#25: proper preparation
Title: Tangles
Prompt: Proper Preparation
Fandom: due South
Author: Primrose
Genre: Snippet from a much longer AR (or is it AU?) which will most likely see the light of day. Yes, it's kidfic. Deal with that.
Characters: Fraser, OFC
Rating: G
Length: 670-ish words
Date: 4/4/2007
Disclaimer: due South belongs to Alliance and the Pauls. As much as I'd love to, I don't own Benton Fraser. I made Grace Fraser up, but she's pretty autonomous.
For sam80853, who likes it.
I didn't write this today, but I'm posting it today, so it counts. I think. :)
October 11, 2002
Fraser residence
Tuktoyaktuk, Northwest Territories
Canada
"But Dad, I've been sitting here for hours!'
"You've been sitting here for approximately..." her father glanced up at the wall clock. "Thirteen and a half minutes. That's hardly hours, Grace. Must we have another discussion about the similarities between exaggeration and lying?"
The little girl frowned. "No," she muttered glumly.
"That's good, then. Now, if you'll try not to fidget, we'll be done in a jiffy. The hard part's already over."
The "hard part" had been combing out the myriad of snarls and tangles from Grace's hair, a task that in the end proved more trying for father than for daughter. His life hadn't been an easy one in any sense, but for Benton Fraser there was nothing more difficult than causing his child pain, even such a small and necessary one as this.
The combing finished, Fraser then began the process of plaiting Grace's long, dark hair into two neat braids. Practiced hands that seemed too broad and awkward for such fine movements expertly wove lock over lock with military efficiency. When both braids were finished Fraser moved in front of the tall, rough-hewn chair to check his handiwork. Satisfied with the results, he helped his daughter climb down.
"You know, Grace, if you'd taken my suggestion to heart, we wouldn't be having this problem in the first place."
"It's just not fair, Dad!" Grace whined, dropping down onto a kitchen chair with a dramatic thunk. "Aunt Maggie doesn't make Jessie wear a bathing cap for swim lessons, and her hair's as long as mine!"
Fraser sighed as they began the old argument. His niece was the polar opposite of Grace in appearance as well as temperament, yet Grace continually insisted on comparing herself to her cousin. At seven, Jessie MacKenzie's pixie-like features and fine blonde hair encouraged the assumption that she was younger than Grace, when in fact the two girls were the same age. Grace's vocabulary--quite advanced for her age group, Fraser thought proudly--added fuel to the illusion.
"Jessie's hair has an entirely different texture, Grace. Besides, you well know that I have never made you wear the cap. I merely suggest it in order to prevent you from suffering the inevitable consequence."
"I know, but--"
"Then you also know that you're free to wear it shorter if you wish."
Grace furrowed her brow, appearing to be deep in thought for at least a minute. "No. I like it long," she announced finally, all petulance gone from her voice. "Mrs. Pokiak says I have the prettiest hair in the Territories."
Grace wasn't a vain child, so Fraser suspected the reason she never chose to have her hair cut had more to do with the picture of her mother she kept on her bedside table than any compliment from Alice Pokiak. Victoria Fraser had died when Grace was a baby, and that one picture meant more to Grace than any of her other possessions.
Grace had inherited her mother's tangle of curls. She generally wore braids for efficiency and ease of combing, but on the occasions when Grace wore her hair down the similarities were striking.
Fraser gave one of Grace's braids an affectionate tug. "In that case, you may perhaps want to be more judicious when considering your options."
"Jude-issh-us." Grace echoed the new word, but didn't ask for a definition. She rarely did, and Fraser never offered. If she used the word improperly in the future, he'd correct her, but otherwise he thought it best for her to work out the meaning on her own.
Fraser pulled an orange from a ceramic bowl on the kitchen table. He peeled and divided it, handing one half to Grace. "Thanks, Dad," she said, immediately pushing a juicy segment into her mouth.
"You're very welcome." They didn't have citrus often--it was far too expensive-- but after today's ordeal he felt they both deserved a treat.
