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fh_fic2006-04-03 09:15 pm
cerulean--eyes.livejournal.com) wrote in fh_fic2006-04-03 09:15 pm
Entry tags:
Complexities of Basic Interaction Part 1
Title: Complexities of Basic Interaction
Part: 1/??
Characters: Many, eventually.
Note: Sorry for the length - or lack thereof. This barely qualifies as a teaser. Style in the first scene is a nod to Matthew Stover.
The Complexities of Basic Interaction
Act I: The Case of the Other
"We never forget those who make us blush."
- Jean-François De La Harpe
This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker, in this moment:
You miss her.
For once, your thoughts are not focused on the angel that lies in wait for you on the surface of the planet, the seraph that somehow has the power to dominate your life and steal your thoughts away. Tonight, you can only reflect on another girl, with dark hair that was always free to run your fingers through and hazel eyes that could always catch you off guard with their warmth. You dream of a girl that did not of the quiet strength of the self-possessed older woman, but rather the vibrant, naïve charm that could only come with innocence and youth.
Thinking of her makes you think of winter, as it always does. Winter with its beautiful, breathless chill – so different from the eternal smog of Coruscant, or the dry, barren heat that always accompanied your days on Tatooine, days that make you burn within to remember, even now. You dream of a cold winter, where your breath crystallized in the air before you and the wind forced everyone to walk, head bowed, against the biting chill. However, her embrace – and a closet-sized dorm room where you spent so many hours, enraptured by her intoxicating presence, reveling in the feeling of a shared secret – was always warm, and you cannot recall if that was face or just a pleasant trick of memory.
It is enough to make you think of peace – of that sweet sense of tranquility she tended to inspire, so different from that all-consuming passion, that supernova that could set the very night sky aflame.
Your feelings for her were – are – softer, simpler.
With her, the stars did not smolder intimately, merely shone at a tender, romantic distance. Like glitter, spilled over a utilitarian gray carpet when a gentle, coaxing kiss caught you off guard, silver fragments reflecting light.
***
"You're nothing short of my everything."
- Ralph Block
In a metropolis where there seemed to be a coffeehouse on every corner, the sight of two young men nestled close together in the corner of a small booth hardly stood out. In fact, every coffeehouse on every corner was filled with such happy young couples, steam wreathing upwards and twisting about their faces as they chatted quietly of the newest gossip on the streets, or simply gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. The relaxing interiors and small, circular tables with large comfortable chairs was an open invitation for such couples, offering an oasis of calm in the midst of the busy lifestyle living in the city demanded.
At one such table sat two young men who had positioned the chairs so they were next to each other and facing the window. They sat in silence, simply enjoying each other's company and letting the smells waft around them. One had his head resting on the other's shoulder as he played with the steam from his cup, a small smile playing on his face. When he caught the amused look from his lover, he offered a sheepish grin before returning his hand to his side and his eyes out to the window, watching the world rush by. A head came to rest softly on top of his and he smiled, nuzzling his head into the warm shoulder offered to him.
It was nothing spectacular - nothing more than a pair of young lovers nuzzled close together in one of a thousand coffee shops, finding no greater joy than being at each others' side. It was a scene that probably played out hundreds of times a day in similar places all over the world, across town, across the street, in those very seats.
Part: 1/??
Characters: Many, eventually.
Note: Sorry for the length - or lack thereof. This barely qualifies as a teaser. Style in the first scene is a nod to Matthew Stover.
The Complexities of Basic Interaction
Act I: The Case of the Other
- Jean-François De La Harpe
This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker, in this moment:
You miss her.
For once, your thoughts are not focused on the angel that lies in wait for you on the surface of the planet, the seraph that somehow has the power to dominate your life and steal your thoughts away. Tonight, you can only reflect on another girl, with dark hair that was always free to run your fingers through and hazel eyes that could always catch you off guard with their warmth. You dream of a girl that did not of the quiet strength of the self-possessed older woman, but rather the vibrant, naïve charm that could only come with innocence and youth.
Thinking of her makes you think of winter, as it always does. Winter with its beautiful, breathless chill – so different from the eternal smog of Coruscant, or the dry, barren heat that always accompanied your days on Tatooine, days that make you burn within to remember, even now. You dream of a cold winter, where your breath crystallized in the air before you and the wind forced everyone to walk, head bowed, against the biting chill. However, her embrace – and a closet-sized dorm room where you spent so many hours, enraptured by her intoxicating presence, reveling in the feeling of a shared secret – was always warm, and you cannot recall if that was face or just a pleasant trick of memory.
It is enough to make you think of peace – of that sweet sense of tranquility she tended to inspire, so different from that all-consuming passion, that supernova that could set the very night sky aflame.
Your feelings for her were – are – softer, simpler.
With her, the stars did not smolder intimately, merely shone at a tender, romantic distance. Like glitter, spilled over a utilitarian gray carpet when a gentle, coaxing kiss caught you off guard, silver fragments reflecting light.
"You're nothing short of my everything."
- Ralph Block
In a metropolis where there seemed to be a coffeehouse on every corner, the sight of two young men nestled close together in the corner of a small booth hardly stood out. In fact, every coffeehouse on every corner was filled with such happy young couples, steam wreathing upwards and twisting about their faces as they chatted quietly of the newest gossip on the streets, or simply gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. The relaxing interiors and small, circular tables with large comfortable chairs was an open invitation for such couples, offering an oasis of calm in the midst of the busy lifestyle living in the city demanded.
At one such table sat two young men who had positioned the chairs so they were next to each other and facing the window. They sat in silence, simply enjoying each other's company and letting the smells waft around them. One had his head resting on the other's shoulder as he played with the steam from his cup, a small smile playing on his face. When he caught the amused look from his lover, he offered a sheepish grin before returning his hand to his side and his eyes out to the window, watching the world rush by. A head came to rest softly on top of his and he smiled, nuzzling his head into the warm shoulder offered to him.
It was nothing spectacular - nothing more than a pair of young lovers nuzzled close together in one of a thousand coffee shops, finding no greater joy than being at each others' side. It was a scene that probably played out hundreds of times a day in similar places all over the world, across town, across the street, in those very seats.