What Do I even Title This, Help
Dec. 23rd, 2024 09:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadowWhat the hell-ass is this making me anxious for, ANYWAY.
So last year I went to a few writing Meetups, and was surprised when people showed interest in Friendship in Winter. As I posted on FB, I really wasn't expected anyone to be interested in a novel about two deeply messed up people.
So instead of AG, I've been working on that when I do get the muse, because AG and I aren't speaking to each other right now. It's not AG, it's me: untreated ADHD has turned that thing into a monstrosity and I really need to just sit down and figure out the plot and subplots. Friendship in Winter is so much easier because there really ISN'T a plot. It's just two mentally ill people trying to survive.
I almost started a paragraph with "So" again, sheesh. Here's the rewritten bath scene in the beginning of FIW. TW for depression I guess? It's Terry and Kader, don't know what to tell you.
The fresh air eased his headache, even if the sun did not, but Kader was already on the move, and he suspected she would drag him if he did not follow. This time, he recognized the area they came upon, though he could not remember the last time he had been at the bathhouse. It was quiet inside, most people having already left to go to work, but the few people in there stared at him.
“Well, guess the bath won’t be clean this afternoon.” An older man spoke, giving them a disgusted look.
“Yes, because you are the absolute pinnacle of cleanliness.” Kader glared at him and blocked the exit as Terry half-stepped toward it. “Come on.”
She paid a copper for towels, fresh soap, and a perhaps fresh brush. They walked down the smooth stone steps, past some chattering couples and another older man who seemed at least less offended by their presence. Then they were in the open bath, and even with only a few people in there, Terry suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious.
Kader wasn’t allowing him modesty though. They tried to pull off his clothing, but only his worn boots were willing to come off; his socks took a layer of skin with them, and after that Kader took out a scalpel and slowly cut away at the fabric, preserving as much as his skin as they were able. It left only his coat and boots largely intact.
“Do you want me to wash those?” An old woman with a towel around her waist smiled apologetically when they both jumped. “Forgive me. I do not mean to pry, but I can try to get what remains clean. No charge.”
“And what would make you offer this?” Kader lifted her eyebrows at the woman.
“Kindness. Nothing more.” The woman knelt down and picked up his jacket, looking it over. “I can also mend—”
“I already bought him a new one. That one is useless.” Kader looked away. “But if you want to scrub them, fine. It’s all he has until the tailor’s done.”
“Very well.” The woman knelt down and picked up his boots as well; Terry noticed that somehow, her towel never shifted out of place. “I’ll bring them home and wash them. They’ll be ready by the time you have dried off.”
“You expect me to leave him here to go get his fucking clothes?” Kader gritted her teeth as a part of his shirt stubbornly refused to be cut, let alone taken off.
“No. They will come on their own.”
On a hunch, Terry looked up at the woman’s eyes. They had a distinct sheen turning her blue eyes silvery, and on instinct he closed his eyes, took a breath, and willed his magic sense forward. When he opened his eyes again, he could feel and vaguely see the air rippling around the woman, with some ripples surrounding his clothing. He blinked, returning his vision to normal, and the woman smiled.
“He understands. They’ll come back.” The woman winked, and then walked slowly away.
“Does no one in this town mind their fucking business?” Kader grunted and forced the scalpel through his clothing and the tip of his skin. ‘Shit. Fuck it, apparently I’m going to injure you either way.”
His clothes peeled or sliced away, he looked down to see pale skin interspersed with large and small pink patches; a few of those patches had begun to bleed, a few droplets of blood getting stuck on the contour of his ribs. He wiped at one of them absentmindedly, wincing when he touched raw skin.
“Come on.” Kader had stripped down, revealing upper legs that were covered in scars, perfect lines cascading down to halfway to her knees. A massive bruise was on her right thigh, and he realized that some of the scars were in fact still-healing cuts. Fainter scars were on her upper arms, though not nearly as many. When he did not move, she scoffed, grabbed his arm, and dragged him hobbling to the bath.
