Fic: "Anthony"
Jul. 4th, 2010 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cyusTitle: Anthony
Characters: OC, Jack
Length: 700 words
Rating: G
Summary: Torchwood's left Cardiff, but that doesn't mean that they took everything alien with them.
Notes: I originally came up with the idea for WIAD 4.02 (Prompt: "waking up" + "two foreign words") before I wrote the story I eventually submitted because the prompts never quite worked with this idea and the word count limit
Anthony doesn't play well with the other children, that's what his teachers used to say whenever Anthony knelt at the utmost edge of the pier, handful of chips stretched out for the taking. The seagulls swarmed around him, and while everyone else would point and stare, the teachers busy with tittering jokes, he'd watch the gulls glide on wings and pick at the food with sharp beaks, and he'd notice none of them even there.
Now Anthony's seventeen and he's changed his embarrassing school shorts for hipster clothes and attitude and the handful of chips has turned into a bottle of wine that he takes down to the Norwegian Church when he's back in Cardiff.
The sun's warm, the grass only just damp under Anthony's back and once in a while a family walks past in front of him along the promenade to walk across to the barrage. It's a Saturday, families do that. It's quiet otherwise, and the waves provide a soft lull.
"They like you."
Anthony looks up. A seagull is sitting on his chest, and he shoos it away, half embarrassed. He squints past it at the man in the long coat, American accent. "Long time no see," he says, playing with the mouth of the bottle. There's the edge of fear or grudging respect, only because he's heard too much about him second-hand.
It's been years since he's swapped smokes with Ianto down by the pier, before his parents had decided that school in Scotland would be better for their strange child than a city that had him out late by himself, watching the stars and watching the birds. He'd seen all this go up in flames on the telly in the common room of his dorms, and even rebuilt it isn't the same now.
First time he'd been back the Plass had still been smoking, and he'd spend hours standing there, waiting. And again every holiday he is down in Wales.
"Where's the bloke with the suit?" Anthony asks and beckons a seagull closer that waggles around them curiously. It picks at the bottle of wine and he lets it have a taste.
The American doesn't say anything, only kneels down to stare at the seagull and sighs. "Can I have a sip?" he says, and Anthony laughs and hands over the bottle of wine. "You remember him?"
"He had stories about aliens," Anthony replies, caging, judging. "I don't know. He'd give me fags."
The man laughs. "I bet he did. You were, what? Thirteen? Fourteen?" He looks out towards Penarth.
They lapse into silence, until Anthony says, "You've been gone, haven't you? I don't know who you are or anything," he says immediately, "but I figured you'd left."
The bloke sits on the grass next to Anthony. "You were his pet project. I let him have it. Only felt right to..." he trails off and leans across, question in his eyes.
Anthony nods and stays still when the bloke draws down the neck of Anthony's t-shirt and rubs a thumb over the feathers, the thin bones. Anthony ruffles the feathers with an embarrassed laugh that he hates, he is such a child sometimes, and the bloke lets the shirt snap back. He reaches for the bottle and takes a healthy swig.
"He's still around then?" Anthony asks, rubbing his hot cheeks on his shoulder.
The bloke doesn't reply, doesn't say anything.
"Still owe him a pack of smokes. And a thanks."
The American bites out a laugh. "Yeah, don't we all." He lies back in the grass, blinking at the sky, fond smile for the sea gull that hopps over him to get to Anthony, or maybe the wine. "It's fine."
Anthony looks at the guy and looks out at the sea and back at his bottle. "Gets lonely," he says. "Being different."
Ianto would have had a word of comfort, or a naff dirty joke about what's under birds' skirts, but the guy has nothing, only silence. Cardiff feels different, even when it looks the same, and they exchange tight smiles when the bloke leaves, coat billowing in the breeze.
Anthony leaves his bottle of wine at the door on the pier and walks away. "Cheers, mate."
