Original fic: Song Unwritten by Ruth
Title: Song Unwritten
Author: Ruth
Theme: Song
Original or Fandom: Original
Rating: PG
Warnings: discussion of magic and karma
Symbols: _italics_
My seven o' clock appointment was fifteen minutes late. The expensively dressed blonde woman rushed in, impatiently complaining about how hard it was to find this place. I had warned her about the one-way streets.
She recognized me. "Tia!" she exclaimed. "Tia Seeley-Whitsun."
"Hello, Patrice," I said. Patrice the Queen of Junior High. Her mother hated our family because we didn't envy their money and their "perfect" life. She and I shared a birthday and her mother had insisted we share our thirteenth birthday party so everyone could see how wonderful she was. Everyone invited admired the large catered cake and ate the cupcakes my mom made.
The party broke up early when I received my father's present.
See, my dad was something of an adventurer and he liberated a djinn from its prison. If he'd asked anyone on Mom's side of the family, they would have told him that when you liberate a djinn, you wish them peace in the name of Allah and you don't ask them for _anything_.
But Dad was a Seeley and Grandmother Seeley was the thirteenth daughter of Seeley to carry the "sight" and it was destined to leave the family with her. So Dad asked the djinn for his youngest daughter "to have her third eye opened." I blew out the candles on the shared cake and my third eye opened. A _real_ third eye, same color as the other two and just as nearsighted, smack in the middle of my forehead. Things became a little hysterical at that point and I was home schooled until I passed my G. E. D.
Djinns have a nasty sense of humor.
She was staring at my forehead where I have a little glamour to hide the dratted thing. It looks like I have a scar.
"What can I do for you, Patrice?" I asked to get back to the point of her visit.
"I want a love potion," she said.
"You've got be kidding." I couldn't help it. She's always been tall, blonde, gorgeous in about every way most people define the word. I'm short, dark and was told I was plain even before the stupid third eye popped up.
Her face went pink, then it went white. "I want him to love me!"
"Who?"
She told me his name and I almost asked her again if she was kidding. Her face said she wasn't. He was a big name star with a reputation for hard partying and harder living. She'd met him when he came to play the War Memorial five months ago and had been dumb enough to go back to his hotel room.
She was pregnant. I appealed to the ceiling with all three eyes as she yammered on about how he had said she was different and how his current wife didn't understand him and all she had to do was make him realize how much he needed her, etcetera. I've heard it before, in a dozen different keys and timbres - same old song.
And my family wonders why I'm a cynic.
"What are you willing to pay?" I asked.
"I have money."
"I'm not talking in money. I mean in karma; I mean in what goes around comes around and be careful what you wish for because once you've got it; you've got to deal with it." I dropped the glamour and opened my third eye. She scooted her chair as far away from the table as she could.
"He has already been given one love potion. It was by the woman who is now his second wife. The one who doesn't understand him. She's paying the price for it. She's married to a man who thinks it's fidelity if he uses a condom and you see how well _that_ worked. She gets to see his love affairs and the results of them in every tabloid in print while she has nothing but a big, empty house and a generous allowance." I closed my real eyes and looked through the third eye. I can't see the future. I can't tell you that if you do A and B you'll get C. It doesn't work that way. I see patterns, maybe this, maybe that - Lucas got one thing right; always changing the future is. Some patterns are clearer than others.
"He's going to have a wake-up call soon. A warning from his body that he's screwed with it one too many times. He will change. He will think about his children; not just yours, there are ten with claims on his name; two by his first wife and others by one night stands like yours. He will write them a song that will let them know how much he loves them." I opened all of my eyes. "It will be beautiful."
"But what about me?" she demanded.
"You? Your son will know he had a father that loved him even though he couldn't be with him. Isn't that good enough?"
No, it wasn't. I could see it in her face.
"Are you going to give me a potion?"
"No," I snapped. "Didn't you listen to me? It won't give you what you want. It won't make you happy. I'm not in the business of making things worse than they are."
She went red and stood up. Pavo padded out of the shadows and glared at her. Pavo was in canine form, which meant he looked like a very large black dog with yellow moon eyes and upright ears. If Patrice was thinking of taking a swing at me, she'd regret it.
"I can find another witch to give me a love potion!"
"I'm not a witch," I retorted. "I'm a mage. A witch is a practitioner of the Wicca religion which I don't. You can go try to find someone else and get what you want; but I guarantee you won't like it once you get it."
"You're still just a jealous, ugly hag!" she shouted.
"And you're still a dumb blonde asshole," I said to the slammed door. "And it's fag hag, thank you."
