{ meme responses for tigertrapped }

[delga]

Done :) Do you wish to redirect?

At this point, I feel it prudent to point out that these two incarnations of Tja and Mei Lin have never met – Tja’s mother was murdered; Mei Lin’s daughter is barely five years old. Also, these have become monologues. Quite long. Lastly, you would have got different responses if you had asked for: Antja, Hanna, Nouska or Charna.

Mei Lin

(Slow, cautious – but always still. Mildly resentful. Soft voice, tired).

Who are you to ask this of me? Jiang Ning is mine and mine alone; you can lay no claim to her. She is flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. You are an outsider to us.

(She makes a decision, sits a little straighter).

My daughter is of the earth, though she knows it not, and as lithe as the waters she is named for. Her youth endures storm and sun both. She is careless and carefree; uninhibited, unrestrained, lost to the wonderment of childhood.

(A pause as memory creeps in).

What do I wish for her?

(Eye-contact; this is truth, vital and important).

Peace. For all my years, my days and months of toil¸ I wish only peace. She deserves not the aching silence of my life long tragedy.

(A few tears, desperation yet an unwavering glare. She raises her chin, as though daring you to speak before sliding away).

 

--

 

Tja

(Tja is smoking, reclined against the wall. The cigarette is perched on her right hand, the fingers grasping a bottle that never touches the ground but moves with whatever animation she possesses. Her left hand is across her lap, her fingers knotted with deep red rosary beads; her nails click against each other; a nervous trait, perhaps?)

(She laughs – hard, harsh, humourless).

They are all the same.

(The words are brittle, the sounds still foreign to her. Her voice is husk with the scars of Russia. The fricative sounds are sharp and antagonistic).

How can there be one without the other? How can you say that these three are not the same?

(Quiet, breathless).

It is all the same.

(She looks away, takes another draught of the tequila; leans her head back against the wall to look up).

Fucking, drinking, dying. Ha! No, you cannot take one and not have the others. The trinity, da ? Is that the word?

(She laughs, low, clutches the beads tighter; her skin is sore and red).

It is all about your mind, the way that you think. You think they are separate, distinct but they are all limbs of the same life; fuck, drink, die.

(She bolts upright, pins you with her eyes. She is amused, maybe).

What do you think your mind feels when you are led by such compulsions? Do you think it identifies each one as a separate, singular sensation? Nyet !

(A sad laugh; at you? At herself?)

They are all sins. They are all the same.

 

(The cigarette is spent. She leans back against the wall, finds another, leans into the darkness for a light. She looks at you again, considers the next question. Purrs, almost. Is intrigued).

Maxim? What of him? Detka ; he would break at my hand.

(She smiles, offers you something in common with her).

The thought is not unpleasant, da? Ty , you, you would break him; you would see him, da, you would make him suffer more?

(She smiles, shakes her head; looks up again. Takes a drag, blows smoke in a line, defying gravity).

Myshka.
(Eyes closed, biting her lip. Drowning in memory, nostalgia, inebriation?)

I would make him… great. Gospodi , I would make him free.
(She chances a look at you and laughs, again - manically? Is this madness? She disappears).

 

--

 

Fiona Carter

(Fiona is sat opposite you, in work mode. As ever, she is dressed in a tailored blouse. Arms are outstretched but crossed; legs are outstretched and, again, crossed. There is something defensive about her. Her voice is that sharp clear English that has tamed her Slavic roots).

We should probably get something clear; Nouska doesn’t exist anymore. It’s Fiona Carter, thank you very much. And I resent the implication that I would be otherwise inclined.

(She flinches, a little, at the reference to her son).

What does Wes have to do with any of this?

(She pauses when she understands; chances a glance at your face and then looks away to consider the question. Shrugs, occasionally).

What does any mother want for her son? Success, happiness. I’d like for him to have the strength of his convictions. To know right from wrong. I hope he knows what it means to love someone, the way I love his father.

(There was a slight hesitation before the end of that sentence. She notices that you notice, sits a little straighter. Looks you in the eye).

I hope to whatever that he never, ever knows what it is to hide himself; that’s he’s proud of himself. I hope—

(And here she pauses, again. She worries what she’s giving away by answering so openly).

I hope he loves me as much as I love him, even if— Well.

(And now she looks down; begins to pick at her cuticles. Looks up with a small, shy smile).

Even if I can’t always tell him that.

 

--

 

Any more for anymore? Questions on questions? It is entirely possible that I had too much fun with this.

Comments

[tigertrapped.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I feel privileged to have read those. I especially liked "lost to the wonderment of childhood", and Tja's (correct) assumption that seeing Max suffer is my kink. Your Fiona was spot-on - proving you wrong in your assumption that your characterisation is weak. I hope others on your flist ask for more from the fandoms I don't know. I'll keep an eye out for them.

[delgaserasca.livejournal.com]

The girls were, well... hmm. I was going to say 'happy to oblige' but I suppose that doesn ring true, does it? It wasn't too great an intrusion. :)

And why hasn't anyone asked you more questions?!