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Entry tags:
Life is Good [Melanie/Old Dolio]
Title: Life is good
Fandom: Kajillionaire
Characters/Pairing: Melanie/Old Dolio
Rating: 0+
Length: 1500
Summary: A few happy moments on an ordinary Sunday.
Other: Postcanon, maybe a month or two.
Life is Good
Pancakes?
Pancakes.
Old Dolio breathed in the scent wafting from the kitchen. Didn't open her eyes. She'd get up soon. Not yet.
It was Sunday. Melanie liked to make pancakes then. Sometimes on other days, too. But usually Sunday. She said it was a nice way to relax. That it was something to look forward to. Kind of like celebrating. As if Sunday was something worth celebrating.
Happiness comes from small things. Dumb things. Like pancakes on Sunday. Or any other time.
Old Dolio sat up. Yawned. She was still tired. She'd worked closing shift at the convenience store last night. But it was a good kind of tired. The job was hard to get used to, but she liked it.
Scanning people's potato chips and soda and candy and milk and cigarettes and getting paid just to do that was easier than all the other jobs had ever been.
She went to join Melanie in the kitchen. Their kitchen? Yes. They shared in the rent, so it was their kitchen. Their apartment. And it felt like a place to live. More than the previous places. More than before.
A place to live. Not just a place to stay the night. But Old Dolio wasn't going to call it a home. Something could change. Something could always change.
She hoped it wouldn't, though.
"Good morning!"
Bright. Sunny. That was the kitchen, and that was Melanie. Smiling, she looked at Old Dolio as if she was happy to see her. Happy to start another day with her. Happy to be.
"Hi," Old Dolio said. It came out like a croak. Stiff from sleep. Not the way she wanted it. As usual.
"Are you hungry? I'm almost finished. You have good timing."
"Okay." That wasn't the right thing to say. "Uh, yeah. They smell good." Better. Awkward, but Melanie didn't seem to mid.
They ate cross-legged on the floor, in the sunlight, with the patio door open.
Melanie had replaced some things straight away after Old Dolio's parents had walked off with all her stuff. The dishes. The cooking supplies. She had thrifted some prints to put on the walls and found a rug to put by the front door. But there wasn't really a need to rush to get furniture, she said. She'd take her time and make sure to find a good deal on something great.
Old Dolio didn't know if they needed it at all. But Melanie wanted it.
Old Dolio poured syrup on her pancakes. Then a little more. She was still trying to figure out the right amount. Melanie had told her that she could use as much as she wanted, that they would get more if it ran out, but Old Dolio didn't know how much she wanted. Eventually she would find out. If she stayed. If Melanie kept making pancakes.
"One of my customers lives down the block. She said they're having a big garage sale this morning? Like, huge. And they're getting rid of a couch." Melanie gestured with her fork toward Old Dolio. "You should come with me to check it out. I'll need help if I decide to take it."
Old Dolio thought about it, then swallowed carefully. One of Melanie's customers? "That's not..." She took a moment to find the right words. Melanie waited. "That's not, uh, one of the people we did on that job with my parents. Is it?"
Melanie blanched. Her eyes widened. Then she laughed, or coughed, or maybe both. "Oh my god. No," she said. "Hell no. I'm not going back to any of those places. No, this is someone else."
"Okay." Old Dolio thought about it some more. "And we're paying for the couch?"
"Well, yeah. We're not stealing it. And we can go half and half, if you want."
"Yeah. All right." Old Dolio shoved more pancake in her mouth. Partly as a reason to stop talking. Partly because she wanted more, even though it was sticky and sweet and she had put too much syrup on this time.
She did want to pay half. Having a couch didn't matter to her. She didn't care. But if having one was important to Melanie, then splitting it two ways was important too.
The couch was green. And made out of leather. It looked pretty new.
"Go ahead and try it out," Melanie said.
Old Dolio sat down. She looked at the space beside her, then looked at her hands. She wasn't sure what she should be 'trying out'. It was a couch.
Beside her, Melanie was talking it over with the lady selling it. The lady who was having the garage sale. The lady who was definitely not somebody they'd done a job on. Melanie had assured her of that, but Old Dolio had still felt relief when she'd looked over to check and realized that she definitely didn't look familiar.
"Well, I was going to try to get a better price for it, but with the cat scratches on it, I just don't think I could move it, you know? And the colour is so last year."
How much did a couch like this cost, anyway? Probably a lot. Old Dolio listened while the lady and Melanie talked over the price. She would have to look it up later. They could resell it, or -
Melanie sunk down beside her. Her smile was wide, happy. "I talked her into giving it to us for free as long as we take it away ourselves," she said. "What do you think?"
Old Dolio sat up straighter. Melanie was sitting close, kind of too close. It shouldn't matter that much. But it did. "That's good," she said.
"Yeah! It's almost new, and you can barely see the cat scratches." Melanie rose, offering a hand. Soft. Perfect. "Come on, let's get this thing home."
