Pairing: Slightly-awkward-and-lonely!Francis x Kind-of-a-Passerby!Priscilla :P
---
He can only remember that day as the day colours finally returned to him.
It wasn't a vibrant rainbow streaking across his sky, or a vivid explosion of distilled visuals midair, nothing so dramatic. The colours had slowly trickled back into his life, one at a time.
He can only remember that day as the day colours finally returned to him.
It wasn't a vibrant rainbow streaking across his sky, or a vivid explosion of distilled visuals midair, nothing so dramatic. The colours had slowly trickled back into his life, one at a time.
The memory is slightly hazy now, turning sepia at the edges where time has leached out the colours, but he remembers being wedged on a seat on the rickety bus, painstakingly writing on his time-battered notebook (the one that Arthur had told him to just throw it out with the rest of your junk you bloody blockhead it's falling apart already but somehow he never got round to doing it) with smudges and accidental smears when he was nearly thrown from the seat each time the bus shuddered to a halt.
Scattered across the crinkled pages were sketches and scribbles, snapshots of the life whirling around him. There, the tiny lavender old lady with the nose that never stopped twitching, rendered with light, feathery strokes of graphite. The little squalling baby with his fever-red face twisted into a grimace as he clung onto his mother's shoulder framed with harsh lines of ink.
A spidery scrawl that, if he squinted hard enough and tilted his head at just the right angle, read 'GET MORE PENCILS'. A hand here, a shoe there, disembodied limbs hastily thrown together or painstakingly limned, all sprawled across the old, yellowed paper.
When he closed his eyes, ribbons of fantastic dream-colours would swirl and dance beneath his eyelids and slowly congeal to form tangible shapes (a coat, a person, a city, masterpieces full of life) but when he opened them again, they would be (whywhywhywhywhy) once again be black and age-spotted yellow.
It wasn't that his drawings were bad, per se (no, his family friends teachers all said he was good, maybe even talented) but he could never colour in a single one of his drawings.
The bus spasmed again as it coughed out another plume of black smoke. People shuffled on and off. His pen nib continued to hesitate and his fingers loosened a fraction-
The bus groaned and lurched forward once more. Caught by surprise, his pen was wrenched from his hand and skittered across the floor.
He cursed and leaned out of his seat, desperately trying to find his pen, only to see it...
...reappear right in front of him.
"Is this yours?" The girl held her palm outright, his pen nestled safely there.
He stared at the floor and nodded with a muttered 'Thank you.'
"You're welcome."
Another nod.
"Hey, do you mind if I sit next to you?"
He was about to nod again, before he realised that no, he would not mind her sitting next to him in the least, so he shook his head firmly this time.
"Great!"
And there they sat, side by side in awkward silence for the next few stops, until his notebook caught her eye.
"Are those your drawings?" He nodded mutely again.
"You...you draw very well." She said quietly, a bashful smile playing on her lips.
"Can't colour." He mumbled back, drawing forlorn rectangles and shading them pitch-black.
"W-well, you can if you try. Everyone can colour if they try!" She turned around and rummaged about in her knapsack before pulling out a box of colour pencils. "I'll show you, it isn't very hard at all!"
He wasn't very sure why he was so intrigued by this sentence even though he had heard it countless times before, but he willingly handed his notebook over, staring in awe and wonder as he watched the colours slowly flow from her hand and swirl about to fill up the hungry spaces.
"So you see, you just pick whatever colour you want...I think orange would be quite nice here, what do you think? No problem? Okay then, orange it is. So you just colour it in like this...and then you slowly add in the darker shades of orange for the shadowed parts...and you use different strokes for different textures...and then you're done!"
She triumphantly lifted her pencil and returned the notebook to him, him still wide-eyed and transfixed by the alien daub of colour sitting so impudently amongst the monochrome pages. She couldn't help but smile at his amazement by the simple piece of colour, and he could't help but feel a little awestruck by the person sitting next to him for performing such magic with a simple wave of the hand.