Three weeks later
Pavo was in his human form. His real name is Pavel Czerny and he claims his family were "wolf soldiers" to the Czars. It might be true, but there's rare few weyrs that are purebloods any more, most of them are mutts like any other American. This is a good thing, because in New York State private ownership of a wolf, wolf-cross, coyote or coyote-cross is illegal and they all need their yearly shots so they settle for looking like Shepherd crosses or Malamute crosses. Pavo will tell you he looks like a Borzoi cross.
I call him Pavo because it's Greek for "peacock" and if you ever watch him primp his hair you'd know why.
He's taller than I am, which isn't saying much; with wavy black hair, amber eyes, olive skin and lips a screen goddess would pay big bucks for. "What do you think?" he twirled in front of me. "Don't I look good enough to eat?"
He was in a black silk shirt and his black leather pants with a drop of red crystal on a chain around his neck. The shirt was a collarless V that the bloodsuckers favor because they can get at a partner's neck easier.
"Ever hear of the phrase once bitten, twice shy?" I couldn't help but ask as I punched a button on the microwave to make some popcorn.
"Depends on who's biting."
I appealed to the ceiling with all three eyes. He just doesn't want to learn. He's had his heart broken twice by bloodsuckers but he keeps running back to the vamps for more. Vampires are nothing more than selfish assholes who only care about getting their rocks off with a partner that makes them look good. Always have been, always will be.
". . .Dead in his hotel room," said the news. I turned around and grabbed the remote, turning up the sound.
She did it. Damn her, she did it. Patrice found someone else to make her a love potion. Someone who didn't care about the consequences and now Patrice was going to jail - they were calling it first degree murder. Drugs, booze and then a love potion all turned into poison and the ever-so-famous star that she wanted to love her was dead.
And he would never write the song.
I felt a lump in my throat. Pavel took the remote away from me and clicked to the stupid romance movie channel. He got me some Kleenex. I hadn't even realized I was crying. I hate crying, it gives me a headache.
"It wasn't your fault," he said. He sat me down on the couch and wrapped his arms around me. "It wasn't your fault."
"Don't you have to go get yourself bitten?" I couldn't help gulping the words. I blew my nose.
"I think I'm going to stay home with my favorite three-eyed fag hag tonight," he nuzzled my cheek. "It wasn't your fault."
It wasn't my fault, but I cried anyway; for a song that would never be written and a little boy who would never have a father or a mother.
-fin-
Author: Ruth
Theme: Song
Original or Fandom: Original
Rating: PG
Warnings: discussion of magic and karma
Symbols: _italics_
My seven o' clock appointment was fifteen minutes late. The expensively dressed blonde woman rushed in, impatiently complaining about how hard it was to find this place. I had warned her about the one-way streets.
She recognized me. "Tia!" she exclaimed. "Tia Seeley-Whitsun."
"Hello, Patrice," I said. Patrice the Queen of Junior High. Her mother hated our family because we didn't envy their money and their "perfect" life. She and I shared a birthday and her mother had insisted we share our thirteenth birthday party so everyone could see how wonderful she was. Everyone invited admired the large catered cake and ate the cupcakes my mom made.
The party broke up early when I received my father's present.
See, my dad was something of an adventurer and he liberated a djinn from its prison. If he'd asked anyone on Mom's side of the family, they would have told him that when you liberate a djinn, you wish them peace in the name of Allah and you don't ask them for _anything_.
But Dad was a Seeley and Grandmother Seeley was the thirteenth daughter of Seeley to carry the "sight" and it was destined to leave the family with her. So Dad asked the djinn for his youngest daughter "to have her third eye opened." I blew out the candles on the shared cake and my third eye opened. A _real_ third eye, same color as the other two and just as nearsighted, smack in the middle of my forehead. Things became a little hysterical at that point and I was home schooled until I passed my G. E. D.
Djinns have a nasty sense of humor.
She was staring at my forehead where I have a little glamour to hide the dratted thing. It looks like I have a scar.
"What can I do for you, Patrice?" I asked to get back to the point of her visit.
"I want a love potion," she said.
"You've got be kidding." I couldn't help it. She's always been tall, blonde, gorgeous in about every way most people define the word. I'm short, dark and was told I was plain even before the stupid third eye popped up.
Her face went pink, then it went white. "I want him to love me!"
"Who?"
She told me his name and I almost asked her again if she was kidding. Her face said she wasn't. He was a big name star with a reputation for hard partying and harder living. She'd met him when he came to play the War Memorial five months ago and had been dumb enough to go back to his hotel room.
She was pregnant. I appealed to the ceiling with all three eyes as she yammered on about how he had said she was different and how his current wife didn't understand him and all she had to do was make him realize how much he needed her, etcetera. I've heard it before, in a dozen different keys and timbres - same old song.
