sendthemback (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sendthemback) wrote2009-11-21 08:20 am
sendthemback) wrote2009-11-21 08:20 am
Entry tags:
Day 20
Stephen is here. OH NO where have they ended up? Special guest writer shenry moves us along toward victory. (No, really, it's a damn NANO EXCHANGE [see if you can catch the gap?] Ty bb! <333333)
Words required: 33,340
Words achieved: 34,679
Words of today: 1,856
Rachel grins and shouts back, "Only if you're buying."
"Oh, my dearest Dr. M.," Stephen answers, striding toward them. "If only I were a much younger man, then maybe, justmaybe... but I left such antics behind when I finished college."
Rachel laughs and Keith huffs, letting Rachel's hand drop from his. They stand side by side for a few seconds, both swaying with their sudden awkwardness. Then Stephen reaches out and snags their open hands in his, dragging them forward. "Come on, pilgrims, we've got work to do."
He walks backwards a dozen feet, pulling them all the way, then lets go, turning around to lead them forward. They finish the block and Keith frowns at what he sees. "We're not going to the MLB Players Association, are we?"
"No, but close." Stephen takes a step toward the glass doors that loom in front of them.
"You mean, proximity-wise?" Keith grumbles, near sneering.
Stephen shrugs. "They're both an important part of American greatness, and that's all that matters." Keith stops dead, his eyes rising up over the building in front of him. Stephen shrugs then turns his attention toward Rachel. "I know you want to come in, at least!"
"Hell yes, I do," Rachel laughs, pushing past him and through the revolving doors.
Keith plants his feet as firmly as he can. "I am not going in there."
"Yes you are," Stephen answers. He reaches for Keith's hand again, but Keith jerks back. "Come on," Stephen says, "Rachel's all ready inside, surely wreaking unspeakable havoc without our calming influence."
"It's a doll store," Keith grunts.
"So?"
"I'm not going inside."
"Fine, suit yourself."
Keith watches Stephen retreat behind the glass. He takes a step back, looking the building up and down one last time. "I can't believe they're doing this to me," he grumbles to himself. Then, he pushes a tentative palm into the revolving door.
The lobby area is not the sudden sensory assault he expects. The decor is more off-whites and pastels than the 80 shades of pink he expects. He looks awkwardly around the big, open space, frowning until Rachel skips over from his left and grabs him by the sleeve. "Come on, you gotta see this."
And there's the pink. Actually, it's more purple, really, with litle pink accents drilling into his head. But it's everywhere, towering over and surrounding him. He actually feels a little nauseated.
"It's the Just Like You room, Keith!" There's a terrifying amount of excitement in her voice and Keith is already groaning on the inside, though he keeps the external groan in check for later. Rachel grins, then continues. "Stephen is already trying to figure out how to make one for you, but I don't think they have silver hair, which really sucks, I think... Still, come over here and check out these glasses..."
Keith sighs. "You can't possibly be as excited about this as you're pretending to be."
"Why not?" Rachel asks, hooking her finger into his sleeve again and dragging him forward.
He looks miserably around the room as he follows her. As he drags his feet, he notices that his is actually a fairly common predicament. He's far from the only man his age in the store. The only problem is that most of the other sleeve-dragging girls are under the age of 12, mostly likely pre-gay and not getting the weird satisfaction out of the whole experience that Rachel must be feeling.
"Look at these lilac glasses!" Rachel giggles. "I wish they had them in human size, because I think--"
"You're doing this to torture me, aren't you?"
"Would I ever?"
Before he can answer, Stephen comes rushing up to their side.
"The real American Girl dolls are on the second floor, you know, the ones who glorify glorious American history. Forget this liberal modern 'you can do it!' nonsense! Let's go!"
Keith is just glad enough that Stephen is pulling them away from Rachel's impromptu decision to buy him some sort of terrible doll that he actually follows without comment. He does let himself wonder for just one second if the barrier between Stephen's real life and that of his character is breaking down (he seems just a tad too enthusiastic about the whole thing), but then Rachel's palm is pressing into his again, leading him toward the escalator, and he forgets it all.
They charge back out into a calming world of marble, and Keith breathes in the familiar white and beige, ignoring the bright pink "Girls of the Year" display that stands in a nearby glass case as he boards the escalator two steps behind Rachel and Stephen.
"If it makes you feel better," Rachel laughs, dropping down one step closer, "I noticed that not one of the girls was a woman of color. One of them might have been a light-skinned latina, but hell if it was obvious..."
Keith laughs, moving up one step to close the gap. He drops his hand on her shoulder. "Good to see that my Rachel is still well in tact."
