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theatrical_muse... The Weather
Aug. 18th, 2009 11:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thecopperShe made dinner; lasagne, but it had burned ever so slightly, searing a dark mottled brown over the top and around the edges.
He rang, and she answered the phone breathlessly, precariously balancing a tomato in one hand and a bowl in the other.
“I’ll be late,” he said.
“It’s okay,” she replied, because it would be unfair to think otherwise.
By the time they ate the lasagne was cold and dry, the salad wilted and soggy. He ate it without complaint, pulling away the burnt corners of his meal.
She slid a near brown leaf around her plate with her fork, smearing a dark trail of vinaigrette in its wake. Her other hand lay gently over the mound of her stomach.
“Nice day today,” he said, between bites.
“Was it?” she replied.
“Yeah.” He chewed slowly. “You didn’t go on your walk then?”
“No, too tired,” she said. She stuck a lettuce leaf in her mouth. The dressing was a tart shock to her senses, and her tongue recoiled.
“Shame. The weather was great. Nice and warm, blue sky. You should get out more, if it holds up,” he half-mumbled through a mouthful of food.
She tilted her head, offering a nod of agreement. “While I can still walk properly, anyway. ‘Fore long I’ll be waddling down the road like a pot bellied pig.”
“Sure it won’t be that bad,” he said. “This lasagne is really good.”
“Don’t lie. It’s awful.”
Silence, as he chewed his food, with perhaps more difficulty than such a dish should allow for. Silence, as she nibbled at the ends of a few lettuce leaves that hadn’t been tainted by the vinaigrette. The baby kicked against the palm of her hand, and she calmly stroked her belly.
“We should do something nice this weekend,” he said. “Just us. Maybe a picnic if the weather doesn’t go sour.”
She stabbed the lasagne with her fork. “Don’t know. Forecast says storms.”
He swallowed his last mouthful of cold, burned, mediocre lasagne. “Does it? Well, that’s what we get for living in Cardiff.”
“Yeah,” she said, twirling her fork on her plate. “Well, it was a nice idea.”
He paused for a long moment, before setting his fork on his plate with finality. “Yeah. Some other time then?”
“Of course,” she replied. “Some other time.”
------------
Cut for length and minor spoilers for Children of Earth
------------
Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: #295: Talk about the weather
Verse: Open/Canon
Word Count: 410
{{A million thank yous to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
twicedisplaced for the beta. &hearts}}
He rang, and she answered the phone breathlessly, precariously balancing a tomato in one hand and a bowl in the other.
“I’ll be late,” he said.
“It’s okay,” she replied, because it would be unfair to think otherwise.
By the time they ate the lasagne was cold and dry, the salad wilted and soggy. He ate it without complaint, pulling away the burnt corners of his meal.
She slid a near brown leaf around her plate with her fork, smearing a dark trail of vinaigrette in its wake. Her other hand lay gently over the mound of her stomach.
“Nice day today,” he said, between bites.
“Was it?” she replied.
“Yeah.” He chewed slowly. “You didn’t go on your walk then?”
“No, too tired,” she said. She stuck a lettuce leaf in her mouth. The dressing was a tart shock to her senses, and her tongue recoiled.
“Shame. The weather was great. Nice and warm, blue sky. You should get out more, if it holds up,” he half-mumbled through a mouthful of food.
She tilted her head, offering a nod of agreement. “While I can still walk properly, anyway. ‘Fore long I’ll be waddling down the road like a pot bellied pig.”
“Sure it won’t be that bad,” he said. “This lasagne is really good.”
“Don’t lie. It’s awful.”
Silence, as he chewed his food, with perhaps more difficulty than such a dish should allow for. Silence, as she nibbled at the ends of a few lettuce leaves that hadn’t been tainted by the vinaigrette. The baby kicked against the palm of her hand, and she calmly stroked her belly.
“We should do something nice this weekend,” he said. “Just us. Maybe a picnic if the weather doesn’t go sour.”
She stabbed the lasagne with her fork. “Don’t know. Forecast says storms.”
He swallowed his last mouthful of cold, burned, mediocre lasagne. “Does it? Well, that’s what we get for living in Cardiff.”
“Yeah,” she said, twirling her fork on her plate. “Well, it was a nice idea.”
He paused for a long moment, before setting his fork on his plate with finality. “Yeah. Some other time then?”
“Of course,” she replied. “Some other time.”
------------
Cut for length and minor spoilers for Children of Earth
------------
Muse: Gwen Cooper, Torchwood
Prompt: #295: Talk about the weather
Verse: Open/Canon
Word Count: 410
{{A million thank yous to
twicedisplaced for the beta. &hearts}}