Old Photos by Arel
500. Maes & Roy. G. No warnings.
My take on how Hughes got into photography. Sorry this submission is late...
"Do you want it?"
Maes blinked at the bulky black object being shoved under his nose. "What is it?"
Roy rolled his eyes. "It's a camera, duh. Do you want it or not?"
"Why're you giving it to me?" Maes asked, suspiciously.
"I got it from Uncle Max," Roy said, "but I don't know how to use it, and I'd probably break it anyway. And Mom doesn't want it in the house. She thinks cameras steal your soul or something." He made a face, a long-suffering, exasperated face that most would find odd on such a small boy.
Maes smiled faintly. "You really wanna give it to me?"
Roy nodded. "Just don't use it where Mom can see you, or she'll get mad."
Maes held up a hand and nodded solemnly. "Cross my heart." He took the camera. It felt good in his hands.
• • • • •
In honor of his benefactor, the first roll of film was declared "the Roy roll". All that attention was fun at first, but Roy soon grew weary of the older boy constantly following him around, with that ever-present camera in tow. He came up with more and more ingenious places to hide, which generated more and more amusing shots for Maes to take; which, in turn, only encouraged him more.
Overall, Roy was relieved when the roll was finally full, and Maes moved onto other photographic subjects: such as finding out how many pictures he could take of Roy's mother before she noticed him, and chased him from the kitchen, brandishing a wooden spoon and flinging Xingate curses.
• • • • •
Roy looked up to see Maes Hughes standing before his desk, grinning and holding a dusty cardboard box. "What is it, Major?"
"I can see you're busy," Maes smirked. "But I found these in my attic, thought you might want to see them." And then he turned and walked off, leaving the cardboard box on the desk. Roy waited until the door had shut to pull the box toward him.
Inside, there were many dusty envelopes, thick and full, each one dated, not one less than fifteen years old. And there was an envelope with the words "Roy Roll" printed carefully next to the date. Roy's eyes widened, a faint smile crossing his face. He opened the envelope carefully.
The photos were old, monochrome and slightly musty, but the subjects were familiar. The small, familiar house, the pear tree in the front yard, the rooms inside. Two boys: one skinny and bespectacled and grinning maniacally, the other sullen and dark-haired and small for his age. And the man in the garage... black-haired, bearded, sitting at his drafting table and smiling, just as Roy remembered him.
"By the way, there're fresh pictures of Elysia at the bottom of the box!"
Roy jerked, glaring, but already Maes had disappeared. Roy glared at the closed door a little longer. Then sat back and smiled to himself, flipping through the photos, the summer sun shining through the open window.