Stephen laughs, oblivious as always. "I'm not trying to subvert the liberal norms, I promise. I'm honestly here for work. I need the perfect prop for a segment next week and all of my lazy interns backed out, pretending that I'd have the better eye than them..."
Keith laughs. "Couldn't you just borrow Madeline's? I'm sure you've bought her at least one over the years..."
"The little one has gone rogue," Stephen smirks. "She has an Addy doll and I need to make a more racially insensitive statement on my show. Plus, my boys have both decided to go all heteronormative on me, and neither one of them will accept a Felicity, not for birthday, Christmas, or Jon and my subversive Chanukah."
"So it's all for your show?" Keith asks, keeping it simple. Both Rachel and Stephen hear the relief in his voice.
"Of course," Stephen answers. "I haven't gone completely off the deep end."
"Well, that makes one of us," Keith breathes.
He looks around as they ride the escalator. The mezzanine is just inoffensive enough to be anywhere, any interlude in any building. It's a little too comforting, really, like it's purposely leading up to his next shock. He twitches as they hit the bump in the ride that signals the next level.
Stephen almost trips on the top step, but he catches himself, jogging onto the marble landing. Rachel hops over the gap, laughing as she reaches out to grab Keith's hand and jerk him back into stability.
"Second floor," she announces, looking over at Stephen.
Stephen smiles. "I genuinely promise you that I haven't made our dunch reservations at the American Girl Cafe. Follow me down this hallway and rejoice as we meet our last stop."
Keith is fine until he's confused again. His senses are confounded not by a shock of brightness, but by a color scheme even less offensive than that of the remarkably boring mezzanine. The space they enter is filled with none of the pinks and purples he expects. Instead he finds himself surrounded by simple, easy colors, all true beiges and creams. He frowns, feeling like they've entered into some strange time capsule.
Keith gets that there's some sort of theme here, the "olden days", where things were drab and boring, but it is almost too much, the weird tans slipping toward browns. Stephen and Rachel are weirdly quiet as they draw him toward the glass case.
There's Samantha. Keith recognizes her, but he hopes it's just because of some weird cultural thing, something he's absorbed through his skin by way of advertisements. He feels a hand drop onto his shoulder, and it's Stephen this time.
"Move along," Stephen nearly whispers. "We're looking for Felicity."
"Why are you whispering?" Keith whispers back, and his tone is more of an annoyed hiss compared to Stephen's almost reverent tone.
"Talking here would be like... like disturbing the dead," Stephen says, and Keith turns toward Rachel for some clue as to how he should react, but Rachel is wearing her serious news anchor face.
Keith sighs as Stephen leads them away from the museum-like display. "All right," he says to whichever one of them will answer, "why?"
"Samantha's been 'archived,'" Rachel explains, and, in case Keith can't hear the quotation marks in her voice, she draws air quotes with her fingers.
"It's the American Girl equivalent of being taken to a farm upstate," Stephen says, giving up his whisper now that they are around other people and away from the display. "She and Nellie O'Malley are up there in New Bedford, where they can live happily together in a committed doll relationship that is not legally recognized by the state of New York." He looks to Rachel. "No offense intended to the second class citizen among us."
Rachel shrugs. "It's a well known fact that all dolls are dy--lesbians." She corrects herself mid-word, but even that is enough to earn her a glare from the parents of a nearby little girl. The girl is too preoccupied with her new doll to pay any attention to the world around her, and Rachel is a strange mixture of glad and annoyed. She offers an unapologetic smile to the offended parents, then turns back to her companions. She is still working on just how embarrassed she should make herself seem when she hears Stephen's voice.
"That's her," Stephen says, stopping both Keith and Rachel by touching their arms. "She has a Felicity. Hang on."
While Stephen bounds after the girl and her parents, ostensibly assuming that they can point him toward a Felicity doll of his own, Keith turns to Rachel. "I'm not sure what I want to ask you about first, your knowledge of these dolls, or your idea that all dolls are lesbians... I, well, I don't even know."
"Think about it," Rachel says, leaning against the nearest wall. "Girls rarely have just one doll, and at any given point in time, you can find at least a couple of them together in a closet, completely naked. I'm just glad Samantha and Nellie can finally be happy together in their little farm upstate."
Keith sees it hit her, the parallel that's not really there, the vague similarity between Samantha and Nellie together forever in a farmhouse upstate and Rachel and Susan together forever in their Northampton home, or raising chickens in Michigan, or anything, really, just together. It's close enough that Keith can see it; it's close enough to make a variety of emotions pass over Rachel's face until she latches onto one.
"Of course," Rachel says with a bitterness directed inward, "that's only until they archive Molly and her glasses and Julie and her feminism, and Samantha decides..."
Keith inches a little closer. "What does Samantha decide?"
