the weight of their smiles: [farren]

[Lilianne Madeleine Lawrence]

[/i], a long time ago. She, after all, had no right, because at the end of the day, Violet was just a client who occasionally saw her at the gym, someone who came to Lili to get pampered and primped, who worked out alongside her, and got some things off her chest while she was there. Still, she could not help but feel there was at least a little more to it than that. From what she could gather (and yes, it did make her feel slightly arrogant, but it was something she could not set aside), she had become Violet’s main confidant. Lilianne could, and frankly, would, not begin to shun her purely because a part of her felt something like an intruder. That wouldn’t be fair. So until Violet asked her to butt out or back off, or until she stopped talking to her, Lilianne would be there. As she knew she’d be for anyone in a similar situation; but to the same degree? She could not tell. All she knew was that she felt an inexplicable empathy with this young blonde, and that she was not object to it. It made her feel sort of like she was needed. Her job did that in general, though she was reluctant to admit it. Was it not sad? She was a beautician, the owner of a small salon in a small town. At the end of the day, what she did would make no real difference. That was why, she figured, she had to be there to help fix more than roots, if someone required her to. And Violet, she believed, was one of those people.


After spending an hour or so on the treadmill next to the young woman and being on the receiving end of a small rant and semi-heart-to-heart, Lilianne demanded, under the pretence of an offer, that Violet drop her ‘duties’ for the day. It was not healthy, what Violet was engaging in, and Lilianne’s usually redundant maternal instincts took over. Thankfully, she had to do little persuading to get Violet to agree, to allow Lili to help her unwind. Evening was beginning to descend when the pair walked out of the gym, Lilianne’s mind racing through the contents of her fridge and freezer. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so quick to offer to go back to her house on the outskirts of the city for some food and drinks, bad television and various shades of nail-varnish. And then, as soon as she realised she had no actual, respectable food substances at home, she located the take-out menus (not that she would have any trouble with that, since they were used enough), and was struck with a thought. Was this weird? Did Violet find this weird? Lilianne was a good bit older than her new friend (though she didn’t feel it, and was reluctant to admit it), and her new friend was… well, new. She seemed at ease, though, so Lili tried to make herself feel similarly: she was only trying to help. Alcohol. That would help them both, and she knew there were supplies enough to last them a few hours, if it came to it, at home. She was drinking entirely too much of late, and vowed to find less harmful ways of helping herself unwind. But, for now, it was fine, as it was for a good cause. She giggled to herself a little at the thought, then rolled her eyes as she got into her car, having instructed Violet to follow her back. And if she didn’t… well, then Lilianne got the message. She was being too friendly and it had become weird.


At this, she laughed to herself once more, before flicking on the radio and humming away to the unfamiliar, catchy tune, before realising it was getting on her nerves. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she, with the other, connected her iPod to the car (in what had to be one of her favourite inventions) and hit shuffle. At least it would offer her songs she knew well enough to actually sing along to. Driving just wasn’t the same for her if she couldn’t sing, much to the dismay of those who travelled with her. Namely, Leo, though he joined in a lot of the time now. That was good. Only three of four tracks played through before Lilianne had led them back to her little house, just enough to allow her to belt a few tracks which didn’t suit her nor her voice. A few minutes later, she was parked, coughing slightly as she unlocked her front door and let it swing open, bowing in dramatic subservience. Because that was what Lilianne did. Without alcohol. She followed Violet in and began gathering things she’d forgotten she’d absently thrown about that morning, before pressing the lights on and asking Violet to sit while she got drinks. She came back with a bottle of capped wine, three-quarters full, tucked beneath her arm, two wine glasses and a hand full of crumpled take-away menus. Such a glamorous life she did lead. “So,” she began, setting the acquired items down on the cluttered coffee table, “I figured ordering in would be a safer option, so here we have a choice of delectable fast-food places which I, myself, frequently am a customer of. Take your pick.” She giggled and sat opposite Violet, making a conscious effort not to just flop down and just surrender to mounting tiredness. “Do you like wine, or is that an old person’s drink? I might have something else out there, if you’d prefer?”[/ul][/size]

