freevistas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
freevistas) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2024-01-04 09:40 am
freevistas) wrote in rainbowfic2024-01-04 09:40 am
Entry tags:
Teary-eyed #4: Missed a step
Story: Without Homeland
Colors: Teary-eyed #4: Missed a step
Word Count: 400
Rating: T (alcohol)
Notes: Without Homeland takes places in New London, Connecticut in the 1910s and 1920s. More information and fics can be found at my journal. These fics are short vignettes and character studies and aren't necessarily meant to be read chronologically.
“Careful!” Alba was trying to be quiet, but her whisper was somehow louder than her normal speaking voice. “It’s dark!” And more slurred.
Karol propped himself up against the wall of the narrow staircase, following the vague outline of Alba’s body and the sound of her bootheels clattering on the wooden stairs. Just a few more steps, and he’d be in the attic, where he could finally lie down.
With every step, though, the staircase seemed to tilt and sway, like it was bobbing in the waves; Karol felt seasick, the way he had on those first days crossing the ocean. But no, he wasn’t at sea, and he wasn’t seasick. He was just drunk.
A sliver of light emerged ahead of Karol, then widened, as Alba opened the attic door.
Neither of them knew exactly how Karol fell, or how he’d stopped himself from tumbling all the way down the staircase and spilling onto the kitchen floor. But when Alba turned to smile over her shoulder, she saw Karol lying in a contorted heap halfway down the stairs, looking more confused and abashed than hurt.
“Jesus,” Mairead muttered, stepping into the doorframe. “I told you, if you were going to bring him back here, you needed to be quiet.” She pulled her shawl over her nightgown. “If the Fairchilds knew he was here–”
“I know, I know,” Alba said, unable to formulate more of a response to her friend’s reprimand. The twinge of a headache she’d been ignoring for most of the evening had suddenly exploded in full force behind her eyes. She extended her hand as Karol struggled to right himself.
“Drunk as a pair of skunks, the two of you.” Mairead perched on the edge of her bed, watching as Alba and Karol made their way into the apartment, their arms wrapped around each other, both simultaneously aiding and hindering each other’s progress toward Alba’s bed. Neither of them could see the mischievous twinkle in Mairead’s eye that belied her scolding tone. She was proud of the two of them for letting loose for a change–even if, being a couple of teetotaling bookworms, they apparently didn’t quite know how to handle their alcohol.
“The next time you two decide to have a wild night on the town,” she said, turning out the oil lamp on the little desk beside her bed, “how about you invite me along?”
Colors: Teary-eyed #4: Missed a step
Word Count: 400
Rating: T (alcohol)
Notes: Without Homeland takes places in New London, Connecticut in the 1910s and 1920s. More information and fics can be found at my journal. These fics are short vignettes and character studies and aren't necessarily meant to be read chronologically.
“Careful!” Alba was trying to be quiet, but her whisper was somehow louder than her normal speaking voice. “It’s dark!” And more slurred.
Karol propped himself up against the wall of the narrow staircase, following the vague outline of Alba’s body and the sound of her bootheels clattering on the wooden stairs. Just a few more steps, and he’d be in the attic, where he could finally lie down.
With every step, though, the staircase seemed to tilt and sway, like it was bobbing in the waves; Karol felt seasick, the way he had on those first days crossing the ocean. But no, he wasn’t at sea, and he wasn’t seasick. He was just drunk.
A sliver of light emerged ahead of Karol, then widened, as Alba opened the attic door.
Neither of them knew exactly how Karol fell, or how he’d stopped himself from tumbling all the way down the staircase and spilling onto the kitchen floor. But when Alba turned to smile over her shoulder, she saw Karol lying in a contorted heap halfway down the stairs, looking more confused and abashed than hurt.
“Jesus,” Mairead muttered, stepping into the doorframe. “I told you, if you were going to bring him back here, you needed to be quiet.” She pulled her shawl over her nightgown. “If the Fairchilds knew he was here–”
“I know, I know,” Alba said, unable to formulate more of a response to her friend’s reprimand. The twinge of a headache she’d been ignoring for most of the evening had suddenly exploded in full force behind her eyes. She extended her hand as Karol struggled to right himself.
“Drunk as a pair of skunks, the two of you.” Mairead perched on the edge of her bed, watching as Alba and Karol made their way into the apartment, their arms wrapped around each other, both simultaneously aiding and hindering each other’s progress toward Alba’s bed. Neither of them could see the mischievous twinkle in Mairead’s eye that belied her scolding tone. She was proud of the two of them for letting loose for a change–even if, being a couple of teetotaling bookworms, they apparently didn’t quite know how to handle their alcohol.
“The next time you two decide to have a wild night on the town,” she said, turning out the oil lamp on the little desk beside her bed, “how about you invite me along?”