The Marquis de All The Knives (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2015-03-14 09:17 pm
balsamandash) wrote in rainbowfic2015-03-14 09:17 pm
Clean Again, Halloween Orange, Pearls of Wisdom
Name: August (formerly Morgan/thelinesoflearning)
Story: No Child is Spared
Colors: Clean Again #2, "Full and Strong"; Halloween Orange #25, "No one gets to tell me if I've lost or if I've won."; Pearls of Wisdom #11, "Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have, or sleep all you want."
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Clean Again)
Word Count: 773
Rating: G
Warnings: Nothing I can think of.
Notes: I can write. I can totally write. It hasn't been a year since I posted, what are you talking about. Here's hoping this is not a one-time resurgence. Also I am pleased to finally write for this character; she's been mentioned in passing in fics before but I adore her and have been meaning to write about her properly, so here we are. Also, she is British and I am so, so not, so any commentary on what's probably my English-culture-fail is welcome. Or comments in general, but.
At fourteen, Meg is bright and bold and not quite beautiful yet, still growing into her long limbs and deciding if she wants to be pretty. She has the face for it, but she hides it behind hats and hair just long enough to get in her face, dulls it with sweat and scrapes and band-aids. Pretty girls get a kind of attention she's not sure she wants.
Her grandmother calls her a healthy-looking girl, with her legs toned from running and her cheeks flushed from activity. Her father calls her sharp with a smile, knowing he'll never have to worry about his oldest, who knows very well how to say no and how to back it up with her fists.
Her mother coaxes her to dress a little nicer, to learn to do her make-up, to cut her hair short or let it grow a little more. "Not all the time," she says, because she loves her daughter as she is, with her scabby knees and threadbare jumpers, "but you might enjoy it, once in a while."
Her mother talks her into giving it a try one night, her uncle's birthday at a nice restaurant, and she doesn't want to embarrass her parents with the holes in her best trousers or the dirt on her trainers, so she agrees. A pretty blouse, a low pair of heels, fifteen minutes with her eyes closed on the edge of the tub, her mother working wonders with her makeup kit. Meg stands when she's told, slides her feet into the stiff new shoes, takes two small steps to the mirror.
There's the same face looking back at her as always; her eyes, her simple hairband, and the same scar pale against her temple that she's had for years. But there's something else too, something in the balance of how she holds herself, something about her smile that's more confident even as it spreads slow and shy across her face. No one would hesitate to call this girl in the mirror beautiful, and maybe, Meg thinks, that's not so bad.
There's still something sharp in her eyes, the spark her father finds such a relief, and a little lipstick won't stop her from throwing a punch.
*
The first word people use to describe her as a teenager is smart.
She grows up, she fills out; she learns to do her own make-up, and she also runs a little faster every year. She splits her closet between clothes that are comfortable and easy to move in, and clothes that are lovely and make her feel strong. She gets top grades in everything. She gets a job; she challenges herself not to have to ask for anyone's help, and she learns to budget and spend wisely to live up to the challenge. She learns to flirt, then to date, and leaves more than one boy who won't accept no fast enough with a fat lip. She stands up for herself like she can't trust anyone else to do it for her, and takes her comforts in knowing that's not true. She learns that the more she has to do the sweeter the time she gets to herself becomes, that the loss of a friend will drive her to tears whether they deserve to be cried over or not, that there will never be a better comfort than her mum's shepherd pie.
She learns, takes everything thrown at her and comes through a little stronger than before.
She is bright, and sharp, and lovely, and she doesn't know exactly what else she wants to become yet, but she knows she's damn well equipped to figured out how when she knows.
*
At twenty, Meg is lost. School feels like nothing but learning by rote, names and dates and tests and essays, regurgitating the same facts the teachers give her time and again. Nothing important. Nothing she wants.
She's a smart girl. She always has been. And smart girls like her, girls with a mind and stubborn streak that could change the world if she set it to the right thing, they go to university.
But she doesn't want to change the world, and she's never done something just because it's what girls like her do.
She does it fast, because then she doesn't have to waste time arguing. Leaves school, buys a car, tells her family what she's doing. Takes their goodbyes and their worried glances with as much grace as she can. Packs up what's important.