[Farren Violet Clark]

[/i] aspire to be in her lifetime. She was pig-headed, she was selfish, she was cruel and she was lazy. Farren had no idea what her father ever saw in her, but she always told herself there must be something good in everyone. She’d been searching for years now...and she still had yet to find that elusive something in her stepmother. Lilianne, on the other hand, radiated good from almost every pore. Not in the kind of “rub it in your face, my life is perfect” sort of way some people did either. No, Lilianne seemed to be a flawed example of good. Farren could bet her bottom dollar that the woman had made some mistakes in her life, done some things she’d regretted (There were the faintest hints of frown lines on her otherwise young face,) and they just made Farren like her more. Lilianne was larger than life in her generosity, in her compassion, and in her vivacious personality. Farren was attracted to that simply because she was genuine. For the first time in her life, she had a female role model who wasn’t after her daddy’s undivided attention, or their money. Lilianne was there, a helping hand and a friendly shoulder to cry on because she wanted to. She didn’t mind comforting Farren, at all. Farren knew that Lilianne was the listening ear to a lot of lost causes with a penchant for pedicures, but – and forgive her for sounding the teensiest bit insolent – she thought that sometimes, she just might be Lilianne’s favourite lost cause.

Farren didn’t know whether to feel pathetic about the invite to Lili’s house. Clearly, after an hour session on the treadmill of Farren’s partially covered turmoil, Lili still believed that Farren was in need of some therapy, or something. She knew that today was a particularly stressful day. It wasn’t that she particularly had more on than usual, but some days it just...got to her more than others. It only took one little event on days like these when her mood flipped completely. She could wake up perfectly happy, and by twelve noon, could be ready to commit several murderers. For petty things, like someone cutting her up in traffic, or taking the last biscuit. Somedays, she could speak to everyone. Others she felt like disappearing into her own little dreamland, where everyone wore shit eating grins and said “yes Farren, no Farren, may I kiss your royal ass Farren?” She laughed a little on the drive to Lili’s house (She suspected that there was alcohol included in the offer, and she didn’t really think drink driving was a particularly wise life choice), thinking that that would be the day when someone asked her that question. Usually it was her running around after everyone else, frantically trying not to disappoint. Her business, her so called family, her friends. Anybody she had come in contact with, really. Right now, Lilianne didn’t expect anything of her, other than to arrive and have a good time. And that was really the least anyone had asked her for in a very long while. And that was why she was making her way to her newly acquired therapist/friend/surrogate mother’s house with a bottle of some fruity cocktail mixer tucked under her arms, and a huge tin of chocolates crammed into her bag.

Lili’s house was compact but efficient, like Lili herself, Farren supposed. She giggled a little at the older woman bowing and it felt good to walk into a light atmosphere where she could leave all the drama at the door. Well not all of it, considering she was Farren and there was always a little bit of drama about her, no matter how calm the environment she found herself in. Farren sat gingerly on the edge of the settee, smirking at the take away menus. ”Your treating me to a home cooked meal then, Miss Lawrence?” Honestly, Farren had no objection. She had burnt 3000 calories today alone just worrying, and talking, and sprinting to and from clientele appointments who insisted on running her ragged to find the material that was “just so” for their wedding dresses. Honestly, Farren couldn’t blame them for wanting to look pretty – but some people thought she had fourteen pairs of hands, she was sure of it. And optimum resources. And money. They didn’t seem to understand that until they paid her for the dress, she had to take the money out of her business – and it was relatively new, albeit well established for someone just starting out. Farren leafed through the menus and plucked some kind of Mexican/tapas deal that she’d eaten from before. ”I feel like messy food.” She stated, with a small smile. Leaning over she uncapped the wine and poured herself and Lili a generous glass. ”Right now, I will drink anything that isn’t pop. Sorry, soda.” Farren’s nose crumpled a little and she tugged her hair down from the bun on top of head, finding it funny that she was still using her father’s British terms when she had been living her all her life. ”I tend to do that a lot, just as a warning...I’ll translate as I’m going along. British father.” She shrugged, taking a sip out of her wine, not being at all ladylike in “savouring the bouquet”, simply savouring the fact it was alcoholic. ”Your house is nice.” She sat back a little on the sofa, scooting back into the cushions, careful not to spill the wine.

