[Requiem] Starting over.
May. 19th, 2011 07:38 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
http://users.livejournal.com/_crimsonearth/ posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
writing_shadowsSo - this was written to help me wriggle into the skin of a new Requiem character I'm bringing in.
I don't know that I'm particularly happy with it as a measure of my writing skill - it still feels like something is missing - but it certainly has the feel of the new character, which is the most important thing, I guess.
I don't know that I'm particularly happy with it as a measure of my writing skill - it still feels like something is missing - but it certainly has the feel of the new character, which is the most important thing, I guess.
Now I just have to go find myself an LJ icon for this character...
Coraline stands close by the fire that spits and crackles in the freshly-swept hearth, and tugs her cardigan a little closer, though she does not feel the cold. It took her a long time to enjoy something that used to set her every nerve screaming with fear. Such things that had once been a necessity, however, have now become a luxury. Her fingers stray to the beads wrapped around her palm and she strokes them with reverent affection, her thoughts drifting to the weeks ahead.
“A fresh start is good for the soul,” she says softly, with a slight nod. Perhaps she does not sound as confident as she means to. “Things will be different this time; I just know it.” She manages a small smile, and turns her head a fraction. “Don’t you think so, Mother?”
Mother gazes solemnly into the flames, stock-still, unblinking. Her small frame makes her seem so fragile, swallowed by the expanse of her moth-eaten armchair. “Yes, dear,” says Mother, hollowly. She’s wearing the same black taffeta mourning dress that she always wears.
“Smile, Mother. We have much to look forward to,” prompts Coraline.
Mother smiles a reflexive, obedient smile.
Coraline nods again, as much to reassure herself as anything. She tilts her head back toward the warmth and her eyes drift closed at the memory. Uncle Ned looms nearby, arms pinned at his back, the comforting, towering presence of him casting shadows of cool darkness across Coraline’s skin.
“Won’t you sit down, Uncle? Enjoy the fire…” she says with an encouraging smile.
She waits patiently as Uncle Ned settles somewhat stiffly into the Queen Anne, upholstered in old, rich-smelling leather. He doesn’t mind pandering to her softer moments, but he prefers to be standing watch, keeping close, on alert.
Coraline lifts the beads to her lips and lingers awhile longer, basking at the fireside, standing close, but not too close. Finally relenting, she brushes her hand along the mantelpiece as she walks, enjoying the cold smooth feel of the marble under her fingertips, and then, with a slightly sad sigh, she scrambles into Uncle Ned’s lap with all the self-absorbed vulnerability of a small child, and nestles against his chest, turning her face back toward the hearth.
“Things will be better this time,” she affirms quietly.
They sit together in silence for a long while, contemplating the emptiness around them. The room is sparse, but soon it will be populated with all the little things that make a house feel like a home. Coraline will keep the peeling Edwardian-style wallpaper, though. She likes it, the roughness of it, the patterns lifted from the paper; it reminds her of bygone days.
Feeling suddenly melancholy, she frowns slightly and lifts Uncle Ned’s arm to draw it around her. She feels comforted by the embrace, cold though it is. “I just know it,” she echoes in a whisper. She smiles a tentative smile and curls her long fingers around the lapel of his jacket, her soft, dark hair bristling with static against the woollen cloth of his suit.
“Perhaps I’ll buy you a new outfit tomorrow; what do you think?” she muses, half to herself. “It doesn’t do to be so out of step with fashions.”
Uncle Ned says nothing, but just holds her. She misses the sound of a heartbeat drumming against her ear. She’s been missing it so long, she barely remembers the rhythm.
“And you, Mother? I could buy you… I could buy you a nice evening dress. Something in silk, perhaps? Time to leave Father’s memory to rest, don’t you think?” Her mouth twitches sadly. “Time to move on,” she continues in quiet agreement.
Mother continues to gaze blankly into the fire. The smile has fallen from her face and she does not make an effort to reinstate it. “Yes, dear,” says Mother.
Coraline pulls another nervous smile and cuddles into the firm coldness of Uncle Ned’s chest.
“Yes, Mother,” she murmurs back.
