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Jesus, it's been over a year since my last TFR post
In writing A Thorn in Your Side, I originally planned for the awkward-yet-intimate moment between Belladonna and the Professor to happen while he was dying her hair in the bathroom. This was one of the first scenes I wrote and I cut it pretty quickly because it wasn't hitting the notes I wanted it to. Upon subsequent reads it felt more heavyhanded than I wanted to get (not that I'm always terribly subtle, ha). Besides that, once I really got into writing the story, trying to fit even an altered version of this in would've disrupted the flow of it. I suppose I could've taken some of the conversation that happened in the bedroom out and put it in this scene in the bathroom, but for me it was important to have the conversation between Belladonna and the Professor take place while surrounded by settings that would've been very familiar to Belladonna's former self (and the audience), but were completely alien to her. (Man, that was a long run-on sentence.)
Anyway, here it is in its unpolished, un-revised, unedited glory. This particular bit would've taken place after the actual dying and washing of Belladonna's hair.
--
The Professor flipped the switch on the hair dryer, a blast of air parting the sea of black down to the scalp. He started running his hands through her hair—tentatively at first, then falling into a more comfortable rhythm. He was actually pretty good—he didn't tug too hard, and when he encountered a tangle he'd gently work it through his fingers while waving the dryer in a side-to-side motion.
“Have you done this before?” she said, raising her voice over the wail of dryer, and he looked at her in the mirror for a moment then shrugged. She hadn't said it loud enough. She then realized of course he'd done this before. He'd raised three girls. Three. She'd been one of them.
That squirm of guilt wriggled through her stomach again, and she dropped her eyes to her knees. The Professor carried on, nearly done now. He was definitely way better at this than Ace, and it upset her because it felt like another betrayal. Ace was the best thing, her best thing. It wasn't fair for any one aspect of this life to be better than the one she loved and knew. That was cheating. It wasn't right.
“It's been a long time since I've done this,” the Professor suddenly said, and Belladonna looked up.
“Dried hair?” she said. This time he heard her, or caught the movement of her lips in the mirror and guessed.
A smile, almost melancholy in its smallness, spread. “Spent time with any one of my girls.”
She stared at him, her stomach squirming, watching as that smile slowly disappeared, the unspoken pressure of what he'd just said revealing itself.
“I'm—I'm sorry, Belladonna, I didn't mean...”
She wanted to be angry at him. She really wanted to be angry, because there was so much... so much that she was keeping inside, to herself, or at least trying to, but it was already past the boiling point and she wanted to release it at everything, anything, something.
But he was a dad. Her dad, or at least, he had been when she had been a different person. He'd lost her, someone he'd loved so much. Belladonna couldn't help but identify with that.
She reached for the hand that was running through her hair—it was an awkward gesture, and she fumbled it, but if the Professor could try his best, then she could try, too. She rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, watching his reflection as his eyes softened, then misted over.
“Um,” he said, smiling at the crack in his voice. “All done."
--
Squishyverse is![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
busterella's brainchild and you all should definitely go check out her tumblr for more!
Anyway, here it is in its unpolished, un-revised, unedited glory. This particular bit would've taken place after the actual dying and washing of Belladonna's hair.
--
The Professor flipped the switch on the hair dryer, a blast of air parting the sea of black down to the scalp. He started running his hands through her hair—tentatively at first, then falling into a more comfortable rhythm. He was actually pretty good—he didn't tug too hard, and when he encountered a tangle he'd gently work it through his fingers while waving the dryer in a side-to-side motion.
“Have you done this before?” she said, raising her voice over the wail of dryer, and he looked at her in the mirror for a moment then shrugged. She hadn't said it loud enough. She then realized of course he'd done this before. He'd raised three girls. Three. She'd been one of them.
That squirm of guilt wriggled through her stomach again, and she dropped her eyes to her knees. The Professor carried on, nearly done now. He was definitely way better at this than Ace, and it upset her because it felt like another betrayal. Ace was the best thing, her best thing. It wasn't fair for any one aspect of this life to be better than the one she loved and knew. That was cheating. It wasn't right.
“It's been a long time since I've done this,” the Professor suddenly said, and Belladonna looked up.
“Dried hair?” she said. This time he heard her, or caught the movement of her lips in the mirror and guessed.
A smile, almost melancholy in its smallness, spread. “Spent time with any one of my girls.”
She stared at him, her stomach squirming, watching as that smile slowly disappeared, the unspoken pressure of what he'd just said revealing itself.
“I'm—I'm sorry, Belladonna, I didn't mean...”
She wanted to be angry at him. She really wanted to be angry, because there was so much... so much that she was keeping inside, to herself, or at least trying to, but it was already past the boiling point and she wanted to release it at everything, anything, something.
But he was a dad. Her dad, or at least, he had been when she had been a different person. He'd lost her, someone he'd loved so much. Belladonna couldn't help but identify with that.
She reached for the hand that was running through her hair—it was an awkward gesture, and she fumbled it, but if the Professor could try his best, then she could try, too. She rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, watching his reflection as his eyes softened, then misted over.
“Um,” he said, smiling at the crack in his voice. “All done."
--
Squishyverse is
busterella's brainchild and you all should definitely go check out her tumblr for more!