[/ul][/size]

[Lilianne Madeleine Lawrence]

[/i] be healthy. Of course, this little rant probably allowed Violet to conclude that Lilianne Lawrence was, indeed, a madwoman. An entertaining madwoman, but a madwoman all the same. She was struck with the idea of Violet being too terrified of Lilianne to turn down her kind and strange request, and in turn, struck with the image of herself. Bottom end of five foot, very blonde, practically a human bubble. Terrifying? Perhaps to the uptight intelligent of the world, who looked down their nose at absolutely everyone. No doubt, they would see someone like Lili as a menace to society who needed to be stopped before she spread her mindless effervescence like the disease it, of course, was. Which, in turn, led to the mental execution of a short but brilliant film, an Oscar-winning performance with deeply moving (but nonetheless amusing) speech, and finally, true love with George Clooney. This was how she preferred to keep herself amused when abandoned by all of creation but for herself and her own thoughts. Sometimes, however, she found herself wallowing, on her past decisions, on her present failings, on her future spinsterhood avec cat, garden gnomes and birdhouses. And, though it was sometimes an amusing thought, the very real possibility of it happening could be terrifying. It would be at that point that she’d start playing her music too loudly, or call someone she had nothing to really talk about with, or just simply get in her car and go somewhere. Her own thoughts were, after all, dangerous little buggers.


So really, the fact that she’d invited Violet over tonight was a combination of both reasons she’d feared the other girl would think. Yes, she was worried about her (perhaps a little too much so, but that was that), and yes, she did like company. God knows she spent far too many evenings alone with the television and, occasionally, a bottle of wine (good practise for spinsterhood though). That wasn’t so bad, until she began crying for no apparent reason, without any alcohol in her system. She grinned at the ridiculousness of it all as she gathered the take-out menus from her kitchen, leaving Violet to make herself comfortable. That annoying tune from the car was stuck in her head, and she hummed it as she collected the things to take into the living room with her. At Violet’s playful reaction to the menus she was presented with, Lilianne mock-glared at her, shaking her head slowly. “I will have you know, Miss… I don’t actually know your surname; that is bad… Miss Violet, that I don’t share these menus with just anyone. Feel privileged.” When she sat down, she muttered something about Violet being thankful for the take-out and praying for its return if she ever tasted Lili’s cooking. “Messy food it is, then. Circle what you want, I’ll phone. The girl hates my accent. My voice, actually, I think.” She giggled. It was half-true; sometimes, she swore she could hear it from the other end of the line, the frustration at having to listen carefully. It was fun to play it up, purely because the girl shouldn’t be so damn rude. Without Lilianne… well, her split ends might well remain untended to forever. Though she doubted that girl would be able to tolerate Lili as her beautician. She smiled, mentally shrugging it off. She quite liked her accent, actually. This was why she looked up at Violet with a little smile when she apologised for using the British ‘pop’ instead of its American equivalent. It was the first time she’d really noticed that, and she wondered about it for a moment before her companion explained. “Soda,” Lili stated, twisting her voice into a pseudo-American accent, the blanket one everyone seemed to turn to when doing an impression. Probably wasn’t the best idea, to semi-mock an accent, and with it, an entire nation, in front of a girl who was raised in the country. There, Lili wasn’t exactly renowned for her tact.


