SCHOOL HAS BEEN CANCELED FOR ME TOMORROW! ♥
Moving on. I wrote this for the latest tt_15_fics word, "innocence." I'm not real sure if I like it--it's a little fuzzy, so feel totally free to ask for...clarification. XD Anyway, a little Robin/Starfire ficlet for you.
Innocence. You could see it spark in her eyes, in the flip of her hair as she turned, and the lilt of her words--the taint on her replies. Innocence. Purity and archaic images--lace and melted, mournful candles at a communion. The Vestals of ancient Rome, swathed in their moonlight robes, killed--agonizingly--if they let someone into their forbidden, heady world of innocence.
It was a word that seemed fine, a concept, a superlative that stayed white and clean until you fixed your eye upon it, which was when it started to grow and curl and roil, and fill the sky like a storm cloud. Innocence.
In the dictionary: Freedom from sin, moral wrong, or guilt through lack of knowledge of evil.
And the Jump City Gazette, and the tabloids and the Harlequin romances, the paperbacks with the curling covers that littered supermarket aisles.
But not in her. Not when she curled into herself that night when she thought no one was looking, after Raven had died been reborn, and then melted back into her room, after the world was set right again and the only fire around was quenched by capable equipment. When she sank to her knees, crying and making little gaspy sounds, snuffling, like an animal. When he'd pattered into the Ops Room in search of water and maybe some bad late-night TV, when he'd seen her slim little silhouette, encircled by Cyborg's--massive and hulking and blinking and infinitely gentle. And he'd heard molasses-smooth words, motherly words, and her ragged, monosyllabic responses, and he'd stood there. Stood there with the moonlight slicing a trail at his feet, feeling stupid and inadequate and boyish in his cape--damn cape--trying to be a hero. Then he'd walked back to his room and sat on the bed, staring out the window.
Innocence shared connotations with ignorance and stupidity, so you had to throw all those off, let them clatter-shlunk to the floor, like chain mail. And you had to look at them in the dictionary again, read the thoughts of faceless men trying to parcel out the world. Freedom from sin and lack of knowledge of evil.
What did they know? What did he know?
Her face, framed by that metal...tiara thing. In the beginning, it had been them. Quickly followed by Beast Boy, Cyborg and Raven, but for a time, it had been her feral face and manic desperation. Not free from sin, not free of evil or knowledge of.
Or the transmission, the oddly-lighted photograph sent to his private email address by a heavily encrypted sender--Slade? Chang?...Bruce?--of a lithe girl in heavy, metallic ropes, cutting her verdant eyes at the picture-taker, fierce and quiet.
So after the carnival, after the delights and marvels and sugar, he'd perched with her on the shore of the island, and watched the moonlight play along her face that inspired so many conclusions drawn.
He started. "Huh?"
She turned her face downward and smiled slightly.
The moon was full and bright and simple.