Chris Month Day 8
Feb. 8th, 2008 10:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsI wasn't sure if I'd make this today, but fear not, the Chris month ficlet is here!
Today it's a cross with Torchwood, and if you want to know more about the show, look here
Usual warnings apply.
Head bowed against the drizzle, Chris hunched further inside his jacket, his hands deep in his pockets as he hurried toward the brightly lit shop, the only bright spot in the street of shuttered windows and doors. He could smell grease and vinegar, and when he got close he saw the windows were fogged, steam escaping with each exiting customer. Each one carrying striped plastic bags or open squares of white paper, piled high with fat fries.
Stomach grumbling, Chris stepped into the shop, the steamy heat making his cheeks tingle as he stood near the window where he could look at the squares of brightly coloured cardboard taped to the walls, advertising pizza specials and a ‘kebab plus pop and garlic sauce for £5’ deal.
Tempted, he watched as the man behind the counter used a knife to slice strips from some unidentifiable meat that rotated on a spike, orange heaters making grease bubble to the surface before slipping into the tray below.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. No one knows what it’s made of.”
After almost a week in Wales, the accent was familiar now, and Chris turned to the woman who had followed him inside. A strand of hair clung to her neck, and she pushed it back while giving Chris a flash of smile.
“We’ve a bet going. I get £100 if it turns out to be a brontosaurus.” She smiled again, wider this time, like it was some kind of joke, but her eyes remained serious, and the smile quickly slipped away. “Anyway. I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Chris looked at the meat again, the way it curled into a pile on the plastic carton, already looking greyer than it had moments before. “So what do you recommend?”
“Oh, you’re American. Not that it matters. Just an observation you know.” Flustered, the woman took a step closer, then back, all the time looking at Chris. “You should get some chips. With vinegar and salt. You can’t beat it on a night like this.”
Chris moved, shuffling a few steps as the queue shifted forward. “Is that what you’re getting?”
“I am. It’s been one of those days you know?” She sighed, eyes downcast, and Chris did know. He could emphasise easily.
“Next please!”
The customer in front moved and Chris stepped up to the counter, taking in the bubbling vats of oil. The warmers filled with battered sausages, golden fish and patties. “Two bags of chips, please.” He looked back, suddenly uncertain about this impulsive gesture. “Unless you’re going somewhere else?”
For a long moment she seemed uncertain, then suddenly, as if making a definite decision looked directly at Chris. “No, nowhere else to go.”
“Let me buy you dinner, then?” Unable to resist, and feeling light-hearted for the first time in weeks, Chris bowed elaborately, enjoying the way she tried to hide a laugh even she blushed and glanced around.
“Yes you can, if you bloody stop doing that, anyway.”
“Excellent.” Chris turned to the waiting assistant, the chip scoop held ready in one hand. “Leave them open.”
“Plenty of batter, though.” She stepped forward, the arm of her coat damp against Chris’ hand as she reached for the plastic bottle of vinegar. “You need plenty of this, salt too.”
“Salt and me go way back,” Chris said seriously, and picked up the salt cellar, the plastic grainy against his fingers and palm.
“There you go.” The assistant placed two trays of chips on the counter, both topped with batter that slid down the side, landing on the white paper. “That’s £2.50.”
Putting down the salt, Chris pulled his wallet out his pocket and carefully counted out the coins. He handed them over, then picked the salt up again, shaking it over the chips. Then swapped the salt for the vinegar bottle, dousing his chips until they glistened, steam gently wafting into the air.
Unable to resist, Chris grabbed a chip, hissing at the heat against his fingers and mouth.
“Good?” Smiling, as she dug into her own chips, the woman blew on one before putting it in her mouth, sighing happily as she chewed.
“Not as good as yours it seems.” Amused, Chris indicated she should leave first, and they stepped outside.
The contrast between the warmth of the fishshop and the cold drizzle was immediate, and Chris shivered and wrapped his hands more securely around his chips, enjoying their heat as they walked, their footsteps echoing in the empty street.
“I know somewhere.” She said nothing more, just kept walking, her coat billowing behind, and Chris was content to follow, occasionally eating, his fingers grease coated as he crunched through vinegary batter and bit into the steaming chips.
“It’s just around here.” She looked back, her hair lank against her head, her eyes dark with experience beyond her years.
“I come here sometimes, when I need to think.” Walking briskly, and without looking back, she quickly crossed the deserted quayside until she reached the railings that lined the river that lapped past, rippling and dark and wide. “Just sometimes, when things seem too big.”
Eating slowly, Chris listened, understanding the feeling well, not that he’d say so, this was her show.