The spell was finally broken when the bus ground to another halt again. "Oh, I have to get off now, see you!" She slung her knapsack back over her shoulders and hesitated for another moment. "I'm Priscilla, by the way." She added, almost as an afterthought.
"Francis." He blinked, momentarily stunned, and in that space of a blink, Priscilla had disappeared again. But when he looked down, the colours were still there with him.
That was when he finally found the name for the little flutter in his chest when Priscilla first smiled at him. Orange.
---
Ehehe, we're done! But maybe not quite done! Would you like me to continue? :3 (Also, I think Francis seems like he has a little bit of synesthesia in this fic. xP)
Scattered across the crinkled pages were sketches and scribbles, snapshots of the life whirling around him. There, the tiny lavender old lady with the nose that never stopped twitching, rendered with light, feathery strokes of graphite. The little squalling baby with his fever-red face twisted into a grimace as he clung onto his mother's shoulder framed with harsh lines of ink.
A spidery scrawl that, if he squinted hard enough and tilted his head at just the right angle, read 'GET MORE PENCILS'. A hand here, a shoe there, disembodied limbs hastily thrown together or painstakingly limned, all sprawled across the old, yellowed paper.
When he closed his eyes, ribbons of fantastic dream-colours would swirl and dance beneath his eyelids and slowly congeal to form tangible shapes (a coat, a person, a city, masterpieces full of life) but when he opened them again, they would be (whywhywhywhywhy) once again be black and age-spotted yellow.
It wasn't that his drawings were bad, per se (no, his family friends teachers all said he was good, maybe even talented) but he could never colour in a single one of his drawings.
(He was going to scream.)
The bus spasmed again as it coughed out another plume of black smoke. People shuffled on and off. His pen nib continued to hesitate and his fingers loosened a fraction-
The bus groaned and lurched forward once more. Caught by surprise, his pen was wrenched from his hand and skittered across the floor.
He cursed and leaned out of his seat, desperately trying to find his pen, only to see it...
...reappear right in front of him.
"Is this yours?" The girl held her palm outright, his pen nestled safely there.
He stared at the floor and nodded with a muttered 'Thank you.'
"You're welcome."
Another nod.
"Hey, do you mind if I sit next to you?"
He was about to nod again, before he realised that no, he would not mind her sitting next to him in the least, so he shook his head firmly this time.
"Great!"
And there they sat, side by side in awkward silence for the next few stops, until his notebook caught her eye.
"Are those your drawings?" He nodded mutely again.
"You...you draw very well." She said quietly, a bashful smile playing on her lips.
"Can't colour." He mumbled back, drawing forlorn rectangles and shading them pitch-black.
"W-well, you can if you try. Everyone can colour if they try!" She turned around and rummaged about in her knapsack before pulling out a box of colour pencils. "I'll show you, it isn't very hard at all!"
He wasn't very sure why he was so intrigued by this sentence even though he had heard it countless times before, but he willingly handed his notebook over, staring in awe and wonder as he watched the colours slowly flow from her hand and swirl about to fill up the hungry spaces.
"So you see, you just pick whatever colour you want...I think orange would be quite nice here, what do you think? No problem? Okay then, orange it is. So you just colour it in like this...and then you slowly add in the darker shades of orange for the shadowed parts...and you use different strokes for different textures...and then you're done!"
She triumphantly lifted her pencil and returned the notebook to him, him still wide-eyed and transfixed by the alien daub of colour sitting so impudently amongst the monochrome pages. She couldn't help but smile at his amazement by the simple piece of colour, and he could't help but feel a little awestruck by the person sitting next to him for performing such magic with a simple wave of the hand.
The spell was finally broken when the bus ground to another halt again. "Oh, I have to get off now, see you!" She slung her knapsack back over her shoulders and hesitated for another moment. "I'm Priscilla, by the way." She added, almost as an afterthought.
