fanfic and original writing by ar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
witticaster) wrote2010-07-12 05:09 pm
witticaster) wrote2010-07-12 05:09 pm
(no subject)
Archie's supposed to be about twelve here. This didn't really go the direction I wanted it to, so I'm not precisely happy with it, but, uh. Here it is.
Archie doesn't know what he wants from the future, but he wants it to be exciting.
He tells this to Margie one night, when she's home from uni for Christmas break, and she laughs; this, he suspects, means she thinks it is a silly goal, and he resolves not to tell Charlie or Frankie. (He wouldn't have told Frankie anyway, of course, because Frankie is an arsehole, and until someone learns to read his thoughts and tell him off for using that kind of language, he'll think it all he likes.) "Stop laughing!" he tells her, mouth twisting petulantly. "You're the one who asked."
Margie does quiet, and Archie congratulates himself on his impeccable logic (and decides that if he ever asks people what they want to be when they grown up, he will never laugh at the answer). She knocks a shoulder against one of his, like he's her friend, not just her little brother, and they sit quietly on the sofa in the otherwise empty parlour. Mum and Dad are off at a holiday party Archie wasn't invited to, Charlie's spending Christmas with his fiancee's family, and Frankie won't be home until the day before Christmas Eve.
And even if he'd heard Margie complaining to Mum and Dad about having to stay home with Archie ("He's twelve, he can watch himself for the night!") instead of going out with friends, she's always nice enough to him that he can pretend she wants to be there with him. She's smiling, in any case, and asks, "What kind of exciting things do you want to do, do you think?"
Archie shrugs. He hasn't actually thought that far ahead; pirates have been on his mind since he went to see The Pirates of Penzance earlier in the month, but you can't be pirates like they were anymore. "I could go to sea," he finally says, thinking of David Balfour. "And maybe I could be shipwrecked, like Robinson Crusoe. That'd be exciting."
"Or like Lord of the Flies," Margie says, her voice fluttering in that way that means she's trying very hard not to laugh. "Do you do anything but read, Archie?"
"What's Lord of the Flies?" he asks, handily side-stepping her question. He plays footie sometimes, and he had some lines in the school play this fall, but that's not enough to balance it out, far as anyone else seems to be concerned: Dad asked the same question two weeks ago, with far less amusement, when Archie brought a tome with him to the dinner table.
"It's a book about schoolboys your age stuck on a desert island. They all kill each other, it's horrible."
"I wouldn't do that," Archie says, pulling a face. "If I was on a desert island with my best mates, I wouldn't kill them."
"No, you're a much better lad than that lot." Margie smiles, really smiles, and changes the subject. "Anyway, Mum says you have a girlfriend, bet you wouldn't want to leave her behind."
"I have not, she's just a friend." And not even a really good friend; if they hadn't been assigned as partners on a school project, he wouldn't have brought her over. It would've been much smarter to work at the Jardines' house, in retrospect. "She's just a girl from school."
"Methinks my brother doth protest too much," she says, and ruffles his hair. "C'mon, Mum left us money for the cinema, you can tell me all about her on the way."
Archie doesn't know what he wants from the future, but he wants it to be exciting.
He tells this to Margie one night, when she's home from uni for Christmas break, and she laughs; this, he suspects, means she thinks it is a silly goal, and he resolves not to tell Charlie or Frankie. (He wouldn't have told Frankie anyway, of course, because Frankie is an arsehole, and until someone learns to read his thoughts and tell him off for using that kind of language, he'll think it all he likes.) "Stop laughing!" he tells her, mouth twisting petulantly. "You're the one who asked."
Margie does quiet, and Archie congratulates himself on his impeccable logic (and decides that if he ever asks people what they want to be when they grown up, he will never laugh at the answer). She knocks a shoulder against one of his, like he's her friend, not just her little brother, and they sit quietly on the sofa in the otherwise empty parlour. Mum and Dad are off at a holiday party Archie wasn't invited to, Charlie's spending Christmas with his fiancee's family, and Frankie won't be home until the day before Christmas Eve.
And even if he'd heard Margie complaining to Mum and Dad about having to stay home with Archie ("He's twelve, he can watch himself for the night!") instead of going out with friends, she's always nice enough to him that he can pretend she wants to be there with him. She's smiling, in any case, and asks, "What kind of exciting things do you want to do, do you think?"
Archie shrugs. He hasn't actually thought that far ahead; pirates have been on his mind since he went to see The Pirates of Penzance earlier in the month, but you can't be pirates like they were anymore. "I could go to sea," he finally says, thinking of David Balfour. "And maybe I could be shipwrecked, like Robinson Crusoe. That'd be exciting."
"Or like Lord of the Flies," Margie says, her voice fluttering in that way that means she's trying very hard not to laugh. "Do you do anything but read, Archie?"
"What's Lord of the Flies?" he asks, handily side-stepping her question. He plays footie sometimes, and he had some lines in the school play this fall, but that's not enough to balance it out, far as anyone else seems to be concerned: Dad asked the same question two weeks ago, with far less amusement, when Archie brought a tome with him to the dinner table.
"It's a book about schoolboys your age stuck on a desert island. They all kill each other, it's horrible."
"I wouldn't do that," Archie says, pulling a face. "If I was on a desert island with my best mates, I wouldn't kill them."
"No, you're a much better lad than that lot." Margie smiles, really smiles, and changes the subject. "Anyway, Mum says you have a girlfriend, bet you wouldn't want to leave her behind."
"I have not, she's just a friend." And not even a really good friend; if they hadn't been assigned as partners on a school project, he wouldn't have brought her over. It would've been much smarter to work at the Jardines' house, in retrospect. "She's just a girl from school."
"Methinks my brother doth protest too much," she says, and ruffles his hair. "C'mon, Mum left us money for the cinema, you can tell me all about her on the way."