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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/1OWwEht:
I felt shitty today, so I wrote this on gdocs instead of being productive.
It’s not a deleted scene, it’s not a preview or anything. It’s just, there’s a bit in the as-yet unpublished Ch 8 of FOG, just a detail, where Natasha notices that James still has nailpolish on his toenails, and remembers that she put it there. She’d painted his nails a different color months ago in an earlier chapter, so I put the detail in this one that he’d had her re-do it.
So– this is the scene where he got this particular re-coating of nail polish. And it’s not plot-significant, I just wanted to spend the time.
This is the luxury of fanfic. i’ve been contemplating going back to original stuff, but you don’t get to have this, traditionally, in regular fiction– just, to no purpose, characters spending time together and being themselves. And yet, it’s what people want, in fanfic.
So, since I felt shitty, I went and hung out with James and Natasha. James was feeling shitty too. Natasha knows how to not make that a big deal. It has no bearing on the next chapter (which I’ll probably have up by the weekend if no other disasters strike) except to account for the detail of James having painted toenails.
Gen-ish, G-rated, like just under 1k words (real short, for me!)
what u up to 2nite, Natasha had written a couple of hours before, and James hadn’t written back. He wasn’t having a good couple of days, she was pretty sure; something had triggered him, and he’d vanished.
She’d been over at the Avengers Academy for most of it. She knew he’d been by, because he was the only one who fed Liho canned food and the old can was gone and a new one started, but no people-food had been missing, so she rather thought he’d only stopped by to feed the cat. He hadn’t done any laundry, and she didn’t think he’d taken or left any clothing.
He had put away the dishes she’d left in the drying rack, which was an amusing detail.
She wasn’t going to text him again. She’d resigned herself to not hearing from him, and had started making dinner for just herself, when her phone buzzed. Expecting Jess or Bobbi to be texting her, she left it for a few minutes before she got around to picking it up.
i got no plans, he wrote.
There was no reason for that to make her smile. I was gonna make piroshki, she wrote, which was a lie; she’d put together a pot of borscht because it was easy and froze well and she knew sometimes if she left a note he’d eat something like that out of the freezer. She mostly lived off things like that when she was in town. But she had the ingredients necessary for piroshki. It just wasn’t something she’d bother with for herself.
I’m not good company, he wrote back, but if you need help eating piroshki i could definitely be of service.
I could use some assistance of that nature, she wrote, and got out the ingredients, and hunted down her rolling pin. Also Liho could use some attention, you know how she gets when I cook.
I can help with that, he wrote.
The door opened about twenty minutes later, and James came in with a canvas grocery sack and a wine bottle in a paper bag. He set the paper bag on the counter, the canvas sack on the table, and went back to the doorway to take his shoes and coat off. Liho immediately leapt up and perched on his shoulder, purring before he’d even touched her.
“Hey,” Natasha said, smiling at him. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, and his body language was jerky and closed-off. He didn’t answer her, didn’t quite smile, but his face changed shape a little, and she knew him well enough to recognize it as an acknowledgement of her greeting.
Without shoes on he moved quietly that she could only really track his motion by the proximity of the cat’s purring. He stayed in the room briefly, going through the contents of the canvas bag– mostly papers– then moved off into the other room. She knew better than to try to make small talk.
She poked her head in a moment later to ask if he was all right, and he had nodded off at one end of the couch, curled up with the cat in his lap. She’d had a suspicion he didn’t sleep much when he wasn’t around her, and this only reinforced it. He ate, she knew he couldn’t go long without food, but she was pretty sure he mostly subsisted off of packaged food supplements if she wasn’t there to notice.
It wasn’t that she fed him. He did most of the cooking when they were together. She just sort of suspected he didn’t bother being human if no one was there to observe him. It wasn’t a dependency on her, but it wasn’t healthy independence either.
She woke him up to eat, when the food was ready, and he snapped awake with no hint of grogginess.
“Everything okay?” she asked him, when they sat down at the table.
He nodded. It looked like he wanted to say more, but there didn’t seem to be a good connection from brain to mouth, so she just smiled at him and went back to eating, unconcerned.
“Good,” he managed, after a while, gesturing with his chin at the food. She grinned.
“I know,” she said.
“Sorry the company’s bad,” he said, looking unhappy.
She smiled and shook her head. “If you think I don’t know about that kind of thing, James– I can put the TV on if you’re self-conscious, but it doesn’t bother me.”
He looked relieved. “Thanks,” he said. She held out the ladle, offering him another serving, and he managed a smile as he accepted it.
After dinner she sat next to him on the couch and flipped idly through channels before handing him the controller and hauling out her nail polishes. As she’d sort of hoped, he settled on an old movie, and then watched raptly as she did her nails.
She nudged the basket over toward him. “Pick a color, I’ll do yours.”
He laughed silently at her and vanished to the bathroom, but when she looked over after he came back he’d washed his feet and had picked out a couple of bottles, and was cleaning his nails with rubbing alcohol like she usually did.
“Teal,” she said, investigating the bottle.
“Teal the Cows Come Home,” he corrected her, and she laughed.
“And pink glitter,” she said. “Oh, sorry– I Can’t Hear Myself Pink. Accent nail?”
“Topcoat,” he said. “Just on the big ones. Maybe just a stripe.”
“You have excellent taste,” she said, and set to work.
Once his nails were dry, he went and took a shower. He came out tousled and pink and with his face a lot more mobile. He sat next to her and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You feel better?” she asked.
He settled next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned on him. “Yeah,” he said. “Now I do.”
