Stripes and Spots
Title: Stripes and Spots
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: racism, girlkissing
Summary: Some things just don’t mix.
Notes: Written for the June week 2 challenge at brigits_flame, theme “oil and vinegar.” The quote at the beginning is from George of the Jungle. STOP JUDGING ME OKAY IT'S A REALLY GOOD MOVIE.
...
“Let me put it in a way you might understand. Where you come from, zebras marry zebras and leopards marry leopards...It's really all a question of stripes and spots."
…
Dionne dumps Sarah on a Wednesday, for the stupidest reason ever.
Sarah remembes that it was a Wednesday, because the coffee shop they usually go to for lunch on Wednesdays is closed, and the one they go to instead is absolutely rubbish.
She’s so distracted by how god-awfully bad the coffee is that she almost misses the breakup altogether.
Almost being the key word.
“Wait,” Sarah says, once she’s done sputtering. “What?”
“I just…” Dionne bites her lower lip, teeth a brilliant white against her dark skin. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
Sarah stares, because just last week they were exchanging I-love-yous, and she can’t recall doing anything that would warrant a breakup. “Can I ask-I mean-why?”
Dionne is quiet for an agonizingly long moment. “My mum,” she says finally.
“I thought your mum loved me!”
“She does! Just…um…” Dionne keeps chewing her lip, and Sarah really, really wishes she wouldn’t. It’s distracting. “Not long-term, I suppose. I mentioned how close we were getting, and she…she wasn’t happy.”
“But…” Dionne’s mother is ridiculously hard to understand on a good day, and this is rapidly turning into a bad one. “Why?”
Dionne takes a sip of her coffee, clearly stalling, and then grimaces and puts the cup back down. “God, that’s awful.”
“Told you we should’ve gone down the street,” Sarah remarks before she can stop herself. “Back to your mother hating me, if you don’t mind. If I’m being broken up with, I think I deserve a decent reason.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Dionne protests. She sighs. “It’s just-she’s very traditional.”
“Traditional.” Sarah tries very hard not to choke on the word. It’s up there with no overtime pay and Manchester United fans in her least-favorite list. “She does know you’re a lesbian, right?”
Dionne rolls her eyes. “Yes, love, I think she’s figured it out.” She drums her fingernails on the tabletop, brightly painted in pink polish, the thumbnail slightly chipped from where she was worrying at it with her teeth on the drive over. “She says that if I have to-I mean-”
“Building it up’s just making it worse,” Sarah points out, and Dionne quite literally throws her hands up.
“It’s because you’re white, alright?”
Sarah stares. Dionne stares back. Their waiter stops, turns on his heel, and shuffles away.
“Sorry,” Sarah says once the world settles into place, “but are you breaking up with me because your mum doesn’t like that I’m white?”
“A bit, yeah,” Dionne mumbles into her coffee mug, and Sarah’s just about positive that she’s just holding the cup.
“That’s ridiculous!” Sarah scowls into her coffee, mostly because this day is getting more trying by the millisecond and she could really use a pick-me-up that didn’t taste like tar drenched in vegemite. “What the hell does my skin color have to do with our relationship?”
Dionne’s skin flushes very slightly and she looks down. “She says-she says that interracial relationships are more likely to break up,” she says quietly. “And-and I know it’s rubbish, I do, but then I think of Daryl and Jen and how they’ve just gotten divorced, and how Rob and Maya’re on the rocks, and I think maybe…maybe it would be better if we just stopped trying to…to mix thing that aren’t meant to be mixed.”
Sarah stares at her.
Because she’s used to Dionne being the rational one. When Sarah wants to stay home from work and watch Neighbours marathons, Dionne’s the one who tells her to save it for the weekend. When Sarah wants to tell her mother she’s died so that she doesn’t have to go home for another awful Christmas dinner, Dionne’s the one who goes with her to dinner and convinces her to play footsie under the table.
So clearly, they’re in bizzaro-world, because Sarah’s Dionne would never be saying the sorts of things she’s saying now.
“That’s…that’s really stupid,” Sarah says finally.
“I know,” Dionne says, and she sounds almost tearful. “But what if…what if we’re just setting ourselves up to fail? Isn’t it better to break up now, before we’re too in love with each other? What if we leave it, and then we end up hating each other while we fight over the flat and the custody of our three point two kids and our cats?”
“You’re really thought this out, haven’t you?”
“My mother is very thorough,” Dionne sniffles, and Sarah digs a tissue out of her handbag, handing it across the table. Dionne smiles very faintly, wiping her eyes the way she always does, a tiny corner of the tissue folded to keep from smudging her mascara. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but maybe she’s right. Maybe stripes and spots aren’t supposed to mix.”
“Beg pardon,” Sarah says, “but what am I wearing?”
Dionne blinks. “What?”
Sarah sets her coffee down-not that she was drinking it, it was really just to have something in her hands-and gets to her feet, smoothing her hands over her skirt, a pale pink pinstripe against dark fabric, and then plucking at her blouse, dark pink with subtle polka dots in a lighter pink. “What am I wearing?”
“You’re…” A slow smile begins to spread across Dionne’s face. “You’re wearing stripes with polka dots.”
“Yes, I am.” Sarah takes her seat again, reclining back. “And do I look ridiculous, or do I look fantastic?”
Dionne’s smile broadens, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “You look fantastic,” she says, and Sarah raises an eyebrow.
“Yes, I do. Now.” She leans forward across the table, moving Dionne’s coffee mug out of her way. “Are you going to phone your mum and tell her she can shove her opinions where the sun don’t shine, or shall I?”
“Oh, shut it,” Dionne says, leaning over to kiss her with a smile still on her lips, Sarah decides that she picked a very good day not to match.
