Fic: Shadows on the Outside, PG
Mar. 10th, 2007 10:52 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
zippitgood.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseTitle: Shadows on the Outside
Author: Zippit
Fandom: Rent
Prompt: #33 - Hopi (2.1 = Attempt 2, Fic 1)
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 686
Author's Note(s): Something about this fic doesn't seem right. I like the idea that inspired it but the writing doesn't seem to get the whole grasp of the idea. Probably cause I don't have a good hold on the characters yet because it's new fandom I'm writing in again.
Disclaimer: Rent and all its characters are the property of their creators and the actors that portray them. I'm just borrowing. They're not mine, I only wish they were. Thank you, Jonathan Larson.
Summary: A day gone wrong brings shadows out to play.
Shadows on the Outside
There’s an old Hopi legend, he’s vague on the details, about the protector and its importance in the lives of those around it. He’s not sure what it all means but lately he’s felt more and more like the legend.
An old woman, a Hopi he thinks, pressed an idol of the protector into his hand. She was on the corner of eleventh. Dark and desolate, streetlights probably broken by one of the various street gangs prowling the area, she’d grabbed his hand and pressed the object into his palm before ebbing into the shadows once more.
He never got a glimpse of her, so quick did everything happen, not even knowing why he knew it was a ‘she’ and leaving him with an idol he barely knew the history behind. He tucked it into his pocket and headed home, keeping his experience to himself. Roger wasn’t home like always, out with Mimi, like normal.
Unwinding his scarf, he gazes around at the idol in the other hand then around his room, setting it amid the cluttered reels of film on his shelf. Somehow it’s in the center of the mess and projecting a soothing presence over the whole room.
He works on his film through the late hours of the night, only sinking into bed when the images blur before his eye, half reality and half images from his mind.
The next morning when he stumbles from bed, the loft’s still as empty as it was last night. He doesn’t drink coffee but he needs something warm. Emptying out the pot and making a new batch, his mind running over possible locations he can squeeze in after work. He grimaces, he hates Buzzline, but it pays.
His film is relatively complete, not that he’s told anyone, not that they would care. It’s a small reprieve to the chanting of ‘sellout’ in his soul. It’s too quiet. He trudges over to the window and turns on the stereo sitting beside it, the soothing refrains of Roger’s voice flowing through the loft and bringing warmth he could never hope to duplicate by himself.
He settles on the window ledge and watches the wakening city, head leaned back against the wall, warm cup clutched between his hands… he wakes to the screech of Alexi’s voice through the answering machine demanding why he hasn’t shown up for work. SHIT!
Scatter, rush, rush, out the door with a slam.
~*~
No one’s there to take care of him. No one knows. Gunshots whizzing over his head, heart in his throat and all the movies he never made flashing through his eyes. Who’s there to take care of Mark?
No one.
Checked out and fine. Asked questions. Footage Alexi wants. Camera safe, tucked around in his bag. Hold it together, don’t let it show.
Walk through the door, red flash of messages on the machine. Can’t care. Doesn’t care. Unplugs the phone, no one calls anyway. Through the doorway to his room, camera placed upon the desk, falls face forward onto the bed. Detach, detach, detach.
~*~
Curled into the covers of his bed, coat tugged as close around him, scarf tucked close to his mouth, barriers against the things he doesn’t want to acknowledge. Tilt his head and gaze at the clock mounted on the wall, Buzzline should be airing now. Close his eyes and try to sleep. Need to pull himself together soon.
~*~
Wake to harsh hands pulling him upright and crushing him to a chest. Bleary eyes open and try to fight for coherence, something, someone trembling against him. Tilts head up and Roger?
Maureen, Joanne, Mimi, he could understand but Roger?
“Roger… I’m fine. Where’s Mimi?” Calm, normal, Mark.
His shoulders gripped in two hands and green eyes search his. “The footage… then the phone….” A shake of Roger’s head, unruly with curls, and it’s amazing the things Mark notices at moments of crisis.
“I’m fine. It was nothing. We’ve heard plenty of the same around here.” He eases from his grip and gives him a smile. A shadow of everything he normally means by it.
Author: Zippit
Fandom: Rent
Prompt: #33 - Hopi (2.1 = Attempt 2, Fic 1)
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 686
Author's Note(s): Something about this fic doesn't seem right. I like the idea that inspired it but the writing doesn't seem to get the whole grasp of the idea. Probably cause I don't have a good hold on the characters yet because it's new fandom I'm writing in again.
