Wicked Girls

[intheheart]

Title: Wicked Girls
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: Their stories are not done.
Warnings: mentions of racism, sexism, heterocentrism, and the death of parents from the child's point of view.
AU: Sisters AU
Notes: A series on some of my minor female characters, in honor of International Women's Day. Based off Seanan McGuire's marvelous CD "Wicked Girls."


Counting Crows

She drives across miles and miles of brown-orange desert land, watching the dust in her rearview mirror rise up and coat the back of her car. There's not another car in sight, not a sign of any other living being on these endless asphalt roads. There's only the sharp-edged mesas looming above the road, the dark bird-shapes circling in the sky, and the wind, harsh and hot, skittering dried-up broken cactus across the pavement.

There's nothing behind her. She has no past. She's buried it all, and now she's starting over.

Arelie gulps down uncertain nausea, and goes on driving.


Mama Said

She misses her mother, every day.

Lynne Hawkins was so strong, so endlessly confident, facing down soldiers and stuck-up businessmen alike. She raised her children, loved her husband, did her beloved job, fought cancer, all on her own stubborn terms. Even on her deathbed she was strong; even thin and bloodless and frail as a dried leaf, she was strong.

She'd cupped Clara's cheek, the day before she died, her hands cold but still steady. "I love you," she'd whispered. "Never forget that, darling. You're so strong; hold on to that. And remember that I love you."

Clara hasn't forgotten.


Cartography

Christine practically raised her brothers and sisters. Not that she really wanted to, but she didn't have a choice-- Mama was so sick, and Papa so worried, and anyway she grew to like taking care of them. She fed them, helped with homework, bandaged scraped knees, got them dressed, and it was amazing how much she didn't know.

Things like Anna's quiet observation hiding a deep insecurity, like Theo being gay, like the twins acting up when they were really screaming for attention.

She loves her brothers and sisters so much; she thinks it's time she got to know them.


How Much Salt?

Fatimah knew the moment she met Farid that she wanted him, forever. He was so handsome and so kind, bending down to kiss her forehead, his lips cool on his skin. She still shivers, to think about it, the frisson of electricity she felt.

"Mama," she'd said, "I'll never be happy without him."

She was happy with him. She bore him beautiful daughters, strong sons. She kept his house, cooked his meals, warmed his bed. She was happy.

But she couldn't keep him. She thinks she always knew she couldn't.

She thinks that's why she hates him so much, now.



Jack's Place

Fairy tales are some bullshit, and nobody knows that better than Cecily Hirschfeld.

She was living one, until about a year ago. The handsome husband, the two beautiful children, the gorgeous house, the high-powered career, she had it all, like Cinderella tottering in her glass heels. Then Chris served her divorce papers and it all fell apart, glass shattering, splinters slicing into her feet until she felt as if she was walking on knives.

Her scars are healing now; she's putting her shattered mirror life back together, making it something real.

She wishes the lesson could be less painful, though.


Carnival Glass

She paints her nails in long smooth strokes, slick red polish for a slick red night; coats her lips in just-bitten crimson, blows kisses to the mirror.

Nadia wonders sometimes if she has anything of her mother in her. If Fatimah saw her like this she'd be horrified. Her father though, he would only wave her on, no matter how tight her dress or how low-cut her neckline. He never minded anything she did.

And why should he? She learned it from him. Attractiveness, pleasure, beauty; how to respect yourself in the morning.

She never got that from her mother.


Dear Thomas

It still hurts, a little, that Hugh married Yvonne. Theresa isn't angry anymore, but it still hurts that he could do that to her.

She wonders, at odd moments, washing the dishes or folding the laundry or chasing her children down to dinner, where he is, how he's doing. She can't imagine that he's happy, not with Yvonne, but she hopes he is.

She's happy, after all. Her Peter is so wonderful, loving and gentle; their children are so perfect, her life so full of joy. She never wanted anything more.

She still wonders, sometimes, how it would have been.


The True Story Here

No one knows Anna, not really.

She's pretty, and quiet, and wry. People like her offbeat sense of humor, her listening skills, her blue eyes lined with kohl. They tell her things they don't intend to, and forget her the moment they walk away.