“It’s like, I’m always running to catch up, and when I finally do something else comes along, and I have to start again.” She picked up a chip, gaze lost as she ate. Then suddenly seemed to snap back to the present, and looked at Chris with a small smile. “Listen to me go on, you should tell me to shut up already.”
“It’s okay,” Chris said, picking up a chip that dripped vinegar into the tray.
“No, no it’s not. I should go.” Crushing her carton, she started to walk away. “Thank you.”
“I don’t even know your name.” Finishing the last chip, the initial heat replaced by gentle warmth, Chris watched as she hesitated, obviously about to walk away.
“It’s Gwen. Gwen Cooper.”
It was nice meeting you, Gwen Cooper.” Chris crumpled his own carton, watched as she smiled, then walked away. He knew he’d never see her again.
Today it's a cross with Torchwood, and if you want to know more about the show, look here
Usual warnings apply.
Head bowed against the drizzle, Chris hunched further inside his jacket, his hands deep in his pockets as he hurried toward the brightly lit shop, the only bright spot in the street of shuttered windows and doors. He could smell grease and vinegar, and when he got close he saw the windows were fogged, steam escaping with each exiting customer. Each one carrying striped plastic bags or open squares of white paper, piled high with fat fries.
Stomach grumbling, Chris stepped into the shop, the steamy heat making his cheeks tingle as he stood near the window where he could look at the squares of brightly coloured cardboard taped to the walls, advertising pizza specials and a ‘kebab plus pop and garlic sauce for £5’ deal.
Tempted, he watched as the man behind the counter used a knife to slice strips from some unidentifiable meat that rotated on a spike, orange heaters making grease bubble to the surface before slipping into the tray below.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. No one knows what it’s made of.”
After almost a week in Wales, the accent was familiar now, and Chris turned to the woman who had followed him inside. A strand of hair clung to her neck, and she pushed it back while giving Chris a flash of smile.
“We’ve a bet going. I get £100 if it turns out to be a brontosaurus.” She smiled again, wider this time, like it was some kind of joke, but her eyes remained serious, and the smile quickly slipped away. “Anyway. I wouldn’t if I were you.”
Chris looked at the meat again, the way it curled into a pile on the plastic carton, already looking greyer than it had moments before. “So what do you recommend?”
“Oh, you’re American. Not that it matters. Just an observation you know.” Flustered, the woman took a step closer, then back, all the time looking at Chris. “You should get some chips. With vinegar and salt. You can’t beat it on a night like this.”
Chris moved, shuffling a few steps as the queue shifted forward. “Is that what you’re getting?”
“I am. It’s been one of those days you know?” She sighed, eyes downcast, and Chris did know. He could emphasise easily.
“Next please!”
The customer in front moved and Chris stepped up to the counter, taking in the bubbling vats of oil. The warmers filled with battered sausages, golden fish and patties. “Two bags of chips, please.” He looked back, suddenly uncertain about this impulsive gesture. “Unless you’re going somewhere else?”
For a long moment she seemed uncertain, then suddenly, as if making a definite decision looked directly at Chris. “No, nowhere else to go.”
“Let me buy you dinner, then?” Unable to resist, and feeling light-hearted for the first time in weeks, Chris bowed elaborately, enjoying the way she tried to hide a laugh even she blushed and glanced around.
“Yes you can, if you bloody stop doing that, anyway.”
“Excellent.” Chris turned to the waiting assistant, the chip scoop held ready in one hand. “Leave them open.”
“Plenty of batter, though.” She stepped forward, the arm of her coat damp against Chris’ hand as she reached for the plastic bottle of vinegar. “You need plenty of this, salt too.”
“Salt and me go way back,” Chris said seriously, and picked up the salt cellar, the plastic grainy against his fingers and palm.
“There you go.” The assistant placed two trays of chips on the counter, both topped with batter that slid down the side, landing on the white paper. “That’s £2.50.”
Putting down the salt, Chris pulled his wallet out his pocket and carefully counted out the coins. He handed them over, then picked the salt up again, shaking it over the chips. Then swapped the salt for the vinegar bottle, dousing his chips until they glistened, steam gently wafting into the air.
Unable to resist, Chris grabbed a chip, hissing at the heat against his fingers and mouth.
“Good?” Smiling, as she dug into her own chips, the woman blew on one before putting it in her mouth, sighing happily as she chewed.
“Not as good as yours it seems.” Amused, Chris indicated she should leave first, and they stepped outside.
The contrast between the warmth of the fishshop and the cold drizzle was immediate, and Chris shivered and wrapped his hands more securely around his chips, enjoying their heat as they walked, their footsteps echoing in the empty street.