When she pulls away from her first flat for the last time, it feels like she can breathe for the first time in weeks.
She doesn't know where she's going, but she doesn't feel lost anymore.
thelinesoflearning)Story: No Child is Spared
Colors: Clean Again #2, "Full and Strong"; Halloween Orange #25, "No one gets to tell me if I've lost or if I've won."; Pearls of Wisdom #11, "Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have, or sleep all you want."
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Clean Again)
Word Count: 773
Rating: G
Warnings: Nothing I can think of.
Notes: I can write. I can totally write. It hasn't been a year since I posted, what are you talking about. Here's hoping this is not a one-time resurgence. Also I am pleased to finally write for this character; she's been mentioned in passing in fics before but I adore her and have been meaning to write about her properly, so here we are. Also, she is British and I am so, so not, so any commentary on what's probably my English-culture-fail is welcome. Or comments in general, but.
At fourteen, Meg is bright and bold and not quite beautiful yet, still growing into her long limbs and deciding if she wants to be pretty. She has the face for it, but she hides it behind hats and hair just long enough to get in her face, dulls it with sweat and scrapes and band-aids. Pretty girls get a kind of attention she's not sure she wants.
Her grandmother calls her a healthy-looking girl, with her legs toned from running and her cheeks flushed from activity. Her father calls her sharp with a smile, knowing he'll never have to worry about his oldest, who knows very well how to say no and how to back it up with her fists.
Her mother coaxes her to dress a little nicer, to learn to do her make-up, to cut her hair short or let it grow a little more. "Not all the time," she says, because she loves her daughter as she is, with her scabby knees and threadbare jumpers, "but you might enjoy it, once in a while."
Her mother talks her into giving it a try one night, her uncle's birthday at a nice restaurant, and she doesn't want to embarrass her parents with the holes in her best trousers or the dirt on her trainers, so she agrees. A pretty blouse, a low pair of heels, fifteen minutes with her eyes closed on the edge of the tub, her mother working wonders with her makeup kit. Meg stands when she's told, slides her feet into the stiff new shoes, takes two small steps to the mirror.
There's the same face looking back at her as always; her eyes, her simple hairband, and the same scar pale against her temple that she's had for years. But there's something else too, something in the balance of how she holds herself, something about her smile that's more confident even as it spreads slow and shy across her face. No one would hesitate to call this girl in the mirror beautiful, and maybe, Meg thinks, that's not so bad.
There's still something sharp in her eyes, the spark her father finds such a relief, and a little lipstick won't stop her from throwing a punch.
*
The first word people use to describe her as a teenager is smart.
She grows up, she fills out; she learns to do her own make-up, and she also runs a little faster every year. She splits her closet between clothes that are comfortable and easy to move in, and clothes that are lovely and make her feel strong. She gets top grades in everything. She gets a job; she challenges herself not to have to ask for anyone's help, and she learns to budget and spend wisely to live up to the challenge. She learns to flirt, then to date, and leaves more than one boy who won't accept no fast enough with a fat lip. She stands up for herself like she can't trust anyone else to do it for her, and takes her comforts in knowing that's not true. She learns that the more she has to do the sweeter the time she gets to herself becomes, that the loss of a friend will drive her to tears whether they deserve to be cried over or not, that there will never be a better comfort than her mum's shepherd pie.
She learns, takes everything thrown at her and comes through a little stronger than before.
She is bright, and sharp, and lovely, and she doesn't know exactly what else she wants to become yet, but she knows she's damn well equipped to figured out how when she knows.
*
At twenty, Meg is lost. School feels like nothing but learning by rote, names and dates and tests and essays, regurgitating the same facts the teachers give her time and again. Nothing important. Nothing she wants.
She's a smart girl. She always has been. And smart girls like her, girls with a mind and stubborn streak that could change the world if she set it to the right thing, they go to university.
But she doesn't want to change the world, and she's never done something just because it's what girls like her do.
She does it fast, because then she doesn't have to waste time arguing. Leaves school, buys a car, tells her family what she's doing. Takes their goodbyes and their worried glances with as much grace as she can. Packs up what's important.
When she pulls away from her first flat for the last time, it feels like she can breathe for the first time in weeks.
She doesn't know where she's going, but she doesn't feel lost anymore.