this is not alex (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thisisalex) wrote2007-10-03 04:49 am
thisisalex) wrote2007-10-03 04:49 am
(no subject)
Prompt: The Opening Departure by Aiden
Character: Chewie Evgenyev.
Summary: Chewie just misses an encounter with a strangely familiar woman.
Something about her was known to him. Her scent, the simple yet sweet combination of the city, muted by light perfume, alluring but not arousing, floated through the air, catching the attention of no one but himself. Memories he couldn't fully recall were sparked, a flood of emotions he couldn't completely feel nor recognise beginning to seep into his mind as flashes of girls he knew weren't her, nor so much as resembled her, shot through his mind.
She sat down behind him, perched primly on the edge of her seat, her back straight and hair perfectly neat. Chewie could see her so clearly in his mind, impatiently arranging the condiments before her in order of expiration date, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun, thin but beautiful earrings hanging down from her small, feminine ears. It was almost as if he knew who she was, almost as if he had turned around and watched her do it all. Not sat there with his eyes closed and imagined her, watching her through his other senses.
"Do you need anything, miss?" a bored waiter returning from a cigarette break asked politely, a barely working pen poised over his pad of paper. She replied in that voice, that delicate mix of nationalities, flattening awkwardly, then arcing beautifully. Her English was better than Chewie thought he remembered.
"Just a coffee, please, I am only here for a short while." A pause as the waiter scribbled the simple order down, as if he needed to remember what the fragile beauty in booth three had ordered.
"That's a lovely accent, where are you from?"
"All over." Chewie took a deep breath, mouthing the words along with her, as if he had heard her say them time and again. As if it were ingrained in him.
"What brings you here?"
"Business." Her answers were succinct enough to prove she did not wish to speak, but her tone was light and pleasant. A pang shot through Chewie's heart, though what it was of he could not tell. Perhaps he missed this woman, or who she reminded him of, or perhaps he simply wished he could be like her -- neat, polite, independent, and all in one simple package.
"I'll be right back with your coffee."
And then silence fell. The woman sat arranging her condiments and fixing her hair, distracted and impatient, but showing neither, waiting for her coffee; Chewie sat, slowly sipping his coffee, focused upon the woman he had not even seen. The memories had not ceased to stir in his head, but they had not become any clearer. She was still his mystery.
"Here's your coffee, miss."
"Thank you." The cup of steaming black coffee was placed before her, and she put it to her lips without a single packet of cream or sugar. She wore no makeup on her lips, and minimal makeup around her eyes. She didn't need to. If she wished to stand out, she would.
Sipping along with her, Chewie watched his coffee blankly, trying not to think about the woman to his rear, as if trying too hard to recall her would break the fragile thread connecting him to her. He took another sip. And then she began to hum.
The tune was as familiar as she was, as beautiful as he knew her to be, harsh yet soft, melodic yet off key. Chewie shut his eyes. Clearer memories tumbled through his head, yet they went by so quick he could hardly pin point a single one, could hardly place this woman in any of them. Had he slept with her? Had she left some sort of an indelible impression upon his mind?
"Close your eyes, the rain won't wash away," she whispered the last words with just a tinge of emotion that could be labelled as sadness. In an instant, Chewie's eyes shot open, and he swivelled around in his seat.
"Mum?" he asked, knowing the woman was not Theodosia, not the woman he had known to be his mother all these years. But she had finished her coffee. She was gone, and Chewie was left talking to an empty booth.
Character: Chewie Evgenyev.
Summary: Chewie just misses an encounter with a strangely familiar woman.
Something about her was known to him. Her scent, the simple yet sweet combination of the city, muted by light perfume, alluring but not arousing, floated through the air, catching the attention of no one but himself. Memories he couldn't fully recall were sparked, a flood of emotions he couldn't completely feel nor recognise beginning to seep into his mind as flashes of girls he knew weren't her, nor so much as resembled her, shot through his mind.
She sat down behind him, perched primly on the edge of her seat, her back straight and hair perfectly neat. Chewie could see her so clearly in his mind, impatiently arranging the condiments before her in order of expiration date, her dark hair pulled into a loose bun, thin but beautiful earrings hanging down from her small, feminine ears. It was almost as if he knew who she was, almost as if he had turned around and watched her do it all. Not sat there with his eyes closed and imagined her, watching her through his other senses.
"Do you need anything, miss?" a bored waiter returning from a cigarette break asked politely, a barely working pen poised over his pad of paper. She replied in that voice, that delicate mix of nationalities, flattening awkwardly, then arcing beautifully. Her English was better than Chewie thought he remembered.
"Just a coffee, please, I am only here for a short while." A pause as the waiter scribbled the simple order down, as if he needed to remember what the fragile beauty in booth three had ordered.
"That's a lovely accent, where are you from?"
"All over." Chewie took a deep breath, mouthing the words along with her, as if he had heard her say them time and again. As if it were ingrained in him.
"What brings you here?"
"Business." Her answers were succinct enough to prove she did not wish to speak, but her tone was light and pleasant. A pang shot through Chewie's heart, though what it was of he could not tell. Perhaps he missed this woman, or who she reminded him of, or perhaps he simply wished he could be like her -- neat, polite, independent, and all in one simple package.
"I'll be right back with your coffee."
And then silence fell. The woman sat arranging her condiments and fixing her hair, distracted and impatient, but showing neither, waiting for her coffee; Chewie sat, slowly sipping his coffee, focused upon the woman he had not even seen. The memories had not ceased to stir in his head, but they had not become any clearer. She was still his mystery.
"Here's your coffee, miss."
"Thank you." The cup of steaming black coffee was placed before her, and she put it to her lips without a single packet of cream or sugar. She wore no makeup on her lips, and minimal makeup around her eyes. She didn't need to. If she wished to stand out, she would.
Sipping along with her, Chewie watched his coffee blankly, trying not to think about the woman to his rear, as if trying too hard to recall her would break the fragile thread connecting him to her. He took another sip. And then she began to hum.
The tune was as familiar as she was, as beautiful as he knew her to be, harsh yet soft, melodic yet off key. Chewie shut his eyes. Clearer memories tumbled through his head, yet they went by so quick he could hardly pin point a single one, could hardly place this woman in any of them. Had he slept with her? Had she left some sort of an indelible impression upon his mind?
"Close your eyes, the rain won't wash away," she whispered the last words with just a tinge of emotion that could be labelled as sadness. In an instant, Chewie's eyes shot open, and he swivelled around in his seat.
"Mum?" he asked, knowing the woman was not Theodosia, not the woman he had known to be his mother all these years. But she had finished her coffee. She was gone, and Chewie was left talking to an empty booth.