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schmericaOn Strike
by Pearl-o
Due South. PG. 650 words. Femslash yay! (Frannie Vecchio/Meg Thatcher).
Summary: Frannie thinks they have something in common.
*****
When Frannie was in high school, she was always one of those girls, the ones who are friends with guys. Girls were too catty and snotty and jealous and spread mean rumors about her, but guys were fun, and they took care of her. It was like having a bunch of extra brothers, only without the most annoying parts, the parts where Ray acted like he was the boss of her and knew everything in the world. Guys were easy to be around.
It's been a long time since high school. Frannie is sick of guys. The way they smell, the way they don't listen, the way they either hit on you like you're a piece of meat or ignore you like you're a nun. They don't notice when you dress up for them, they never know when you need a compliment, they don't respect you, see who you really are, all your potential that's just bursting out all over.
Men. They're pathetic. Frannie's on strike. No more men.
She explains all this to Inspector Thatcher over a bottle of good white wine, filling up both their glasses whenever they start to dip a bit low.
"I'm sure that's all very interesting, Miss Vecchio," Inspector Thatcher starts to say, in her ice-cold Canadian is-that-a-shirt-or-a-band-aid voice, but Frannie interrupts.
"Call me Francesca," she purrs.
There's a split second of hesitation. "Very well, Francesca, but I still don't understand your point in coming over here and giving me your life story. I am very busy--"
"It's a Friday night, Meg. Do you mind if I call you Meg? It's such a pretty name. Classic, really. It suits you."
"--Thank you," says Meg.
Frannie leans closer over the desk between them. "See, Meg, I figured you, of all people, would understand where I'm coming from. Because, right, you were that kind of girl, too, I bet. Maybe you don't wear so much make-up as me, but I bet you never had a bunch of girlfriends."
Meg purses her lips.
"One of the guys, right?"
"I suppose," Meg says grudgingly.
"Me, too! So where does that leave us now?"
Frannie stands up and walks around to stop next to Meg and lean back, rest her butt against the table. "See, what I'm thinking is this. Maybe we weren't part of the girls then, but there's still good things about girls, right? Like, you smell really good. What perfume is that?"
"I don't wear perfume." Meg pushes her chair back and stands up, too, but Frannie grabs her arm.
"See, we're women. So there's this thing, right? You have to work extra hard, and no one gets it..." Here Frannie breaks out into a wide grin, "Except we do. We get it!"
Meg looks down at her and says, "Francesca--"
Frannie says, "And also, if you were a guy, I would be waiting around for you to kiss me now. But you're not, so..."
Frannie kisses Meg, softly, and then more firmly.
Frannie pulls away, smiling. "Dark plum. That's such a good shade for your skin tone!"
"If that was what you intended," says Meg, "why didn't you just say so all along instead of babbling on like that?"
"That is exactly what I was saying," Frannie says, confused. "So what do you think?" She puts her hand to Meg's face: her skin is surprisingly soft, and Frannie reminds herself to ask her about her moisturization regiment later.
Instead of answering, Meg kisses her this time. Frannie adds "better kisser" to her list of things she likes better about girls. She's not missing men at all.
by Pearl-o
Due South. PG. 650 words. Femslash yay! (Frannie Vecchio/Meg Thatcher).
Summary: Frannie thinks they have something in common.
*****
When Frannie was in high school, she was always one of those girls, the ones who are friends with guys. Girls were too catty and snotty and jealous and spread mean rumors about her, but guys were fun, and they took care of her. It was like having a bunch of extra brothers, only without the most annoying parts, the parts where Ray acted like he was the boss of her and knew everything in the world. Guys were easy to be around.
It's been a long time since high school. Frannie is sick of guys. The way they smell, the way they don't listen, the way they either hit on you like you're a piece of meat or ignore you like you're a nun. They don't notice when you dress up for them, they never know when you need a compliment, they don't respect you, see who you really are, all your potential that's just bursting out all over.
Men. They're pathetic. Frannie's on strike. No more men.
She explains all this to Inspector Thatcher over a bottle of good white wine, filling up both their glasses whenever they start to dip a bit low.
"I'm sure that's all very interesting, Miss Vecchio," Inspector Thatcher starts to say, in her ice-cold Canadian is-that-a-shirt-or-a-band-aid voice, but Frannie interrupts.
"Call me Francesca," she purrs.
There's a split second of hesitation. "Very well, Francesca, but I still don't understand your point in coming over here and giving me your life story. I am very busy--"
"It's a Friday night, Meg. Do you mind if I call you Meg? It's such a pretty name. Classic, really. It suits you."
"--Thank you," says Meg.
Frannie leans closer over the desk between them. "See, Meg, I figured you, of all people, would understand where I'm coming from. Because, right, you were that kind of girl, too, I bet. Maybe you don't wear so much make-up as me, but I bet you never had a bunch of girlfriends."
Meg purses her lips.
"One of the guys, right?"
"I suppose," Meg says grudgingly.
"Me, too! So where does that leave us now?"
Frannie stands up and walks around to stop next to Meg and lean back, rest her butt against the table. "See, what I'm thinking is this. Maybe we weren't part of the girls then, but there's still good things about girls, right? Like, you smell really good. What perfume is that?"
"I don't wear perfume." Meg pushes her chair back and stands up, too, but Frannie grabs her arm.
"See, we're women. So there's this thing, right? You have to work extra hard, and no one gets it..." Here Frannie breaks out into a wide grin, "Except we do. We get it!"
Meg looks down at her and says, "Francesca--"
Frannie says, "And also, if you were a guy, I would be waiting around for you to kiss me now. But you're not, so..."
Frannie kisses Meg, softly, and then more firmly.
Frannie pulls away, smiling. "Dark plum. That's such a good shade for your skin tone!"
"If that was what you intended," says Meg, "why didn't you just say so all along instead of babbling on like that?"
"That is exactly what I was saying," Frannie says, confused. "So what do you think?" She puts her hand to Meg's face: her skin is surprisingly soft, and Frannie reminds herself to ask her about her moisturization regiment later.
Instead of answering, Meg kisses her this time. Frannie adds "better kisser" to her list of things she likes better about girls. She's not missing men at all.
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17/7/07 16:19 (UTC)