Yearling - The Prologue
The Jellyroll of Trouble comes bearing a new treat. This solo endeavor comes as a result of just the absolute weirdest thought derailment ever. It is, at its most fundamental, an overview of the nature of...friendship.
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada does not belong to me. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. I'm just redecorating. When finished, I will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
AN: This story disregards the novel completely, utilizing only the movie as its base.
*** *** *** *** ***
Yearling
By Ruari
MAY 2008
“Never refuse any advance of friendship, for if nine out of ten bring you nothing, one alone may repay you.”
~ Madame de Tencin
*** *** *** *** ***
Andy blinked.
Her brows crept ever higher as she shook her head and studied her computer monitor in consternation.
Several more minutes of staring brought another slow blink.
From: Miranda@usrunway.com
To: asachs@nymirror.com
Sent: Monday, May 19, 2008 09:53 AM
Subject: Acceptable
Though drifting dangerously close to anecdotal in the fifth and sixth paragraphs, yesterday’s article was deserving of its placement.
And for your discretion…you have my gratitude.
I wish I’d known we had this in common.
Andy propped her arm on the desk and allowed her chin to collapse into her palm. She had absolutely no idea what to make of the missive. None. Zip. Nada. It amounted to what could be construed as the most raving of reviews from the editor, though most certainly wouldn’t think so. On the surface it really didn’t seem much of a compliment.
But Andy knew better.
For a woman who so rarely showed approval or offered praise, this note was fairly dripping with it.
And what was that at the end? Not the part regarding what they had in common. Andy had digested her disbelief with regards to that connection ages ago when she’d first made the initial discovery. But Miranda “wishing” she’d known something personal about Andy? That was…that was…
The weary brunette offered up a heavy sigh. It was just weird. Very, very weird.
She closed her eyes, tuned out the noise of the newsroom, and created a quiet place in her mind just to think. To reflect. To ponder and wonder. She’d known her article was good when she’d submitted it to her editor, but this validation…from Miranda…was completely unexpected. For a story that basically just fell in her lap more than two years ago.
Then ended up on yesterday’s front page.
She sat silently for many minutes, oblivious to everything around her as she absorbed this somewhat unexpected consequence to the publishing of her story. A story which had, evidently, impacted strongly enough upon Miranda Priestly to prompt the editor into reaching out to a former assistant she hadn’t spoken to, or even acknowledged, in well over a year.
But reaching out for what, exactly? That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question.
Andy tipped her head in bemusement, her lids fluttering open. She tentatively grabbed hold of her mouse, the pointer hovering for what surely must have been an eternity before the journalist clicked on “Reply.”
From: asachs@nymirror.com
To: Miranda@usrunway.com
Sent: Monday, May 19, 2008 05:27 PM
Subject: RE: Acceptable
Thank you. It was easily the most agonizing article I’ve ever contemplated writing, let alone actually completed.
If it was so incredibly painful for me to write, I can only imagine how difficult it was for you to read.
Andy faltered briefly before gritting her teeth and gamely moving forward.
Prosperity is not always about who makes the most money. Often, it is nothing more than who has more positives now in comparison to the negatives they had then. I would be honored to listen, Miranda, if you ever feel like talking with someone who knows exactly what you went through, who also survived. Who also…
…prospered.
Andy quickly added her contact numbers and hit “Send” before she could change her mind.
*** *** ***
Miranda Priestly rarely struggled with melancholy. Or rather, Miranda rarely allowed herself to struggle with melancholy. She found it to be an utter waste of time and energy.
Today she fairly buckled under the weight of it.
So later that night she took great pleasure in collecting The Book from the foyer table and sequestering herself within the cozy confines of her study, with its wordless call of welcome and its blessed blanket of silence. She reveled in the first quiet she’d enjoyed since waking from her troubled sleep early that morning. It was a sanctuary; where the editor purposefully focused her mind toward the fruits of the day’s labors and cast out all thoughts of the past.
At least temporarily.
She frolicked in the familiar for close to two hours before reluctantly closing The Book, knowing her thoughts were doomed to circle back to that which she’d sought so hard to forget. She turned to her MacBook Pro™ in an effort to find something to offer up a distraction.
To both her pleasure and her pain she found not a distraction but, rather, a conundrum. Her gaze narrowed as she devoured Andrea’s e-mailed response to her earlier missive. She read it twice before the words sunk in, causing her to mutter under her breath.
“She has lost her mind.”
