(no subject)

[rynne]

Sometimes at night, when Remus was far from home, his mind would remember things best left buried deep in memory. In the Great Basin desert of America, when tracking former Death Eaters for Dumbledore because no one else would hire him, loneliness would parch his lips as surely as the dust and dirt, and perhaps it wasn't an allergy of sagebrush that caused his eyes to water.

When the rain came down in the middle of the night and the land drank half an inch of water before it stopped, Remus stayed inside the cheap motel and twitched the window curtains closed. The rain was full of ghosts that night, that tapped and sighed against the window pane with every drop of water that fell, but Remus closed his ears and sought his bed. He ignored the skittering of insects on the motel floor and tried not to think of eyes as grey as the raining sky.

The sunrise the next morning more than made up for the restlessness of the night before, and Remus lied through a smile as he asked the motel receptionist if she'd seen his friend, another Brit who was going West to see relatives in Sacramento. His name was William Avery, Remus said, but the description Remus gave evoked nothing in the receptionist, and so Remus turned away to be swallowed by the desert once more.

The next night, it didn't rain, but Remus lay awake in another cheap motel. When finally he did sleep, he dreamed of running through the desert on four paws, following a dark shape that his dream-self was sure was his quarry Avery. When he was in range, he leapt, and his prey turned beneath him to reveal grey eyes, black hair, a face that looked nothing like Avery's, a mouth that opened and didn't scream. Remus wrenched himself back and saw the other start to smile, but then he woke himself up and remembered nothing of his dream.

When Remus asked the new receptionist about his friend William Avery, he found himself giving a description of a man, tall and black-haired and grey-eyed. He didn't even wait for her answer before snarling and turning away.

Comments

[ladyblack888.livejournal.com]

*shudders*

[rynne.livejournal.com]

Poor Remus, eh? Thanks for commenting.

[ponderosa121.livejournal.com]

Ooh so very vivid and ouch.

[rynne.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the feedback. It was rather ouch when I was writing it.

[froda-baggins.livejournal.com]

Owie.

[rynne.livejournal.com]

*pats* It is rather owie, isn't it?

[katja021.livejournal.com]

I'm here through having found your R/S fic reclist a while ago, and happened to look at your journal. Can I just say that I love the Edna St. Vincent Millay reference? I also especially like the atmosphere in this drabble. The word choices, and especially, "When the rain came down in the middle of the night and the land drank half an inch of water before it stopped," are excellent.

[rynne.livejournal.com]

Oh, you got the Edna St. Vincent Millay reference! :) I was hoping someone would--I was rereading that poem, and was inspired to write this.

Thanks for the feedback. I like that line too. :)

[katja021.livejournal.com]

I actually have that poem up on the wall in my dorm. That line works so well for post-Halloween 1981 Remus, especially in the context of a former relationship with Sirius, but I could see it working in the context of other friends he's loved and lost as well (in the more platonic sense): James and Lily and Peter.

On an utterly unrelated count, if you've read Wuthering Heights, the image also reminds me of Cathy and Heathcliff at the very beginning of the novel. Wonder if that inspired Edna St. Vincent Millay.

[rynne.livejournal.com]

I was actually going to insert the "What lips my lips have kissed" line (in an ironic sense), only it changed to the rain line, and I think it works better now.

I've read Wuthering Heights, though I'm not much a fan of it. But now that you mention it, I can really see the resemblance. You're thinking of the scene with Lockwood and the waif and what happens after, right?

[katja021.livejournal.com]

I think the rain line fits better in the ficlet than "What lips my lips have kissed," although I like both of them a lot in the sonnet.

I've got mixed feelings about Wuthering Heights. I had to spend an entire semester with the book sophomore year of high school and write a research paper on Heathcliff as a Byronic hero, and I spent the semester hating that book. Afterwards, though, it kind of grew on me. I think the further distanced from it I am, the more I look back on it with fondness. Same way I feel about high school, really, except with less fondness.

And yes, that's exactly the scene I was thinking of. The one where Lockwood wonders who the waif could be and thus starts the entire novel. Could've saved us all a lot of time and energy by just going back to sleep and forgetting about it, but no, Lockwood had to be curious and Nelly Dean had to be longwinded. Darn them.