She's clever, and watchful, and quick. She puts the pieces together, builds images where there were once only scattered thoughts. Her supervisors are grateful for her acuity, the sharpness that serves their purposes.

No one sees inside her, the bookishness, the cat-lover, the girl who loved to play with her brothers.

She prefers it that way.


Mother of the Crows

Joy is Maya's idol. She knows it makes Joy uncomfortable, but she can't help it. Joy is so wonderful, so smart and kind and pretty, that if Maya liked girls she'd call it love. As it is, she doesn't know what to call it.

It's just... Joy saved her. Joy lifted her from the lowest point of her life, out of the endless downward spiral that was all she could see in the future, into a place where possibility once again had meaning.

She doesn't know if Joy understands that. She doesn't know how to explain it.

She just worships.


Tanglewood Tree

Love has never served her well.

Her first marriage ended in disaster. Her relationship with her son is strained. Her mother barely talks to her. She doesn't even know where her siblings live, these days. Her friends in Connecticut scattered as soon as she got divorced.

And yet...

Aaron loves her, endlessly and unthinkingly. Nathan has forgiven her. Her mother is her mother and her siblings are her siblings-- they'll find each other again. She's made new friends, better friends, who won't leave at the first sign of trouble, And Ben... and Ben.

Love has never served her ill, either.


The Ghost of Lilly Kane

It's not morality, that drives Penny's life. Or rather, it depends on how you define morality. The restrictive religious bullshit that her parents tried to drill into her head, it's definitely not that. Nor is it conventional social wisdom, the rules of interaction and being a good girl. Penny's examined both, and thrown them away without blinking.

They all go wrong at sin, she thinks. Sin, according to them, doesn't have to hurt someone, it only has to feel good. Penny's never seen anything wrong with feeling good.

She'll call it the Tao of Pleasure. It'll sell a million copies.


Fox Hunt

Some days Esther feels as if it's all she can do to stay ahead of the hunters.

White people looking down on her, sexuals calling her a prude, men ignoring what she has to say just because she has tits. People putting her down for any one of a dozen reasons, all boiling down to "you're not straight or white or male or Christian, so you don't count."

Well, she's fucking sick of that. She does count. And she's going to make goddamn sure they know it.

She's going to show them what happens when they try to hunt her.


The Snow Queen Dreams

Paige Ryan is in love with someone she's never met.

She's never told anyone, and doesn't plan to. She isn't even sure about their gender; they've never told her, and Morgan could go either way. Not, she thinks, that it matters.

They email back and forth every day; she smiles every time her inbox dings. They talk about everything; family, work, life, love. They can tell each other everything, except this.

It hurts, knowing she's never met Morgan, knowing she probably never will, that she'll go on loving words on a screen.

But she wouldn't have it any other way.



Writing Again

For two weeks after Grace left her, Amanda cannot write a single word.

It's strange. She doesn't cry at the drop of a hat, or pine over the things Grace left behind. It's just... it feels as if there's an empty spot, beneath her ribs, where Grace used to be. She sits down to write, and the paper remains stubbornly blank, as if Grace took the words when she left.
It's an interesting image, she thinks, staring out the window. Words streaming off the paper, trailing after Grace as she hailed a cab.

They'll come back someday.

Just not yet.


Wicked Girls

When every other girl of her age was swooning over Disney and demanding princess dresses, Ahava sat dutifully through the movies, then went out to play tag with Duncan. When the Alanna books came out, she devoured each one in less than a day, feeling as if someone had finally written something for her.

It's less obvious now. The princesses are more proactive. People tell little girls they can do anything, and they even occasionally mean it. But it still feels like everyone wants to save her.

Really, they need saving from her.

She wonders if they'll ever realize that.


My Story Is Not Done

Lauren's dealt with a lot of setbacks in her life.

The first, the most painful, the one she still flinches to think about, the cop solemn-faced at the door, Lauren peering around Amanda as he told them about the car crash. Then foster care, moving endlessly, never knowing when or if she'd see her siblings again. The vagaries of her chosen profession-- will this audition be the one? She never knows what will happen anymore.

But nothing's certain. Nothing's final. Her story's not done, despite the obstacles.

She'll keep on telling it. They all will.

Their stories are not done.