They did get it back to the apartment. Eventually. After a while. With lots of breaks, and lots of swearing from Melanie. But it was just down and across the street, and even though the couch was big and awkward and heavy, Old Dolio had hauled bigger and heavier and more awkward things farther distances.
No problem.
They wedged it through the door and dropped it in the centre of the living room. Then Melanie dropped into it herself, sighing with relief as she sprawled out. "Nailed it!" she said. "We can put it somewhere else later. Leave it here for now; I'm exhausted."
She closed her eyes. The smile on her face was warm, satisfied. Old Dolio couldn't look away.
Old Dolio put her sunglasses on and reached for another handful of potato chips.
The park was warm and bright. It smelled like cut grass. People were passing by with kids and dogs. Somewhere nearby, tinny music blasted from a radio.
The air was relaxed, slow. The lack of urgency was strange. It felt weird to just sit, to just stay in one place, to sit and eat a bag of chips and not have to be waiting for something, or watching for something, or looking out for somebody, or planning the next job.
Melanie had brought a blanket along with them and put it down, spread it out over the grass.
She'd wanted to celebrate the couch with a picnic lunch. She'd made sandwiches. Packed soda from the fridge. And Old Dolio had added the convenience store snacks. Old Dolio guessed that this was another one of those "small, stupid things" that bring happiness.
Probably.
The chips were tangy. Lime and black pepper. When she'd taken the job at the convenience store – not a 'job' like before, but real, normal, run-of-the-mill employment – she'd decided that she would try everything. All of it. Like she'd wanted to on that day when she'd stepped out of the dark and felt weirdly alive.
She'd try everything and find out what she liked.
"What do you think?" Melanie asked, plucking a chip from the bag. "Better than the vinegar ones?"
"Yeah." Crunch. "Both are good. But these are better." They tasted sharper. Vibrant.
Melanie was looking at her. She was smiling and looking at her. She did that to Old Dolio a lot.
Sometimes Old Dolio thought she might get used to that.
So far she hadn't yet.
Part of her hoped that she never would get used to it. That it wouldn't become ordinary, that it wouldn't become run-of-the-mill. That noticing Melanie looking at her would always stir up a rush of feelings.
Melanie's fingers touched her hand. Fingertips brushing along her knuckles. She wasn't wearing the fake nails this time. She'd painted her real ones bright pink.
Old Dolio swallowed hard. Was glad for the sunglasses. She didn't know what to do with her face, but the glasses would hide that a little. Not that they had to. Melanie knew, and it was okay.
Old Dolio let the touch stay. Slid her thumb along Melanie's palm. Took a potato chip and ate it.
If this was how things were going to be, she wanted to stay.
She wanted to stay as long as she could.
Fandom: Kajillionaire
Characters/Pairing: Melanie/Old Dolio
Rating: 0+
Length: 1500
Summary: A few happy moments on an ordinary Sunday.
Other: Postcanon, maybe a month or two.
Life is Good
Pancakes?
Pancakes.
Old Dolio breathed in the scent wafting from the kitchen. Didn't open her eyes. She'd get up soon. Not yet.
It was Sunday. Melanie liked to make pancakes then. Sometimes on other days, too. But usually Sunday. She said it was a nice way to relax. That it was something to look forward to. Kind of like celebrating. As if Sunday was something worth celebrating.
Happiness comes from small things. Dumb things. Like pancakes on Sunday. Or any other time.
Old Dolio sat up. Yawned. She was still tired. She'd worked closing shift at the convenience store last night. But it was a good kind of tired. The job was hard to get used to, but she liked it.
Scanning people's potato chips and soda and candy and milk and cigarettes and getting paid just to do that was easier than all the other jobs had ever been.
She went to join Melanie in the kitchen. Their kitchen? Yes. They shared in the rent, so it was their kitchen. Their apartment. And it felt like a place to live. More than the previous places. More than before.
A place to live. Not just a place to stay the night. But Old Dolio wasn't going to call it a home. Something could change. Something could always change.
She hoped it wouldn't, though.
"Good morning!"
Bright. Sunny. That was the kitchen, and that was Melanie. Smiling, she looked at Old Dolio as if she was happy to see her. Happy to start another day with her. Happy to be.
"Hi," Old Dolio said. It came out like a croak. Stiff from sleep. Not the way she wanted it. As usual.
"Are you hungry? I'm almost finished. You have good timing."
"Okay." That wasn't the right thing to say. "Uh, yeah. They smell good." Better. Awkward, but Melanie didn't seem to mid.
They ate cross-legged on the floor, in the sunlight, with the patio door open.
Melanie had replaced some things straight away after Old Dolio's parents had walked off with all her stuff. The dishes. The cooking supplies. She had thrifted some prints to put on the walls and found a rug to put by the front door. But there wasn't really a need to rush to get furniture, she said. She'd take her time and make sure to find a good deal on something great.
Old Dolio didn't know if they needed it at all. But Melanie wanted it.
Old Dolio poured syrup on her pancakes. Then a little more. She was still trying to figure out the right amount. Melanie had told her that she could use as much as she wanted, that they would get more if it ran out, but Old Dolio didn't know how much she wanted. Eventually she would find out. If she stayed. If Melanie kept making pancakes.
