fredless: (You Make Me Laugh)
[The camera flips on to reveal a brunette, settled on to her bed with a single braid trailing down her back. Her knees are drawn up against her chest, and it's clear that instead of sleeping? She's been thinking. Her chin tilts, and she addresses the screen directly]

So there's this thing I do. In new places, or situations or when I don't exactly feel...

Well, I the point of it all is I know I've been hiding away in here. And also know that it's got to stop. There's only so much to do within these four walls without exploring a whole new kind of crazy. Or at the very least revisiting it, which I don't intend to do.

So...hello, alright? Hello. And -- goodnight?

[A smile, tentative and then growing wider]

I'll see you all in the morning.
fredless: (You Make Me Laugh)
[There's the pop of a camera feed flickering on, and a woman sitting squarely in the center of the picture. Her long, brown hair is occupying itself around her shoulders in a energetic fashion she can't be bothered to maintain -- in the sense she hasn't really considered it at all. Just behind her is bedroom decorated in warm tones and dominated by a bed with a multi-colored quilt. It's comprised of dozens of small squares, all bits of fabric that suggest a care and history she couldn't have possibly had with this place yet]

...hi.

[Fred pulls a face. She knows enough about first impressions to understand that is far from acceptable]

I'm Fred. [Of course that isn't any better. She settles on the idea of a smile, full and determined and cast directly at the camera] So this is new...

Only, new really isn't the right word is it? [An off-glance, as she seemingly takes stock of her surroundings again, and all in all seems to categorize them as fairly friendly] Not when you account for portals and hell dimensions and inter-dimensional, formerly evil law firms. And L.A. We should probably just go ahead and include that while we're at it, especially considering some of the things I ...

[She catches her own ramble]

And we're in space. Not just theoretically, 'what could possibly happen if' but actually, specifically space. It's not just math anymore. It's...

Different, then. [There's numbers. Calculations and formulas and physics and excitement. That she wears just about everywhere] This is different.

And I'm Fred.

[If her smile flickers into something a little more uncertain? It's no less determined. Until it fades, replaced by the same bright expression from before]
fredless: (Default)
The I'D HIT IT Meme

OOC:I MISS YOU GUYS!!!!

OOC

Jul. 15th, 2010 01:01 am
fredless: (Default)
There are certain things that are inevitable within the worlds we inhabit. Interests will be born, even as others fade. Ideas will come and go. Friends will be born and sadly sometimes die. But in between? Through it all? There is the magnificent up and down and here and there and sideways of it all.

There is the written word.

What we share together. How we communicate. The ones that made us laugh and the ones that made us cry. The ones that kept us up until 4am. The ones that we thought about on the drive to work. That next sentence, that next thought, that next emotion. The journeys that are utterly unique to the people we took them with.

Some of us have been doing this for a long time now. We are not all friends with the people that we started some journeys with. Some we have grown into something deeper with, past the online world. Some? We have slipped into lovely, but casual acquaintances. Some we might not speak to at all.

But if you are like me?

You still revisit those journeys, those once upon a times.

So this is a request for everyone, out there to reflect back over their journeys and to make sure they are protected through the upcoming LJ purge. The memories attached to them should not matter, as much as they are simply, inherently memorable. Because not just journals are in danger, but communities as well. Communities that might hold entire bodies of work that are larger than any of us.

Please, those of us that were former moderators? Or have posting status? Protect what so much time and effort once went to create.

Because even if not all journeys linger?

The word should remain.
fredless: (Default)
User Name/Nick:Megan (Megs)
User LJ: [livejournal.com profile] wishingwillow
AIM/IM:itsworthdoing
E-mail:wishingwillow@gmail.com
Other Characters:None

Character Name:Winifred 'Fred' Burkle
Series:Angel the Series
Age: Apx 30 years of age (Accounting for the five years spent in Pylea and her graduate level education)
From When?: 'Life of the Party' - Season 5 (Around Halloween)

Inmate/Warden: Warden
Item: Blackberry -- The device of choice of employees of Wolfram&Hart

Abilities/Powers: Extremely Intelligent, Strong Survival Skills, Talented at Building/Creating complicated mechanical devices. However, she remains nothing more than human.

