FIC: Dream Machine (Chronicles of Amber)
Mar. 25th, 2020 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meteordustFandom: Chronicles of Amber
Relationships: Deirdre & Fiona & Llewella & Flora
Characters: Deirdre, Fiona, Llewella, Flora
Category: Gen
Rating: G
Summary: Lightning in her wheels, thunder in her heart.
Notes: Fill for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ladiesbingo Round 7.
Prompt: Siblings
The car is a classic convertible, with a sleek body and a muscular engine. Lightning in her wheels, thunder in her heart. Black enamel and silver chrome, with silver roses detailed on the hood. Deirdre might be in love.
"Nice car," Flora says. "Please tell me you didn't name it after him."
Llewella looks shocked. Even Fiona lifts an eyebrow.
"Oh, come on," Flora says. "You were all thinking it."
Llewella says, "Yes, but I don't spill every thought that pops into my head."
Deirdre ignores the exchange. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't think about an empty cenotaph on a lonely peak. "Her name is Empress."
Fiona murmurs, "Not making a statement at all."
She calls shotgun. Flora is content to lounge on the leather back seats. Llewella slips into the space left over. Deirdre, of course, takes the wheel.
Kolvir lies behind them. The road beckons ahead of them. Somewhere they might catch a glimpse of the fabled Unicorn.
"Last chance," Deirdre says, revving the engine. "If you get bored after an hour, I'm not turning this car around."
"Of all the things this trip might be," Fiona says, "I can't imagine it will be boring."
#
Deirdre ends up in the driver's seat every time. Fiona prefers offering unsolicited advice. Flora likes riding in fast cars, but not paying attention to turn signals or traffic lights. Llewella demurs without offering an explanation. Deirdre is tempted to kick them out and make them walk a few miles, while she stops and naps.
Deirdre wonders, not for the first time, why they are here. Fiona studies sorcery and plays politics, but how much use are they in these strange Shadows? Llewella is even more limited: her domain is Rebma, her refuge even from Amber. She is very much a fish out of water. And Flora, who loves her luxuries: how will she fare when there is very little as uncomfortable, exhausting, and arduous as a road trip?
Fiona is deep in perusal of a book, clearly preferring its company to theirs. Llewella is staring out at the passing landscape, as though it has not been the same for hours. Flora is examining herself in a hand mirror, redoing her makeup yet again.
Deirdre cannot stand the silence. It would be one thing to be driving alone. Silence in company--among family--is strangely oppressive. She opens the glovebox, without taking her eyes off the road, and fumbles out the first cassette she finds. She shoves it into the tape deck. The song comes roaring out the speakers.
Fiona drops the book into her lap. Llewella jerks her head around. Flora swears as her lipstick goes sideways in a scarlet smear. Aretha Franklin sings about R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
"Ground rules," Deirdre hollers. "Someone is going to drive. Someone is going to navigate. Someone is going to keep track of provisions. And it's not all going to be me."
They stare at her through the storm of music, Llewella saying something conciliatory, Flora saying something unprintable.
Fiona turns down the volume and takes out the road atlas. "All you had to do was ask."
#
They are not used to reading maps. They are not used to following signs. They are used to the road making itself under their feet, and the world reshaping itself as they pass.
Deirdre wonders if they'll end up driving each other mad. They were forced to endure each other as children, sniping and quarrelling. But once they walked the Pattern, they went their own ways: Fiona chasing power, Flora chasing pleasure, and who the hell knows what Llewella is chasing.
But they're here with her. She didn't have to ask. They offered.
Perhaps they all feel the need to put distance between themselves and Amber. Perhaps the Unicorn, to them, is just an excuse. Perhaps they think, for Deirdre, it is also an excuse.
Well. There are some places the Pattern won't take you.
Deirdre guns the engine of the Empress, her sisters by her side, as they roar down the highway together.
Relationships: Deirdre & Fiona & Llewella & Flora
Characters: Deirdre, Fiona, Llewella, Flora
Category: Gen
Rating: G
Summary: Lightning in her wheels, thunder in her heart.
Notes: Fill for
ladiesbingo Round 7.Prompt: Siblings
The car is a classic convertible, with a sleek body and a muscular engine. Lightning in her wheels, thunder in her heart. Black enamel and silver chrome, with silver roses detailed on the hood. Deirdre might be in love.
"Nice car," Flora says. "Please tell me you didn't name it after him."
Llewella looks shocked. Even Fiona lifts an eyebrow.
"Oh, come on," Flora says. "You were all thinking it."
Llewella says, "Yes, but I don't spill every thought that pops into my head."
Deirdre ignores the exchange. She doesn't flinch. She doesn't think about an empty cenotaph on a lonely peak. "Her name is Empress."
Fiona murmurs, "Not making a statement at all."
She calls shotgun. Flora is content to lounge on the leather back seats. Llewella slips into the space left over. Deirdre, of course, takes the wheel.
Kolvir lies behind them. The road beckons ahead of them. Somewhere they might catch a glimpse of the fabled Unicorn.
"Last chance," Deirdre says, revving the engine. "If you get bored after an hour, I'm not turning this car around."
"Of all the things this trip might be," Fiona says, "I can't imagine it will be boring."
Deirdre ends up in the driver's seat every time. Fiona prefers offering unsolicited advice. Flora likes riding in fast cars, but not paying attention to turn signals or traffic lights. Llewella demurs without offering an explanation. Deirdre is tempted to kick them out and make them walk a few miles, while she stops and naps.
Deirdre wonders, not for the first time, why they are here. Fiona studies sorcery and plays politics, but how much use are they in these strange Shadows? Llewella is even more limited: her domain is Rebma, her refuge even from Amber. She is very much a fish out of water. And Flora, who loves her luxuries: how will she fare when there is very little as uncomfortable, exhausting, and arduous as a road trip?
Fiona is deep in perusal of a book, clearly preferring its company to theirs. Llewella is staring out at the passing landscape, as though it has not been the same for hours. Flora is examining herself in a hand mirror, redoing her makeup yet again.
Deirdre cannot stand the silence. It would be one thing to be driving alone. Silence in company--among family--is strangely oppressive. She opens the glovebox, without taking her eyes off the road, and fumbles out the first cassette she finds. She shoves it into the tape deck. The song comes roaring out the speakers.
Fiona drops the book into her lap. Llewella jerks her head around. Flora swears as her lipstick goes sideways in a scarlet smear. Aretha Franklin sings about R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
"Ground rules," Deirdre hollers. "Someone is going to drive. Someone is going to navigate. Someone is going to keep track of provisions. And it's not all going to be me."
They stare at her through the storm of music, Llewella saying something conciliatory, Flora saying something unprintable.
Fiona turns down the volume and takes out the road atlas. "All you had to do was ask."
They are not used to reading maps. They are not used to following signs. They are used to the road making itself under their feet, and the world reshaping itself as they pass.
Deirdre wonders if they'll end up driving each other mad. They were forced to endure each other as children, sniping and quarrelling. But once they walked the Pattern, they went their own ways: Fiona chasing power, Flora chasing pleasure, and who the hell knows what Llewella is chasing.
But they're here with her. She didn't have to ask. They offered.
Perhaps they all feel the need to put distance between themselves and Amber. Perhaps the Unicorn, to them, is just an excuse. Perhaps they think, for Deirdre, it is also an excuse.
Well. There are some places the Pattern won't take you.
Deirdre guns the engine of the Empress, her sisters by her side, as they roar down the highway together.