My Prompt Table
Prompt: Proper Preparation
Fandom: due South
Author: Primrose
Genre: Snippet from a much longer AR (or is it AU?) which will most likely see the light of day. Yes, it's kidfic. Deal with that.
Characters: Fraser, OFC
Rating: G
Length: 670-ish words
Date: 4/4/2007
Disclaimer: due South belongs to Alliance and the Pauls. As much as I'd love to, I don't own Benton Fraser. I made Grace Fraser up, but she's pretty autonomous.
For sam80853, who likes it.
I didn't write this today, but I'm posting it today, so it counts. I think. :)
October 11, 2002
Fraser residence
Tuktoyaktuk, Northwest Territories
Canada
"But Dad, I've been sitting here for hours!'
"You've been sitting here for approximately..." her father glanced up at the wall clock. "Thirteen and a half minutes. That's hardly hours, Grace. Must we have another discussion about the similarities between exaggeration and lying?"
The little girl frowned. "No," she muttered glumly.
"That's good, then. Now, if you'll try not to fidget, we'll be done in a jiffy. The hard part's already over."
The "hard part" had been combing out the myriad of snarls and tangles from Grace's hair, a task that in the end proved more trying for father than for daughter. His life hadn't been an easy one in any sense, but for Benton Fraser there was nothing more difficult than causing his child pain, even such a small and necessary one as this.
The combing finished, Fraser then began the process of plaiting Grace's long, dark hair into two neat braids. Practiced hands that seemed too broad and awkward for such fine movements expertly wove lock over lock with military efficiency. When both braids were finished Fraser moved in front of the tall, rough-hewn chair to check his handiwork. Satisfied with the results, he helped his daughter climb down.
"You know, Grace, if you'd taken my suggestion to heart, we wouldn't be having this problem in the first place."
"It's just not fair, Dad!" Grace whined, dropping down onto a kitchen chair with a dramatic thunk. "Aunt Maggie doesn't make Jessie wear a bathing cap for swim lessons, and her hair's as long as mine!"
Fraser sighed as they began the old argument. His niece was the polar opposite of Grace in appearance as well as temperament, yet Grace continually insisted on comparing herself to her cousin. At seven, Jessie MacKenzie's pixie-like features and fine blonde hair encouraged the assumption that she was younger than Grace, when in fact the two girls were the same age. Grace's vocabulary--quite advanced for her age group, Fraser thought proudly--added fuel to the illusion.
"Jessie's hair has an entirely different texture, Grace. Besides, you well know that I have never made you wear the cap. I merely suggest it in order to prevent you from suffering the inevitable consequence."
"I know, but--"
"Then you also know that you're free to wear it shorter if you wish."
Grace furrowed her brow, appearing to be deep in thought for at least a minute. "No. I like it long," she announced finally, all petulance gone from her voice. "Mrs. Pokiak says I have the prettiest hair in the Territories."
Grace wasn't a vain child, so Fraser suspected the reason she never chose to have her hair cut had more to do with the picture of her mother she kept on her bedside table than any compliment from Alice Pokiak. Victoria Fraser had died when Grace was a baby, and that one picture meant more to Grace than any of her other possessions.
Grace had inherited her mother's tangle of curls. She generally wore braids for efficiency and ease of combing, but on the occasions when Grace wore her hair down the similarities were striking.
Fraser gave one of Grace's braids an affectionate tug. "In that case, you may perhaps want to be more judicious when considering your options."
"Jude-issh-us." Grace echoed the new word, but didn't ask for a definition. She rarely did, and Fraser never offered. If she used the word improperly in the future, he'd correct her, but otherwise he thought it best for her to work out the meaning on her own.
Fraser pulled an orange from a ceramic bowl on the kitchen table. He peeled and divided it, handing one half to Grace. "Thanks, Dad," she said, immediately pushing a juicy segment into her mouth.
"You're very welcome." They didn't have citrus often--it was far too expensive-- but after today's ordeal he felt they both deserved a treat.
My Prompt Table