Personality: Fred is a complex blend of light and dark, and even though more attention is given to her lighter, brighter aspects -- it would do her a disservice to ignore the rest.

It is important to note that Fred had an extremely positive, stable childhood -- what many would identify as 'normal'. She had two present, loving parents that encouraged her growth and supported her decisions. From the choice to shorten her own name, to her ultimate choice to leave home to enter a graduate physics program in California. Partly from her own nature, but also from her home environment Fred places a high value on love and friendship. She is fiercely loyal to those she commits herself to, and views them as part of her chosen family. She would do anything for them.

Fred is also insanely curious -- sometimes to her own detriment. It is that curiosity that would ultimately contribute to her death. But before then it presents itself in other ways. In high school she gravitated towards complex conspiracy theories and explored illegal drugs. She feels compelled to touch and explore things, to know them for herself. She asks a great deal of questions -- both verbally and internally -- and is the sort who's mind never stops. She also enjoys building things with her hands, creating something that did not exist before. All this contributed to her changing her major from history to physics.

"I got lost. I got lost, and they did terrible things to me, but, but it was just a storybook. It was just a story with monsters, not real. Not in the world but - but if you're here and you see me then - then it's real! And it did happen. If you see what they made of me... I - I didn't mean to get so lost!"

Though Fred suffered some very real, very serious traumas in her time in Pylea, she ultimately survives them with her mind intact. This is a great testament to her strength. She was physically tortured there and forced into hard labor, and the horrors of her life there forced her to mentally withdraw for a while. Her life before became a fairy tale and place of forgotten words and names. While this allowed for her survival, it also painted the image of a girl that was seen to be delicate and in need of protection. But is cannot be forgotten that ultimately she is a survivalist. She hid bodies and foraged for food and and survived a life that killed countless others before her. There is a core strength that is important, and she survives with her ability to love intact. Though it takes some time to find herself again she emerges not afraid of life, but simply more aware of its possibilities. Both good and bad.

'I'm so sick and tired of my chin being up.'

Removed from her labs and her sciences and her school, Fred was initially at a loss what she could bring to her new home at Angel investigations. Everyone else there seemed to have something key they could contribute. Eventually she came to feel compelled to be the support system to everything else. The importance she places on loyalty and family compels her to create a safe and positive places for the friends she has come to love -- something she senses they did not have. It is in her nature to stay positive even when things are falling apart, and to be as supportive as possible. She will keep her smile in place in the worst of time, holding on to that determination until she quite literally shatters. She is strong until the small moment she is not -- and then she demands of herself that she pull herself back together again. Until her chin is again up.

Fred also had a strong sense of justice -- though one that was somewhat warped be her time in Pylea. She is more than willing to not simply kill the professor that sentenced her to Pylea, but to send him there himself, knowing he would suffer and eventually die painfully. Her sense of right and wrong has been altered through her experiences.


History:
http://buffy.wikia.com/wiki/Winifred_Burkle

Sample Journal Entry: [5-10 Sentences]
http://users.livejournal.com/_fredless/47379.html
http://users.livejournal.com/_fredless/21181.html
http://users.livejournal.com/_fredless/65916.html

Sample RP: [3-5 paragraphs, 3rd Person POV]
http://paradisalogs.livejournal.com/631538.html
http://paradisalogs.livejournal.com/633508.html
http://paradisalogs.livejournal.com/617302.html

Special Notes:
Just a full third person writing sample with particular focus on character--

http://users.livejournal.com/_fredless/73604.html
fredless: (Default)
[Fred's sitting in the kitchen, far, far too many pancakes surrounding here. Someone might've been stress cooking. There is also a whole lot of doodles being made into her journal. Of course for Fred, a doodle is a highly complicated mathematical equation. She's been thinking. A lot.]

It's still a funny name.

