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fandomweekly2023-01-12 09:39 pm
korble) wrote in fandomweekly2023-01-12 09:39 pm
[#163] inventory. (Mass Effect)
Theme Prompt: 163: Gift
Title: inventory.
Fandom: Mass Effect
Rating/Warnings: Teen and up; mention of death, alcohol
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 743
Summary: Dr. Chakwas unpacks her personal effects on the Normandy.
One (1) folded scrap of blue-and-silver striped wrapping paper.
It had softened with age and felt almost like fabric as Karin unfolded it to check for any damage that may have occurred in transit. She folded it back up, carefully creasing it just to the left of each previous fold; most of the silver foil had rubbed off long ago, left glittering flecks on all her clothes, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. Just because the damage was already there didn’t beckon an invitation to cause more.
One (1) length of blue satin ribbon.
She sank back into her chair. Karin ran her fingers over the ribbon in her lap, brought it to her lips, inhaled. Any trace of lingering perfume had dissipated years ago and all it smelled like anymore was the detergent she used on her clothes, but it was important. It kept the sting firmly lodged behind her eyes where no one could see it.
One (1) pullover sweatshirt, heather grey, embroidered.
It, too, had faded from its former glory. To let it remain folded up, unworn, would have been an insult, but decades of nightmares and late nights spent pacing hadn’t been kind to the fabric. It had taken five years just to be able to remove it from the plastic bag she’d originally sealed it in to preserve the chemical-vanilla scent of drugstore-brand hand lotion and waxy smoke from birthday candles, both of which had been purchased on the way to her house – no fuss, she’d told Hannah, and no-fuss is what she’d gotten.
Perhaps she should have let the Commander fuss a little more.
Karin had joked once that Hannah loved that jumper more than her; fitting she’d decided a matching one would make a perfect birthday gift. Just dinner and getting the twins updated on their vaccines, they’d agreed over the phone. But Hannah did what she wanted, and if she wanted to bring a birthday gift for her –
Her friend. They were just friends. Nothing more. No-fuss.
“Oh, Hannah,” she sputtered. “Oh, you… really shouldn’t have. We agreed –”
“Then consider it payment for the supplies you’re using on my kids, Karin.” Hannah snorted into her can of soda. “You’re worse than Dexi.”
Karin’s nose scrunched in offense, a mirror image of the hideous embroidered wolf staring up at her. “I’ve never once insisted on giving you something in return for a birthday gift.”
A sly smile twitched at the corner of Hannah’s mouth. The soda had stained her lips a deep cherry red. Red always looked so good on her.
“Don’t you start,” Karin huffed. “The children are right there.”
Before Hannah could yet again do whatever she wanted, her omnitool’s alarm reminded them both she’d only lingered for the recommended fifteen minutes after Jane and John’s shots. Just-friends didn’t stick around longer. She carried her children to the door.
Karin helped her bundle them up and get their shoes on, then ruffled Jane’s little crop of red hair just like her mother’s much longer locks, and gave John a little tug on his wrist to coax the thumb from his mouth. It didn’t work, but the effort was there. “Drive safe, Hannah, the weather’s looking nasty.”
“I’ll be fine, Karin,” Hannah snorted, adjusting John on her hip. “If the turians couldn’t kill me in deep space, a little rain won’t do much more than wash the car.”
Nothing-more didn’t argue. “Let me know when you get home, at least?”
Hannah had already started walking away and waved over her shoulder. “I’ll call you!”
No-fuss didn’t follow her just-friend’s car to the end of the driveway and stand in the rain, waiting for her just-friend to call, just to say she’d made it home. Nothing more.
Karin slipped the jumper over her head, and pulled open the bottom-right corner of her file cabinet.
One (1) bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy.
Down the hatch, as Hannah used to say. She tipped the bottle up and let the burn work its way into the hollow pit nothing-more left behind. The bottle went on top of the paper to hold it down, the ribbon was coiled around Karin’s knuckles, and the sweatshirt was wrapped as tight as she could make it. It didn’t compare to one of Hannah’s hugs, but it would do until the liquor wiped away the echo of an unexpected phone call, of rain soaking her clothes, of a lone brass bugle and twenty-one guns.