She giggled a little as Violet apologised. “Darling, English,” she reminded, pointing to herself, “It’s nice to hear those little ‘Britishisms’,” she air quoted, “from someone other than Leo.” And it was true: she missed home when she was somehow ‘conned’ (as she, mentally and jokingly, put it) into thinking about it. It was always fun coming across people who were British, or had British parents, even if it did make her feel slightly… well, homesick. She sipped her wine, smiling, thinking that it was silly after all this time… Especially since there was nothing for her ‘across the pond’ now, not anymore. Perhaps it was not homesickness but nostalgia which plagued her from time to time; she didn’t want to go ‘home’ (whatever the hell that was), there were just some things she had trouble leaving behind. But, she supposed, that was part of what made her human, and humans are not supposed to forget or suddenly forget they, at some point in the distant and foggy past, cared about something. Or someone. She thought suddenly of her mother as she looked across the rim of her wine glass at the younger woman, inwardly remarking at the way she felt so maternal towards her, this girl she’d known only a few months. She found it hard to imagine what her own mother must’ve felt for her, and was jarred with what Violet’s birth mother had missed out on. It was, she realised with reluctance, too close to home. And that was something which only drew her inexplicably closer to the younger blonde. Still, she didn’t like to think about it too much if she could help it (though the fact that she did was inevitable). Violet’s mention of her father, however, only served to force her tom think a little more, about, once again, her own father. He could be dead and she wouldn’t know. Who would let her know? Would they even bother now? Yes, the man had let her down so many times she’d lost track, and no, she would never truly be able to forgive him (nor her mother, for that matter) for that, but… he was still her father. One day, she would be forced by guilt and a mild case of paranoia to telephone him. She imagined the stilted conversation, the awkward, crackly silence of the bad line, the pinched goodbye, and swallowed another mouthful of wine. “Where was your dad from?” she asked, swirling the contents of her glass with a circular motion of her wrist, the corner of her lips hosting the shadow of a smile. "My house is... lived in," she then added, slapping the flatness out of a cushion, "But thank you."[/ul][/size]

[Farren Violet Clark]

[/i] to make them dislike her immediately after her father’s death. She had failed to ‘carry on as normal’. Because she couldn’t pick up and carry on like they did, she was labelled the outsider, the black sheep. She had outlawed herself, practically.

And that was the only reason Farren found this gathering strange. To be quite frank, she had never had someone take this much interest in her before. Everyone had the time of day for her, as she was quite widely liked (Mainly for her sweet nature, but also because people could take advantage of her without a lot of protest…sad, but true). Not many extended invitations to their home, brought out stashes of wine, and offered to share take-out with her. It was alien. And Farren liked it. And in all honesty, that worried her somewhat, because of her complex with losing people. Maybe Lili had planted the seed in her mind that she was good at this socialising business. She had regressed severely since her father’s death, with desire for social interaction close to nil, but need for company in her loneliness pretty critical. In all honesty, one of the reasons she had chosen to open up a shop, rather than simply work from her studio in the house, was so that she would actually see someone from day-to-day. She had started to forget how to talk to normal people. So she’d forced herself into smiling and conversing until, eventually, it became natural again. And though she was most certainly not the social butterfly, she was definitely not a caterpillar anymore. “Violet Clark.” The young blonde replied with a slight smile. “Very well then, I will. I will warn you in advance, things get very messy with me and Mexican.” Farren glanced down at the menu, circling first two, then three dishes, before biting her lip, adding a fourth and shrugging. What? No-one could blame the girl for having a healthy appetite. Plus, I must have worried away at least 1000 calories today. Can you even burn calories by worrying? That’d be cool…FARREN. You’re in company. Farren focused again. “That’s a tad evil, Miss Lili. I remember my dad getting funny looks because he ordered a “beefburger” instead of a hamburger. Sent the folks into McDonalds into a panic, I think.” Farren laughed at the number of scenarios running through her head, mostly featuring panic buttons located underneath the serving desk at McDonalds.


