Sooo -- Story?
May. 19th, 2010 10:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crossover_chickI may have mentioned that I wrote another Victor/Alice brief-fic a little while ago, and that I needed to whip it into shape. Well, it's kind of refusing to be whipped.
-VD2: Why?-
I don't know! I get the feeling it needs some editing, but my brain has either gone on vacation or just refuses to deal with this particular story. Come on, head, it's only about four paragraphs!
-DW: I can tell you what's wrong -- the plotbunnies for Secundus. They're probably taking up a lot of your brainpower.-
This may be true. Why did I have to come up with my NaNo so early this year? (And why can't I complete either of my other ones? That contest does bad things to me.)
Anyway, since I can't figure it out, I figured maybe one of you could. Here's the story in its current form. What do you think?
Poetry
An adonis, he was not.
Alice was not particularly poetically inclined when it came to Victor. Sometimes, she thought there was something wrong with her in that regard. Shouldn’t people in love be describing the objects of their affections with superlative adjectives? Victor certainly used the odd flowery turn of phrase regarding her, saying things like “eyes like emeralds” and “hair as soft as silk.” He’d even tried writing her a poem once, although all that had proved was that he was better at drawing than he was at writing.
Alice, however, could not do the same for Victor. She studied him sometimes, trying to come up with adjectives to describe him properly. His skin was – marble? Ivory? Alabaster? No, it was just plain white. His hair – ebony? Darkest midnight? “Black” would have to suffice. His eyes – Alice couldn’t come up with a single turn of the phrase that would make having eyes that sometimes seemed to be all pupil and no iris poetic. “Dark, deep pools” sounded like the start of something infinitely depressing. He was not lean, nor even lanky – he was skinny and fragile-looking. She could not accurately say his face was carved by the master hand of the gods. He was clumsy, shy, and prone to daydreaming – not qualities usually displayed by the heroes of poems. In short, Victor was a far cry from perfection.
But then – he’d turn and smile at her. And Alice would feel her heart melt all over again.
She’d never been a big fan of perfection anyway.
(If you're wondering how this story was conceived, it's actually the fault of the HMS STFU, which featured a brief quote from a parody fic where the Twilight characters attended Hogwarts. Bella going on about Edward being "alabaster" got me thinking about Victor and how he can't be described as anything but too goddamn pale, and -- this resulted.)
So, yeah, have at it. Good? Bad? Indifferent?
-VD2: Why?-
I don't know! I get the feeling it needs some editing, but my brain has either gone on vacation or just refuses to deal with this particular story. Come on, head, it's only about four paragraphs!
-DW: I can tell you what's wrong -- the plotbunnies for Secundus. They're probably taking up a lot of your brainpower.-
This may be true. Why did I have to come up with my NaNo so early this year? (And why can't I complete either of my other ones? That contest does bad things to me.)
Anyway, since I can't figure it out, I figured maybe one of you could. Here's the story in its current form. What do you think?
An adonis, he was not.
Alice was not particularly poetically inclined when it came to Victor. Sometimes, she thought there was something wrong with her in that regard. Shouldn’t people in love be describing the objects of their affections with superlative adjectives? Victor certainly used the odd flowery turn of phrase regarding her, saying things like “eyes like emeralds” and “hair as soft as silk.” He’d even tried writing her a poem once, although all that had proved was that he was better at drawing than he was at writing.
Alice, however, could not do the same for Victor. She studied him sometimes, trying to come up with adjectives to describe him properly. His skin was – marble? Ivory? Alabaster? No, it was just plain white. His hair – ebony? Darkest midnight? “Black” would have to suffice. His eyes – Alice couldn’t come up with a single turn of the phrase that would make having eyes that sometimes seemed to be all pupil and no iris poetic. “Dark, deep pools” sounded like the start of something infinitely depressing. He was not lean, nor even lanky – he was skinny and fragile-looking. She could not accurately say his face was carved by the master hand of the gods. He was clumsy, shy, and prone to daydreaming – not qualities usually displayed by the heroes of poems. In short, Victor was a far cry from perfection.
But then – he’d turn and smile at her. And Alice would feel her heart melt all over again.
She’d never been a big fan of perfection anyway.
(If you're wondering how this story was conceived, it's actually the fault of the HMS STFU, which featured a brief quote from a parody fic where the Twilight characters attended Hogwarts. Bella going on about Edward being "alabaster" got me thinking about Victor and how he can't be described as anything but too goddamn pale, and -- this resulted.)
So, yeah, have at it. Good? Bad? Indifferent?