Rachel laughs and adjusts her own glasses. "There's no way I can even begin to speculate on what Samantha decided without offending everyone in this store. I'm going to get some air."
shenry moves us along toward victory. (No, really, it's a damn NANO EXCHANGE [see if you can catch the gap?] Ty bb! <333333)Words required: 33,340
Words achieved: 34,679
Words of today: 1,856
Rachel grins and shouts back, "Only if you're buying."
"Oh, my dearest Dr. M.," Stephen answers, striding toward them. "If only I were a much younger man, then maybe, just
Rachel laughs and Keith huffs, letting Rachel's hand drop from his. They stand side by side for a few seconds, both swaying with their sudden awkwardness. Then Stephen reaches out and snags their open hands in his, dragging them forward. "Come on, pilgrims, we've got work to do."
He walks backwards a dozen feet, pulling them all the way, then lets go, turning around to lead them forward. They finish the block and Keith frowns at what he sees. "We're not going to the MLB Players Association, are we?"
"No, but close." Stephen takes a step toward the glass doors that loom in front of them.
"You mean, proximity-wise?" Keith grumbles, near sneering.
Stephen shrugs. "They're both an important part of American greatness, and that's all that matters." Keith stops dead, his eyes rising up over the building in front of him. Stephen shrugs then turns his attention toward Rachel. "I know you want to come in, at least!"
"Hell yes, I do," Rachel laughs, pushing past him and through the revolving doors.
Keith plants his feet as firmly as he can. "I am not going in there."
"Yes you are," Stephen answers. He reaches for Keith's hand again, but Keith jerks back. "Come on," Stephen says, "Rachel's all ready inside, surely wreaking unspeakable havoc without our calming influence."
"It's a doll store," Keith grunts.
"So?"
"I'm not going inside."
"Fine, suit yourself."
Keith watches Stephen retreat behind the glass. He takes a step back, looking the building up and down one last time. "I can't believe they're doing this to me," he grumbles to himself. Then, he pushes a tentative palm into the revolving door.
The lobby area is not the sudden sensory assault he expects. The decor is more off-whites and pastels than the 80 shades of pink he expects. He looks awkwardly around the big, open space, frowning until Rachel skips over from his left and grabs him by the sleeve. "Come on, you gotta see this."
And there's the pink. Actually, it's more purple, really, with litle pink accents drilling into his head. But it's everywhere, towering over and surrounding him. He actually feels a little nauseated.
"It's the Just Like You room, Keith!" There's a terrifying amount of excitement in her voice and Keith is already groaning on the inside, though he keeps the external groan in check for later. Rachel grins, then continues. "Stephen is already trying to figure out how to make one for you, but I don't think they have silver hair, which really sucks, I think... Still, come over here and check out these glasses..."
Keith sighs. "You can't possibly be as excited about this as you're pretending to be."
"Why not?" Rachel asks, hooking her finger into his sleeve again and dragging him forward.
He looks miserably around the room as he follows her. As he drags his feet, he notices that his is actually a fairly common predicament. He's far from the only man his age in the store. The only problem is that most of the other sleeve-dragging girls are under the age of 12, mostly likely pre-gay and not getting the weird satisfaction out of the whole experience that Rachel must be feeling.
"Look at these lilac glasses!" Rachel giggles. "I wish they had them in human size, because I think--"
"You're doing this to torture me, aren't you?"
"Would I ever?"
Before he can answer, Stephen comes rushing up to their side.
"The real American Girl dolls are on the second floor, you know, the ones who glorify glorious American history. Forget this liberal modern 'you can do it!' nonsense! Let's go!"
Keith is just glad enough that Stephen is pulling them away from Rachel's impromptu decision to buy him some sort of terrible doll that he actually follows without comment. He does let himself wonder for just one second if the barrier between Stephen's real life and that of his character is breaking down (he seems just a tad too enthusiastic about the whole thing), but then Rachel's palm is pressing into his again, leading him toward the escalator, and he forgets it all.
They charge back out into a calming world of marble, and Keith breathes in the familiar white and beige, ignoring the bright pink "Girls of the Year" display that stands in a nearby glass case as he boards the escalator two steps behind Rachel and Stephen.
"If it makes you feel better," Rachel laughs, dropping down one step closer, "I noticed that not one of the girls was a woman of color. One of them might have been a light-skinned latina, but hell if it was obvious..."
Keith laughs, moving up one step to close the gap. He drops his hand on her shoulder. "Good to see that my Rachel is still well in tact."
Stephen laughs, oblivious as always. "I'm not trying to subvert the liberal norms, I promise. I'm honestly here for work. I need the perfect prop for a segment next week and all of my lazy interns backed out, pretending that I'd have the better eye than them..."
