skidmo_fic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skidmo_fic) wrote2007-04-02 05:43 pm
skidmo_fic) wrote2007-04-02 05:43 pm
Entry tags:
Strangely Familiar (G)
I find myself in need of a generic icon to be used for stories about secondary characters that I don't write about often enough to have an actual icon for.
Title: Strangely Familiar
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...sadly
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: It always struck him as odd how familiar it all seemed.
Author’s Notes: written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ordinarymoments challenge with the following prompts: Peter Grodin, Antarctica, Tuttleroot soup. I apologize most sincerely for its tardiness. Peter was being stubborn.
It always struck him as odd how familiar it all seemed. He was in another galaxy, living in the lost city of Atlantis. Yet here he was, sitting in a cozy kitchen, not unlike his grandmother’s, though the old-fashioned coal stove was replaced by an odd sort of camp stove set over a fire. The steam from the soup in front of him warmed his face, reminding him of wet springs and drying his stockings by the stove as he sat telling his gran about his day while she tut-tutted around, making sure he was warm enough.
The soup was made from an indigenous root and tasted more like ginger beer than the chicken soup he always connected with those damp days, and the woman tut-tutting around him was most definitely not his gran, and he knew that if he looked outside, he’d see that the stars were still strange to him, even after several months on this planet, but he was beginning to feel as though he could make a life here, beyond his work in the city.
He smiled over the tuttleroot soup at the matronly Athosian who had adopted him for the night and cast his mind back to those first anxious days in Antarctica.
When he thought of his time there, he didn’t remember the things most people did: the cold, the isolation, the stark whiteness of the world around them. He remembered the tension, the excitement that was nearly palpable. Though he himself did not have the ATA gene, he was fascinated by the technology and the way it lit up for those who did. It had been a time of transition, and even before they discovered the address to Atlantis, Peter had known they wouldn’t be there long. He could feel it. He’d always had a good sense of when it was worthwhile to make yourself at home somewhere and when it would be best to keep aloof.
And now, even though he was on the mainland and not in the city, he knew that this place was his home. The stars that were so strange to him would begin to be familiar. Soon, he knew, he’d be unable to fall asleep without the gentle sounds of the ocean lapping the pier just under his window. It was this familiarity hidden amongst the wondrously strange, alien world around him that made him certain of one thing.
Peter Grodin would never again have any home but Atlantis.
Title: Strangely Familiar
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...sadly
Feedback: yes, please.
Summary: It always struck him as odd how familiar it all seemed.
Author’s Notes: written for the
ordinarymoments challenge with the following prompts: Peter Grodin, Antarctica, Tuttleroot soup. I apologize most sincerely for its tardiness. Peter was being stubborn.It always struck him as odd how familiar it all seemed. He was in another galaxy, living in the lost city of Atlantis. Yet here he was, sitting in a cozy kitchen, not unlike his grandmother’s, though the old-fashioned coal stove was replaced by an odd sort of camp stove set over a fire. The steam from the soup in front of him warmed his face, reminding him of wet springs and drying his stockings by the stove as he sat telling his gran about his day while she tut-tutted around, making sure he was warm enough.
The soup was made from an indigenous root and tasted more like ginger beer than the chicken soup he always connected with those damp days, and the woman tut-tutting around him was most definitely not his gran, and he knew that if he looked outside, he’d see that the stars were still strange to him, even after several months on this planet, but he was beginning to feel as though he could make a life here, beyond his work in the city.
He smiled over the tuttleroot soup at the matronly Athosian who had adopted him for the night and cast his mind back to those first anxious days in Antarctica.
When he thought of his time there, he didn’t remember the things most people did: the cold, the isolation, the stark whiteness of the world around them. He remembered the tension, the excitement that was nearly palpable. Though he himself did not have the ATA gene, he was fascinated by the technology and the way it lit up for those who did. It had been a time of transition, and even before they discovered the address to Atlantis, Peter had known they wouldn’t be there long. He could feel it. He’d always had a good sense of when it was worthwhile to make yourself at home somewhere and when it would be best to keep aloof.
And now, even though he was on the mainland and not in the city, he knew that this place was his home. The stars that were so strange to him would begin to be familiar. Soon, he knew, he’d be unable to fall asleep without the gentle sounds of the ocean lapping the pier just under his window. It was this familiarity hidden amongst the wondrously strange, alien world around him that made him certain of one thing.
Peter Grodin would never again have any home but Atlantis.
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And yes, I think melancholy is a good word for it.
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