phinnia: smiling dolphin face (fallen angel)
Because she asked. And because Anneka, for some reason, reminds me of her.

He had a thousand memories of Anneka, all melted together into one long flash-fiction-filmstrip of frozen imagery; Anneka as the so-called demure Miss van Slaant, a pencil between her teeth and a mischevous glint in her eyes; Anneka drinking one of a hundred cups of chai, the steam twining around blonde streaks of hair. Anneka sleeping, face peaceful and serene, her hand curled just-slightly around the silver locket that fell between her breasts.
But mostly dancing.
On the weekends they would go out clubbing, and in the early hours of the evening he tried to keep up: but after a few hours he tired and fell aside, was ignored in favour of the primal, synthesized rhythms that thickly swirled around her feet like oil paints on a canvas. That was when she was most beautiful; his own perceptions half-fogged by sugared pineapple drinks and the sweat and funk of a thousand people between them, he still remembered her flowing, sensual body, the kiss of note and embrace of flashing lights.
He knew her secret. Perhaps better than anyone.
For her, dancing was foreplay and sex and afterglow all by itself. And it had never felt so delicious to be so wholly unnecessary.
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
She goes through a thousand moods a day; a veritable Crayola fun-pack of emotion, every hour a new colour that blends into the last with hardly a flicker and the next with no complaint.
The dull sleep-hazed yellow-green of morning becomes an angry yellow-orange if the coffee's held up, threatening to become orange-red if the grey calm of tobacco isn't there to smooth the edges on her jangled nerves; an exotic multilayered rainbow boredom cocktail cultivates itself around late morning as she stalks around the apartment trailing cigarette smoke and lace, deciding the mark today's feathers are to make on the landscape. Warm tan coloured coffee saturates the palette; the colours pick up speed, become more vibrant as the day goes on. Brilliant greens and glittering purples, warm fleeting pink mixed with the calm serenity of blue - her eyes, the quick smile over her fruit plate, her favorite shoes; the lipsticked kiss of her mouth, the white-gold ring she turns around and around on her finger as she thinks, the opal within carrying its own rainbow. A thousand colours for a hundred thousand moments, refracted through the prism to show themselves and then back again into a single uncarved beam of light.
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (fallen angel)
The cards riffled and slid between his fingers, fluttering like birds' wings as he shuffled and dealt them across their blondewood kitchen table. Five cards for her, and five for himself; he picked up the fanfold of diamond patterned cards and peered over them mischeviously at his opponent.
She was sitting there, cool and serene, completely unaffected by the fact that most of her clothes were a distant memory crumpled on the floor beside her.
"So, love, what are ye waitin' fer then?"
"I'm thinking." Anneka pouted, chewing on her lip and shivering gently as a cool breeze caressed her on its way through the window.
"If yer waitin' fer a train, I really think yer outta luck."
Continued. )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
She shouldn't have been smoking in bed, of course. But what else was she supposed to do? They were in a goddamned hotel room, and only on the third floor, so it wasn't like she was really able to get out of bed and wander around unless she felt like getting dressed, which she didn't.

Although the idea of giving the night desk clerk - who was about eighty-three and balding and got noticeably sweatier whenever she came into the room - a somewhat terrifying thrill was enough to make her grin mischeviously in the dim yellow light.

Evan was lying next to her sleeping like the dead - assuming the dead snored like ravening wild beasts arguing over a kill, of course. With the noise he was making there was no way he'd be mistaken for dead. Unless you were stone deaf. She sighed and killed him with a withering stare, which he ignored.
continued... )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
(I have no idea why this turned out this way. It kind of reminds me of some of [livejournal.com profile] thenowhere's pieces, a little bit. Which is cool. Weird, but it's been aptly proven that I can't control them, they control me.)

The spark of a cigarette - legal? Doubtful, in her case - flares up in the dimly lit room as she inhales and blows a smoke ring across the row of bus-station seats. I refrain from asking her where she got her stash here, given that it's outside of every known time and place; I suppose this can be said to explain that fact in and of itself. There is no logic here. The green room, they've taken to calling it.

The room of nowhen. Time doesn't pass here, even as slowly as it does at the guildhall. It exists, and yet does not. It exists between seconds and does not.