Keith laughs. "Couldn't you just borrow Madeline's? I'm sure you've bought her at least one over the years..."
"The little one has gone rogue," Stephen smirks. "She has an Addy doll and I need to make a more racially insensitive statement on my show. Plus, my boys have both decided to go all heteronormative on me, and neither one of them will accept a Felicity, not for birthday, Christmas, or Jon and my subversive Chanukah."
"So it's all for your show?" Keith asks, keeping it simple. Both Rachel and Stephen hear the relief in his voice.
"Of course," Stephen answers. "I haven't gone completely off the deep end."
"Well, that makes one of us," Keith breathes.
He looks around as they ride the escalator. The mezzanine is just inoffensive enough to be anywhere, any interlude in any building. It's a little too comforting, really, like it's purposely leading up to his next shock. He twitches as they hit the bump in the ride that signals the next level.
Stephen almost trips on the top step, but he catches himself, jogging onto the marble landing. Rachel hops over the gap, laughing as she reaches out to grab Keith's hand and jerk him back into stability.
"Second floor," she announces, looking over at Stephen.
Stephen smiles. "I genuinely promise you that I haven't made our dunch reservations at the American Girl Cafe. Follow me down this hallway and rejoice as we meet our last stop."
Keith is fine until he's confused again. His senses are confounded not by a shock of brightness, but by a color scheme even less offensive than that of the remarkably boring mezzanine. The space they enter is filled with none of the pinks and purples he expects. Instead he finds himself surrounded by simple, easy colors, all true beiges and creams. He frowns, feeling like they've entered into some strange time capsule.
Keith gets that there's some sort of theme here, the "olden days", where things were drab and boring, but it is almost too much, the weird tans slipping toward browns. Stephen and Rachel are weirdly quiet as they draw him toward the glass case.
There's Samantha. Keith recognizes her, but he hopes it's just because of some weird cultural thing, something he's absorbed through his skin by way of advertisements. He feels a hand drop onto his shoulder, and it's Stephen this time.
"Move along," Stephen nearly whispers. "We're looking for Felicity."
"Why are you whispering?" Keith whispers back, and his tone is more of an annoyed hiss compared to Stephen's almost reverent tone.
"Talking here would be like... like disturbing the dead," Stephen says, and Keith turns toward Rachel for some clue as to how he should react, but Rachel is wearing her serious news anchor face.
Keith sighs as Stephen leads them away from the museum-like display. "All right," he says to whichever one of them will answer, "why?"
"Samantha's been 'archived,'" Rachel explains, and, in case Keith can't hear the quotation marks in her voice, she draws air quotes with her fingers.
"It's the American Girl equivalent of being taken to a farm upstate," Stephen says, giving up his whisper now that they are around other people and away from the display. "She and Nellie O'Malley are up there in New Bedford, where they can live happily together in a committed doll relationship that is not legally recognized by the state of New York." He looks to Rachel. "No offense intended to the second class citizen among us."
Rachel shrugs. "It's a well known fact that all dolls are dy--lesbians." She corrects herself mid-word, but even that is enough to earn her a glare from the parents of a nearby little girl. The girl is too preoccupied with her new doll to pay any attention to the world around her, and Rachel is a strange mixture of glad and annoyed. She offers an unapologetic smile to the offended parents, then turns back to her companions. She is still working on just how embarrassed she should make herself seem when she hears Stephen's voice.
"That's her," Stephen says, stopping both Keith and Rachel by touching their arms. "She has a Felicity. Hang on."
While Stephen bounds after the girl and her parents, ostensibly assuming that they can point him toward a Felicity doll of his own, Keith turns to Rachel. "I'm not sure what I want to ask you about first, your knowledge of these dolls, or your idea that all dolls are lesbians... I, well, I don't even know."
"Think about it," Rachel says, leaning against the nearest wall. "Girls rarely have just one doll, and at any given point in time, you can find at least a couple of them together in a closet, completely naked. I'm just glad Samantha and Nellie can finally be happy together in their little farm upstate."
Keith sees it hit her, the parallel that's not really there, the vague similarity between Samantha and Nellie together forever in a farmhouse upstate and Rachel and Susan together forever in their Northampton home, or raising chickens in Michigan, or anything, really, just together. It's close enough that Keith can see it; it's close enough to make a variety of emotions pass over Rachel's face until she latches onto one.
"Of course," Rachel says with a bitterness directed inward, "that's only until they archive Molly and her glasses and Julie and her feminism, and Samantha decides..."
Keith inches a little closer. "What does Samantha decide?"
Rachel laughs and adjusts her own glasses. "There's no way I can even begin to speculate on what Samantha decided without offending everyone in this store. I'm going to get some air."