These Blue Remembered Hills, 2/?
Jun. 22nd, 2007 06:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chaletianTitle: These Blue Remembered Hills
Fandom: Babylon 5
Author: Liss
Rating: PG-13
Notes: AU, post S4.
Sometimes Sarah thought that Calloway, Indiana lived for bake sales. Not to mention Independence Day picnics, Christmas parties and any other social gathering the town could invent. Sometimes Sarah thought that Calloway, Indiana was trying to pretend it was in twentieth century and not the twenty-third. No one from Calloway ever went off-world. No one from Calloway had ever seen an alien, except on ISN. And a good whack of Calloway didn't even watch ISN. The local networks had been good enough in the past, and they were good enough now. Sarah herself didn't watch ISN. It was just about Earth Alliance politics and alien wars, and she wasn't interested in that. The machinations of EarthGov were irrelevant to Sarah.
The machinations of Calloway Town Council, on the other hand, were of paramount importance, which is why Sarah had come to the bake sale, even when all she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed after the afternoon's upset. There had been whisperings in the faculty lounge that there were cuts planned for the elementary school. Sarah wasn't particularly good at schmoozing - she was too shy - but she would put in an appearance, make sure that she spoke to the leading lights of the town council.
She was just lining up Cllr Bob Armstrong, a local entrepreneur, in her sights, a chocolate crispy clutched in one hand, when Louisa wafted up to her, a darkly clad man in tow. Sarah abandoned the thought of buttonholing Cllr Bob with no little relief, and turned to the persistent woman. Louisa's insistence that she attend the bake sale was explained. She was being set up. Again.
These women had no mercy.
"Louisa!" she said, trying to imbue her greeting with some enthusiasm. She failed, but Louisa, unsurprisingly, was not daunted.
"Sarah! Don't you just look the cutest thing in that dress! Doesn't she look the cutest?" The question was addressed to her companion who, it was quite clear, didn't agree. Sarah herself found the epithet 'cute' to be quite revolting generally when applied to a 35 year old woman, and specifically in her case, when she was very far from cute. Cute is petite and bubbly and retroussee noses. Cute was not Sarah. She turned to the man expectantly, trying to hide a smile. Then she looked at him properly, and all desire to smile faded.
Psi Corps. There was no mistaking that uniform. The badge indicating the Greek letter 'psi'. The black gloves. The shiny, careful hair. Sarah swallowed, instantly on edge. There was something about telepaths that made her uneasy, always had done, ever since Lewis Maxwell had developed telepathic powers in ninth grade and found out that she had a crush on him. He hadn't been sympathetic. Her uneasiness was clearly making itself felt, and the man smiled, and raised his hands. An age-old gesture to indicate trustworthiness; safety. Sarah wasn't reassured. Louisa was oblivious.
"Oh, this is Harold Grey. You know, the Greys, don't you? They live out near the Barry farm. Harold works for Psi Corps," she continued, as if that fact wasn't perfectly obvious; as if one could 'work for' the Psi Corps. "He's just visiting and I though, what the heck! You two should meet! Oh, look! There's Reverend Jim!" She made a beeline for the reverend. Sarah and Harold watched.
"She's terrifying," murmured Sarah, watching with a sort of fatal fascination as the older woman cornered the reverend and steered him towards the punch-bowl.
"I'll say," replied Harold. He had stopped watching Louisa and was watching Sarah instead. She pretended that she hadn't noticed. "Call me Harry," he said suddenly, thrusting his hand out, ignoring Sarah's startled jump. She looked at his hand, dubiously, and he grinned.
"You're OK, you know. Even if I were allowed to exercise mind control, thereby using you as an unwitting tool to smother Louisa Hammond in fairy cakes, a plan that seems more appealing the longer I am in her company, I wouldn't be able to. I'm very low down in the ranks of Psi Corps - practically harmless. They just keep me around because of my charming personality."
Sarah's right eyebrow quirked questioningly. Harry sighed theatrically. "My mother tells me that. She loves me."
"Someone has to," remarked Sarah. Harry frowned.
"Hey, I have a whole crowd of people who adore me! My dad is extremely fond of me. My brother loves me really. His wife… hasn't yet tried to poison me. Admittedly my nephew would like me better if I carried a PPG, and my landlady is only mildly in favour, but…"
"…there's love. That's a real heart-warming list."
"I know. I feel cherished. So, will you have dinner with me?" Faced with such a blatant frontal assault, Sarah could only gape at him, losing herself in a morass of half sentences.
"No! Well, I mean… that is, I'm really busy and… I don't…" She tailed off. Harry smiled engagingly.
"C'mon! You know you want to!" Somewhere, Sarah's mind rebelled at someone telling her what she did and didn't want, but the words wouldn't surface. "Come with me!"
"OK. Sure." She shrugged. "I'll come."
"That's great! I'll pick you up at eight?" Harry Grey strolled away, and Sarah watched him leave. She looked down. The chocolate crispy was still clutched in her hand, a brown smooshed-up mess. Tears pricked her eyes.