What I wasn't expecting is to find that it looks so much like a Greyhound bus station; walls dully tinted with institutional paint, the brilliant buzz and hum of instututional lighting. There's a few old video games in the corner - Evan's playing Pac-Man at the moment. Alex is standing by the window, staring into nothing. Sarah is dozing on and off, curled up on a blanket on the floor, under Alex's light spring windbreaker. There's even a soda machine, a candy machine, and a lousy diner-style restaurant where food appears and disappears at mealtimes. No people. Just food.
Continued. )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
(This week's [livejournal.com profile] non_plot challenge was 'differences'. And these two are occasionally the most different married couple around.)

"Come on."

Anneka was standing at the top of the stairs to the subway, the flowing tangles of her hair caught by the upward breeze, tapping her foot impatiently.

"I'm comin'." Evan was kneeling before her, studiously lacing up his boots. "Keep yer damn skirt on. It's only seven-thirty."

"We're supposed to be there at eight. And I would have liked to be early. No thanks to you."

"Who was it that was loungin' around in the bathroom fer an hour then?" Evan asked with a raised eyebrow.
Her, of course. Need you ask? )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
Anneka is the mistress of denial, and she's occasionally about as deep as a teacup ... at least on the surface, anyway. But occasionally twinges of regret get through the wall, whether she likes it or not. (Which she doesn't.)
On the train from Paris to Amsterdam ... )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
(Another digression. Poem's not mine, but it spoke to me. And I love it. So ... well, yeah. It's interesting what's inspiring. The last time something like this happened was probably when I was inspired by a brownie recipe.)

Trish popped a chocolate in her mouth. "Want one?"

"No." Anneka replied tartly, turning a page in the Anne Rice book she was reading as though it were the book's fault she was in a bad mood. "Keep your damn chocolates to yourself."

"Testy." Trish unwrapped another of the silver-covered bonbons. "You're just grumpy because I have a valentine and you don't."

"Were you always this perceptive or did you get this knowledge through your magic-eight-ball?" Anneka sniffed. "I don't care about any dumb holiday. I have PMS, if you must know."
She's a liar, but I love her. )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
(Crossposted to [livejournal.com profile] drabblemania. No one else was interested in this one (literally, they were all completely nonverbal), so I had to deviate from the Jack/Allanna theme. Oh well. It's not bad anyway.)

The knife was cool. She was acutely aware of the sensual metal curve - it was surprisingly light, the blunted steel edge cutting into her hand without breaking the skin, pinched between her first finger and thumb.
In front of her was the chosen target.
"Hands out." Ross whispered in her ear, his hands bracketing her waist. "Now pull the right one back, your hand behind your ear. Good. Now pull your arm back ... and snap your arm forward and let go of the knife. And don't hesitate."
The knife flew forward, a spinning arc ... then wobbled and fell to the floor with a clatter.
"You hesitated." he said mildly, walking across the room and picking up the knife. "I told you not to hesitate."
"Shut up." she glared at him, feeling the acidic burn of failure in her throat and hiding it behind the blue fire in her eyes. She snatched the knife from his hand again, snapped the blade forward - it flew toward the target in a swirl of metallic grey and stuck, point first, in the corkboard.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Very good."
"Of course it was." she retorted, stalking toward the corkboard and pulling the knife out with one smooth movement.
"Again." He sat down on the window seat and leaned back indolently, his dark eyes meeting her blue ones, a slight smile on his face. "Just pretend you're throwing it at me again."
Her face flushed slightly. She hadn't thought she was being so obvious.
Ross smirked, noticing her pink cheeks. "How do you plant dope?"
"How?" Anneka gritted her teeth slightly, hands out, trying to concentrate.
"Bury a blonde."
"Shut up!"
The knife flew through the air again, cutting the ripples of Ross's laughter in its path.
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (fallen angel)
"Jacky?"

Jack looked up from his sandwich and book to find Anneka smiling flirtatiously at him. "Yeah, what?"

"Can you get me another Perrier?"

"Sure." Jack got to his feet and started rummaging through the cooler, digging through the ice and remembering the snowball fights of his younger days for some reason. On his way back, something occured to him.

Anneka had been closer to the cooler in the first place.
Pull my strings, make me dance to your song ... )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
([livejournal.com profile] non_plot challenge: Character flaws.)

