Fic: Fidelio (Peanuts, G)
Sep. 25th, 2013 11:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alice_darvilFidelio
Fandom: Peanuts
Characters: Lucy and Schroeder
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Words: ~900
Lucy didn’t date much in college. She knew she was a good-looking girl, with curly dark hair and big dark eyes, but a lot of boys seemed intimidated by her. She thought it was because she was in the women’s studies program.
Jeffrey was an exception. A friend of one of her roommates, he pursued her intermittently. “I like a challenge,” he had told her, standing over her and trying to melt her with his eyes, and it was just that domineering attitude that most put her off. She wasn’t playing hard to get, she had told him, she just didn’t like him.
But he didn’t give up. The week before her birthday, he appeared with an insufferably assured expression and produced two tickets.
“You and me,” he said. “Your birthday. The opera.”
Her eyebrows rose. “The opera?”
“It’s Fidelio,” he said, a little less obnoxiously, “I know you like Beethoven.”
Beethoven. He had seen the plaster bust on her desk. She had had it for ten years and hadn’t been to a performance in all that time.
“All right,” she said, surprising both of them. It’ll be a chance to get dressed up, anyway, she thought, pushing away the vague yearning that was the real reason she suddenly wanted to go.
The morning that Schroeder’s parents took him away to the school for the musically gifted, she had stood outside his house, waiting to see him one last time. Charlie Brown stood beside her, a strangely comforting presence, despite his general uselessness. She had cried earlier, and would cry more later, but at that moment she just felt stricken.
Finally the door opened and he came out, looking tense and almost angry.
“Here,” he had said brusquely, shoving something white at her so that her arms reflexively wrapped around it, “You can have this.” Then he solemnly shook Charlie Brown’s hand and got in the car. She watched it drive away numbly. She hadn’t expected an emotional goodbye from him.
Then she looked at what she held, and wondered for the first time what it meant.
So, on the evening of her birthday, Jeffrey drove her into the city to hear and see Beethoven’s Fidelio. Apart from her date’s possessive attitude and looming sense of entitlement, she enjoyed herself immensely. The opera hall was grand, the audience glamorous, and the performance itself she found very moving. Beethoven wasn’t such a bad guy, she thought. He must have thought highly of women to create a heroine like Leonore.
Afterward she leaned against a wall of the lobby, watching the crowd while Jeffrey got their coats.
Schroeder was on his way out the door when she saw him. His back, the set of his shoulders, was instantly recognizable. His hair was a little darker but still had that absurdly adorable cowlick.
She stood frozen in disbelief as he disappeared into the night; then she ran after him, flying through the door, her coat forgotten. The walkway was full of people, but she could see him up ahead, striding away with his hands in his pockets.
“Schroeder!” she called out in her most projecting voice. He stopped instantly, motionless for a moment, then slowly turned as she ran up to him, her heels clacking on the pavement.
“I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed, as she stopped just a little short of throwing her arms around him. It had been a long time, after all, and he had never welcomed hugs.
He nodded, looking at her wonderingly. “I thought I was hearing things for a minute,” he said. “I almost didn’t dare turn around. How are you, Lucy?”
“Oh, I’ve been terrible,” she burbled happily. “You can’t imagine. Look at you! Look at your hands!” She seized one and admired it, the sinewy muscle apparent in the wide square palm and long fingers.
He laughed a little, quietly. “I’ve been practicing for Van Cliburn next year,” he said. “I…”
He broke off and looked warily over her shoulder, firmly withdrawing his hand. She turned and saw Jeffrey standing there, holding her coat.
“Oh, Jeffrey,” she said, generously including him in her joy, “Isn’t it amazing? This…”
“It’s getting late, Lucy,” he interrupted her, in a tone he might have scolded a dog with, and shook her coat out with a jerk.
“Well then you’d better get going,” she said, snatching her coat and putting it on herself.
“And just how do you plan on getting back to campus?” he demanded, glaring at Schroeder, who had taken a step back from the situation.
“You let me worry about that, Jeffrey,” she told him. “Goodbye,” she added firmly and he drew a sharp breath to argue some more.
“This is the last straw, Lucy,” he said, turning his back on her, “you won’t get another chance.”
“Thank goodness!” she called after him, then looked at Schroeder and shook her head, laughing.
“Um…I can’t take you home,” he said, “I don’t have a car. I do know a jazz club that’s open all night…”
“Great! I can get the bus in the morning,” she replied, taking his arm, “it’ll give us a chance to catch up.”
“Sure. But you haven’t changed much, as far as I can see,” he added, smiling.
“But I bet you’d kiss me today, wouldn’t you?” she asked smugly.
He shook his head, but just as if to clear it, not to say no.
“I might kiss you today and marry you tomorrow,” he said drily, “But you haven’t changed a bit.”
written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dailyprompt "The boy next door."