When Lili corrected and reminded her that there was no need for her Americanisms here, or at least her apologies for her “Britishisms”, as Lili had referred to them, Farren was reminded of yet another reason she felt so comfortable with this woman. There seemed to be an acceptance in both of them because of a common factor. Farren thought that Lili was lonely. Despite her salon, and being the “ears” to many people’s problems, there was a tinge to her voice sometimes that bespoke of a lot of nights where she wanted something more than a take-out menu and a bottle of wine. Maybe several glasses of wine later, Farren would ask how a woman so attractive came to be on her own. It was easy to see that Lili had natural charm by the bucket load. She had independence, no ties of children or, as far as Farren could tell, any psychotic tendencies. She would ask her, she resolved. Much later. Of course, the same could be ask how an equally attractive young female who possessed many of the same qualities was still on her own. The answer was not through lack of interest, but lack of time to pay attention to these interests. In the last year, it had been hard to get the shop up and running. She was sure Lili would know exactly how it felt to have the weight of a sapling business around her neck. It was hard work, long hours and no thanks…but someday, Farren hoped it would pay off, and she could retire at like...thirty, or something, and be a Princess. “I know, I’m just so used to correcting myself. My step-mother never really liked them. She said I’d ‘rub off’ on her daughters who had ‘no British ties at all’.” Farren made air quotations around the appropriate parts of her sentence. “I’m glad none of them rubbed off on me.” Farren shivered. “I’d be the most pompous, self-absorbed dressmaker ever.” She sipped again at her wine, wondering at what point she stopped crinkling her nose up at her father’s drink that tasted like ‘vinegar’ to a fourteen-year-old her, and started to enjoy it. “My dad was from Kent. What about you?”




[/ul][/size]

[Lilianne Madeleine Lawrence]

[/i]. If these things were not possible, then she would go out, alone (because really, she had stopped caring about what it ‘looked like’), and drink small quantities of alcohol… just enough to get her nice and distracted and relaxed. Until the next day, when she woke up with a headache and an alarm clock, super pissed off for being ignored five times. All of these things combined to provide proof that human beings, and particularly Lilianne, was not meant to be left alone for prolonged periods of time. It did weird things to the brain. Perhaps this was part of the subconscious psychology behind her invitation to Violet tonight, aside from the maternal instinct which drew her to the girl and made her want to help (more than she usually did, that was). Either way, she planned on trying to have a good time, regardless of how the night panned out, helping herself unwind a little, at the same time as she helped her young companion to do just the same. As they’d stood side by side on those treadmills, alternating their speeds according to how much they wanted to push themselves and ‘feel the burn’, it became abundantly clear, to Lilianne, that the tension of everything had built up far too much already. They both just needed to stop for a moment, take a step back, and relax. Give themselves a break, instead of working themselves into the ground and then pushing themselves even further at the gym or in life in general. Especially Violet, a young girl who might as well have had the weight of the world on her shoulders.


Or was that her being too dramatic, even overly sympathetic? Probably, she concluded after a moment, after thinking about all the homeless runaways, knocked-up teens and closet homosexuals too afraid to tell their parents, the physically abused and the mentally tortured of the world. And automatically stemming from that, she thought of herself and Leonardo as teenagers, and then laughed a little because they couldn’t really be compared to Violet. She had experienced her own set of issues as a young woman, the loss of her father and having to put up with her stepfamily. That was something which she, like Leo and Lili with their ‘tragic’ events, would forever have to live with. She sipped at her wine, as though doing so would redirect her thoughts, away from their current depressing path. But still, wasn’t that half of the point of tonight? To get things like that off their chests? Lilianne wasn’t sure. She knew that she didn’t want to overwhelm Violet with her issues, and that she did not, in fact, wish to speak about any of them at all (because really, why start now?). Still, they were probably going to have some form of heart-to-heart, because Lili felt Violet needed to, if not necessarily wanted to, vent a little more, a little more calmly, with a greater degree of privacy. And yet, despite Lili’s reluctance to speak solely about herself, she sometimes managed to incorporate cryptic messages relating to her own experiences. She was not exactly known for her lucidity, nor for being straightforward in her methods, which could perhaps explain why she thought this the best way to help her young friend unwind, take a load off. Lili nodded when she gave her surname, hardly surprised at it, since her father was English, and then laughed and shrugged a little with Violet’s ‘warning’. She just watched as the girl studied the menu and made her choices, and was glad to see that she wasn’t going to stop herself from enjoying food just because she cared for her body. Because really, force feeding her wouldn’t be a great idea, but Lili wasn’t above it. Small frames needed to be comfortably filled.