“I know somewhere.” She said nothing more, just kept walking, her coat billowing behind, and Chris was content to follow, occasionally eating, his fingers grease coated as he crunched through vinegary batter and bit into the steaming chips.
“It’s just around here.” She looked back, her hair lank against her head, her eyes dark with experience beyond her years.
“I come here sometimes, when I need to think.” Walking briskly, and without looking back, she quickly crossed the deserted quayside until she reached the railings that lined the river that lapped past, rippling and dark and wide. “Just sometimes, when things seem too big.”
Eating slowly, Chris listened, understanding the feeling well, not that he’d say so, this was her show.
“It’s like, I’m always running to catch up, and when I finally do something else comes along, and I have to start again.” She picked up a chip, gaze lost as she ate. Then suddenly seemed to snap back to the present, and looked at Chris with a small smile. “Listen to me go on, you should tell me to shut up already.”
“It’s okay,” Chris said, picking up a chip that dripped vinegar into the tray.
“No, no it’s not. I should go.” Crushing her carton, she started to walk away. “Thank you.”
“I don’t even know your name.” Finishing the last chip, the initial heat replaced by gentle warmth, Chris watched as she hesitated, obviously about to walk away.
“It’s Gwen. Gwen Cooper.”
It was nice meeting you, Gwen Cooper.” Chris crumpled his own carton, watched as she smiled, then walked away. He knew he’d never see her again.
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no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 10:46 pm (UTC)Couple of things though...
“You should get some chips. Chris with vinegar and salt." Is that like a Freudian slip? ;)))
“It’s Gwen. Gwen Taylor.”
I'm done nitpicking! Sorry! I loved this. :D
no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 11:09 pm (UTC)Oh dude, thank you! Nit pick away. I'm doing these off the cuff, just writing and posting so they're sure to be riddled with mistakes. Though I was tempted to leave the Chris one ;)
no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 01:43 pm (UTC)The Chris one was pretty awesome! Heee. :D
no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 10:58 pm (UTC)Plus I had to look up the whole batter-on-chips thing! I've never seen that here; it sounds greasy and delicious. *g*
I love the way they both waver from hesitant to forward to flirty to contemplative; it seems so very characteristic of the both of them, that boldness shot through with uncertainty. Plus the idea of the two of them all dark-haired and dark-eyed, standing in the steam of the shop ... so wonderful, and so evocative!
Technically, I find the way you used such vivid and round-sounding words to describe everything to be really effective -- shuffling, bubbling, glistening wafting billowing -- again, so in keeping with the two characters themselves! There's so much contrast but only in the most subtle and deeply introspective way, which is something I adore a lot.
Thank you for writing this, sugarpie! It's just what I needed on a rather dreary afternoon. *mwah*
no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 11:18 pm (UTC)Batter is so much a part of the fish and chips experience. I'm always surprised when I go elsewhere and they just don't provide it. Maybe it's a northern england thing, whatever it is, it's delicious.
Your comment made me beam with joy. You say such lovely things. It makes me very happy that you enjoyed it.
Thank you for such a wonderful prompt!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 11:27 pm (UTC)And I loved the story, too. Also delicious :-)
no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 11:48 pm (UTC)I'll have to investigate this further I think.
I'm glad you liked, thanks for letting me know :)
no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 11:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 11:12 pm (UTC)Very atmospheric and melancholy!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 11:20 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-08 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 07:46 am (UTC)This was a weird one writing wise. When Camp Sparkle is over and I'm tidying these up I'll have to hit you for some advice because without Chris knowing Gwen's name, 'the woman' thing seemed clunky at times.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 07:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 01:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 07:47 am (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 01:40 am (UTC)And my craving for chips is not abating AT ALL now.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 07:48 am (UTC)Man, I wanted chips so badly when I was writing this.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 07:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 07:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 08:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 09:24 am (UTC)Thank you so much!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 11:10 am (UTC)The chip shop on the corner of the road I grew up on (there were four chip shops in my village, Jamie Oliver would despair) called the leftover bits of batter 'scraps'. Mmmm, scraps.
It looks like you're bringing all the Gwen-lovers out of the woodwork with this story. I am one too. I should get a Gwen icon and be out and proud. :)
no subject
Date: 2008-02-09 03:48 pm (UTC)Nopseud mentioned that batter being called scraps too. Which as a descriptive word makes a lot of sense.
I have to admit, I wasn't a Gwen lover, but my feeling about her have changed this season. So yes, you should get an icon!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-10 12:41 am (UTC)But! This is cute--very concrete and visual and, um, is there a way to say "smell-ual"? *g*
no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 01:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 09:36 am (UTC)