Fandom: Peanuts
Characters: Lucy and Schroeder
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Words: ~900
Lucy didn’t date much in college. She knew she was a good-looking girl, with curly dark hair and big dark eyes, but a lot of boys seemed intimidated by her. She thought it was because she was in the women’s studies program.
Jeffrey was an exception. A friend of one of her roommates, he pursued her intermittently. “I like a challenge,” he had told her, standing over her and trying to melt her with his eyes, and it was just that domineering attitude that most put her off. She wasn’t playing hard to get, she had told him, she just didn’t like him.
But he didn’t give up. The week before her birthday, he appeared with an insufferably assured expression and produced two tickets.
“You and me,” he said. “Your birthday. The opera.”
Her eyebrows rose. “The opera?”
“It’s Fidelio,” he said, a little less obnoxiously, “I know you like Beethoven.”
Beethoven. He had seen the plaster bust on her desk. She had had it for ten years and hadn’t been to a performance in all that time.
“All right,” she said, surprising both of them. It’ll be a chance to get dressed up, anyway, she thought, pushing away the vague yearning that was the real reason she suddenly wanted to go.
The morning that Schroeder’s parents took him away to the school for the musically gifted, she had stood outside his house, waiting to see him one last time. Charlie Brown stood beside her, a strangely comforting presence, despite his general uselessness. She had cried earlier, and would cry more later, but at that moment she just felt stricken.
Finally the door opened and he came out, looking tense and almost angry.
“Here,” he had said brusquely, shoving something white at her so that her arms reflexively wrapped around it, “You can have this.” Then he solemnly shook Charlie Brown’s hand and got in the car. She watched it drive away numbly. She hadn’t expected an emotional goodbye from him.
Then she looked at what she held, and wondered for the first time what it meant.
So, on the evening of her birthday, Jeffrey drove her into the city to hear and see Beethoven’s Fidelio. Apart from her date’s possessive attitude and looming sense of entitlement, she enjoyed herself immensely. The opera hall was grand, the audience glamorous, and the performance itself she found very moving. Beethoven wasn’t such a bad guy, she thought. He must have thought highly of women to create a heroine like Leonore.
Afterward she leaned against a wall of the lobby, watching the crowd while Jeffrey got their coats.
Schroeder was on his way out the door when she saw him. His back, the set of his shoulders, was instantly recognizable. His hair was a little darker but still had that absurdly adorable cowlick.
She stood frozen in disbelief as he disappeared into the night; then she ran after him, flying through the door, her coat forgotten. The walkway was full of people, but she could see him up ahead, striding away with his hands in his pockets.
“Schroeder!” she called out in her most projecting voice. He stopped instantly, motionless for a moment, then slowly turned as she ran up to him, her heels clacking on the pavement.
“I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed, as she stopped just a little short of throwing her arms around him. It had been a long time, after all, and he had never welcomed hugs.
He nodded, looking at her wonderingly. “I thought I was hearing things for a minute,” he said. “I almost didn’t dare turn around. How are you, Lucy?”
“Oh, I’ve been terrible,” she burbled happily. “You can’t imagine. Look at you! Look at your hands!” She seized one and admired it, the sinewy muscle apparent in the wide square palm and long fingers.
He laughed a little, quietly. “I’ve been practicing for Van Cliburn next year,” he said. “I…”
He broke off and looked warily over her shoulder, firmly withdrawing his hand. She turned and saw Jeffrey standing there, holding her coat.
“Oh, Jeffrey,” she said, generously including him in her joy, “Isn’t it amazing? This…”
“It’s getting late, Lucy,” he interrupted her, in a tone he might have scolded a dog with, and shook her coat out with a jerk.
“Well then you’d better get going,” she said, snatching her coat and putting it on herself.
“And just how do you plan on getting back to campus?” he demanded, glaring at Schroeder, who had taken a step back from the situation.
“You let me worry about that, Jeffrey,” she told him. “Goodbye,” she added firmly and he drew a sharp breath to argue some more.
“This is the last straw, Lucy,” he said, turning his back on her, “you won’t get another chance.”
“Thank goodness!” she called after him, then looked at Schroeder and shook her head, laughing.
“Um…I can’t take you home,” he said, “I don’t have a car. I do know a jazz club that’s open all night…”
“Great! I can get the bus in the morning,” she replied, taking his arm, “it’ll give us a chance to catch up.”
“Sure. But you haven’t changed much, as far as I can see,” he added, smiling.
“But I bet you’d kiss me today, wouldn’t you?” she asked smugly.
He shook his head, but just as if to clear it, not to say no.
“I might kiss you today and marry you tomorrow,” he said drily, “But you haven’t changed a bit.”
written for
dailyprompt "The boy next door."