**Backdated to before Buffy escaped!

Evergreen

Mar. 30th, 2009 11:54 pm
fredless: (Soft Fred by Dothestarswyou)
Tucked squarely underneath the center of the table, Fred watched as another pair of feet moved purposefully past the door. Then a tail. Then another pair of loafers, this set with an actual penny on one side. She couldn't think for anything who was actually that wistful anymore, and consider the possibility of someone's son or daughter -- an unnoticed gift to a father that hasn't even discovered it yes. Then some shining black patten kitten heels, moving a good bit slower than the rest. That would be Harmony.

"When do you think they'll figure out that we're here?"

"Well I can't rightly say cupcake. Depends on if they actually start looking."

There was a soft drawl in his voice that Fred noticed Lorne only used when he was around her. It wasn't mocking, or overdone. Just a note of affection between friends. And she really couldn't mind. He had the ears and the voice the pull it off, and it always eased the occasional pangs for home before she even knew to really feel them.

She looked wistfully at the bottom part of the door again.

"Everyone's so busy lately. And I'm just as guilty of it. But you would think every now and then we could manage lunch."

There was a bit of bitterness she couldn't quite keep out of her voice. Maybe it was because it was just Lorne, sitting with her. Her chin didn't need to be up with him. It never did. There wasn't any point of pretending when he could see right though it anyway. And there was something liberating about that.

For some people that meant copious amounts of alcohol, a microphone and a dimly lit stage with Lorne watching on while they left all of their insides rest on the outside. For Fred? It was sitting quietly under a conference table, with her knees tucked up and all the rest of herself at rest.

Angel was still taking a meeting. Charles, at court. Spike doing whatever it was that suited Spike that particular day. And Wesley was still in the middle of some ridiculously complicated negotiations with a demon species Fred couldn't even pronounce.

It sometimes made her sad, tinged with a little bit of lonely. She loved her work, she did. She handn't realized how much she desperately missed it all until Knox took her on that first tour of the lab. But sometimes Fred needed the hotel and what they were there, together, so much she couldn't sleep with it.

She smiled when she was ready, and he knew to let her get there all on her own. Under a table. Her labcoat spread out like a picnic blanket. Watching the world pass them by, if only just for lunch.

"At least we got their food too."

Lorne laughed at that, glancing at the carnage around them. She'd ordered enough Chinese food for six, after all. And not any Chinese food either. From the very same place that used to deliver to the hotel. Fred had offered to tip extra, but once she mentioned the address it hadn't been a problem.

Secretly? She wanted there to be a problem. It wasn't that the food was worth the extra effort -- it was that they were.

"Your name will be my battle cry Freddles, when I have to spend that extra hour on the treadmill."

She and Lorne had eaten it all. Every last drop of that delicious, effortless Chinese food. Their favorites and everyone else's as well. The containers all stacked together haphazardly in a shape that vaguely echoed the Hyperion, bits of rice sticking to the outer edges in some sort of attack on the unsuspecting inhabitants within.

Fred didn't worry. The day would be saved, in the end.

There was that chin of hers, lifting just so slightly.

"Oh stop it Lorne," the uplift evident in her voice. "You're beautiful and you know it."

"Tell that to Charles' Lo Mein, wrapped around my middle like a spare tire."

She moved to swat him then, but mid strike went though an obvious change of heart. Her head ended up resting on Lorne's shoulder instead. His head dipped to rest near hers, as if he knew it was where this was going all along.

"I mean it Lorne."

"All right, my little task mistress, I'll make it two hours. You're right."

His cheek was ridiculously soft where it brushed against her forehead. Fred closed her eyes.

"Stop it," she chastised softly, thinking she could stay here all day. With her labcoat catching the delicious crumbs of his conversation. "You're wonderful. Beautiful, and green, and wonderful."

There was a bit of silence then, and Fred somehow knew they were thinking the same thing. About the past. About Pylea. And about what it meant to both of of them.

But Fred didn't see Pylea or what happened to her there when she looked at Lorne. She didn't see anything but him. He was more than that place. He was also a big part of why she started to believe she could be more again too.

Lorne shifted then, resting his arm on her shoulder and pulling her the smallest of degrees closer. Fred fell into him a bit, thinking of wistful and far away things.