"Francis." He blinked, momentarily stunned, and in that space of a blink, Priscilla had disappeared again. But when he looked down, the colours were still there with him.
That was when he finally found the name for the little flutter in his chest when Priscilla first smiled at him. Orange.
---
Ehehe, we're done! But maybe not quite done! Would you like me to continue? :3 (Also, I think Francis seems like he has a little bit of synesthesia in this fic. xP)
9 comments:
Dude, you just totally turned a bad day (the most horrible day yet, really, but I'm biased because it's still not tomorrow yet) into a day worth smiling about~ Thank you. >3<
Hehehe, I like this side of Francis. U__U Less... um... less obnoxious-and-smug, so to speak.
And dude, I might be the better push-pairing-in-your-face-er but your stories are much nicer than what I've had in mind for my own. ^^ ... *suspicious look* Do you write lots of fanfiction/fiction I know nothing of or something?! >:
And er... >////< I do like this a lot. You... er.... (am I really going to say this?) have my permission to continue... if you want...
D; A bad day? Then I'm glad to have done something to turn it around a little! Thank you! *hugs*
Yes, I thought that you might like this side of Francis more, especially since you said that there's more to him than pervy-ness. U____U So are you still going to be as tsundere to him? The poor boy is frustrated and lonely, y'know.
Aww, thank you! Hehe I actually thought that this piece was really awkward and ungainly. xP But I'm glad you liked it! And, err, no, I don't write a lot of fanfiction/fiction. ^^;
Of /course/ I will continue! It's Francilla, I can't just abandon it, can I? :D
*huggles* Yes, a very bad day that disappeared completely. U__U And now, with you paying faaarrr too much attention to Francilla, it's time to work on something /special/ for the 12th~
:D I'd like any side of Francis that isn't a pervert (and er... on exceedingly good days, I'll like the pervert too >///<). And I won't be tsundere!! >: I'll just be my random, crazy old self. ^^; Will that do?
Well, I think that you write /very/ well, m'dear. U__U And because I'm a world-class villain, no one's allowed to say otherwise.
^^; I hate to admit any sign of weakness to... well, my /opponent/ but because you've earned it, I'll tell you that Francilla has made a very nice addition to life and I'll be sorry (just a teensy little bit) if it were to leave. U___U
:C There's really no need to come up with anything special for he 12th, I mean, I don't really celebrate my birthday much anyway. ^^; I'm lucky if I get a birthday cake at all.
Yesh, that will do very nicely. (:
>///< Overpraise, overpraise! Are you sure it's not because it's Francilla?
U___U Then I must do my best to continue with it, no?
Dx Actually, yeah, I don't celebrate my birthday much either (I don't very much like cake or parties) but firstly, I like giving gifts, and secondly, any excuse to up the Mattelle, y'know? ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D
*shakes head* Tsundere, pffttt. Silly girl, you don't know that's only for after I'm in love. U_________U
:P No, no, it's not because of Francilla. I mean, /I/ don't even pop up right away. Dx You have too little self-esteem! >:
>/////< My words were 'just a teensy little bit'. ... >: Don't you dare twist them, mkay?
:C Everything in moderation, y'know?
:O So you'll be tsundere /after/ you fall in love with him? Or is it before? *confuzzled* @___@
I /do/ have enough self-esteem! >:
Then we shall have to work on that, no? U___U
>C No.
Ergh, yeah, after I fall in love. >.> *starting to feel tsundere already*
Dx No, you don't!
Um.
Yes. >C Or I might very well get sick of too much Mattelle and switch affections. And we can't have that, can we? U___U
WHAT. Don't feel tsundere /now/, you'll scare him off!! D:
Yes I do! I have a huuuuuuge ego! Dx
>C You don't seem worried about that possibility for Francilla.
Dx S-scare him off! >: Well, FINE then, if he doesn't like me the way I am... *sniffle* I'll be fine without him! Dx
Ego's a different matter entirely!!!
Post a Comment