Jul. 8th, 2006 08:59 pm
invocations: (Default)
[personal profile] invocations

Title: Shouldn’t
Fandom: FFVIII
Character: Rinoa
Warnings: None.
XP: [ profile] fated_children (here)


A long time ago, she learned to whistle. It took a lot of useless wheezing and puffing before any sound was heard, and when she finally got it she was eleven and unwilling to stop, as if she thought stopping would mean she had to start all over again.

It took her longer to learn how to keep a tune; it was harder to form the song when you weren’t using words. She kept at it, stubborn, whistling often and glibly. She remembers his pursed lips as she whistled her mother’s songs, the best songs she knew. Same old songs, just once more.

“Girls shouldn’t whistle,” he said rather stiffly. “It’s unladylike.”

The tune died away with a sick, feeble warble. “Dad, you’re so…old-fashioned. I can whistle if I wanna!” She dashed away before he could say anything, wrenching herself free of his unreadable stare. The cold slap of her bare feet on the tiles was comforting (girls shouldn’t run in the house), back in the days where she called him dad.

She wondered why he made such comments all the time. If she were a boy, he’d let her do anything and everything, and he wouldn’t have any shouldn’ts to say. Did he wish she were a son? The persistent thought made her eyes sting with something between hurt and eleven-year-old anger. Her breath jumped with each pounding step and she couldn’t whistle. His sternness demanded her to be stoic, to hold in her tears and emotions. The contradiction confused her: wishing for a son, having a daughter, trying to raise her as both demure daughter and surrogate son. Alternately stamping out and moulding her into how her mother used to be.

It was only later, when she was older and glimpsing her reflection (his hair, her eyes and face and voice and walk and name and everything), that she realised it must have hurt him to be reminded of someone else and how hard it must’ve been for him to raise her.

Maybe it was time to visit him again. She strolled away with a spring in her step, a tune on her breath.

Date: 2006-07-10 12:06 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
This is wonderful. Rinoa's relationship with her father often makes her seem like the worst kind of spoiled brat, but I love the way you've given us a deeper glimpse into it here and I dore the way you allow Rinoa to have a moment of maturity at the end, realizing that her father was hurt and confused by her resemblance to her mother.

I like the way you begin this story with Rinoa's difficult learning of how to whistle and her simple pride in her accomplishment. I adore the way she is imitating her father in whistling Julia's songs. I really love the way that Rinoa behaves in such a contrary manner against her father because she doesn't understand his scoldings and the way his behaviour seems to contradict itself.

"As if she thought stopping would mean she had to start all over again." Join this to the previous sentence with a comma.

Date: 2006-07-10 02:15 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you! I figured that such an intense, headstrong dislike for someone coming from a person who is generally quite cheerful, optimistic and compassionate would have a deeper reason behind it, beyond being a spoiled brat. You've picked up on what I wanted to say about Rinoa and her father's relationship- yay!

Is she imitating her father in whistling Julia's songs? I hope I didn't imply that, because I never pictured the staid General as one for whistling. ^^ Did you mean "irritating"?

My penchant for fragmented sentences strikes again! ^^ I see what you mean, but I felt the previous sentence was too long and thus didn't join the fragment to it with a comma. I think your suggestion will work though... [changes]

Thank you for replying and critting!

P.S. Icon love!


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