MAY 2008
“Never refuse any advance of friendship, for if nine out of ten bring you nothing, one alone may repay you.”
~ Madame de Tencin
(June)
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada does not belong to me. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. I'm just redecorating. When finished, I will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
AN: This story disregards the novel completely, utilizing only the movie as its base.
*** *** *** *** ***
Yearling
By Ruari
MAY 2008
“Never refuse any advance of friendship, for if nine out of ten bring you nothing, one alone may repay you.”
~ Madame de Tencin
*** *** *** *** ***
Andy blinked.
Her brows crept ever higher as she shook her head and studied her computer monitor in consternation.
Several more minutes of staring brought another slow blink.
From: Miranda@usrunway.com
To: asachs@nymirror.com
Sent: Monday, May 19, 2008 09:53 AM
Subject: Acceptable
Though drifting dangerously close to anecdotal in the fifth and sixth paragraphs, yesterday’s article was deserving of its placement.
And for your discretion…you have my gratitude.
I wish I’d known we had this in common.
Andy propped her arm on the desk and allowed her chin to collapse into her palm. She had absolutely no idea what to make of the missive. None. Zip. Nada. It amounted to what could be construed as the most raving of reviews from the editor, though most certainly wouldn’t think so. On the surface it really didn’t seem much of a compliment.
But Andy knew better.
For a woman who so rarely showed approval or offered praise, this note was fairly dripping with it.
And what was that at the end? Not the part regarding what they had in common. Andy had digested her disbelief with regards to that connection ages ago when she’d first made the initial discovery. But Miranda “wishing” she’d known something personal about Andy? That was…that was…
The weary brunette offered up a heavy sigh. It was just weird. Very, very weird.
She closed her eyes, tuned out the noise of the newsroom, and created a quiet place in her mind just to think. To reflect. To ponder and wonder. She’d known her article was good when she’d submitted it to her editor, but this validation…from Miranda…was completely unexpected. For a story that basically just fell in her lap more than two years ago.
Then ended up on yesterday’s front page.
She sat silently for many minutes, oblivious to everything around her as she absorbed this somewhat unexpected consequence to the publishing of her story. A story which had, evidently, impacted strongly enough upon Miranda Priestly to prompt the editor into reaching out to a former assistant she hadn’t spoken to, or even acknowledged, in well over a year.
But reaching out for what, exactly? That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question.
Andy tipped her head in bemusement, her lids fluttering open. She tentatively grabbed hold of her mouse, the pointer hovering for what surely must have been an eternity before the journalist clicked on “Reply.”
From: asachs@nymirror.com
To: Miranda@usrunway.com
Sent: Monday, May 19, 2008 05:27 PM
Subject: RE: Acceptable
Thank you. It was easily the most agonizing article I’ve ever contemplated writing, let alone actually completed.
If it was so incredibly painful for me to write, I can only imagine how difficult it was for you to read.
Andy faltered briefly before gritting her teeth and gamely moving forward.
Prosperity is not always about who makes the most money. Often, it is nothing more than who has more positives now in comparison to the negatives they had then. I would be honored to listen, Miranda, if you ever feel like talking with someone who knows exactly what you went through, who also survived. Who also…
…prospered.
Andy quickly added her contact numbers and hit “Send” before she could change her mind.
*** *** ***
Miranda Priestly rarely struggled with melancholy. Or rather, Miranda rarely allowed herself to struggle with melancholy. She found it to be an utter waste of time and energy.
Today she fairly buckled under the weight of it.
So later that night she took great pleasure in collecting The Book from the foyer table and sequestering herself within the cozy confines of her study, with its wordless call of welcome and its blessed blanket of silence. She reveled in the first quiet she’d enjoyed since waking from her troubled sleep early that morning. It was a sanctuary; where the editor purposefully focused her mind toward the fruits of the day’s labors and cast out all thoughts of the past.
At least temporarily.
She frolicked in the familiar for close to two hours before reluctantly closing The Book, knowing her thoughts were doomed to circle back to that which she’d sought so hard to forget. She turned to her MacBook Pro™ in an effort to find something to offer up a distraction.
To both her pleasure and her pain she found not a distraction but, rather, a conundrum. Her gaze narrowed as she devoured Andrea’s e-mailed response to her earlier missive. She read it twice before the words sunk in, causing her to mutter under her breath.
“She has lost her mind.”
MAY 2008
“Never refuse any advance of friendship, for if nine out of ten bring you nothing, one alone may repay you.”
~ Madame de Tencin
(June)