Hello hello flash fiction Friday again! I was going to skip another week because I’m Exhausted but I got inspired to do another scene of my angsty boi lamenting XD
I hope you enjoy watching the snow with Storm and Scarlette! Feedback is appreciated ^u^
Big thanks to @cawolters for organising FFF and to @inexorableblob, for hosting!
Prompt: Golden Rings
Words: 950
Character(s): Storm, Scarlette, and Echo.
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Sitting on cold stone steps and sipping hot chocolate while watching flecks of snow drift from a grey sky with a pleasant companion, Storm could almost pretend he didn’t notice the ever-present sensation of being watched. The mercy of Scarlette’s higher rank meant fewer shadows, but never none.
“Does it hurt?”
Storm felt Scarlette side-eying him over her steaming tea. He didn’t return the gesture, preferring to keep his eyes trained on his sister playing in the enclosed court yard. There was no where for her to disappear to but he could never be too careful.
“No, not really.” His fingers traced the plastic wrapped loosely around his throat. “It just kind of itches.” It was strange to talk. Not quite a pain, but a pressure tugging at each movement. It had stung initially, but that was to be expected with tattoos. Or at least, he assumed as much.
Scarlette hummed sympathetically, absently tracing the shimmer of her own gold circle around her wrist. “It does itch for a few days but it should stop after that. Although, do take care not to scratch. If it gets infected, it’s a terrible mess to deal with.” She paused, sipping the drink. “I might have some aloe if you want it. It’s typically good for soothing skin irritations.”
Storm shook his head lightly, “Thanks, but no. I’ll just deal with it. There’s no point pretending it isn’t there.” His voice had an edge he didn’t intend. One that he regretted as Scarlette’s face twitched with worry. It was hard to explain, more so to say out loud, but he wanted to feel it. In some sick way, the discomfort was reassuring.
“Storm,” She lingered his name, setting down her cup while she searched for the right wording, “you do understand what you agreed to, don’t you? That this is permanent?”
He flicked his eyes to her, not answering. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t an idiot. Of course he knew. He knew the costs when he agreed. When his stomach dropped at the toothy smile that crept unabashedly across White’s face, leaving him hollow. He knew and agreed anyway. It was the only way. He wanted to be angry at Scarlette for even insinuating he’d made the decision lightly, but when he searched her dusty green eyes, there was no malice - only concern for the teen she’d grown to care about. She didn’t press him for an answer.
Silence stretched between them. Somewhere between uncomfortable and understanding. In a way, it felt like some kind of mutual tragedy had occurred. As though they were at a wake for the unnameable thing Storm had given away. He let his mind settle on the ring etched under his skin. Hexed to shimmer and shift, the gold itself was a coveted ink. The hypocrisy of the church marking its members with something charmed by the very magic they ostracise was not lost on him. In another situation, the tattoo would be pretty. In another situation, he’d have had a choice. Instead, he was stuck with a permanent halo as a sign of his loyalty. He wondered if they knew how quickly he’d turn on them. How their self-righteous holier than though act burned his vicious temper to action, held back purely by his sister’s safety. Probably. Another tug as he licked his dry lips. White had chosen the location, not him. It was always White’s decision. Storm wasn’t nearly naïve enough to believe it was a mark of belonging, nor optimistic enough to believe the placement was in good will. It was exactly what it looked like – a mark of ownership tethering him dangerously to someone else’s ideals.
A light touch interrupted his thoughts. His face must’ve betrayed his emotions.
“You can cover it up. There’s nothing to say you can’t… I did. When I first got mine, I mean. I was, I guess you could say worried, about how people would react. It’s not exactly a secret what it represents.” She laughed dryly. “It’s more a message for Anthony than the rest of the world. He’s usually sated with that.” There was an uncomfortable stiffness in the way she brushed her long red hair back out of her face. Storm couldn’t help but wonder if whether her loyalties were as tenuous as his own. Maybe she was just cognisant of the eyes on their backs. Who could say?
He smiled, small but genuine. “Thanks. It’s … complicated. I’ll figure it out.”