He chuckled -- a knowing sound.

"A least that extra padding can be put to good use."

Her eyes peeked open, but she didn't bother contradicting him again. Instead Fred was lost in the way the perfect green of his skin contrasted against the bright violet of his suitsleeve. Her fingers brushed where the two met. It was more than a bit beautiful.

"I think a lot of people would choose to be green. Your shade, if they had the choice."

Fred smiled again, her chin lifting that much more.

"I know I would."



OOC: Take care Andy, and safe journey. We'll miss you.

~~~Based on a reference in the Angel episode A Hole in the World~~~
fredless: (In the dark by ???)
It's smooth and cool against your cheek.

Smooth like a stone the river's danced over again and again and again. The river always thinking that it is the one in control, ruling. Winning the day. It makes its mark on the stone, never doubting it will eventually submit. What the river doesn't know? Is that the rock is just as powerful, in its own way. Every bit and piece of it that's opened wide, every crevice opened wide like a wound? It leaves parts of itself behind, swept up in the unforgiving current of it all.

So the river - the commanding, controlling river is altered too. It's taken something new within itself and it will never be the same.

At least the rock has a sense of what is happening. Does the river even know?

You're the rock in the story, but you feel for the river all the same. And as you drift away into the place that's less than wakefullness, you wonder why that is.

It's still there. The smooth and the cool, in your dream.

That's the word for it.

A dream.

It sooths you like a lullaby, because there isn't a place for sound here. It isn't allowed, and it isn't safe.

Words and whispered instead, mumbled really and you hear songs in the silences in between, the odd beauty in the way the patterns become disjointed and never quite fit together right anymore. You are your only company anymore. Perhaps it really is best if you never know what you're going to say.

Awake gets further and further away.

So wonderfully far as that last little sliver of light behind your eyes slips into true darkness. It's the struggled surrender of not wanting to hold on anymore, and a desperate need to not let go.

But the smooth, cool surface is there to catch you. And there's one more thing.

It's soft.

Unending softness that cradles you. It's the way you imagine arms that look like yours must feel. Only, more than that. Two sets of arms, with voices and patterns and music of their own. Arms that seem to know you. They hold you close, and you believe that it is possible to love them.

When they're there, it is ok to let the darkness take over. To just let go.

It runs the full length of you. The smooth and the cool and the soft. You curl up into it and the pleasure of it runs that much deeper. Each breath brings comes back to you mated with the soft scent of of some kind of flower. It fills the spaces in your mouth and you wish then you could know just what the flower looks like.

And there's the seductive weight of something over you that reads like company, pressure and contact and not being alone. Fingers grasp at the malleable, downy softness with the rhythmic touch of a baby at the breast.

It's not dirt under your fingertips or soil on your hands or rocks..because you're still the rock. Rocks on the walls and where the math lives and it's how you'll get back.

You're the rock.

The math.

The way.

At it's....

It's your bed.

One day, it won't be the dream anymore. It'll be what you get back out of when the dreaming's done.
fredless: (Default)
"It's not always about holding hands..."

I don't understand, she wanted to say.

I don't understand why you think I won't.

I don't understand because I don't.

I don't understand how you can watch me the way that you do -- because she's never not aware of it anymore, the watching -- and not understand me at all. Not even a little bit.

It's not about Lilah, he though he's trying to make it that.

It's Connor. Connor, Angel's son. That Fred watched being born, huddled in a dark alley. The one that they all stood in the doorway watching Angel set up a nursery for, because he just had to touch everything himself. That they hold held, his little fists finding chest and cheek, and occasionally catching some hair. She could still remembered they way his breath smelled, a mixture of formula and naps and the dewy-fresh air from brand new lungs.

And Fred doesn't care how surprised they were, or lonely they were, or distanced from everything they new. She doesn't care about there here to there of things. Because he is Angel's.

She can't ever understand crossing that line. To hold him the one way, only to embrace him in the other? It just isn't how they were all supposed to end up. She is sure of it.