She grinned as she took the menu from the younger woman, only half paying attention to the lists she was scanning. “I have been known to have the odd evil moment.” She circled the dishes she wanted (knowing pretty much as soon as they decided on the type of food, since she usually always had the same thing), giggling, “Those kids struggle enough as it is without having to put up with our intolerable and complex variations on words.” She stopped herself from adding ‘which we had first’, because although her father may have been English, Violet wasn’t, and she didn’t really want to offend the girl and, you know, her entire nation. And since that wasn’t the first time she’d thought, no really badly, but sarcastically, then, of America tonight. So perhaps it was time to go home for a few weeks. Even though she didn’t want to see her father, even though she didn’t have any close family. Maybe it would quell her inner meanness for a little while. If Leo was game, perhaps they’d go in the summer… She stopped herself and smiled, a little sheepishly, mildly apologetic, not realising that Violet was having just as much fun making fun as she was. Which was actually pretty sad, she realised, and giggled to herself once more as she leaned back so she could pull her phone out of her pocket. “Really? So she basically tried to drum it outta you, pretty much? Geez, what did she think was gonna happen to her girls if they said ‘pop’ once, they’d suddenly develop a love for bulldogs and God Save The Queen?” She raised her eyebrows and shook her head slightly, disapproving. And why hadn’t her father said anything? Had it even happened before he passed away? Before she could get properly agitated, Violet somehow managed to diffuse the moment, and Lili grinned. “I would love to see that. I can barely imagine it.” Violet and ‘pompous’ just didn’t seem to go together. She was one of the most candid and down-to-earth people she’d ever met, and honestly, she couldn’t understand how, after so many years under the care of her stuck-up step-mother. When she said the name ‘Kent’, however, Lili grinned and proclaimed, “Darling!” She paused for a moment, then wrinkled her nose, shrugging. “I can say nothing. I’m from Surrey, right next door. Well, Oxfordshire originally, and I lived there again for about a year when I was a teenager… but mostly Surrey.” She smiled, typing the number for the fast food place into her mobile and holding it to her ear, making a face. Before she had chance to think about the question, she found herself asking: “What about your mother? Would she have minded your Britishisms?” The dialling tone suddenly stopped, and Lili coughed and become suddenly more English, her accent played up, with injections of the country-like sound of her parents’ home county. She went through the order twice, perkier the second time around, gave her name and address, and thanked the stressed-sounding girl on the other end. “About half an hour.”[/ul][/size]

[Farren Violet Clark]

[/i] seemed to be at the salon when she passed. And she worked long hours herself. When did Lili find time to actually be in her house? Furthermore, Lili did strike her as a people person. So why would she choose to sit on her own, without anybody. Assuming she didn’t have a boyfriend, of course. Farren tried to imagine the kind of man that Lili might go for. She was usually good at dreaming up these scenarios in her head, but with Lili, she imagined a classy man. A gentleman. Despite her bubbly personality, Farren thought that maybe there was some fragility, vulnerability under the blonde facade. Farren suspected that because it was the same mask she painted on. She had never been a girl to go for a bad boy, instead sticking to those men whom she knew would do right by her. Unfortunately, those men were few and far between and often destined for greater things than Walten City. So she had learned to let go of them easy, and just be happy that the run they’d had was good.

Farren was used to losing people, as sad as it sounded. She had come to have very little expectations of new friends. People were fickle; superficial. She had no doubt that some weeks she could go from being a person’s absolute best friend to being virtual strangers once more when someone with more to offer came along. It had always been the same, and, as of yet, there had never really been anyone she’d deemed worth fighting for. She would not be seen to be clinging to anyone like a limpet. She would never wound her pride in such a way. So she let them use her, abuse her, then leave in the morning. Quite frankly it was easier than getting too close and being disappointed anyway. Lili, however, did not seem like the kind of person who treated friendships lightly. After all, she offered advice and listened to sob stories daily, but she somehow felt a little different, being asked back to her house, off salon hours, to partake in good wine and calorific food. An extra ‘talking about your feelings’ session, that had more than a hint of warmth and friendliness with the easy atmosphere and chat. This was...different, for Farren. A lot of her friends from childhood had disintegrated over the years, moving out of Walten City to marry and have babies. To pursue new careers or go on to further education. Travel the world. She remained in Walten City, slogging daily to make a living out of her business, and simply trying to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground, and her head out of the clouds. Right now, that seemed like a difficult enough task without chasing dreams or romances. Simple. Farren liked things simple. And that’s what Lili appeared to be, upon first glance. Successful, independent, funny, caring. A little ditsy, a little more crazy. Wholesome would be the wrong word. Consistent may be deemed better.

