Ficlet with ducklings (yum!)
Aug. 5th, 2006 02:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vanillafluffyCross-posted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
housefic
TITLE: Living in the Past
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vanillafluffy
PAIRING: Gen
RATING: Not even PG
DISCLAIMER: The characters are owned by David Shore and FOX TV, not me.
SUMMARY: A person's home tells a story about the person who lives there, if you read between the lines. A tour of the ducklings' domiciles. The first two vignettes are fairly canon...I don't think they've ever showed Chase's place, so that section is completely my surmise. It's more like a series of snapshots than actual stories.
Everything in Eric Foreman's home is contemporary---there are no antiques, nothing that might be mistaken for someone else's castoffs. The lines of the furnishings are sleek and streamlined. The colors are rich, the fabrics luxurious. There's nothing busy or cheap; everything from the flat screen TV to the towels is new and of good quality. He's slightly deeper in debt than he'd like (for his condo and the BMW he drives), but his student loans are almost paid off, so he views that as a temporary situation. It isn't as if he's living hand-to-mouth; the childhood staples of cheap peanut butter and condensed soups are nowhere to be found in his stainless steel kitchen, thank you just the same. Not that Eric cooks much, other than reheating take-out food or brewing coffee in the morning. His cooking skills aren't up to the standard of the gourmet equipment that fills the room, although making grilled cheese sandwiches with imported cheese that costs $11 a pound makes him smile at the irony. It's a long way from the free government-issue crap he grew up on.
===
One of the things Allison Cameron likes about her apartment is the way it catches a lot of sunlight. When she can, she'll curl up on the couch with a book, like a cozy visit with an old friend. Not that she gets to spend much time reading; with her job, she's gone all day, and on weekends, she usually has to run around doing other things---laundry, shopping, getting her car worked on...she still drives the compact car she bought new with the insurance check she received as a widow's benefit...it's ten years old now, and she's very careful about maintaining it, since it came at such a high cost. Her apartment has two bedrooms; Allison sleeps in the smaller room, which has better light. The other bedroom is stacked with brown cardboard boxes that have been in and out of storage and gone through several moves. Her attempts to go through them are intermittent and futile. Some day, she often promises herself, she'll examine what artifacts remain from her brief, tragic marriage, but there always seems to be something more important and less traumatic to do.
===
Up three narrow flights of stairs, behind a well-locked door, Robert Chase's nearly empty studio apartment doesn't look as if he's been occupying it for the last several years. The pale blue tint on the walls was chosen by a previous tenant, and appears dingy. A crucifix hangs at the head of a twin bed, made with monastic precision. At the other end of the bed is a chest of drawers, enamelled bright blue and white and sporting random decals of glittering spaceships and green aliens, courtesy of a past life elsewhere. Atop it perches a cheap stereo with an alarm clock built in. That's the only thing on the bureau; his modest CD collection lives in the top drawer of the chest with combs and pens and spare change and the usual detritus of normal life. Several travel posters featuring scenes of Australia hang in a neat row on the far wall, but Robert feels no sense of home when he looks at them. A molting chintz armchair occupies a corner near the only window. There's a battered bookcase under the window, contents aligned by size, mostly thrillers, and the occasional self-help book, gathering dust.
===
houseficTITLE: Living in the Past
AUTHOR:
vanillafluffyPAIRING: Gen
RATING: Not even PG
DISCLAIMER: The characters are owned by David Shore and FOX TV, not me.
SUMMARY: A person's home tells a story about the person who lives there, if you read between the lines. A tour of the ducklings' domiciles. The first two vignettes are fairly canon...I don't think they've ever showed Chase's place, so that section is completely my surmise. It's more like a series of snapshots than actual stories.
Everything in Eric Foreman's home is contemporary---there are no antiques, nothing that might be mistaken for someone else's castoffs. The lines of the furnishings are sleek and streamlined. The colors are rich, the fabrics luxurious. There's nothing busy or cheap; everything from the flat screen TV to the towels is new and of good quality. He's slightly deeper in debt than he'd like (for his condo and the BMW he drives), but his student loans are almost paid off, so he views that as a temporary situation. It isn't as if he's living hand-to-mouth; the childhood staples of cheap peanut butter and condensed soups are nowhere to be found in his stainless steel kitchen, thank you just the same. Not that Eric cooks much, other than reheating take-out food or brewing coffee in the morning. His cooking skills aren't up to the standard of the gourmet equipment that fills the room, although making grilled cheese sandwiches with imported cheese that costs $11 a pound makes him smile at the irony. It's a long way from the free government-issue crap he grew up on.
One of the things Allison Cameron likes about her apartment is the way it catches a lot of sunlight. When she can, she'll curl up on the couch with a book, like a cozy visit with an old friend. Not that she gets to spend much time reading; with her job, she's gone all day, and on weekends, she usually has to run around doing other things---laundry, shopping, getting her car worked on...she still drives the compact car she bought new with the insurance check she received as a widow's benefit...it's ten years old now, and she's very careful about maintaining it, since it came at such a high cost. Her apartment has two bedrooms; Allison sleeps in the smaller room, which has better light. The other bedroom is stacked with brown cardboard boxes that have been in and out of storage and gone through several moves. Her attempts to go through them are intermittent and futile. Some day, she often promises herself, she'll examine what artifacts remain from her brief, tragic marriage, but there always seems to be something more important and less traumatic to do.
Up three narrow flights of stairs, behind a well-locked door, Robert Chase's nearly empty studio apartment doesn't look as if he's been occupying it for the last several years. The pale blue tint on the walls was chosen by a previous tenant, and appears dingy. A crucifix hangs at the head of a twin bed, made with monastic precision. At the other end of the bed is a chest of drawers, enamelled bright blue and white and sporting random decals of glittering spaceships and green aliens, courtesy of a past life elsewhere. Atop it perches a cheap stereo with an alarm clock built in. That's the only thing on the bureau; his modest CD collection lives in the top drawer of the chest with combs and pens and spare change and the usual detritus of normal life. Several travel posters featuring scenes of Australia hang in a neat row on the far wall, but Robert feels no sense of home when he looks at them. A molting chintz armchair occupies a corner near the only window. There's a battered bookcase under the window, contents aligned by size, mostly thrillers, and the occasional self-help book, gathering dust.