The water was insanely cold; Terry gasped as the water hit the open wounds on his skin, and he nearly stumbled face-first into the water from the pain. Kader kept him from toppling over, and soon they were waist-deep in frigid water, and she was threatening him with the bar of soap and brush. The moment the soap hit his skin, he hissed, nearly biting his tongue; he shifted away, the water helping ease the weakness in his hip, but Kader grabbed him and forced him to sit on one of the bath steps. He had no energy to try again.
Around them the water turned pinkish from blood; the brush removed even more skin than his clothing had; and then clumps of his hair joined the blood when Kader scrubbed it. When she finally released him, he almost hit the stones face-first in his frantic scramble out of the bath. While Kader washed, he curled tightly into a fetal position underneath the towel, shivering.
As Kader was drying herself off, his coat and boots appeared, the coat featuring a few new patches of, out of all things, pink fabric. The doctor scoffed at it, rolling her eyes, but he frantically grabbed the coat to wrap around him.
“Wait. I need to bandage you up first.” She worked quickly, wearing only stockings and an undershirt, then wrapped a towel around his shoulders and pulled out a knife. She sighed heavily at his surprised look. “I need to cut your hair. It’s mostly dead. You saw how much came out just washing it. If I cut it, the patches will be less obvious.”
His hair; the only thing he had been able to keep when he pushed back against his father’s rules. He had thick, lustrous black hair, taking after his mother, and it felt like the last thing he had of her besides painful memories. But that beautiful hair wasn’t what had fallen in the tub, or what Kader hacked off with his dagger. The hair he looked at was stringy and discoloured, tangled at the ends.
It was the hair she had at her funeral, when death had stolen her beauty and replaced it with pallor and a necklace of black and blue bruises that her dress did not conceal. Her glassy blue eyes still looked at him at night, begging for help that he could never provide, not then and not now.
The moment Kader was done, Terry laid his head on his knees, and tears stained his freshly-washed, newly-patched pink and black coat.
So last year I went to a few writing Meetups, and was surprised when people showed interest in Friendship in Winter. As I posted on FB, I really wasn't expected anyone to be interested in a novel about two deeply messed up people.
So instead of AG, I've been working on that when I do get the muse, because AG and I aren't speaking to each other right now. It's not AG, it's me: untreated ADHD has turned that thing into a monstrosity and I really need to just sit down and figure out the plot and subplots. Friendship in Winter is so much easier because there really ISN'T a plot. It's just two mentally ill people trying to survive.
I almost started a paragraph with "So" again, sheesh. Here's the rewritten bath scene in the beginning of FIW. TW for depression I guess? It's Terry and Kader, don't know what to tell you.
The fresh air eased his headache, even if the sun did not, but Kader was already on the move, and he suspected she would drag him if he did not follow. This time, he recognized the area they came upon, though he could not remember the last time he had been at the bathhouse. It was quiet inside, most people having already left to go to work, but the few people in there stared at him.
“Well, guess the bath won’t be clean this afternoon.” An older man spoke, giving them a disgusted look.
“Yes, because you are the absolute pinnacle of cleanliness.” Kader glared at him and blocked the exit as Terry half-stepped toward it. “Come on.”
She paid a copper for towels, fresh soap, and a perhaps fresh brush. They walked down the smooth stone steps, past some chattering couples and another older man who seemed at least less offended by their presence. Then they were in the open bath, and even with only a few people in there, Terry suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious.
Kader wasn’t allowing him modesty though. They tried to pull off his clothing, but only his worn boots were willing to come off; his socks took a layer of skin with them, and after that Kader took out a scalpel and slowly cut away at the fabric, preserving as much as his skin as they were able. It left only his coat and boots largely intact.
“Do you want me to wash those?” An old woman with a towel around her waist smiled apologetically when they both jumped. “Forgive me. I do not mean to pry, but I can try to get what remains clean. No charge.”
