fingerpaint the sky

till everything shines

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[misc] dreamers
Fic again!

This was a deliberate attempt to write something other than gut-punch angsty stories. I like those, oh yes I do, but I decided that there had to be a way to write a DiR drabble that was a complete story in and of itself and whose main intended emotional response was not "ow."

So we get this, which is not bouncingly cheerful but is not another treatise on why the Light is a cold white flame, the Dark is a black bottomless pit, and bittersweet endings can make everybody angst. 170 words.


Max props his feet on his desk, leaning back at a rather precarious angle, and hums tunelessly under his breath. It resolves itself soon into something he's heard Paul play; Bach, maybe. A notebook lies open on his lap, the page slowly filling with abortive thumbnail sketches.

At last one emerges that he likes, and he sets to work refining it, tweaking the composition. It's one of the rare pictures that simply spring into his mind, with no reference nor clear inspiration. A tall golden man, antlered, owl-eyed. His face is cold, lined, cruel without malice. Not quite human, even in posture. A bit like that odd Jamaican mask Will got for Christmas and birthday this year, come to think of it, though Max would not have consciously thought to put that face on this figure standing among snowy Chiltern trees as if he had grown from them.

Tomorrow he will show the sketch to his tutor. "The Hunter," he thinks idly. That seems like a good name for it.

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You know... I *really* need to read The Dark Is Rising, so I can read your journal again.

And that is the best song.

Yes, you do! Mostly because it's a brilliant series, though.

"After All" is actually not my favorite of hers. But it has some bits I really like -- the part with the students in the cafe, and the line about "the only word for love is everybody's name." :)

Ooo. I like seeing something from Max's point of view; it's rare that the others in the Stanton family show up. And yet, I've always wondered, because as the old man told Stephen -- "There is a look we Old Ones have. Our families have something of it too." Which would seem to indicate that there is more to the various Stantons than might immediately meet the eye...

*nod* It's easy to forget about them except as background characters; certainly I'm guilty of that too often enough. I think this is only the second story I've written from another Stanton perspective. And yet, as you say, they have something of the look of the Old Ones. And, more, this is a family that could produce an Old One, and not as a strange solemn changeling-child either; Will fits in with them, and some of them (most notably Paul, in canon) understand, sort of, even without quite knowing what they understand.

*agrees with Aspen and Gen* The Stantons are an intriguing family.

I wonder how their political status -- a family large enough not to have used birth control, but liberal enough to stand, very vocally, against bigotry, old enough to belong in the village but uncomfortable with Miss Greythorne exercising her feudal rights as Lady of the Manor -- fits with the general specialness of the family. I'm not sure those details are unusual at all, but they do produce Will, and Paul, and Stephen, and Max.

I have a Paul-and-Bran fic somewhere on my hard drive that I really need to work on. I like what I have, but it's long enough to require a decent plot...

Thanks. :)

They really are an intriguing family. I hadn't thought much about their political status, but you're right, again they're full of not-quite-contradictions. A mixture of old and new, of past and present/future, which may not be unique but is still a sort of unconscious balancing act. And which, as you say, produces Will and Paul and Stephen and Max.

I want to read that Paul-and-Bran story, now. The two of them could have some very interesting conversations.

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