Coraline stands close by the fire that spits and crackles in the freshly-swept hearth, and tugs her cardigan a little closer, though she does not feel the cold. It took her a long time to enjoy something that used to set her every nerve screaming with fear. Such things that had once been a necessity, however, have now become a luxury. Her fingers stray to the beads wrapped around her palm and she strokes them with reverent affection, her thoughts drifting to the weeks ahead.
“A fresh start is good for the soul,” she says softly, with a slight nod. Perhaps she does not sound as confident as she means to. “Things will be different this time; I just know it.” She manages a small smile, and turns her head a fraction. “Don’t you think so, Mother?”
Mother gazes solemnly into the flames, stock-still, unblinking. Her small frame makes her seem so fragile, swallowed by the expanse of her moth-eaten armchair. “Yes, dear,” says Mother, hollowly. She’s wearing the same black taffeta mourning dress that she always wears.
“Smile, Mother. We have much to look forward to,” prompts Coraline.
Mother smiles a reflexive, obedient smile.
Coraline nods again, as much to reassure herself as anything. She tilts her head back toward the warmth and her eyes drift closed at the memory. Uncle Ned looms nearby, arms pinned at his back, the comforting, towering presence of him casting shadows of cool darkness across Coraline’s skin.
“Won’t you sit down, Uncle? Enjoy the fire…” she says with an encouraging smile.
She waits patiently as Uncle Ned settles somewhat stiffly into the Queen Anne, upholstered in old, rich-smelling leather. He doesn’t mind pandering to her softer moments, but he prefers to be standing watch, keeping close, on alert.
Coraline lifts the beads to her lips and lingers awhile longer, basking at the fireside, standing close, but not too close. Finally relenting, she brushes her hand along the mantelpiece as she walks, enjoying the cold smooth feel of the marble under her fingertips, and then, with a slightly sad sigh, she scrambles into Uncle Ned’s lap with all the self-absorbed vulnerability of a small child, and nestles against his chest, turning her face back toward the hearth.
“Things will be better this time,” she affirms quietly.
They sit together in silence for a long while, contemplating the emptiness around them. The room is sparse, but soon it will be populated with all the little things that make a house feel like a home. Coraline will keep the peeling Edwardian-style wallpaper, though. She likes it, the roughness of it, the patterns lifted from the paper; it reminds her of bygone days.
Feeling suddenly melancholy, she frowns slightly and lifts Uncle Ned’s arm to draw it around her. She feels comforted by the embrace, cold though it is. “I just know it,” she echoes in a whisper. She smiles a tentative smile and curls her long fingers around the lapel of his jacket, her soft, dark hair bristling with static against the woollen cloth of his suit.
“Perhaps I’ll buy you a new outfit tomorrow; what do you think?” she muses, half to herself. “It doesn’t do to be so out of step with fashions.”
Uncle Ned says nothing, but just holds her. She misses the sound of a heartbeat drumming against her ear. She’s been missing it so long, she barely remembers the rhythm.
“And you, Mother? I could buy you… I could buy you a nice evening dress. Something in silk, perhaps? Time to leave Father’s memory to rest, don’t you think?” Her mouth twitches sadly. “Time to move on,” she continues in quiet agreement.
Mother continues to gaze blankly into the fire. The smile has fallen from her face and she does not make an effort to reinstate it. “Yes, dear,” says Mother.
Coraline pulls another nervous smile and cuddles into the firm coldness of Uncle Ned’s chest.
“Yes, Mother,” she murmurs back.
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Date: 2011-05-19 06:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-19 07:11 am (UTC)http://www.babynamewizard.com/namipedia/girl/coraline?results=sound
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Date: 2011-05-19 07:22 am (UTC)However, I did choose it as a nod to the heritage, to a fictional vampire of the same name, and to Gaiman's Coraline.
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Date: 2011-05-20 08:49 pm (UTC)It's very weird to see a character called Uncle Ned, after hearing Tim Edward's 10-years-dead Malkavian of the same name mentioned on Buzz this week.
I also think it stands up to your other writing. It uses shorter clauses in general, but I think that's just the voice of the character, and it really works as a writing style.
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Date: 2011-06-06 10:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-07 05:25 am (UTC)