Disclaimer: Rent and all its characters are the property of their creators and the actors that portray them. I'm just borrowing. They're not mine, I only wish they were. Thank you, Jonathan Larson.
Summary: A day gone wrong brings shadows out to play.
Shadows on the Outside
There’s an old Hopi legend, he’s vague on the details, about the protector and its importance in the lives of those around it. He’s not sure what it all means but lately he’s felt more and more like the legend.
An old woman, a Hopi he thinks, pressed an idol of the protector into his hand. She was on the corner of eleventh. Dark and desolate, streetlights probably broken by one of the various street gangs prowling the area, she’d grabbed his hand and pressed the object into his palm before ebbing into the shadows once more.
He never got a glimpse of her, so quick did everything happen, not even knowing why he knew it was a ‘she’ and leaving him with an idol he barely knew the history behind. He tucked it into his pocket and headed home, keeping his experience to himself. Roger wasn’t home like always, out with Mimi, like normal.
Unwinding his scarf, he gazes around at the idol in the other hand then around his room, setting it amid the cluttered reels of film on his shelf. Somehow it’s in the center of the mess and projecting a soothing presence over the whole room.
He works on his film through the late hours of the night, only sinking into bed when the images blur before his eye, half reality and half images from his mind.
The next morning when he stumbles from bed, the loft’s still as empty as it was last night. He doesn’t drink coffee but he needs something warm. Emptying out the pot and making a new batch, his mind running over possible locations he can squeeze in after work. He grimaces, he hates Buzzline, but it pays.
His film is relatively complete, not that he’s told anyone, not that they would care. It’s a small reprieve to the chanting of ‘sellout’ in his soul. It’s too quiet. He trudges over to the window and turns on the stereo sitting beside it, the soothing refrains of Roger’s voice flowing through the loft and bringing warmth he could never hope to duplicate by himself.
He settles on the window ledge and watches the wakening city, head leaned back against the wall, warm cup clutched between his hands… he wakes to the screech of Alexi’s voice through the answering machine demanding why he hasn’t shown up for work. SHIT!
Scatter, rush, rush, out the door with a slam.
~*~
No one’s there to take care of him. No one knows. Gunshots whizzing over his head, heart in his throat and all the movies he never made flashing through his eyes. Who’s there to take care of Mark?
No one.
Checked out and fine. Asked questions. Footage Alexi wants. Camera safe, tucked around in his bag. Hold it together, don’t let it show.
Walk through the door, red flash of messages on the machine. Can’t care. Doesn’t care. Unplugs the phone, no one calls anyway. Through the doorway to his room, camera placed upon the desk, falls face forward onto the bed. Detach, detach, detach.
~*~
Curled into the covers of his bed, coat tugged as close around him, scarf tucked close to his mouth, barriers against the things he doesn’t want to acknowledge. Tilt his head and gaze at the clock mounted on the wall, Buzzline should be airing now. Close his eyes and try to sleep. Need to pull himself together soon.
~*~
Wake to harsh hands pulling him upright and crushing him to a chest. Bleary eyes open and try to fight for coherence, something, someone trembling against him. Tilts head up and Roger?
Maureen, Joanne, Mimi, he could understand but Roger?
“Roger… I’m fine. Where’s Mimi?” Calm, normal, Mark.
His shoulders gripped in two hands and green eyes search his. “The footage… then the phone….” A shake of Roger’s head, unruly with curls, and it’s amazing the things Mark notices at moments of crisis.
“I’m fine. It was nothing. We’ve heard plenty of the same around here.” He eases from his grip and gives him a smile. A shadow of everything he normally means by it.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-11 08:32 am (UTC)the writing is good, I don't really know the fandom but I did get a grasp on the main character and the final bit was excellent.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-11 05:40 pm (UTC)I'm glad I was able to bring across Mark's personality despite being unsure if I have him right.
I liked the final bit too. I loved the abruptness of it and how Mark's being strong for his friends once more.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-11 06:37 pm (UTC)Glad you're back. ;) You can sweat with me now! lol
Here's to late night beta sessions!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-12 06:39 am (UTC)Hehe, I'm glad to be writing again. Getting to know characters and editing is fun.
Hear, hear! *grins*
no subject
Date: 2007-03-11 08:02 pm (UTC)Simply fabulous!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-12 06:37 am (UTC)You put into words exactly what I was going for and which I didn't realize I was going for at the time I was writing. *lol*
I'm so glad the way the story was structured worked. I was worried I needed to add more.