Post by Nerweniel on Apr 23, 2006 15:51:19 GMT -5
Okay, so I randomly wrote this, it has no plot, and no point, and just came into being because Tanja randomly told me to write something to Lily in Love 
.
A Million Scenes
Lily Wynn was biting on the back of her pencil, that night. She’d taken up the old-fashioned ways of writing again, lately – at least for drafts, they were more practical than typing every single thing she thought of. She’d written a lot of drafts, lately, and the pencil, once new, had shrunk with every single one she, dissatisfied and tired, had thrown into the dustbin.
Writing had become hard on her over the previous couple of weeks. It was a new experience and not an entirely pleasant one, but she could not help it. It was not exactly writer’s block – it was, she had decided a while earlier, simply the fact that she was afraid to write. She supposed that was normal after what had happened, after the wasps’ nest she had somehow ended up in, back in Hungary– but still. Writing was what she did, and, she flattered herself, what she did best, as well.
She sighed, ruffling her auburn bob with a tired hand. The words would not come tonight, she felt it, and there was nothing she could do but wait. It was that, that frightened her the most.
“Swan?”
Fitz. She noticed her back had, unconsciously, straightened a bit at the mere sound of his voice, but she did not reply.
“Swan? Lily? Can I come in?”
No, he couldn’t. It probably seemed childish, Lily knew, but she did not want her husband to see what she had accomplished so far – namely, nothing. Whatever and whoever he was, after all, Fitzroy had always been supportive of her writing – for more or less selfish reasons, probably, but still.
“No – Fitz, I’ll come downstairs in just a second, okay? Tha-anks.”
A rather vague grumbling on the other side of the door was the only answer she received, but his footsteps on the stairs, a few seconds later, proved that he had, indeed, understood – and she closed her notebook with a bang. They had not really spoken since what had happened had, well, happened – and if this was the moment, then better get it over with.
She sighed once again, entering the living room and, on purpose, taking a seat opposite him. He was an actor, true, but she knew him well enough to be able to read his emotions nonetheless – usually. Now, however, his face seemed to be devoid of all feelings.
When he offered her a glass of wine, she smiled the way she always smiled – what he had once nicknamed her “passer-by”-smile… a sincere smile, but one that could be repeated a thousand times a day, just as vague, just as absent-minded - and just as Lily.
“Thanks. Fitz-”
She hesitated. She still did not feel she should be the one apologizing for what had happened – after all it was not as if she had not known it was her husband she was seducing. She’d believed in that masquerade for exactly a day – and then, that day she had felt his hands, she had been sure. Lily Wynn forgot faces, names, telephone numbers – but she never forgot a pair of hands. She had known at that moment.
“Lily-”
And yet she knew that he, too, could not be the first one to apologize. His pride had been hurt, after all, and as much as she despised it at times, she knew that he would never give up on that one. It was sad but it was like that; and it was part of the man she loved – maybe even an essential part.
She inhaled deeply.
“Fitz, I’m not sorry, if you wonder about that. I’m not going to apologize. I always knew it was you and there’s not one thing against falling in love with one’s own husband. It was a thoroughly stupid situation, I’ll agree on that, but…”
It was somewhere around there that she lost track of what exactly she wanted to say, and Lily, wisely, reverted to silence. His face was still unreadable – it took him two uncomfortable, long minutes to speak up again, and when he did, he amazed even her. She had expected complaints, drama – and yet when he did speak, it was in that voice he usually reserved for Shakespeare, strangely enough.
“Falling in love?”
She smiled. His remark came as a surprise, true, and yet at the same time he was so recognizable there. A great actor and man, true, and yet at the same time so easily hurt in his pride, in his honour.
“Why do you smile at me like that? I just found out that my wife does not love me in the least, and there she sits, smiling – oh, Frailty, thy name is woman!"
Idiot.
It shot through her head just like that – and yet she knew she could not possibly mean it. He was not an idiot, after all – he was simply Fitz, and she had chosen to live with him, knowing very well what she stood at the beginning of.
She rose to her feet, not exactly knowing what she was going to do, or say – later on, she would suspect that it was in an answer to his Shakespearian quote that she, too, took a theatrical position.