She gets Lilah, in a way. And knows that even before Wesley, she's long before been twisted up by the thought of the other woman. Since she caught her on the desk with the Angel that later turned out to be not. But there's no denying she's beautiful. And smart. But she's also unapologetically evil, and everything they were supposed to be against.

How do you let that much of yourself go? Distance yourself that far from everything you are? Because when you do, what are they actually left kissing and touching and filling? And what are you even able to feel while they're doing it?

Because there's a point when mindless touch just becomes empty.

Wesley understands that Fred likes holding hands.

And she does. That's true.

But there's so many other thoughts in her head. Big, small and in between. Kind and less so. Judging and forgiving. Hot and cold, love and less. That there's looking at a thing, and seeing it. She understands a pretty good bit of the world around her.

What she doesn't understand? Is why he thinks she doesn't.
fredless: (Default)
The red velvet is aged and worn, patches at the knees actually shiny from years of use. In a few years -- next year even -- the small girl studying the spots will wonder why a thing like that couldn't be fixed in the eleven months in between. After all, mama won't let a stain stand for even an hour. But that's next year, the wondering and pondering. For now she's just running her fingers over the places, enjoying the way the textures feel.

Her hair is pulled up in a sight of slightly mismatched pigtails, one fuller than the other. The ends are slightly damp, not because she chews on her hair? But because if it ever gets in the way of talking, she really can't be bothered. Not when there's things to say.

Bracing her hands on the red fabric, she finally pulls herself up, two big hands catching up under her arms to help. But only a little bit. Anymore wouldn't be allowed.

Chocolate-kissed eyes meet ones of winter blue.

"I was wondering when we were going to get here. Most little girls can't wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For me."

"Well that's just plain silly. You're only here once a year. That means there's always waiting."

There is a laugh. A chuckle. Because that is what he does, after all. Along with being warm, and smelling like cinnamon and peppermint.

"That's very true...just what is your name?"

She looks up then, the tilt of her chin sending her pigtails hanging even lower.

"Winifred."

"That's a lot of name, Winifred. What if I call you Winnie?"

Her nose scrunches up, opinion clear.

"Win?"

"Who loses?"

Read more... )

Awesome

Nov. 13th, 2008 02:47 pm
fredless: (Default)
He tastes like Harmony's coffee.

Nothing else tastes like Harmony's coffee. It's like a dish cooked up by a chef that refuses to enjoy their own creations. There's an odd sort of disconnect to hot beverages served by a vampire, and she's always adding the oddest things to it. Again, because she's not the one drinking it. That is a whole 'nother world of culinary delight, and Fred can always tell when Harmony's been in the break room.

Wesley drinks it though. The coffee. Maybe because he's the one that hired her. Maybe it's his quiet way of believing in a person. Maybe he's just thirsty, and it is what's there. Or maybe he's a little less hard than his years and experiences and wants and walls would have someone believe. Fred's been watching him a lot of late, and she's pretty settled on the idea of all of them. With a heavy dose of the latter.

It is there on the back of his tongue, curled up in the warmest, darkest recesses of his mouth. He's content, relaxed in his day and place and satisfaction in a job well done. A little be tired maybe, but not in a bad way. He's been relaxed while Fred's been rehearsing behind closed door. Letting down her hair. Wishing for the first time her lab had a mirror and not just shiny surfaces to catch your reflection in. Wondering what to say.

She says a lot.

He says a little.

She kisses him.

He kisses her a lot more.

His five o'clock shadow is rubbing new lines to the story into her cheek. He will touch her face later and Fred imagines him reading them back to her. She can feel where his jacket landed at their feet, tickling one ankle. So she steps closer to him and feels other things.

He tastes like coffee. Good coffee. Fred thinks she just might have to compliment Harmony on it later, using words she will understand. Awesome, she'll say.

Harmony will grin and say she knew it all along.

Fred won't be able to disagree.
fredless: (Default)
wasn't special, and in the end it is what ended up making it that way. It was just roads and reststops and fast food places and too many billboards. There really are too many billboards, taking up bits of the sky. And it isn't as if people don't know what is there. I think I'd rather have someone tell me something is good anyway, or find out on my own. I don't need wood and paint to tell me how to think.