How many character flaws can you count? She's vain, she's shallow, she's petty, she's occasionally downright mean, and she has far too many pairs of shoes ... but she's still loveable in spite of them all. And Jack has the patience of a saint and the tactical ability of Ghengis Khan.

Shopping cures all kinds of ills. )

Static

Apr. 19th, 2004 12:07 pm
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (temporal chaos)
Another [livejournal.com profile] non_plot challenge: this one's all about dialogue. So yeah, it's talky. It's supposed to be.
Some things are best handled over the phone. )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (gerbera)
Anneka sighed glumly and stared out the window at the downpour, flicking the tab on an empty soda can with her nails.
Suddenly the can shimmered, flickered, and she held a pink rose between her palms.
"Yer welcome." Evan replied offhandedly, amused blue eyes darting back to the football game.
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
Evan's always saying that if he didn't have bad luck he wouldn't have any at all. Who knew it was tied to his underwear?

He's got interesting priorities in life. )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (string theory)
And now for something completely different - from the [livejournal.com profile] non_plot challenge about fairy tales.
Tell me a story, tell me a story, tell me a story and then I'll go to bed. )
phinnia: smiling dolphin face (Default)
The beach was bitterly cold and windy, and Anneka wasn't dressed for it at all. At all. Her hair whipped around her face, tangling; she kicked off her shoes, burying her feet into the wet, dark sand that was turning to mud. The water eddied around her toes, and she watched them clinically as they turned paler, almost blue with the cold. The last breaths of sun were just barely visible over the horizon.
He came up behind her then; she could hear him breathing, almost feel the warmth coming off of him spilling into the air. The heavy weight of his jacket was suddenly across her shoulders; the icy scent of Japanese cologne and leather filled her nose, the zipper was cold against her skin.
"We should go." Ross said softly after a moment.
"I don't want to."
"I know you don't. I don't either. But we should." He sighed. "Damnit. I hate being the responsible one."
She turned to face him, wind stinging her tear-filled eyes. "How the hell could you do this to me?"
He literally staggered back from that. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Things can never be the same now. I can't just go back there ... I can't just go back and pretend that nothing ever happened, wake up Monday morning and sit on the other side of the room and pretend that it's just Professor Matthews and Miss van Slaant again."
"It's not like it's going to be any easier for me, you know." he snapped. The wind picked up again, waves slapping the shore and spreading faint traces of white foam across the flattened sand. "I mean, I'm supposed to just forget all about everything? I'm supposed to just be happy with saying 'hi' in the morning and idle bullshit chatter after this weekend? It was hard enough not to just throw myself at you before. Now it's damn near impossible."
"Will you shut up?" she screamed into the wind. "All you talk about is you. What about me?"
"What about me?" he retorted.
They fell silent then. The wind howled lonely, whipping up spirals of saltwater. She started walking barefoot across the beach, pulling her feet out of the mini-quicklakes that had formed around them, striding away in some random direction. Pain sliced her instep, and she squealed, falling to her knees. The sand around her was reddening.
He was there again, all defiance and pain forgotten for the moment, holding her injured foot tenderly, kissing the white, sand-covered skin and leaving traces of mud across his lips. "Let me see it."
She winced as he splashed salty water across the wound, but said nothing, teeth clenched.
"Just a cut, angel." he murmured quietly. "Where's your shoes?"
"I have no idea." she confessed. "Somewhere."
Digging around in the sand, he found the culprit - a half-broken sand dollar wedged break-side-up in the muck - and fondled it for a moment, turning it around in his hands. Suddenly, he drew the sharp edge across his palm; redness oozed to the surface.
"Fuck the lot of them." he shook his head suddenly. "We can be discreet. If they don't like it they can goddamn fire me for all I care. And good riddance anyway."
"Weekends?" she murmured.
"Weekends. The occasional illicit evening. Summer. What we do on our own time is our own business." He broke the sand dollar in half again and handed part of it to her, putting the other half in the pocket of his jeans. "People that care won't talk. And people that talk, I don't care about."
She scrambled to her feet, slipping the sand dollar in her purse. "I ... I'm sorry."
"I am too." he murmured in her ear, standing up. "We'll leave in the morning. I - I don't want this weekend to end like this. Come on. Let's find your shoes, and eat, and spend one last night together."
"For a while." she corrected.
"For a while." he nodded. "Yes. Exactly that."

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January 2013

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