”I don’t blame you. Some of these kids sound like they’d rather chew barbed wire than take your call. I don’t know why they even bother getting the job. Maybe they do it to piss us off.” Farren also enjoyed visiting her supermarket, being barked at by some spotty adolescent, then having her change thrown back at her from across the counter. Go out for a loaf of bread and risk blindness by 50 cents. ”It feels like revenge. How rebellious.” Farren laughed, a buoyant kind of sound that blossomed to fill the room. She was shocked by how genuine it was. Often, when talking to someone, Farren had many different hilarious scenarios in her head. She really could just keep adding on to a joke, even when it stopped being funny to everyone else. The image of Lili ringing up some takeaway and ordering something that was incredibly British and not at all on the menu. And someone on the other end of the phone frantically gesturing to colleagues as to what the hell “Toad in the hole, bangers and a big breakfast” were. ”I don’t know. Maybe she thought it was contagious. Of course, it was adorable when my father spoke in a completely British accent. But I so much as say rubbish instead of garbage, and it’s the doghouse for me.” Farren rolled her eyes, the wine easing the sarcasm off of her tongue. Farren waited for Lili to finish her order, but she couldn’t help the way the wind was knocked out of her sails a little with her mother question. Would she have? Was she even British herself? Farren thought so. ”I’m not entirely sure. I think she was British too. Never really could get much about her out of my dad.” Farren’s brow furrowed. She had always thought him a little selfish, when she was younger. Selfish that he had so much of her mother, and she had...nothing. Save her hair and her smile, apparently. She was genetically linked to the woman, a closer link than her father possessed. She was half of her, not just half of her heart at one time. As she got older, and experienced heartbreak herself, she started to acknowledge that it was not easy to talk about someone who had left you. ”I thought maybe he’d give me her name before he died. Something. Anything, really. Her shoe size, a picture. But, nothing.”


[/ul][/size]

[Lilianne Madeleine Lawrence]

[/i] to be because she simply didn’t have enough friends. This shouldn’t be a novelty, but a necessity, especially for someone like Lilianne, who thrived in the company of others and drowned in her own solitude. That sounded dramatic, but to some extent, she supposed it was true. She ended up over-thinking everything and then either drinking too much or crying over a black and white film. Or both. What a gripping life she did lead. She wondered if her young companion ever got lonely (not that she, herself, would ever admit to being anything of the sort), having pretty much nobody to talk to except her customers. Or did she make friends through her business? Or was she still in close contact with her school friends? After all, she was only a couple of years out of the place, and that was something Lilianne somehow managed to forget. Violet seemed far older than she was, perhaps because her business was already pretty successful, perhaps because she’d been forced to mature… perhaps because she was here, choosing to spend her Saturday night in the company of a woman some fifteen years her senior. Okay, so in reality, Lilianne still acted and thought like she was twenty. Not in the ‘partying hard’ sort of way, but her whole outlook on life, despite the hands it had dealt her over the years. Her optimism and ability to trust so easily, make friends so easily (though her earlier epiphany reminded her that she didn’t make friends, she appeased customers with small talk. Great). And Violet, twenty-years old and quite different. More cautious, quieter, and Lili could still see flashes of herself in the young woman. The way she watched things sometimes, the things she found amusing, the way she was with people… Lilianne could relate, and saw the girl as a foreign entity all at once. Perhaps her intrigue was misplaced. Perhaps it wasn’t even intrigue, but concern and desire to help, accompanied by the need to know more to do so effectively. Either way, she couldn’t quite work out why the girl wasn’t out with her young friends in some club somewhere, mixing her drinks and sporting a tiny dress. What was stopping her? Was it really just shyness?

No, there was definitely intrigue there.