And my family wonders why I'm a cynic.
"What are you willing to pay?" I asked.
"I have money."
"I'm not talking in money. I mean in karma; I mean in what goes around comes around and be careful what you wish for because once you've got it; you've got to deal with it." I dropped the glamour and opened my third eye. She scooted her chair as far away from the table as she could.
"He has already been given one love potion. It was by the woman who is now his second wife. The one who doesn't understand him. She's paying the price for it. She's married to a man who thinks it's fidelity if he uses a condom and you see how well _that_ worked. She gets to see his love affairs and the results of them in every tabloid in print while she has nothing but a big, empty house and a generous allowance." I closed my real eyes and looked through the third eye. I can't see the future. I can't tell you that if you do A and B you'll get C. It doesn't work that way. I see patterns, maybe this, maybe that - Lucas got one thing right; always changing the future is. Some patterns are clearer than others.
"He's going to have a wake-up call soon. A warning from his body that he's screwed with it one too many times. He will change. He will think about his children; not just yours, there are ten with claims on his name; two by his first wife and others by one night stands like yours. He will write them a song that will let them know how much he loves them." I opened all of my eyes. "It will be beautiful."
"But what about me?" she demanded.
"You? Your son will know he had a father that loved him even though he couldn't be with him. Isn't that good enough?"
No, it wasn't. I could see it in her face.
"Are you going to give me a potion?"
"No," I snapped. "Didn't you listen to me? It won't give you what you want. It won't make you happy. I'm not in the business of making things worse than they are."
She went red and stood up. Pavo padded out of the shadows and glared at her. Pavo was in canine form, which meant he looked like a very large black dog with yellow moon eyes and upright ears. If Patrice was thinking of taking a swing at me, she'd regret it.
"I can find another witch to give me a love potion!"
"I'm not a witch," I retorted. "I'm a mage. A witch is a practitioner of the Wicca religion which I don't. You can go try to find someone else and get what you want; but I guarantee you won't like it once you get it."
"You're still just a jealous, ugly hag!" she shouted.
"And you're still a dumb blonde asshole," I said to the slammed door. "And it's fag hag, thank you."
Three weeks later
Pavo was in his human form. His real name is Pavel Czerny and he claims his family were "wolf soldiers" to the Czars. It might be true, but there's rare few weyrs that are purebloods any more, most of them are mutts like any other American. This is a good thing, because in New York State private ownership of a wolf, wolf-cross, coyote or coyote-cross is illegal and they all need their yearly shots so they settle for looking like Shepherd crosses or Malamute crosses. Pavo will tell you he looks like a Borzoi cross.
I call him Pavo because it's Greek for "peacock" and if you ever watch him primp his hair you'd know why.
He's taller than I am, which isn't saying much; with wavy black hair, amber eyes, olive skin and lips a screen goddess would pay big bucks for. "What do you think?" he twirled in front of me. "Don't I look good enough to eat?"
He was in a black silk shirt and his black leather pants with a drop of red crystal on a chain around his neck. The shirt was a collarless V that the bloodsuckers favor because they can get at a partner's neck easier.
"Ever hear of the phrase once bitten, twice shy?" I couldn't help but ask as I punched a button on the microwave to make some popcorn.
"Depends on who's biting."
I appealed to the ceiling with all three eyes. He just doesn't want to learn. He's had his heart broken twice by bloodsuckers but he keeps running back to the vamps for more. Vampires are nothing more than selfish assholes who only care about getting their rocks off with a partner that makes them look good. Always have been, always will be.
". . .Dead in his hotel room," said the news. I turned around and grabbed the remote, turning up the sound.
She did it. Damn her, she did it. Patrice found someone else to make her a love potion. Someone who didn't care about the consequences and now Patrice was going to jail - they were calling it first degree murder. Drugs, booze and then a love potion all turned into poison and the ever-so-famous star that she wanted to love her was dead.
And he would never write the song.
I felt a lump in my throat. Pavel took the remote away from me and clicked to the stupid romance movie channel. He got me some Kleenex. I hadn't even realized I was crying. I hate crying, it gives me a headache.
"It wasn't your fault," he said. He sat me down on the couch and wrapped his arms around me. "It wasn't your fault."
"Don't you have to go get yourself bitten?" I couldn't help gulping the words. I blew my nose.
"I think I'm going to stay home with my favorite three-eyed fag hag tonight," he nuzzled my cheek. "It wasn't your fault."
It wasn't my fault, but I cried anyway; for a song that would never be written and a little boy who would never have a father or a mother.
-fin-