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Aug. 4th, 2006 11:05 pmIt finally occured to her, when she reached Danbury, just where she was going. For the longest time Fred just wound the roads together, twisting the concrete ribbons up in the closest thing to a southbound direction as she could manage. After a while, the words New and York finally read a language she understood, but even then she kept going. She'd never made it to New York City, to visit Cordy when she'd lived there. And for some reason it suited her heart to pretend that she could be doing that very thing, that very day. It wasn't a road-trip, it was wild reaching. And Fred also knew her fingers were not going to catch anything but air.
She'd stayed at some sort of motel or the other just outside of town, one that the name would absolutely escape her until the credit card bill was delivered in the mail. It was old, and faded, and suited a mood she couldn't even define. She could park her car right in front of her room, and as much as she wanted to stretch her legs she just turned the key -- and actual key -- and followed her own self into the room. One part seemed to need to lead the other. First fingers and hands, to arms and chest and heart, legs and toes and hair trailing behind in some sort of jerking argument. There were flowers on the bed, and flowers on the wall, and a stain on the bottom left corner of the carpet that almost looked like a flower itself, its aspirations dark on on the floor, and through the shadows. She settled on the top of the bed, not bothering to place herself between sheets and covers. There just didn't see a need. Fred did, however, take notice of one of the old massagers, the ones that ate quarters for breakfast the way she used to eat her cereral. It still seemed to be in working order, just unplugged, most likely my the 'managment'. She turned and twisted on the bed to plug it back in, without the slightest intention of using it. But if it was there, and it worked. It should be allowed to be there, and to work.
And the next day was home. She didn't make it to New York City. She didn't even make it to 6 a.m. North this time, and not stopping to eat, Fred collected a dress from another place she would need the bill to identify and finished her drive just in time to arrive ahead of the dark.
She felt more than two days older.
She slipped upstairs to shower, and to change. She hadn't had any black. Her year in Boston, and the loss of an entire wardrobe the year before, and there'd never had to be black. It was simple, but Fred was fairly sure she'd been in a simple shop, if the thought enough about it. Something v-necked and sift from the shoulders, there was a tie she struggled with at her waist, just for a moment. And a skirt that flared to her knees. She twisted her hair up into a knot, secured it with quiet determination, and studied her appearance. She looked like an adult. Which, she should be one, considering her age.
This time when Fred thought of Cordy, the corner of her mouth tilted upwards. Cordy had been the first one to offer her any real....well, she helped, with the clothes. Normally it always occured after grand statements about 'boys and weapons', 'testosterone, and possibly being 'done with it', and then she would normally firmly guide Fred upstairs for a bit of just them. She'd been terriefied of it at first. She'd secretly adored her later.
She only hoped a few of those lessons had stuck along the way, and Cordy could be proud of her now. Not bothering to look in the mirror again, Fred headed downstairs.
She'd stayed at some sort of motel or the other just outside of town, one that the name would absolutely escape her until the credit card bill was delivered in the mail. It was old, and faded, and suited a mood she couldn't even define. She could park her car right in front of her room, and as much as she wanted to stretch her legs she just turned the key -- and actual key -- and followed her own self into the room. One part seemed to need to lead the other. First fingers and hands, to arms and chest and heart, legs and toes and hair trailing behind in some sort of jerking argument. There were flowers on the bed, and flowers on the wall, and a stain on the bottom left corner of the carpet that almost looked like a flower itself, its aspirations dark on on the floor, and through the shadows. She settled on the top of the bed, not bothering to place herself between sheets and covers. There just didn't see a need. Fred did, however, take notice of one of the old massagers, the ones that ate quarters for breakfast the way she used to eat her cereral. It still seemed to be in working order, just unplugged, most likely my the 'managment'. She turned and twisted on the bed to plug it back in, without the slightest intention of using it. But if it was there, and it worked. It should be allowed to be there, and to work.
And the next day was home. She didn't make it to New York City. She didn't even make it to 6 a.m. North this time, and not stopping to eat, Fred collected a dress from another place she would need the bill to identify and finished her drive just in time to arrive ahead of the dark.
She felt more than two days older.
She slipped upstairs to shower, and to change. She hadn't had any black. Her year in Boston, and the loss of an entire wardrobe the year before, and there'd never had to be black. It was simple, but Fred was fairly sure she'd been in a simple shop, if the thought enough about it. Something v-necked and sift from the shoulders, there was a tie she struggled with at her waist, just for a moment. And a skirt that flared to her knees. She twisted her hair up into a knot, secured it with quiet determination, and studied her appearance. She looked like an adult. Which, she should be one, considering her age.
This time when Fred thought of Cordy, the corner of her mouth tilted upwards. Cordy had been the first one to offer her any real....well, she helped, with the clothes. Normally it always occured after grand statements about 'boys and weapons', 'testosterone, and possibly being 'done with it', and then she would normally firmly guide Fred upstairs for a bit of just them. She'd been terriefied of it at first. She'd secretly adored her later.
She only hoped a few of those lessons had stuck along the way, and Cordy could be proud of her now. Not bothering to look in the mirror again, Fred headed downstairs.
