’t help it, you know.”
“You had to grow up sometime. And being angrier is easier.”
“Like hell it is.”
A silence embraces them both and he feels claustrophobic.
He thinks that he scares himself now. It’s mostly hate, though. He hates that she pities him now. He wants to scream loud enough that it will scrape the look off her face.
“I used to be a wonder.” He tries not to notice that his eyes sting and his voice cracks like he’s at her wedding again.
“That’s not my fault.” She shuffles her feet again, as if her body must be constantly moving and the action produces a short series of muffled thumps that seem to ring against his brain despite being across the room.
“No. Don’t s’pose it is.” He looks down at her practical shoes and he hates them automatically. He wants to yell at her to take them off; to run around in her stockings. “I’ll keep you in my thoughts. Every time I eat an orange.”
“I’ll see you ever time I go to a show.”
“Even if you don’t want to.” He smirks half-heartedly, truly sorry that she’s cursed with the memory of him. He realises he’s sorry for this afternoon. It’s not how he wants this to end.
Seeming to read his mind she whispers, “I don’t mind much, you’re always the hero in the films.”
“It’s a happier ending than any I could imagine.”
“Me too.” He answers.
He doesn’t expect her to smile at that, but she surprises him again and grants him one more look at her crinkled cheeks and teeth. Her smile doesn’t falter even when she walks toward him in her clunky shoes and he’s reminded of musty linen that’s been passed down too many generations, but is still used and loved because it’s been dried in the sun and smells of light.
She moves his chair to face the window and gently lays a hand on his shoulder. They stand there, observing all the actors of a different sort of story. He’s about to ask her about the sick author of this tale when he shifts his head and realises that she’s left already without him noticing it.
He turns back to the street.
(like what you see? watch this comm!)
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no subject
Date: 2009-02-26 11:39 pm (UTC)Very well-written, though! After all, all that anger inside Alexandria made me hurt as much as it did Roy in your fic.
Good work!
no subject
Date: 2009-03-01 01:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-27 01:01 am (UTC)“You always had a knack for telling lies.”
Ouch. I love this hardened version of Alexandria, but it's such a harsh flip from her innocence in the film. And you write it so well! I could see this whole scene play out in front of me.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-01 01:36 am (UTC)I'm glad that you could see it though! This has been resting on my computer since I first saw the film.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-01 07:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-01 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-25 12:50 am (UTC)I really enjoyed it, I was intrigued by these older versions of Roy and Alexandria. Their interactions felt very honest and real. And heart-breaking. Nicely written and emotionally affecting.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-26 07:44 pm (UTC)