And yet the next moment, she somehow found herself kissing him – and everything was fine.
.A Million Scenes
Lily Wynn was biting on the back of her pencil, that night. She’d taken up the old-fashioned ways of writing again, lately – at least for drafts, they were more practical than typing every single thing she thought of. She’d written a lot of drafts, lately, and the pencil, once new, had shrunk with every single one she, dissatisfied and tired, had thrown into the dustbin.
Writing had become hard on her over the previous couple of weeks. It was a new experience and not an entirely pleasant one, but she could not help it. It was not exactly writer’s block – it was, she had decided a while earlier, simply the fact that she was afraid to write. She supposed that was normal after what had happened, after the wasps’ nest she had somehow ended up in, back in Hungary– but still. Writing was what she did, and, she flattered herself, what she did best, as well.
She sighed, ruffling her auburn bob with a tired hand. The words would not come tonight, she felt it, and there was nothing she could do but wait. It was that, that frightened her the most.
“Swan?”
Fitz. She noticed her back had, unconsciously, straightened a bit at the mere sound of his voice, but she did not reply.
“Swan? Lily? Can I come in?”
No, he couldn’t. It probably seemed childish, Lily knew, but she did not want her husband to see what she had accomplished so far – namely, nothing. Whatever and whoever he was, after all, Fitzroy had always been supportive of her writing – for more or less selfish reasons, probably, but still.
“No – Fitz, I’ll come downstairs in just a second, okay? Tha-anks.”
A rather vague grumbling on the other side of the door was the only answer she received, but his footsteps on the stairs, a few seconds later, proved that he had, indeed, understood – and she closed her notebook with a bang. They had not really spoken since what had happened had, well, happened – and if this was the moment, then better get it over with.
She sighed once again, entering the living room and, on purpose, taking a seat opposite him. He was an actor, true, but she knew him well enough to be able to read his emotions nonetheless – usually. Now, however, his face seemed to be devoid of all feelings.
When he offered her a glass of wine, she smiled the way she always smiled – what he had once nicknamed her “passer-by”-smile… a sincere smile, but one that could be repeated a thousand times a day, just as vague, just as absent-minded - and just as Lily.
“Thanks. Fitz-”
She hesitated. She still did not feel she should be the one apologizing for what had happened – after all it was not as if she had not known it was her husband she was seducing. She’d believed in that masquerade for exactly a day – and then, that day she had felt his hands, she had been sure. Lily Wynn forgot faces, names, telephone numbers – but she never forgot a pair of hands. She had known at that moment.
“Lily-”
And yet she knew that he, too, could not be the first one to apologize. His pride had been hurt, after all, and as much as she despised it at times, she knew that he would never give up on that one. It was sad but it was like that; and it was part of the man she loved – maybe even an essential part.
She inhaled deeply.
“Fitz, I’m not sorry, if you wonder about that. I’m not going to apologize. I always knew it was you and there’s not one thing against falling in love with one’s own husband. It was a thoroughly stupid situation, I’ll agree on that, but…”
It was somewhere around there that she lost track of what exactly she wanted to say, and Lily, wisely, reverted to silence. His face was still unreadable – it took him two uncomfortable, long minutes to speak up again, and when he did, he amazed even her. She had expected complaints, drama – and yet when he did speak, it was in that voice he usually reserved for Shakespeare, strangely enough.
“Falling in love?”
She smiled. His remark came as a surprise, true, and yet at the same time he was so recognizable there. A great actor and man, true, and yet at the same time so easily hurt in his pride, in his honour.
“Why do you smile at me like that? I just found out that my wife does not love me in the least, and there she sits, smiling – oh, Frailty, thy name is woman!"
Idiot.
It shot through her head just like that – and yet she knew she could not possibly mean it. He was not an idiot, after all – he was simply Fitz, and she had chosen to live with him, knowing very well what she stood at the beginning of.
She rose to her feet, not exactly knowing what she was going to do, or say – later on, she would suspect that it was in an answer to his Shakespearian quote that she, too, took a theatrical position.
And yet the next moment, she somehow found herself kissing him – and everything was fine.
