Drabble: Ragged Sister (POTC)
Jun. 8th, 2011 07:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anactoriaTitle: Ragged Sister
Rating: G
Word count: 242
Characters/pairings: Er...
From![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
potc_drabbles prompt: family.
Being unable to die has downsides, and the waiting is one of them. She’s without companions a lot. It sent her mad, once—but she takes on the character of those who give her life (such as it is), and now she is mostly resigned, though impatience tugs her, sometimes, towards the far edges of her solitude.
But for now, at least, it’s broken, and she looks the new arrival—Anne, she called herself—over curiously. She looks a little shaken—still adjusting, no doubt—but there is something else besides confusion upon her countenance, steely and with an edge of lunacy in it. Something that says, oh yes, that she belongs.
She follows Anne’s gaze as it flicks up, surprised and then apprehensive, and she smiles at what she sees. The voice that greets her is singsong low, and its knowing edge tells her that its owner is back, at last, where she belongs.
“Dutchie,” it says, and there’s an arm around her waist, a kiss pressed soft (but never too lingering) against her cheek. Eyes wander down. “And—hmm, you know, I think we’ve met before?”
Anne stands up, colour rising in her cheeks. Some unease is understandable, she supposes; black-eyed and black-clad, Pearl looks a wicked wench enough on first sight. And from the tone of her voice, she’ll be having words with their newest ragged sister before too long. For now, though, Pearl just holds out a hand, bestows another kiss upon the one that greets it, smiling. “Welcome to the family.”
Rating: G
Word count: 242
Characters/pairings: Er...
From
potc_drabbles prompt: family.Being unable to die has downsides, and the waiting is one of them. She’s without companions a lot. It sent her mad, once—but she takes on the character of those who give her life (such as it is), and now she is mostly resigned, though impatience tugs her, sometimes, towards the far edges of her solitude.
But for now, at least, it’s broken, and she looks the new arrival—Anne, she called herself—over curiously. She looks a little shaken—still adjusting, no doubt—but there is something else besides confusion upon her countenance, steely and with an edge of lunacy in it. Something that says, oh yes, that she belongs.
She follows Anne’s gaze as it flicks up, surprised and then apprehensive, and she smiles at what she sees. The voice that greets her is singsong low, and its knowing edge tells her that its owner is back, at last, where she belongs.
“Dutchie,” it says, and there’s an arm around her waist, a kiss pressed soft (but never too lingering) against her cheek. Eyes wander down. “And—hmm, you know, I think we’ve met before?”
Anne stands up, colour rising in her cheeks. Some unease is understandable, she supposes; black-eyed and black-clad, Pearl looks a wicked wench enough on first sight. And from the tone of her voice, she’ll be having words with their newest ragged sister before too long. For now, though, Pearl just holds out a hand, bestows another kiss upon the one that greets it, smiling. “Welcome to the family.”