...which shouldn't make any sense, me off to grad school. But it does. It still does and for everything they teach me, I will teach something back. That way it isn't a billboard at all, it's

Conversation. Yes. Conversation.

And I miss them. I know they miss me, and I know its in ways Mama claims I'm not even in a place to understand. But they're not in my place to understand either. No matter how long I lived in Texas, they'd lived there longer. No matter how well I know our house, they knew it that much more. And it felt like they were trying to get that way about me too, sometimes. No matter how much I learned about myself, they were so sure they'd learned more.

But I know me better. It's why I'm here.

I pulled out an add in the campus paper today, they were looking for help up at the library. I'm not sure yet but I think I'm going to go ahead and

-57-
fredless: (Pushing glasses by Lolobrigida)
Everything was a mess. Destroyed really. All around her was the aftermath of the battle, silver and pewter and porcelain just barely visible beneath the red and black and brown that encrusted it. Angel couldn't know, could he? He was so very particular about his weapons. Fastidious.

Which Fred really didn't get. There were dust bunnies big enough to be classified as a new species in more than a few parts of the hotel. She should know, she'd spent enough time crawling on floors and under tables, tucked out of sight. Well, or so she thought. But watch out if Angel caught you putting back something was was supposed to be sharp a little less sharp than it was before.

Because. Just because. He knew.

Read more... )
fredless: (In the dark by ???)
You don't.

You don't remember any of it really. Not because you don't want to, it isn't like that. It's because it isn't you. So you can't remember any of it, it just isn't logical. And you remember being logical once, even if was a way that'd been all your own. And maybe it wasn't a first memory, but it was one of them.

You don't remember the loud, howling wind in your ears that left your feet aching to run for the cellar and safety. Or the twin suns, beating down so bright and blinding. Walking and touching and learning --- so curious and so much even as you walked blinding into town, eyes wide open and so blind all at once.

It's not your memories. Because it isn't you.

You don't remember being taken, captured. Stone walls and harder hands. Hands that collar and hit and hurt and test and...hurt. It hurts but you don't remember it. You don't. You see the pictures, the bruises. Hear the sounds and the silence. But you don't remember the hurt. You just -- you can't.

It's not your memories. Because it isn't you.

Read more... )

Meme

Aug. 26th, 2008 07:44 pm
fredless: (Default)
Request any fic of mine and I will provide you with a commentary/annotations, like a DVD extra.

...because it is time to get her out and about a bit more. And this seems a good start! I am attempting to create a 'prompt' tag for everyone's sanity.
fredless: (Default)
Fred took the stairs from the emergency exit just near her office, enjoying the way her footsteps echoed. There wasn't any particular system to them, more an easy 1, 4-3, 2-1, 7 and then stop ---

Gait that was meant to match her thoughts and not the other way around. Fred was thinking right now. She trusted her feet to eventually catch up. They'd never let her down yet, not even here. And Faith was more than just a Slayer. A lot more actually. And ever Fred was surprised at how much of it she still had at times. Especially in herself.

She figured that there was all sorts of machinery humming underneath the simple cinder block walls that made up the stair well. Her lab probably made a good bit of it. Defenses and weapons and the stuff to catch the unawares. Fred glanced up at a nearby corner. Were there cameras tucked there? Did they think she was one of them? The unawares?

She wasn't.

She hadn't been for a long, long time. And that was -- good. Ok even. She'd found it, her stride. The point were thoughts and steps caught up. And where she stopping looking back, and liking the girl she was better. Now was finally winning out.

But even that wasn't why she was smiling.

She had a very important paper, with very important data for a very important person.

To a point. The main reason being it was time she faced her again.

And pushing open the door to the floor with the executive offices, Fred was somehow not surprised that she wasn't going to be hard to find. Had anyone told her that was annoying yet?

"Eve," she pronounced brightly, all stride and smiles and a No. 2 pencil tucked up in her hair.

"Remember that chat we had, about my budget?"

The paper was delivered neatly into the other woman's hands, a lone fold cutting the information in half.

"I was just coming to tell you how much better I did this time round. I didn't miss it by near that."

