Some women are dripping with diamonds...late!drabble for chromagia
Prompt: Little Girls - Annie
Word Count: 474
He’s walking down the halls of the palace when he hears a song that he thinks he remembers from years and years ago, that he never thought he’d hear again. And of course, when he’s this close to Azrael’s rooms, there’s only one person who could be singing, and sure enough, as he turns the corner, it is Mag, and she’s leaning against the wall, holding a small doll in her hands, and singing a song he remembers is from a musical. It takes him a moment, but then he places it - it’s Little Girls from Annie. For a moment he’s lost in a memory, he and Greta sitting on his living room couch, sharing popcorn between the two of them as they both sung horribly off key to the movie, laughing until neither of them could breathe.
Of course, since it was Mag singing, she was perfectly on pitch, perfectly in tune and he was brought sharply back to the present, and he smiles as she looks up and catches sight of him, swinging the doll absently, “Simon!” he smiles, and makes his way to lean against the wall with her.
“Why’re you singing that song, Songbird?” he asks, always curious as to how she picks what music she decides to grace them with.
“Because they’re mean,” she says it so matter of factly that it takes him a moment and he looks at her, surprised anyone could be mean to the Songbird. That was one of the first rules he’d learned when he’d gotten here.
“Who’s mean little Songbird?” he asks, and she’s looking down at the doll, picking at the braided hair sewn into the top.
“The girls, little girls. They teased me, stole my skipping rope…” Simon frowns, tilting his head, never quite sure if she’s serious, or it’s the madness speaking. “and I hate them. And everywhere I see them! “ Simon winces and reaches out a hand, taking the doll and smoothing it’s hair before handing it back.
“I’m sorry they hurt you, Mag,” he tries to soothe, but she looks up at him, leaning into his body.
“Would you like to play with me? Playing is nice!” He's startled by the change of subject, but that's often the way with Mag, her insanity keeps her happy, and dwelling on angry subjects simply breeds thought, so he lets it slide and answers.
“Of course, Songbird. Let me go put these away,” he motions to the books in his hands and she nods.
“Promise to come right back?!”
“Of course,”
“Pinkie promise?”
“Pinkie promise, Songbird,” He gave her another smile, and leaned in to kiss her forehead before moving past her to walk towards the library, Mag’s voice following him down the hallway.
“If I wring little necks,” she’s cooing, more than singing, “surely I would get an acquittal…”
Word Count: 474
He’s walking down the halls of the palace when he hears a song that he thinks he remembers from years and years ago, that he never thought he’d hear again. And of course, when he’s this close to Azrael’s rooms, there’s only one person who could be singing, and sure enough, as he turns the corner, it is Mag, and she’s leaning against the wall, holding a small doll in her hands, and singing a song he remembers is from a musical. It takes him a moment, but then he places it - it’s Little Girls from Annie. For a moment he’s lost in a memory, he and Greta sitting on his living room couch, sharing popcorn between the two of them as they both sung horribly off key to the movie, laughing until neither of them could breathe.
Of course, since it was Mag singing, she was perfectly on pitch, perfectly in tune and he was brought sharply back to the present, and he smiles as she looks up and catches sight of him, swinging the doll absently, “Simon!” he smiles, and makes his way to lean against the wall with her.
“Why’re you singing that song, Songbird?” he asks, always curious as to how she picks what music she decides to grace them with.
“Because they’re mean,” she says it so matter of factly that it takes him a moment and he looks at her, surprised anyone could be mean to the Songbird. That was one of the first rules he’d learned when he’d gotten here.
“Who’s mean little Songbird?” he asks, and she’s looking down at the doll, picking at the braided hair sewn into the top.
“The girls, little girls. They teased me, stole my skipping rope…” Simon frowns, tilting his head, never quite sure if she’s serious, or it’s the madness speaking. “and I hate them. And everywhere I see them! “ Simon winces and reaches out a hand, taking the doll and smoothing it’s hair before handing it back.
“I’m sorry they hurt you, Mag,” he tries to soothe, but she looks up at him, leaning into his body.
“Would you like to play with me? Playing is nice!” He's startled by the change of subject, but that's often the way with Mag, her insanity keeps her happy, and dwelling on angry subjects simply breeds thought, so he lets it slide and answers.
“Of course, Songbird. Let me go put these away,” he motions to the books in his hands and she nods.
“Promise to come right back?!”
“Of course,”
“Pinkie promise?”
“Pinkie promise, Songbird,” He gave her another smile, and leaned in to kiss her forehead before moving past her to walk towards the library, Mag’s voice following him down the hallway.
“If I wring little necks,” she’s cooing, more than singing, “surely I would get an acquittal…”