|Writings: Year One
Author: Emylie Hartome PM
Basically diary entries and letters written by Karsh and Ileana, respectively, in the first year they were in exile. Movie-verse. Rating subject to change.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Humor/Romance - Words: 1,384 - Reviews: 12 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 8 - Published: 09-10-08 - id: 4531107
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Ok, this is my first TWitches FF, and I'm afraid it's a little... um... choppy. Yes, that's it. It's told in diary entries by Ileana and letters written by Karsh, with a few real story parts in there. I have problems writing Ileana's rambling problem, so it's a little more rational... ; Hopefully it doesn't suck too badly.
Wednesday 31 October 1986
It's been a mere three hours since Karsh and I dropped the little twins in hospitals in this dimension. I hope they'll be alright, they're so small and helpless and we can't so anything about it… anyway.
We're back at my house in Coventry now, and if I say so myself, it's perfectly quaint. However, it seems it's not exactly to Karsh's tastes, and he's like, 'We need another lounge desk here, a bed in this room, shut up woman you're giving me a headache.' Sourpuss.
So, we went out furniture shopping, and after about an hour or so, we had chosen a small couch, a coffee table and a piano to go in the living room. I love playing the piano, it sounds so pretty, even if I'm not very good. It's all white, you know; It has to be, to look best with my beautiful cedar wood paneling. It looks good with the fireplace, too. We also managed to procure a desk and bed to Karsh's liking, which was certainly an accomplishment, given his picky ways. He got some maroon curtains and bed sheets and quilt for his room, and had to lug his collection of books with him. Really, I had enough trouble fitting mine in the house! Although, my books are all dime-store novels like The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by dear Agatha and a collection of poetry and stories by our dear old Edgar and his are all research volumes. What does he do with his weekends, anyway?
The owner of the furniture store thought we were a couple and we let him believe that, while we had IDs for the Earth realm saying our names were Ely and Kalvyn Gilmour, and I was hanging on Karsh's arm the whole time. Man, he was so pissed but I gotta tell you, he looks funny when he's mad. He has this thing where his eye twitches and he runs his hand though his hair and never looks at you. Oh, and his nostrils flare! I love that, it's classic.
Anywho, we—er, he is making dinner. It smells really good. I wonder what he's cooking.
Five Minutes Later
So, he's making some old recipe his mom used to make him... until, well, the donkey incident happened a couple years ago. I can write about that later. It looks good, if not pretty simple. Guess what? He said he'll teach me how to make it later if I can not talk his ear off for an hour. It can be done. I think, anyway. The dish he's making is like, potatoes with a bunch of herbs and spices; he figured out how to use my stone oven to cook some bread. Meat right now is too hard to get a hold of here in Coventry, mostly because all the cows and farmers were plagued by the Darkness. They're rebuilding right now, but… Anyways, Karsh is done cooking now so I gotta go.
Later on Wednesday
That has to have been the best meal I've had in a long time. After my hour was up, I must have started jabbering because Karsh did that nostril flare thing again, and I shut myself up. I asked him a couple of questions. He answered. As vaguely as possible, but he did answer. Before today, I had only known what was needed: His name, his ability, and… not much else. I mean, I've known him for what, a couple years now and we haven't talked at all, really. I think he already knows me better than Miranda and I've known her for almost ten years. Karsh tends to read people like books, and apparently I was already open. And, you know, he's such a grump, what's his damage, anyway? I'm so bored, I --
"What're you doing?" Karsh leaned over Ileana's shoulder, and she slammed her yellow journal shut. I was just a spiral notebook, but she liked writing in it. Karsh wasn't fun to talk with at the moment.
"Nothing. I'm going to bed soon." Ileana lifted herself off the leather couch she had sprawled out on in the living room next to the warm fireplace. She was in her orange and yellow garb, her eyes shining brightly behind amounts of black mascara, blue eyeliner and purple-ish eye shadow. She put her pen beside the couch on the coffee table, proceeding up the stairs. Karsh's eyes followed her as she walked. She glanced back at him, arching her brow, but disregarded it and continued walking.
Karsh slumped himself on the couch, one leg up on it, one dangling off. He put his coat on the table, and picked up a black book Ileana had set her contrasting yellow one on top of. It was leather-bound and professional-looking. He sighed and scrutinized the book, before opening it, ripping out a page and constructing a letter. One he could never send -- its receiver was dead, but he was the only one he really could feel like he was talking to.
Wednesday 31 October 1986
I will never understand why the hell you stuck me with this broad to be a protector. Ever. She can't stop talking, can she? I wonder if a silencing spell would work on her. Probably not, she's so protected against magic. I never did figure out what kind of magic Ileana specializes in – I wish you could have at least told me that.
She went to bed, I think and for that I am eternally grateful. I also believe she made a pot of decaf coffee that's sitting unattended in the kitchen. I think that's the only thing I've liked about today – she makes really good coffee.
You know, today when we went furniture shopping and all of the salesmen were under the impression we were newlyweds or something and we went along with it for sake of appearance but she annoyed the hell out of me, she hung on my arm the whole time and wouldn't stop jabbering. Can she talk about anything, or what?
A loud bang caused Karsh to look up from his letter, and slam the journal shut. Ileana was again sprawled out, this time face-down on the floor in front of the stairs. Karsh stared at the sunny heap, a slightly perturbed and confused expression gracing his features.
"What, pray tell, are you doing?"
"Fell down the stairs. I'm okay." Ileana pulled herself off the wood floor, giving Karsh a thumbs-up. She was wearing a yellow nightgown, and orange night pants underneath. Ileana was no longer wearing any make-up and you could see the bags under her eyes clearly. She looked up at him with a sort of crooked smile. "Hi." She scampered over, grabbing her notebook and pen from the coffee table.
"Good night, Karsh." She looked at him fleetingly, scanning him and promptly turning on her heel and running up the stairs. Ileana was quite impressed with herself in not falling back down.
Hmm. There is one other thing about her I like.
She is kind of cute.
He's so mean! I can't believe he didn't offer to help me up or anything when I fell. Granted, I was fine and everything, but still, he's so uptight. I wonder what that journal was… who cares, I'm tired – I haven't slept for 26 hours.
And, come to think of it, he is kind of hot. But in the dark, broody mean sort of way. I don't like him or anything.
So? Sucky? Good? Inbetween? R&R, please!