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: racism, girlkissing
Summary: Some things just don’t mix.
Notes: Written for the June week 2 challenge at brigits_flame, theme “oil and vinegar.” The quote at the beginning is from George of the Jungle. STOP JUDGING ME OKAY IT'S A REALLY GOOD MOVIE.
...
“Let me put it in a way you might understand. Where you come from, zebras marry zebras and leopards marry leopards...It's really all a question of stripes and spots."
…
Dionne dumps Sarah on a Wednesday, for the stupidest reason ever.
Sarah remembes that it was a Wednesday, because the coffee shop they usually go to for lunch on Wednesdays is closed, and the one they go to instead is absolutely rubbish.
She’s so distracted by how god-awfully bad the coffee is that she almost misses the breakup altogether.
Almost being the key word.
“Wait,” Sarah says, once she’s done sputtering. “What?”
“I just…” Dionne bites her lower lip, teeth a brilliant white against her dark skin. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
Sarah stares, because just last week they were exchanging I-love-yous, and she can’t recall doing anything that would warrant a breakup. “Can I ask-I mean-why?”
Dionne is quiet for an agonizingly long moment. “My mum,” she says finally.
“I thought your mum loved me!”
“She does! Just…um…” Dionne keeps chewing her lip, and Sarah really, really wishes she wouldn’t. It’s distracting. “Not long-term, I suppose. I mentioned how close we were getting, and she…she wasn’t happy.”
“But…” Dionne’s mother is ridiculously hard to understand on a good day, and this is rapidly turning into a bad one. “Why?”
Dionne takes a sip of her coffee, clearly stalling, and then grimaces and puts the cup back down. “God, that’s awful.”
“Told you we should’ve gone down the street,” Sarah remarks before she can stop herself. “Back to your mother hating me, if you don’t mind. If I’m being broken up with, I think I deserve a decent reason.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Dionne protests. She sighs. “It’s just-she’s very traditional.”
“Traditional.” Sarah tries very hard not to choke on the word. It’s up there with no overtime pay and Manchester United fans in her least-favorite list. “She does know you’re a lesbian, right?”
Dionne rolls her eyes. “Yes, love, I think she’s figured it out.” She drums her fingernails on the tabletop, brightly painted in pink polish, the thumbnail slightly chipped from where she was worrying at it with her teeth on the drive over. “She says that if I have to-I mean-”
“Building it up’s just making it worse,” Sarah points out, and Dionne quite literally throws her hands up.
“It’s because you’re white, alright?”
Sarah stares. Dionne stares back. Their waiter stops, turns on his heel, and shuffles away.
“Sorry,” Sarah says once the world settles into place, “but are you breaking up with me because your mum doesn’t like that I’m white?”
“A bit, yeah,” Dionne mumbles into her coffee mug, and Sarah’s just about positive that she’s just holding the cup.
“That’s ridiculous!” Sarah scowls into her coffee, mostly because this day is getting more trying by the millisecond and she could really use a pick-me-up that didn’t taste like tar drenched in vegemite. “What the hell does my skin color have to do with our relationship?”
Dionne’s skin flushes very slightly and she looks down. “She says-she says that interracial relationships are more likely to break up,” she says quietly. “And-and I know it’s rubbish, I do, but then I think of Daryl and Jen and how they’ve just gotten divorced, and how Rob and Maya’re on the rocks, and I think maybe…maybe it would be better if we just stopped trying to…to mix thing that aren’t meant to be mixed.”
Sarah stares at her.
Because she’s used to Dionne being the rational one. When Sarah wants to stay home from work and watch Neighbours marathons, Dionne’s the one who tells her to save it for the weekend. When Sarah wants to tell her mother she’s died so that she doesn’t have to go home for another awful Christmas dinner, Dionne’s the one who goes with her to dinner and convinces her to play footsie under the table.
So clearly, they’re in bizzaro-world, because Sarah’s Dionne would never be saying the sorts of things she’s saying now.
“That’s…that’s really stupid,” Sarah says finally.
“I know,” Dionne says, and she sounds almost tearful. “But what if…what if we’re just setting ourselves up to fail? Isn’t it better to break up now, before we’re too in love with each other? What if we leave it, and then we end up hating each other while we fight over the flat and the custody of our three point two kids and our cats?”
“You’re really thought this out, haven’t you?”
“My mother is very thorough,” Dionne sniffles, and Sarah digs a tissue out of her handbag, handing it across the table. Dionne smiles very faintly, wiping her eyes the way she always does, a tiny corner of the tissue folded to keep from smudging her mascara. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but maybe she’s right. Maybe stripes and spots aren’t supposed to mix.”
“Beg pardon,” Sarah says, “but what am I wearing?”
Dionne blinks. “What?”
Sarah sets her coffee down-not that she was drinking it, it was really just to have something in her hands-and gets to her feet, smoothing her hands over her skirt, a pale pink pinstripe against dark fabric, and then plucking at her blouse, dark pink with subtle polka dots in a lighter pink. “What am I wearing?”
“You’re…” A slow smile begins to spread across Dionne’s face. “You’re wearing stripes with polka dots.”
“Yes, I am.” Sarah takes her seat again, reclining back. “And do I look ridiculous, or do I look fantastic?”
Dionne’s smile broadens, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “You look fantastic,” she says, and Sarah raises an eyebrow.
“Yes, I do. Now.” She leans forward across the table, moving Dionne’s coffee mug out of her way. “Are you going to phone your mum and tell her she can shove her opinions where the sun don’t shine, or shall I?”
“Oh, shut it,” Dionne says, leaning over to kiss her with a smile still on her lips, Sarah decides that she picked a very good day not to match.