“And what would make you offer this?” Kader lifted her eyebrows at the woman.
“Kindness. Nothing more.” The woman knelt down and picked up his jacket, looking it over. “I can also mend—”
“I already bought him a new one. That one is useless.” Kader looked away. “But if you want to scrub them, fine. It’s all he has until the tailor’s done.”
“Very well.” The woman knelt down and picked up his boots as well; Terry noticed that somehow, her towel never shifted out of place. “I’ll bring them home and wash them. They’ll be ready by the time you have dried off.”
“You expect me to leave him here to go get his fucking clothes?” Kader gritted her teeth as a part of his shirt stubbornly refused to be cut, let alone taken off.
“No. They will come on their own.”
On a hunch, Terry looked up at the woman’s eyes. They had a distinct sheen turning her blue eyes silvery, and on instinct he closed his eyes, took a breath, and willed his magic sense forward. When he opened his eyes again, he could feel and vaguely see the air rippling around the woman, with some ripples surrounding his clothing. He blinked, returning his vision to normal, and the woman smiled.
“He understands. They’ll come back.” The woman winked, and then walked slowly away.
“Does no one in this town mind their fucking business?” Kader grunted and forced the scalpel through his clothing and the tip of his skin. ‘Shit. Fuck it, apparently I’m going to injure you either way.”
His clothes peeled or sliced away, he looked down to see pale skin interspersed with large and small pink patches; a few of those patches had begun to bleed, a few droplets of blood getting stuck on the contour of his ribs. He wiped at one of them absentmindedly, wincing when he touched raw skin.
“Come on.” Kader had stripped down, revealing upper legs that were covered in scars, perfect lines cascading down to halfway to her knees. A massive bruise was on her right thigh, and he realized that some of the scars were in fact still-healing cuts. Fainter scars were on her upper arms, though not nearly as many. When he did not move, she scoffed, grabbed his arm, and dragged him hobbling to the bath.
The water was insanely cold; Terry gasped as the water hit the open wounds on his skin, and he nearly stumbled face-first into the water from the pain. Kader kept him from toppling over, and soon they were waist-deep in frigid water, and she was threatening him with the bar of soap and brush. The moment the soap hit his skin, he hissed, nearly biting his tongue; he shifted away, the water helping ease the weakness in his hip, but Kader grabbed him and forced him to sit on one of the bath steps. He had no energy to try again.
Around them the water turned pinkish from blood; the brush removed even more skin than his clothing had; and then clumps of his hair joined the blood when Kader scrubbed it. When she finally released him, he almost hit the stones face-first in his frantic scramble out of the bath. While Kader washed, he curled tightly into a fetal position underneath the towel, shivering.
As Kader was drying herself off, his coat and boots appeared, the coat featuring a few new patches of, out of all things, pink fabric. The doctor scoffed at it, rolling her eyes, but he frantically grabbed the coat to wrap around him.
“Wait. I need to bandage you up first.” She worked quickly, wearing only stockings and an undershirt, then wrapped a towel around his shoulders and pulled out a knife. She sighed heavily at his surprised look. “I need to cut your hair. It’s mostly dead. You saw how much came out just washing it. If I cut it, the patches will be less obvious.”
His hair; the only thing he had been able to keep when he pushed back against his father’s rules. He had thick, lustrous black hair, taking after his mother, and it felt like the last thing he had of her besides painful memories. But that beautiful hair wasn’t what had fallen in the tub, or what Kader hacked off with his dagger. The hair he looked at was stringy and discoloured, tangled at the ends.
It was the hair she had at her funeral, when death had stolen her beauty and replaced it with pallor and a necklace of black and blue bruises that her dress did not conceal. Her glassy blue eyes still looked at him at night, begging for help that he could never provide, not then and not now.
The moment Kader was done, Terry laid his head on his knees, and tears stained his freshly-washed, newly-patched pink and black coat.
