A Conversation

This is something I wrote a long time ago. I thought this fit Violet and Duncan really well. I haven't written any Violet/Duncan fics so I thought I would let this one go :) Tell me what you think if you read it!

The sweet spring air held an aesthetic manner even within the stressful, yuppie filled city. Each person passed each other with amicable smiles, the wrinkles in their faces telling stories with their companies, the joy in their company together clearly felt. It was a Saturday, and usually around mid-afternoon, sitting at Tu Cabaret Cafe would be Violet Baudelaire and Duncan Quagmire, life-long friends who never outgrew each other.

Violet Baudelaire now was an older woman, her hardened character giving her a personality that obscured her looks. She wasn't ugly, but many never stopped to look back when she walked by. Her beauty was more of a Rosalind Russell type, and just like her, Felicity's ardor spirit graced her with a unique look that in bodied her. She was never one to mince words; the slightest glance from her fierce, bistre brown eyes would send her victim running away. Her raspy, chain smoker voice demanded the room, even with a simple 'hello'. She wore a pastel blue two piece skirt set that carried with her a homely grandmother feeling, hiding her pugnacious fire. The wrinkles on her face not yet drooping, but piled on like the folds of a blanket. She sat at the table, stirring her bitter herbal tea, waiting.

"I say Quagmire, what has happened to you, old man?" she teased, seeing her old friend walk slowly but cordial toward the small table.

Duncan Quagmire, likewise, was an old soul. He was a handsome, hot headed man at one time, his past audacious antics giving him a more meticulous and munificent attitude as he grew older. His once surreptitious, clear water eyes dimmed. His body becoming bent and crocked, yet he continued on, ameliorating each day. His pleated, tan and white checkerboard suit was neatly pressed. The smell of lemon drops invigorated each step he took. He walked slowly to the cafe, no need to be in a hurry.

"Look who's talking," he clucked in his syrupy voice, lowering his aging body on the rusted seat.

"Hmmm," huffed Violet, stirring her tea slowly.

Duncan moved a bit in his seat, taking his reading glasses out. "How have you been"

"Good."

"And the kids?"

"How do you expect me to know that?" Violet looked up, laying her thin hand on her chin, her sharp features tired with age. "Do I look like Henry, Kelly?

"No, but they are your kids," he breathed under his breath, putting the menu in front of his face.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, nothing," the menu face seemed to say.

"That's what I thought," Violet took the tea to her lips, watching as the menu came down. "Henry is busy, like always."

"He's quite a paragon of a man," Duncan said.

"Very. And Kelly.. Well, you know how Kelly is," Violet wiped the corners of her mouth. "She's extremely florid. I love her with all my heart, you see, but the girl is ostentatious."

Duncan laughed. "Those mean the same thing, Fe."

"I don't care," she sighed to herself. "I should have never gone easy on her. I put Henry through 12 years of military camp, pushed him through hell and back. Now look at him. And Kelly, if it ever came to it, I would let her get away with murder."

"She is your girl," Duncan said. "We are always easier on our girls. She will grow out of it."

"She's 38," Violet stated. "I should have been more punctilious on her. Three kids, been married five times, on her sixth one. The date is August..."

"9th? Right?"

"The 10th." Violet looked at the menu.

Both friends brought the menus to their faces, pondering.

"Nice weather we've been having," George said.

"Yes, quite nice."

Duncan put down his menu, looking at Violet's menu face

"We are 69 years old, and we are talking about the weather?"

"Did you expect us to have fascinating, poignant conversations about life? I am old, but don't pin me for someone with anything worth saying."

Duncan raised his eyebrow, putting the menu back in front of his face. Violet put hers down, taking a spoon full of sugar in her cold tea, humming to herself.

"How are Lisa and April?"

"Hmmm?"

"The girls. How are they?"

"Oh, their OK. Lisa runs a daycare, April has a new job.."

"Again?" Violet finished, tapping her fingers tips on the iron table. "Where now?"

"That secretary job on Lincoln Street."

"She hates the boss, and since when has she enjoyed doing anything for anyone?"

Duncan shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I raised her the same way I raised Lisa, and still she can't keep a steady job."

"Calm yourself," Violet patted Duncan's spidery hand. "She's a very astute girl, she will find that perfect job when the time comes."

"She's 41," Duncan mumbled, taking his glasses off.

Violet laughed quietly, closing her eyes. George looked at her seriously, and then twisted his lips, preventing his spurious, stone face from breaking, and finally laughing along with his old friend.

"We are such horrible parents," Violet gasped, grabbing her napkin to fan herself.

"We would have been if we stayed together," Duncan said in a suddenly stoic voice.

A thick, squelch feeling came over the little iron table. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling, but it felt as if the two walked through a foggy dock, their minds forced to ponder in the past.

Violet cleared her throat, taking a sip of her tea. "Yes, quite true."

"We are much better friends than lovers," Duncan continued, putting his glasses back on. "We could never be serious when we were together. That would have been horrible for the children to live with."

"Quite," agreed Violet.

The two old friends took their menus back to their faces, a sort of divisive wall to keep the others thoughts away. Violet raised her fierce eyes above the menu, locking eyes with Duncan's penitent ones.

"How about that weather?"