I felt shitty today, so I wrote this on gdocs instead of being productive.
It’s not a deleted scene, it’s not a preview or anything. It’s just, there’s a bit in the as-yet unpublished Ch 8 of FOG, just a detail, where Natasha notices that James still has nailpolish on his toenails, and remembers that she put it there. She’d painted his nails a different color months ago in an earlier chapter, so I put the detail in this one that he’d had her re-do it.
So– this is the scene where he got this particular re-coating of nail polish. And it’s not plot-significant, I just wanted to spend the time.
This is the luxury of fanfic. i’ve been contemplating going back to original stuff, but you don’t get to have this, traditionally, in regular fiction– just, to no purpose, characters spending time together and being themselves. And yet, it’s what people want, in fanfic.
So, since I felt shitty, I went and hung out with James and Natasha. James was feeling shitty too. Natasha knows how to not make that a big deal. It has no bearing on the next chapter (which I’ll probably have up by the weekend if no other disasters strike) except to account for the detail of James having painted toenails.
Gen-ish, G-rated, like just under 1k words (real short, for me!)
what u up to 2nite, Natasha had written a couple of hours before, and James hadn’t written back. He wasn’t having a good couple of days, she was pretty sure; something had triggered him, and he’d vanished.
She’d been over at the Avengers Academy for most of it. She knew he’d been by, because he was the only one who fed Liho canned food and the old can was gone and a new one started, but no people-food had been missing, so she rather thought he’d only stopped by to feed the cat. He hadn’t done any laundry, and she didn’t think he’d taken or left any clothing.
He had put away the dishes she’d left in the drying rack, which was an amusing detail.
She wasn’t going to text him again. She’d resigned herself to not hearing from him, and had started making dinner for just herself, when her phone buzzed. Expecting Jess or Bobbi to be texting her, she left it for a few minutes before she got around to picking it up.
i got no plans, he wrote.
There was no reason for that to make her smile. I was gonna make piroshki, she wrote, which was a lie; she’d put together a pot of borscht because it was easy and froze well and she knew sometimes if she left a note he’d eat something like that out of the freezer. She mostly lived off things like that when she was in town. But she had the ingredients necessary for piroshki. It just wasn’t something she’d bother with for herself.
I’m not good company, he wrote back, but if you need help eating piroshki i could definitely be of service.
I could use some assistance of that nature, she wrote, and got out the ingredients, and hunted down her rolling pin. Also Liho could use some attention, you know how she gets when I cook.
I can help with that, he wrote.
The door opened about twenty minutes later, and James came in with a canvas grocery sack and a wine bottle in a paper bag. He set the paper bag on the counter, the canvas sack on the table, and went back to the doorway to take his shoes and coat off. Liho immediately leapt up and perched on his shoulder, purring before he’d even touched her.
“Hey,” Natasha said, smiling at him. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, and his body language was jerky and closed-off. He didn’t answer her, didn’t quite smile, but his face changed shape a little, and she knew him well enough to recognize it as an acknowledgement of her greeting.
Without shoes on he moved quietly that she could only really track his motion by the proximity of the cat’s purring. He stayed in the room briefly, going through the contents of the canvas bag– mostly papers– then moved off into the other room. She knew better than to try to make small talk.
She poked her head in a moment later to ask if he was all right, and he had nodded off at one end of the couch, curled up with the cat in his lap. She’d had a suspicion he didn’t sleep much when he wasn’t around her, and this only reinforced it. He ate, she knew he couldn’t go long without food, but she was pretty sure he mostly subsisted off of packaged food supplements if she wasn’t there to notice.
It wasn’t that she fed him. He did most of the cooking when they were together. She just sort of suspected he didn’t bother being human if no one was there to observe him. It wasn’t a dependency on her, but it wasn’t healthy independence either.
She woke him up to eat, when the food was ready, and he snapped awake with no hint of grogginess.
“Everything okay?” she asked him, when they sat down at the table.
He nodded. It looked like he wanted to say more, but there didn’t seem to be a good connection from brain to mouth, so she just smiled at him and went back to eating, unconcerned.
“Good,” he managed, after a while, gesturing with his chin at the food. She grinned.
“I know,” she said.
“Sorry the company’s bad,” he said, looking unhappy.
She smiled and shook her head. “If you think I don’t know about that kind of thing, James– I can put the TV on if you’re self-conscious, but it doesn’t bother me.”
He looked relieved. “Thanks,” he said. She held out the ladle, offering him another serving, and he managed a smile as he accepted it.
After dinner she sat next to him on the couch and flipped idly through channels before handing him the controller and hauling out her nail polishes. As she’d sort of hoped, he settled on an old movie, and then watched raptly as she did her nails.
She nudged the basket over toward him. “Pick a color, I’ll do yours.”
He laughed silently at her and vanished to the bathroom, but when she looked over after he came back he’d washed his feet and had picked out a couple of bottles, and was cleaning his nails with rubbing alcohol like she usually did.
“Teal,” she said, investigating the bottle.
“Teal the Cows Come Home,” he corrected her, and she laughed.
“And pink glitter,” she said. “Oh, sorry– I Can’t Hear Myself Pink. Accent nail?”
“Topcoat,” he said. “Just on the big ones. Maybe just a stripe.”
“You have excellent taste,” she said, and set to work.
Once his nails were dry, he went and took a shower. He came out tousled and pink and with his face a lot more mobile. He sat next to her and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You feel better?” she asked.
He settled next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned on him. “Yeah,” he said. “Now I do.”