"Why the heck can't I ever just say no?"
Fandom: Babylon 5
Author: Liss
Rating: PG-13
Notes: AU, post S4.
Sometimes Sarah thought that Calloway, Indiana lived for bake sales. Not to mention Independence Day picnics, Christmas parties and any other social gathering the town could invent. Sometimes Sarah thought that Calloway, Indiana was trying to pretend it was in twentieth century and not the twenty-third. No one from Calloway ever went off-world. No one from Calloway had ever seen an alien, except on ISN. And a good whack of Calloway didn't even watch ISN. The local networks had been good enough in the past, and they were good enough now. Sarah herself didn't watch ISN. It was just about Earth Alliance politics and alien wars, and she wasn't interested in that. The machinations of EarthGov were irrelevant to Sarah.
The machinations of Calloway Town Council, on the other hand, were of paramount importance, which is why Sarah had come to the bake sale, even when all she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed after the afternoon's upset. There had been whisperings in the faculty lounge that there were cuts planned for the elementary school. Sarah wasn't particularly good at schmoozing - she was too shy - but she would put in an appearance, make sure that she spoke to the leading lights of the town council.
She was just lining up Cllr Bob Armstrong, a local entrepreneur, in her sights, a chocolate crispy clutched in one hand, when Louisa wafted up to her, a darkly clad man in tow. Sarah abandoned the thought of buttonholing Cllr Bob with no little relief, and turned to the persistent woman. Louisa's insistence that she attend the bake sale was explained. She was being set up. Again.
These women had no mercy.
"Louisa!" she said, trying to imbue her greeting with some enthusiasm. She failed, but Louisa, unsurprisingly, was not daunted.
"Sarah! Don't you just look the cutest thing in that dress! Doesn't she look the cutest?" The question was addressed to her companion who, it was quite clear, didn't agree. Sarah herself found the epithet 'cute' to be quite revolting generally when applied to a 35 year old woman, and specifically in her case, when she was very far from cute. Cute is petite and bubbly and retroussee noses. Cute was not Sarah. She turned to the man expectantly, trying to hide a smile. Then she looked at him properly, and all desire to smile faded.
Psi Corps. There was no mistaking that uniform. The badge indicating the Greek letter 'psi'. The black gloves. The shiny, careful hair. Sarah swallowed, instantly on edge. There was something about telepaths that made her uneasy, always had done, ever since Lewis Maxwell had developed telepathic powers in ninth grade and found out that she had a crush on him. He hadn't been sympathetic. Her uneasiness was clearly making itself felt, and the man smiled, and raised his hands. An age-old gesture to indicate trustworthiness; safety. Sarah wasn't reassured. Louisa was oblivious.
"Oh, this is Harold Grey. You know, the Greys, don't you? They live out near the Barry farm. Harold works for Psi Corps," she continued, as if that fact wasn't perfectly obvious; as if one could 'work for' the Psi Corps. "He's just visiting and I though, what the heck! You two should meet! Oh, look! There's Reverend Jim!" She made a beeline for the reverend. Sarah and Harold watched.
"She's terrifying," murmured Sarah, watching with a sort of fatal fascination as the older woman cornered the reverend and steered him towards the punch-bowl.
"I'll say," replied Harold. He had stopped watching Louisa and was watching Sarah instead. She pretended that she hadn't noticed. "Call me Harry," he said suddenly, thrusting his hand out, ignoring Sarah's startled jump. She looked at his hand, dubiously, and he grinned.
"You're OK, you know. Even if I were allowed to exercise mind control, thereby using you as an unwitting tool to smother Louisa Hammond in fairy cakes, a plan that seems more appealing the longer I am in her company, I wouldn't be able to. I'm very low down in the ranks of Psi Corps - practically harmless. They just keep me around because of my charming personality."
Sarah's right eyebrow quirked questioningly. Harry sighed theatrically. "My mother tells me that. She loves me."
"Someone has to," remarked Sarah. Harry frowned.
"Hey, I have a whole crowd of people who adore me! My dad is extremely fond of me. My brother loves me really. His wife… hasn't yet tried to poison me. Admittedly my nephew would like me better if I carried a PPG, and my landlady is only mildly in favour, but…"
"…there's love. That's a real heart-warming list."
"I know. I feel cherished. So, will you have dinner with me?" Faced with such a blatant frontal assault, Sarah could only gape at him, losing herself in a morass of half sentences.
"No! Well, I mean… that is, I'm really busy and… I don't…" She tailed off. Harry smiled engagingly.
"C'mon! You know you want to!" Somewhere, Sarah's mind rebelled at someone telling her what she did and didn't want, but the words wouldn't surface. "Come with me!"
"OK. Sure." She shrugged. "I'll come."
"That's great! I'll pick you up at eight?" Harry Grey strolled away, and Sarah watched him leave. She looked down. The chocolate crispy was still clutched in her hand, a brown smooshed-up mess. Tears pricked her eyes.
"Why the heck can't I ever just say no?"