She gave his shoulder a light squeeze before letting her hand fall away, reclaiming her cooled drink and turning back to the scene in front of them. Echo had managed to mound together enough snow to make herself a squat little snowman companion. An unusual reprieve into childish fun, she was making the most of the snowy afternoon. An unwelcomed twinge of something bitter rose in Storm’s throat. But, when Echo turned back, cold flushed face brightened with a big grin, waving at her favourite person in the world, as quickly as it had come, the feeling died down. A little of the empty faded as Storm waved back. The tattoo was permanent. He was never getting rid of it. He childhood was gone. He was never getting it back. He had lost so much. But, at the end of the day, he still had his sister. The stars themselves could not stop him from giving her at least a little of what was taken from him.
He hated the golden rings binding him to his enemy for everything they represented. He hated White for everything he was. But he could live with it. They were just tools to keep his sister innocent.
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@inkovert, @snobbysnekboi, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll, and @goblin-writer
A one shot for FlashFicFriday and the prompt Golden Rings. A bit of fluff. Enjoy.
Brianna finds it when she is looking for earrings to go with her prom dress. “Momma?”
“Did you find something?” She asks her daughter as she walks in.
“Aye and this.” She opens her fisted hand revealing the gold ring. “Is it granny's or grandmam's?”
“No. I meant to tell you when you were old enough.”
“I am 16 momma. What is it?”
“Come sit.” She pats the side of her and Jamie's bed. Brianna joins her. She takes the ring from her and stares at it a minute. “Your da wasn't my first husband. When I wasn’t much older then you, my Uncle Lamb died.”
“I know that momma.” She is 16 and inpatient. Her momma gives her a smile.
“I know Bree. I need to tell it my way. Okay.” Her daughter nods. “Okay. I was lost. I didn’t know where to turn. He was a professor at uni. Almost twenty years older then me.”
“Momma!”
“I know Brianna. Your da and I would be very cross with you if you did such but, I was alone. He was a good man. Gentle and kind. He was what I needed, at the time. A father figure more then a lover. Though he was that too. My first.”
“Christ momma!”
“You said you were adult enough to hear.” She reminds her.
“Aye. I am. Go on momma.”
“So, we were married after a year. He was secure, safe. I was a 19 year old orphan. He was who I needed, can you see?”
“Aye momma.”
“We were married two years.”
“What happened?”
“He died. A heart attack it was. He was at work. Died at his desk. It was how he would have wanted it.”
“I am sorry momma.” At 16 she is caught up in the romance of it all.
“Thank you love. So there I was, a 21 year old widow and orphan. More lost then ever before. That is when your da found me. I was sitting at a park bench, staring at nothing. It was 6 months after Frank's funeral, his name was Frank. Jamie came up and took a seat beside me. He said nothing at first. Just was still with me. He could have done nothing better. After around 15 minutes, he turns to me and says,” Jamie Fraser.”
“Claire Randall, I think.”
“You think?”
“My husband died 6 months ago, my parents when I was five, my uncle who raised me three years ago. I don't know if I am Randall, Beauchamp, or who.” I told him. A perfect stranger but I was sharing my heart with him.
“You trusted him even then.” Her eyes, her momma's amber eyes, shined with the romance of it all.
“I did. And how do your da respond? He told me,” You are Claire, a verra strong woman.” It was just what I needed to hear. That I was strong. That I was a woman. Not just the daughter of the late Julia and Henry Beauchamp. Not the niece of the late Lamb Beauchamp. Not just the widow of Frank Randall. But, my own person. It was the beginning. We talked for an hour and exchanged phone numbers before parting. We then talked for a few hours on the phone that night.”
“How romantic.” She sighs.
“It was, I saw later, but at the time it was just nice to have a friend. It took a year and a half before we went from friends to lovers, another six months before we were engaged, married a year later.”
“Momma, do you miss him, Frank?”
“Yes and no. I miss him as my first lover. But, Jamie was my first love. The man who first saw me, as me. Brianna, you must wait for someone who sees you as Brianna. Not as anyone else, not the daughter of James Fraser, not the beautiful red haired lass with the amber eyes. Not the smart, strong woman. But, the whole package. Who sees Brianna Ellen Julia Fraser. Don't settle for less.”
“I won't momma. Thank you for sharing. I really want to know the woman that da saw.”
