TWW FIC: Vincam
Title: Vincam
Author: shutterbug_12
Characters: Ainsley
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Only borrowing. Make love, not lawsuits.
Summary: Ainsley finds inspiration in a familiar echo.
Author's Note: Pre-series. 270 words. For magisterequitum at ww_pumpkins. Feedback and concrit is love.
As the sky beyond the library windows turned from pink to night-black, Ainsley finished the last of her Twizzlers and silently pondered her body’s lack of vitamin D. Her skin hadn’t soaked in direct sunlight for two days; she’d risen before sunrise and hadn’t left the library--this same room--until after sunset. Xeroxed articles and layers of open books littered the library table. Her posture had fallen into a slouch as she’d watched the floor empty--one student after another, smiles on their faces and weekend plans on their lips.
Her plans? A paper for Civil Litigation, with breaks for showers, food, and--if she worked hard--sleep. Some plans.
Ainsley’s head dipped, and she propped it up with a hand to her forehead. Her eyes lost their focus, and the printed words seemed to reorder themselves on the thick, yellowed paper. When did this become so hard?
She frowned at her outline. She had sailed across Smith’s academic waters. Rolled over rocky patches and stayed on course. Solid, resolute, and, confident, barring several social setbacks (she’d never found acceptance in the circles of liberal Northeastern feminists). Her own one-woman captain and crew. But Harvard had welcomed her with a merciless tempest of unnavigable exams, papers, case studies--the sort of which she’d always heard but never seen with her own eyes.
Think of it as another obstacle to conquer, sweetheart. Pawpaw’s voice--an echo of his phone call--drifted in her head. I know you’ll make me proud.
With a deep breath and a weary smile, Ainsley crumpled her candy wrapper, cleared her head, and set her pen to paper.
Author: shutterbug_12
Characters: Ainsley
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Only borrowing. Make love, not lawsuits.
Summary: Ainsley finds inspiration in a familiar echo.
Author's Note: Pre-series. 270 words. For magisterequitum at ww_pumpkins. Feedback and concrit is love.
As the sky beyond the library windows turned from pink to night-black, Ainsley finished the last of her Twizzlers and silently pondered her body’s lack of vitamin D. Her skin hadn’t soaked in direct sunlight for two days; she’d risen before sunrise and hadn’t left the library--this same room--until after sunset. Xeroxed articles and layers of open books littered the library table. Her posture had fallen into a slouch as she’d watched the floor empty--one student after another, smiles on their faces and weekend plans on their lips.
Her plans? A paper for Civil Litigation, with breaks for showers, food, and--if she worked hard--sleep. Some plans.
Ainsley’s head dipped, and she propped it up with a hand to her forehead. Her eyes lost their focus, and the printed words seemed to reorder themselves on the thick, yellowed paper. When did this become so hard?
She frowned at her outline. She had sailed across Smith’s academic waters. Rolled over rocky patches and stayed on course. Solid, resolute, and, confident, barring several social setbacks (she’d never found acceptance in the circles of liberal Northeastern feminists). Her own one-woman captain and crew. But Harvard had welcomed her with a merciless tempest of unnavigable exams, papers, case studies--the sort of which she’d always heard but never seen with her own eyes.
Think of it as another obstacle to conquer, sweetheart. Pawpaw’s voice--an echo of his phone call--drifted in her head. I know you’ll make me proud.
With a deep breath and a weary smile, Ainsley crumpled her candy wrapper, cleared her head, and set her pen to paper.