Title: inventory.
Fandom: Mass Effect
Rating/Warnings: Teen and up; mention of death, alcohol
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 743
Summary: Dr. Chakwas unpacks her personal effects on the Normandy.
One (1) folded scrap of blue-and-silver striped wrapping paper.
It had softened with age and felt almost like fabric as Karin unfolded it to check for any damage that may have occurred in transit. She folded it back up, carefully creasing it just to the left of each previous fold; most of the silver foil had rubbed off long ago, left glittering flecks on all her clothes, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. Just because the damage was already there didn’t beckon an invitation to cause more.
One (1) length of blue satin ribbon.
She sank back into her chair. Karin ran her fingers over the ribbon in her lap, brought it to her lips, inhaled. Any trace of lingering perfume had dissipated years ago and all it smelled like anymore was the detergent she used on her clothes, but it was important. It kept the sting firmly lodged behind her eyes where no one could see it.
One (1) pullover sweatshirt, heather grey, embroidered.
It, too, had faded from its former glory. To let it remain folded up, unworn, would have been an insult, but decades of nightmares and late nights spent pacing hadn’t been kind to the fabric. It had taken five years just to be able to remove it from the plastic bag she’d originally sealed it in to preserve the chemical-vanilla scent of drugstore-brand hand lotion and waxy smoke from birthday candles, both of which had been purchased on the way to her house – no fuss, she’d told Hannah, and no-fuss is what she’d gotten.
Perhaps she should have let the Commander fuss a little more.
Karin had joked once that Hannah loved that jumper more than her; fitting she’d decided a matching one would make a perfect birthday gift. Just dinner and getting the twins updated on their vaccines, they’d agreed over the phone. But Hannah did what she wanted, and if she wanted to bring a birthday gift for her –
Her friend. They were just friends. Nothing more. No-fuss.
“Oh, Hannah,” she sputtered. “Oh, you… really shouldn’t have. We agreed –”
“Then consider it payment for the supplies you’re using on my kids, Karin.” Hannah snorted into her can of soda. “You’re worse than Dexi.”
Karin’s nose scrunched in offense, a mirror image of the hideous embroidered wolf staring up at her. “I’ve never once insisted on giving you something in return for a birthday gift.”
A sly smile twitched at the corner of Hannah’s mouth. The soda had stained her lips a deep cherry red. Red always looked so good on her.
“Don’t you start,” Karin huffed. “The children are right there.”
Before Hannah could yet again do whatever she wanted, her omnitool’s alarm reminded them both she’d only lingered for the recommended fifteen minutes after Jane and John’s shots. Just-friends didn’t stick around longer. She carried her children to the door.
Karin helped her bundle them up and get their shoes on, then ruffled Jane’s little crop of red hair just like her mother’s much longer locks, and gave John a little tug on his wrist to coax the thumb from his mouth. It didn’t work, but the effort was there. “Drive safe, Hannah, the weather’s looking nasty.”
“I’ll be fine, Karin,” Hannah snorted, adjusting John on her hip. “If the turians couldn’t kill me in deep space, a little rain won’t do much more than wash the car.”
Nothing-more didn’t argue. “Let me know when you get home, at least?”
Hannah had already started walking away and waved over her shoulder. “I’ll call you!”
No-fuss didn’t follow her just-friend’s car to the end of the driveway and stand in the rain, waiting for her just-friend to call, just to say she’d made it home. Nothing more.
Karin slipped the jumper over her head, and pulled open the bottom-right corner of her file cabinet.
One (1) bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy.
Down the hatch, as Hannah used to say. She tipped the bottle up and let the burn work its way into the hollow pit nothing-more left behind. The bottle went on top of the paper to hold it down, the ribbon was coiled around Karin’s knuckles, and the sweatshirt was wrapped as tight as she could make it. It didn’t compare to one of Hannah’s hugs, but it would do until the liquor wiped away the echo of an unexpected phone call, of rain soaking her clothes, of a lone brass bugle and twenty-one guns.
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