Characters: OC, Jack
Length: 700 words
Rating: G
Summary: Torchwood's left Cardiff, but that doesn't mean that they took everything alien with them.
Notes: I originally came up with the idea for WIAD 4.02 (Prompt: "waking up" + "two foreign words") before I wrote the story I eventually submitted because the prompts never quite worked with this idea and the word count limit
Anthony doesn't play well with the other children, that's what his teachers used to say whenever Anthony knelt at the utmost edge of the pier, handful of chips stretched out for the taking. The seagulls swarmed around him, and while everyone else would point and stare, the teachers busy with tittering jokes, he'd watch the gulls glide on wings and pick at the food with sharp beaks, and he'd notice none of them even there.
Now Anthony's seventeen and he's changed his embarrassing school shorts for hipster clothes and attitude and the handful of chips has turned into a bottle of wine that he takes down to the Norwegian Church when he's back in Cardiff.
The sun's warm, the grass only just damp under Anthony's back and once in a while a family walks past in front of him along the promenade to walk across to the barrage. It's a Saturday, families do that. It's quiet otherwise, and the waves provide a soft lull.
"They like you."
Anthony looks up. A seagull is sitting on his chest, and he shoos it away, half embarrassed. He squints past it at the man in the long coat, American accent. "Long time no see," he says, playing with the mouth of the bottle. There's the edge of fear or grudging respect, only because he's heard too much about him second-hand.
It's been years since he's swapped smokes with Ianto down by the pier, before his parents had decided that school in Scotland would be better for their strange child than a city that had him out late by himself, watching the stars and watching the birds. He'd seen all this go up in flames on the telly in the common room of his dorms, and even rebuilt it isn't the same now.
First time he'd been back the Plass had still been smoking, and he'd spend hours standing there, waiting. And again every holiday he is down in Wales.
"Where's the bloke with the suit?" Anthony asks and beckons a seagull closer that waggles around them curiously. It picks at the bottle of wine and he lets it have a taste.
The American doesn't say anything, only kneels down to stare at the seagull and sighs. "Can I have a sip?" he says, and Anthony laughs and hands over the bottle of wine. "You remember him?"
"He had stories about aliens," Anthony replies, caging, judging. "I don't know. He'd give me fags."
The man laughs. "I bet he did. You were, what? Thirteen? Fourteen?" He looks out towards Penarth.
They lapse into silence, until Anthony says, "You've been gone, haven't you? I don't know who you are or anything," he says immediately, "but I figured you'd left."
The bloke sits on the grass next to Anthony. "You were his pet project. I let him have it. Only felt right to..." he trails off and leans across, question in his eyes.
Anthony nods and stays still when the bloke draws down the neck of Anthony's t-shirt and rubs a thumb over the feathers, the thin bones. Anthony ruffles the feathers with an embarrassed laugh that he hates, he is such a child sometimes, and the bloke lets the shirt snap back. He reaches for the bottle and takes a healthy swig.
"He's still around then?" Anthony asks, rubbing his hot cheeks on his shoulder.
The bloke doesn't reply, doesn't say anything.
"Still owe him a pack of smokes. And a thanks."
The American bites out a laugh. "Yeah, don't we all." He lies back in the grass, blinking at the sky, fond smile for the sea gull that hopps over him to get to Anthony, or maybe the wine. "It's fine."
Anthony looks at the guy and looks out at the sea and back at his bottle. "Gets lonely," he says. "Being different."
Ianto would have had a word of comfort, or a naff dirty joke about what's under birds' skirts, but the guy has nothing, only silence. Cardiff feels different, even when it looks the same, and they exchange tight smiles when the bloke leaves, coat billowing in the breeze.
Anthony leaves his bottle of wine at the door on the pier and walks away. "Cheers, mate."
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no subject
Date: 2010-07-12 09:13 pm (UTC)retconbookwrite, huh, hadn't thought about that. I forget what I book I'm supposed to be writing, haha, I better look back into this!