Bwah! to deb.
And I loved ita's fairy tale reference.
Let's see what I can do with this one....
Mal ,'Jaynestown'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Bwah! to deb.
And I loved ita's fairy tale reference.
Let's see what I can do with this one....
Remember the girl who got scooped up by a press gang in 1799 or so in the key scene drabble from a few weeks ago? Well, she's back. I can't wait to finish my current novel so I can tell her story....
She can still wear her old dresses, but not the shoes. Five years in men’s boots or scrambling barefoot in the rigging have left her feet too wide and coarse for the silken dancing slippers and dainty kid half-boots her girl-self wore in that distant former life. The maid is dismayed, but Elizabeth shrugs. It’s not as if she could possibly pick up a splinter or even a speck of dirt going barefoot in a house as immaculate as Hardingstone Place. But the maid is unyielding. And so Lady Elizabeth Gordon, late master’s mate of HMS Hermione, goes down to breakfast with her husband and her brother clad in a dress half a decade out of date and the second housemaid’s best shoes.
Oh, hell, Susan. That's perfect period, that is.
t blushes
Thanks!
Very nice shoes drabbles.
In honor of having finally caught up in this thread (Yay! Fairy Tales! Murder! Brrr, ita!) I have a drabble!
Shoes
Our therapist is laughing at me as I tell her about the pediatric orthopedist and how he says the baby shouldn’t wear shoes unless they’re very soft-soled and then only when necessary for protection. I’m so excited, I babble, “Babies with poor vision use their feet, like eyes, to provide information about their world.”
She’s still laughing as she says, “I know that, but, I’ve never seen any of you in shoes anyway, so I didn’t think to tell you about it.”
This is true. My feet can’t breathe in shoes. My baby’s feet breathe and see for him, too.
Love that, Deena.
Thanks, Astarte. I think maybe I should have named it the anti-shoe. Why can't I drabble fiction? S'weird. At least I got something out this week.
Deena, that's a beautiful, beautiful take.
She looks him up and down. Quickly up, skimming his face, his shirt, his tattoos, papers he has clutched in his fist. And back down again, where her gaze rests on his feet.
She has those boots. Not in black, in maroon.
But they're the same shoes. Maybe he'd gone to X20 too, spoken to the same clerk with the vapid smile.
Maybe he used a credit card, like she had, broke.
Part of her wants to ask these things - but most of her wants to run. Most of her doesn't care where a Neo Nazi buys his Doc Martens.