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041. Frustrated
"What's wrong, baby?"
Marianne huffed. She was anything but a baby. Her long soft flaxen hair, skin the color of chocolate milk mix, her bra and other womanly things; she was marked with maturity, nothing that could possibly excuse her mama calling her 'baby' anymore.
Yet the tears in her majorelle eyes, tiny pout on her face, were not exactly the marks of a mature young woman, either. Nor would be how quickly she landed in her mama's warm, secure arms.
"He won't even look at me anymore..." Marianne moaned softly, face hot against Vietnam's peasant shirt; said woman had to fight off the urge to march across the continent and give someone a lecture and punishment, for making her baby hurt so much, for so long. This was not just another teenage crush, not anymore.
But, sigh. Everyone knew that Nico had only eyes for Yasu, and had only ever seen her in his future; he proclaimed it at any opportunity meetings provided, always making Vietnam feel bad for her Japanese niece. But could her Marianne, her Suong, really help it? Languedoc and Catalonia were so close, after all, they spoke the same melodic language and a border, it was really only a matter of time before one fell for the other; so sad, but true.
Cooing and murmuring and interjecting with little soft words of advice (in Vietnamese; Sen did not want her daughter to forget their tongue), Vietnam truly regretted the fact that she, mama, was not the country so experienced in love. How much better a comfort France would be, if he were more reachable to someone like Marianne.
"Why'd he have to fall in love with rằng cô gái câm, anyway?" the tiny blonde sniffed, bitterness like an illness seeping into her voice; she was so much like Vietnam at times, it hurt.
"He makes your heart sing, doesn't he?"
After a moment, Marianne nodded, just a little, muttering something about his voice, or how could he not?
"Oh, I know how it feels. He makes you light and airy and willing to do just about anything, just to hear that voice, that laugh. He's the one whose heartsong harmonizes with yours. Or, you're sure he is, right?" Back rubbed by that warm calloused farmer's hand, Marianne's hiccups resided. She listened, still and silent.
"But baby, we're wrong, all the time. One look at Mama's face can prove as much, phải không? Sometimes he's out of tune, but all you hear is his voice. You're love-deaf. But then he might find the one who fits him just right and you're left alone, cold, your ears empty. Everything just seems lost. You want to tug him back and tune him right up to you, because that knot of frustration in your tummy makes it hard to breathe. Why can't he just love me back? Why can't things be simple?
Well, things are never simple. Not as much as we'd want them to be, at least. So you've got to let him go and be happy with who he wants to be, because no matter what he'll be with her. That's just how life is.
So you've got to move on and keep letting your heart sing her song, for the whole world to see. There's someone out there for you to be happy with, I know it."
"What about you?" Marianne trailed off, slid back when Vietnam let her arms loosen. She knew that she was the product of hate and maybe-love, had changed both of her parent's lives forever, but she aways figured that if they hadn't wanted her they could have dumped her with some human.
"Oh, sometimes we fall, or we're so convinced we've found our two-part harmony, that we end up with little fuzz-babies. And you know what, Suong? They're always, just as good."
- ~ -
Marianne hums, calls out cut! and presses 'stop' on her camera. The shot is more - or - less perfect, or at least something she, Nicolai, and Moses can work wonders with. Nico, Yasu (his little spindly - limbed lovergirl), Satu (all blonde babyfloss hair and coltish knees), and Enzo shake off the magic of performing, if it is even that; they laugh a little and Yasu kneels to relieve her feet of the toeshoes she has dyed ink-black, just for the shot.
Watching them, Marianne smiles a little, her quirky French twist; she knows that she belongs right here, behind the camera. With her movies (music videos now, little four-minute worlds of splendor beyond anything a plot can devise), the ones that make even her Papa raise his eyebrows, impressed, she can escape. Her worlds, where nothing can happen, or anything, where everyone is safe but also not. Where love, unlike hers, can work out always.
(she beats back the bitter solid frustration of not having him by remaining close, as a friend, closer still to the cousin she can't bring herself to hate)
She clicks her camera off, fades into the fold of artists she loves to call her family as they troop off to make dinner and watch another of America's movies.
This is home; where she can make movies that might not change the world, but still record everything. I felt something, so strongly, I had to pour it out into my hands, this creation. This is my movie, I made it, here it is. Feel like I am, like I have.
And she knows, somewhere within her, that with them, she will never truly be alone.
( A/N: wanted to put more France / Vietnam in there, but .. eh.
Sen - human name for Vietnam
rằng cô gái câm - that dumb girl
phải không? - right? )
 men getting pregnant · Mon Feb 08, 2010 @ 08:28am · 1 Comments |
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