Less stride, all smile now. Feet planted firmly on the ground.

"I missed it by twice as much."
fredless: (Default)
Unkempt


It's not brushed, it's not yours and it's nothing that's real. Real things have hair, not animals. Not cows. Things that have names, have hair. Hair that has to be washed and dried and combed and cared for. It's soft and yielding, curls wrapping around a person's fingers like independent creatures. Friends that never go away. Up close, in the ends, there's a thousand colors when the sun strikes it just right. And the scent of it, just washed. Clean and fresh and smelling just like apples.

...what are apples?

Hair. They're like hair and neither of them?

Are yours.

*******

Braided

I'm not really here.

Tucked in. Tucked up. Tucked out of sight.

I'm inside my room and under the table and please don't look at me.

Because there's nothing to see at all.

I look in the mirror and no longer see me.

So how could you?

*******


Straightened

I've got to hold it together, to hold them together.

Everything hurts and everything's hard, but that doesn't mean it can't get better. I've just got to be strong until it does. Be strong for them the way they've always been strong for me.

My chin's up.

They're too busy, to hurt to ever see but it's up. I know it. I feel it. I'm going to be like them. If I can't be like them I'll make sure the bills get paid and the power stays on and weapons get put away and there's food in the fridge if we're ever hungry again. And when later comes, because we'll get there? I know we'll get there? We can look back together and they'll see how strong I was, for them.

And they'll be proud.

*******

Read more... )
fredless: (Arms crossed by noelia_g)
"Lorne?"

Fred slipped into Lorne's office on feet used to getting around quietly. Of course, the subtle entry then seemed that much more defeated by the loud echo of the door clicking back into place. Both her hands settled behind her and wrapped around the handle. She was either chastising it for being so noisy, or steadying her own resolve. It was a matter up for interpretation, and most likely the opinions would vary depending on who you worked for.

"Do you really think we don't know what they're doing? Splitting us up again, making sure we all got them when we were in separate rooms?"

They'd waited a week. A week for everyone to get settled. To get used to their cars and their offices, their budgets and their tools. Until the phone was an already more tempting way to talk, as opposed to crossing an entire building. An entire gianormous building.

"Did they think that we wouldn't talk? That we didn't know what we were getting into?"

It seemed as if Lorne was finally catching up with her. He smiled, and Fred stepped closer. It was an old, familiar habit in a new, distracting place. It felt good.

"Well I don't really know Freddles," he offered. "I don't really think I put my nose on that until now."

He was lying.

Fred didn't need to be like Lorne to know it. And actually, she was all right with that. It wasn't as if he was directly trying to manipulate her. Not really. Which already made him better than most of the people in the building. And Fred didn't think he was a part of some already-formed plan to....

But he wanted this. Fred reckoned he might even want this more than any of the rest of him. Looking at her friend she wondered, really wondered, about how much he missed his home.

Not Pylea. They were on the same page about that. But Caritas. So much had happened so fast, and he'd had to move on quicker than anyone should from something that mattered that much. It was so much of who he was. The seeing and the talking and the making things better, in his own way. Sure he was still taking care of them. Fred never doubted that he was looking after her. But a part of Lorne was never happier than when he was working the room.

Wolfram & Hart? Was a really, really big room.

She understood him wanting a little of that back. So she figured he already had too.

"Well I did think," Fred declared with no small amount of conviction. She'd learned from the best after all. "And I do know."

She thought small army of lawyers that'd come to find her in the lab, paperwork in hand. They hadn't seemed to mind when she left after, all the documents still in her possession. As if they knew, no matter what, they could find them.

They could find her.

It was part of the deal after all.

Fred dropped her small cache of papers on Lorne's desk, where it matched up with an almost identical file. A few pieces of stark white, heavily bonded paper scattered free. On each of them was her signature, the black ink seemingly twice as dark as the text she was agreeing to.

They'd find them. She had no doubt about that.

With a small, precise nod Fred left the room.
Page generated Sep. 21st, 2017 02:07 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios