Bunny Tracks, Honeydew, Rum Raisin, with whipped cream
Author: Indie
Rating: G
Challenge: Bunny tracks #17 (drive-thru) Honeydew 14 (sleight of hand), Rum Raisin #13 (victim)
Word Count: 495
Story: Tally Harlow Rosenkrantz. (Index)
Notes: LAST HONEYDEW!! :)
When Tally was thirteen, she got a callback about a small role on a family sitcom in the pilot stages.
Tally was kind of disappointed, as she’d hoped that audition had gone the same way the others had.
She talked and did a full turn when the interviewers asked her to. Afterwards, like always, her mom was happy and bought her fast-food drive through ice cream and she got to get back to regular life.
It was easy to keep her mom happy and never have to actually do anything that involved people looking at her at the same time, if only she’d try (just hard enough that it seemed like she wanted to succeed) but not try very hard.
Except, a call back was sort of putting a damper on things.
“Hello, Natalia,” the man in the funny hat said.
“Hello,” she said glumly.
“What’s wrong?” he frowned.
Her mother was waiting in the waiting room, so she couldn’t squeeze Tally’s hand to remind her to be polite, and smile.
Which meant Tally could say what she wanted. “What can I say,” thirteen year old Tally said, a smile at the corner of her mouth despite herself. “My life is a pretty tragic affair.”
He laughed. “Really now?”
Tally nodded sagely. “No one will ever be as tragic as me.”
He shot a look at the woman sitting at the table, who was smiling. She looked older than her ma.
“The children in Africa?” she suggested, and in retrospect, if had occurred to Tally that this woman was testing out her ability to think on her feet, she would have stared dumbly at her.
But she didn’t think of that, and showing off her cleverness in front of grown up was one of her favorite pastimes.
Tally put on a funny voice that she probably fancied sounded something like an African child. “We may not have shoes, or anything to eat, but at least we’re not Tally Rosenkrantz.”
The man in the hat laughed again. “Where are you from Tally?”
“You mean, like, where do we hang our hats, or where do our cultural traditions and genetic traits originate?”
The woman’s eyes were wide, and Hat was smiling at her. “You want to go out to the waiting room and fetch your mom for us, sweetheart?”
Tally sighed in relief as she nodded. It meant she was getting home soon. Ice cream (and victory!) would soon be hers.
--
“Apperently, Tal, your precocious attitude and vocabulary are both charming,” Mrs. Rosenrantz said, as soon as they got back into the car.
Tally’s mom only liked (and fostered) one of those, she claimed. The other was her fathers fault.
Tally groaned. “Does that mean …”
Her mother grinned at her. “Congratulations, baby!”
Tally kind of felt like her stomach had fallen through the floor, at this cosmic slight of hand, this weird shock ending, but mom was smiling at her, and they were probably going out for ice cream round two, so she smiled back.
Rating: G
Challenge: Bunny tracks #17 (drive-thru) Honeydew 14 (sleight of hand), Rum Raisin #13 (victim)
Word Count: 495
Story: Tally Harlow Rosenkrantz. (Index)
Notes: LAST HONEYDEW!! :)
When Tally was thirteen, she got a callback about a small role on a family sitcom in the pilot stages.
Tally was kind of disappointed, as she’d hoped that audition had gone the same way the others had.
She talked and did a full turn when the interviewers asked her to. Afterwards, like always, her mom was happy and bought her fast-food drive through ice cream and she got to get back to regular life.
It was easy to keep her mom happy and never have to actually do anything that involved people looking at her at the same time, if only she’d try (just hard enough that it seemed like she wanted to succeed) but not try very hard.
Except, a call back was sort of putting a damper on things.
“Hello, Natalia,” the man in the funny hat said.
“Hello,” she said glumly.
“What’s wrong?” he frowned.
Her mother was waiting in the waiting room, so she couldn’t squeeze Tally’s hand to remind her to be polite, and smile.
Which meant Tally could say what she wanted. “What can I say,” thirteen year old Tally said, a smile at the corner of her mouth despite herself. “My life is a pretty tragic affair.”
He laughed. “Really now?”
Tally nodded sagely. “No one will ever be as tragic as me.”
He shot a look at the woman sitting at the table, who was smiling. She looked older than her ma.
“The children in Africa?” she suggested, and in retrospect, if had occurred to Tally that this woman was testing out her ability to think on her feet, she would have stared dumbly at her.
But she didn’t think of that, and showing off her cleverness in front of grown up was one of her favorite pastimes.
Tally put on a funny voice that she probably fancied sounded something like an African child. “We may not have shoes, or anything to eat, but at least we’re not Tally Rosenkrantz.”
The man in the hat laughed again. “Where are you from Tally?”
“You mean, like, where do we hang our hats, or where do our cultural traditions and genetic traits originate?”
The woman’s eyes were wide, and Hat was smiling at her. “You want to go out to the waiting room and fetch your mom for us, sweetheart?”
Tally sighed in relief as she nodded. It meant she was getting home soon. Ice cream (and victory!) would soon be hers.
--
“Apperently, Tal, your precocious attitude and vocabulary are both charming,” Mrs. Rosenrantz said, as soon as they got back into the car.
Tally’s mom only liked (and fostered) one of those, she claimed. The other was her fathers fault.
Tally groaned. “Does that mean …”
Her mother grinned at her. “Congratulations, baby!”
Tally kind of felt like her stomach had fallen through the floor, at this cosmic slight of hand, this weird shock ending, but mom was smiling at her, and they were probably going out for ice cream round two, so she smiled back.