[Day 7] - Rube & Daisy
Apr. 7th, 2011 08:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lovely_ambitionShe sees him again after Seattle.
It's years later. It's so many years and they've both moved on, but they haven't moved on though Mason and Roxy and pretty little Georgia have. They haven't. He's gotten crankier, if such a thing is possible, and she's become colder under all the silk scarves and her sweet drawl. She thinks that if she were still mortal, she would have given up by now and become one of her very own post-it notes.
Well, maybe not hers. Suicides aren't included in the murder and accident category, after all.
They meet unexpectedly. It's a massacre and she's lingering outside the building with a post-it note stuck to two fingertips, her eyes in the sky as she waits for the corner of an old church to come sliding down when she sees him out of the corner of her eye.
"Daisy Adair," he says.
She's so tired. She's too tired to make a quip and curtsy and so she flashes the briefest of smiles. "Rube," she says, a tinge of sadness to her words. "Funny meeting you here."
"Well," he says, and later he'll tell her about how he waits for the lights every time, but every time, they don't come for him. She'll listen, half-drunk and half-miserable, and know exactly what that's like. "World's a small place, Miss Adair."
"Isn't it, just," she hums.
The building is crashing down and the pleasantries end, for now. Now, it's just another day, name, and time.
It's years later. It's so many years and they've both moved on, but they haven't moved on though Mason and Roxy and pretty little Georgia have. They haven't. He's gotten crankier, if such a thing is possible, and she's become colder under all the silk scarves and her sweet drawl. She thinks that if she were still mortal, she would have given up by now and become one of her very own post-it notes.
Well, maybe not hers. Suicides aren't included in the murder and accident category, after all.
They meet unexpectedly. It's a massacre and she's lingering outside the building with a post-it note stuck to two fingertips, her eyes in the sky as she waits for the corner of an old church to come sliding down when she sees him out of the corner of her eye.
"Daisy Adair," he says.
She's so tired. She's too tired to make a quip and curtsy and so she flashes the briefest of smiles. "Rube," she says, a tinge of sadness to her words. "Funny meeting you here."
"Well," he says, and later he'll tell her about how he waits for the lights every time, but every time, they don't come for him. She'll listen, half-drunk and half-miserable, and know exactly what that's like. "World's a small place, Miss Adair."
"Isn't it, just," she hums.
The building is crashing down and the pleasantries end, for now. Now, it's just another day, name, and time.