"One of my customers lives down the block. She said they're having a big garage sale this morning? Like, huge. And they're getting rid of a couch." Melanie gestured with her fork toward Old Dolio. "You should come with me to check it out. I'll need help if I decide to take it."
Old Dolio thought about it, then swallowed carefully. One of Melanie's customers? "That's not..." She took a moment to find the right words. Melanie waited. "That's not, uh, one of the people we did on that job with my parents. Is it?"
Melanie blanched. Her eyes widened. Then she laughed, or coughed, or maybe both. "Oh my god. No," she said. "Hell no. I'm not going back to any of those places. No, this is someone else."
"Okay." Old Dolio thought about it some more. "And we're paying for the couch?"
"Well, yeah. We're not stealing it. And we can go half and half, if you want."
"Yeah. All right." Old Dolio shoved more pancake in her mouth. Partly as a reason to stop talking. Partly because she wanted more, even though it was sticky and sweet and she had put too much syrup on this time.
She did want to pay half. Having a couch didn't matter to her. She didn't care. But if having one was important to Melanie, then splitting it two ways was important too.
The couch was green. And made out of leather. It looked pretty new.
"Go ahead and try it out," Melanie said.
Old Dolio sat down. She looked at the space beside her, then looked at her hands. She wasn't sure what she should be 'trying out'. It was a couch.
Beside her, Melanie was talking it over with the lady selling it. The lady who was having the garage sale. The lady who was definitely not somebody they'd done a job on. Melanie had assured her of that, but Old Dolio had still felt relief when she'd looked over to check and realized that she definitely didn't look familiar.
"Well, I was going to try to get a better price for it, but with the cat scratches on it, I just don't think I could move it, you know? And the colour is so last year."
How much did a couch like this cost, anyway? Probably a lot. Old Dolio listened while the lady and Melanie talked over the price. She would have to look it up later. They could resell it, or -
Melanie sunk down beside her. Her smile was wide, happy. "I talked her into giving it to us for free as long as we take it away ourselves," she said. "What do you think?"
Old Dolio sat up straighter. Melanie was sitting close, kind of too close. It shouldn't matter that much. But it did. "That's good," she said.
"Yeah! It's almost new, and you can barely see the cat scratches." Melanie rose, offering a hand. Soft. Perfect. "Come on, let's get this thing home."
They did get it back to the apartment. Eventually. After a while. With lots of breaks, and lots of swearing from Melanie. But it was just down and across the street, and even though the couch was big and awkward and heavy, Old Dolio had hauled bigger and heavier and more awkward things farther distances.
No problem.
They wedged it through the door and dropped it in the centre of the living room. Then Melanie dropped into it herself, sighing with relief as she sprawled out. "Nailed it!" she said. "We can put it somewhere else later. Leave it here for now; I'm exhausted."
She closed her eyes. The smile on her face was warm, satisfied. Old Dolio couldn't look away.
Old Dolio put her sunglasses on and reached for another handful of potato chips.
The park was warm and bright. It smelled like cut grass. People were passing by with kids and dogs. Somewhere nearby, tinny music blasted from a radio.
The air was relaxed, slow. The lack of urgency was strange. It felt weird to just sit, to just stay in one place, to sit and eat a bag of chips and not have to be waiting for something, or watching for something, or looking out for somebody, or planning the next job.
Melanie had brought a blanket along with them and put it down, spread it out over the grass.
She'd wanted to celebrate the couch with a picnic lunch. She'd made sandwiches. Packed soda from the fridge. And Old Dolio had added the convenience store snacks. Old Dolio guessed that this was another one of those "small, stupid things" that bring happiness.
Probably.
The chips were tangy. Lime and black pepper. When she'd taken the job at the convenience store – not a 'job' like before, but real, normal, run-of-the-mill employment – she'd decided that she would try everything. All of it. Like she'd wanted to on that day when she'd stepped out of the dark and felt weirdly alive.
She'd try everything and find out what she liked.
"What do you think?" Melanie asked, plucking a chip from the bag. "Better than the vinegar ones?"
"Yeah." Crunch. "Both are good. But these are better." They tasted sharper. Vibrant.
Melanie was looking at her. She was smiling and looking at her. She did that to Old Dolio a lot.
Sometimes Old Dolio thought she might get used to that.
So far she hadn't yet.
Part of her hoped that she never would get used to it. That it wouldn't become ordinary, that it wouldn't become run-of-the-mill. That noticing Melanie looking at her would always stir up a rush of feelings.
Melanie's fingers touched her hand. Fingertips brushing along her knuckles. She wasn't wearing the fake nails this time. She'd painted her real ones bright pink.
Old Dolio swallowed hard. Was glad for the sunglasses. She didn't know what to do with her face, but the glasses would hide that a little. Not that they had to. Melanie knew, and it was okay.
Old Dolio let the touch stay. Slid her thumb along Melanie's palm. Took a potato chip and ate it.
If this was how things were going to be, she wanted to stay.
She wanted to stay as long as she could.