And on Violet’s part too, Lilianne thought. She saw her eyes sometimes, and within, a cloudy lack of comprehension. Lili couldn’t say she blamed her, because she couldn’t work herself out half of the time. She imagined, from what she had thus far gathered about Violet’s personality, that the younger woman was unable to quite understand Lilianne’s interest in her. It was a strange relationship they had found themselves to be a part of after only a few short months of acquaintance. Not quite friends but not quite just confidants either. And really, it didn’t matter. It did not need to be defined. Both women seemed content to just go with it, this weird fairy-godmother and Cinderella thing they had going on. The slightly more mature version of the fairytale though, which included drinking and swearing and rather copious amounts of bitching. Necessary and justified bitching though, so there was no need to feel bad about it. She laughed lightly, “They should count themselves lucky to have a job at all. I wish I could get paid for being rude and blatantly disinterested. But no, I’d have to fire myself if I did that.” And it was true. You could not work with people and expect to get away with that. Half the battle was painting a smile on your face and pretending to be remotely interested in whatever inane thing your customer had to say, because it was them who paid your wages, them who kept your roof over your head. The ‘kids’, as Violet had delicately put it, didn’t have to worry about any of that yet. Still in school, in a job to save for the car their parents would eventually buy them anyway. They didn’t know they were born… and they didn’t know how expendable they actually were. Somebody really should tell them, because when they moved out and moved on, suddenly, there would always be someone out there who could do their job better, and someone just watching and waiting for the moment where they could dispense of the employee who didn’t realise it was time to stop being rude. Lilianne wouldn’t wish unhappiness on anyone (well, save one or two people who thoroughly deserved it), but that sort of wake-up call was often needed.

Lilianne grinned when Violet laughed, pleased to see she appeared to be relaxing. She’d never actually heard her laugh properly, Lili realised at that moment, and she tried not to feel too sad about that, or too happy that Violet felt it was okay to be, in a way, free in her presence. But she couldn’t see what was quite so funny to the young blonde, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to understand even if she explained it to her. It seemed like Violet had something running along inside her mind that only she could keep up with, and that was just fine. As long as she was amused. At this, Lili giggled, imagining a world where people only laughed at their own mental jokes, and a total lack of understanding and blanket acceptance of that fact. It was silly, but light-hearted, and she imagined Violet would be thinking along similar lines. Different topic, but amused by something existing only in her head. Lili found it somewhat endearing, actually. It took away from the other side of their conversation, in which Violet told of her unhappiness with a smile and a joke, just to try and relieve the tension. “Well, she’d sort of be right. It is contagious. But it’s not a disease.” Not unless Violet’s step-mother was incredibly anti-British; this didn’t seem likely, given the fact that she married a man from freakin’ Kent. Still, people’s minds worked in weird and fascinating ways. “So your dad, did he know she treated you like that for something you picked up, you know, from him?” Because if he did, then the man lost a hell of a lot of respect from Lilianne right there. Not that that would make the slightest bit of difference to anyone except her, who would begin to look on her conversations with Violet a different way. Harsher, perhaps. More protectively than she already did. She looked away following her question about Violet’s mother, feeling slightly guilty was asking it in the first place. It was, she understood without needing to ask, rather a tender subject. Comprehensibly. “Was she?” Lilianne smiled softly from behind the rim of her wine glass, though she didn’t really know why. She set the glass down on the table in front of her softly, feeling a reluctant pity for Violet’s father, though she didn’t actually know what had happened between him and her mother. It seemed that nobody did. How could they, when the only people who held information remained either tight-lipped or painfully, resoundingly absent? Lilianne couldn’t imagine having that sort of mystery around her entire existence, and her chest constricted slightly at Violet’s next words, the desperation lurking within, struggling to remain contained. “I…” she stopped, sighed. What could she really say to that? Was there anything she could say to comfort? She ran a hand through her hair and shrugged. “So you know nothing about her? He really found it that hard to talk about it?” Poor bloke. Poor girl. She wanted to offer up her assistance, but the logical part of her, which sometimes reared its head regardless of what anyone else thought, knew there was nothing she could do. She could suggest helping to try and track her down, contact her, but she could be anywhere, anyone.

It was impossible.[/ul][/size]