Jacqui (wily_one24) wrote,
Jacqui
wily_one24

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Fic: Elle Table, prompts #03, #004.

Title: Daddy's Girl.
Author: Jacqui, wily_one24.
Prompt: #003: Eclipse.
Word Count: 719.
Table: Here.
Rating: PG13.
Spoilers: Let’s say… everything they’ve shown for Elle.


*~*~*~*~*~*
DADDY'S GIRL
*~*~*~*~*~*

Elle was always Daddy's Girl.

She would spend the day with her mother. They would sing silly songs and press into each other's faces in eskimo kisses, Elle's mother would make her sandwiches that sparkled with pink jelly crystals at lunch time and cut them with cookie cutters into fun shapes that made her laugh, she would dress Elle up in flowy skirts and white tights and shiny black shoes that did up with velcro.

Elle would help her do dishes, picking each one out of the rack very carefully and drying it with a tea towel while her mother watched, elbow deep in sudsy water. They would go to the park and Elle's mother would hold her hand, would push her on the swings, would talk to her. Just talk. Words that would flow between them, that meant nothing, that lingered after the day was done, about butterflies and green tshirts and hot suns and soft, green pears.

Elle loved her mother, who listened and loved and laughed and tapped the end of her nose and brushed her hair and didn't automatically say no when Elle kept wishing she could play on the playground with other children (but never really agreed, either).

Even at the end of the day, when her mother grew quiet and her face paled and she looked at Elle with wide, pleading eyes, fear pinching her voice in as she begged. Elle loved her.

"Please, Elle, please." It was the same everyday, like a ritual. "Please don't tell him."

And Elle agreed. Even though she loved her daddy and she knew that this was one thing that might finally get him to look up from his files at night, that might possibly make her more interesting to him than his work, Elle agreed.

At night, during dinner, after dinner, before she went to bed, Elle studied her daddy. She wheedled his attention, tried to be on the bestest best behavior she knew she could be, but all she could hope for was a half hearted 'Mmm, that's interesting', before he bent his head and went back to the files in front of him.

Sometimes, once in a while, her daddy would look at her, lift her up and sit her on his knee and ask, in his special secret only for her voice, if there was anything she'd like to show him, if there was anything new, anything special. And Elle would squirm, caught, struck between the desperate burning need to spill the secret, the one thing she knew he wanted, and the promises she made to her mother.

"I learnt to spell my name!"

And her daddy would sigh and tell her how nice that was and put her down.

Elle would go to bed and twist in her sheets and listen to the soft, muted voices underneath her, the ones that bled up through the walls, the soft 'She's only a little girl!' and the even 'she could be so much more'.

Even though Elle thought she was jealous, afriad, scared of losing Elle to her daddy, she was her mother. Her mother was the one who knew everything, the one who knew when it was okay to have a bath and when it wasn't, knew when to let Elle get closer to the children on the playground, knew when to take her away, her mother knew how to make Elle stop.

But Elle was Daddy's girl and night after night of trying to make him smile wore a little girl down.

"I can do something." She told him once. "Something very special."

The blue crackled in her palm, just a spark, very small, and his eyes lit up like it was Elle's birthday and she knew, she knew it would be okay after that.

That night, her daddy packed a bag and Elle bounced on her toes just a little bit because she was taking a special trip with Daddy for the first time ever, and it was a Good Thing. Good, even though her mother cried and tried to hold her daddy's arm back and sobbed 'but she's my baby!'. It was a good thing.

At four years old, Elle was Daddy's Girl. She was too young to realise that it meant she'd never be Mommy's Girl again.

##############################################



Title: A Brand New Skin.
Author: Jacqui, wily_one24.
Prompt: #004: Power.
Word Count: 639.
Table: Here.
Rating: PG13.
Spoilers: Let’s say… everything they’ve shown for Elle.



*~*~*~*~*
A BRAND NEW SKIN
*~*~*~*~*

There were as many different reactions to her ability as there were people who saw it. Elle had catergorized them all.

Those within the company, with abilities of their own, would take it in their stride. Their eyes would watch her, not the flashy blue light, with the knowledge and experience that a true test of any ability lay in the toll it took on the person that wielded it. Those that didn't have abilities, the ones that manipulated easier than they breathed, their eyes narrowed and she coudl see them mentally calculating how best to use her ability, how best to use her.

And those who had no ties to the company, no abilities or manipulations or contracts that gave them immutable authority over her, they were the most amusing. They were less able to hide their excitement, their awe, their fear. They'd gasp, eyes wide, and their attention would be solely focused on the stream of electricity like it was a rainbow, as if the sizzle and crackle of it would reveal a pot of gold.

But Elle... Elle never really thought her ability was that impressive.

For as long as she could remember, Elle had been gathering the energy within and around herself, had focused and released it. It came as easy to her as blinking or breathing or walking. Breathe in, harness the sparks, shoot. She learned about conductors and positive and negative charges before she learned her alphabet.

It wasn't always a blessing. There were always dangers. Rain, sudden surprises, emotion, they all spelled trouble and somewhere in the back of her mind, Elle could find traces of memory, of fear, the sense memory of pain when she thought back. The instinctual need to pull her hand back from any source of water, sizzle smoke fresh in her nostrils even if nothing happened.

She couldn't remember a period of learning what her boundaries were, but her father had a file on her two inches thick. Data and numbers and strengths and weaknesses, all listed in pretty little tables. She knew what she was capable of because he told her. And somewhere, sometimes when she felt especially brave, she wondered how he got all that information.

But trying to impress people with electricity almost felt like cheating, like expecting them to praise her for breathing.

It came naturally.

More impressive, at least to Elle, were the learned behaviors. The things people had to earn. Sometime after her fifteenth birthday, Elle told her father she wanted new clothes. It was a simple request, one he would easily grant if she did what was expected of her (a company girl was a good girl, after all), money never really meant anything to her father. She browsed online catalogues and bought sharp suits, dark slim line skirts and light, silky blouses. Stockings and heels. Darker, austere make up. All the things that television and magazines told her exuded control.

And the effect was immediate.

When she walked through the halls, click click click on her heels, she could see the heads turning, could see the glimmer in the eyes of the men in their cells. She knew exactly what it was and why. Elle was not allowed to touch people. People were not allowed to touch her. But she could read and she could watch television and movies and she knew about sex and hunger and the basic human need for contact.

Her father began to invite her to more meetings, strategically placing her next to the business men with wandering eyes so she could smile and flirt and blink her eyes, and later after they were gone he would smile at her and nod and she knew she had done well in distracting them.

It was a lesson well learned.

Electricity was cheap, but sex was power.

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