Post by Liessel on Mar 18, 2024 17:21:47 GMT -5
The day before the Flynns and Aurelia leave for their holiday
The pipe that Liessel had gotten much practice with since being introduced to the habit sat cold, unused, and perched atop her tobacco roll which she had laid on the railing that hugged the edge of the backporch to the Knightsbridge house. She had gone outside with the intent of taking in the morning air, of watching the mist settle over that little green oasis of a world she had created. Once she was outside and settled, though, the porch felt far more empty than it should have, as it had every time she went out there to enjoy the scenery.
It was no less beautiful, no less filled with the colors she had put there, or the scents that came with those blossoms. Even with the summer plants starting to fade there was still color to enjoy. Only, now, she found that there was something about them that seemed incomplete. Even the porch itself felt a little more barren and removed from that beauty than it had not too long ago.
She went out there, still, with her tobacco and pipe to sit on that porch where so often she’d held a conversation or two with an old man whose mustache was twisted and curled at the ends. If she let those memories carry her, she could most certainly see him leaning against the banister with his own pipe in hand. It looked so natural, he stood as if he was born to it. That was his experience settling on him, she knew, but it was still such a perfect sight.
And then he’d turn, and say something to her as the breeze blew to bring them the sweet smell of the flowers she was growing.
Those flowers were smelling a little less sweet these days.
Liessel settled back in her chair, trying to push those thoughts away so she could focus on what was in front of her. That back porch garden had been something to everyone who stepped out that back door. But when it was just her and Gerold out there, it had been theirs.
He was gone. He’d left a handful of days before. She’d woken up to the news that he would be back. But what would he be coming back to? She could make herself grow no more quickly than she could force her flowers to reach full bloom. And he -- she didn’t want to think about that!
Her bare feet hit the floorboards of the backporch from where she’d had them propped up on the railing with a dull thud, nearly knocking over the mug of hot chocolate she had left sitting there when she sat down. She felt the rim of the handle against her ankle and leaned forward to pick the now-cold chocolate up. The mug was set on the seat she had been occupying, and left behind there. The railing and the lush colors beyond the porch were given her full attention as she tried to shove her thoughts back into line.
She needed not to worry. Liessel needn’t be afraid. But she did worry, and she was afraid. What made it cut worse was the feeling that she’d lost something to three simple, and yet beautiful words.
As she stood there braced against the railing with her eyes closed, trying to conjure the true smell of his tobacco, and the sound of his voice, all she could see behind her closed eyes was his frown, that tight-lipped expression. The one that spoke of deep fears and great concerns, none of which she could lay to rest. There was the grief that swallowed his eyes, and her heart broke for him all over again.
Please, she found herself praying to those blossoms behind her house and to the skies above, let him be okay. Let him be safe. Let him be well. Let him find his peace.
She could ask for no more than that. Her thoughts were unsettled, but she was drawn away from them by a small sound that came from the jungle of stems and flowers that she had coaxed from the earth. At first she had thought she had imagined it, but once she stilled and listened, it came again.
It was soft, muted. Desperate.
It was not human, but it was a cry for help.
Her bare feet left the porch behind, having flown her down the short flight of stairs and sending her into her beloved oasis. It took her a few moments to hunt the sound down. She found it beneath a crowd of Dahlia blossoms, all tangled up in thick, wirey stems and leaves.
The thing was no bigger than the palm of her hand all teeth, claws and fur as it tried to free itself from where it had gotten tangled. The little ball of fluff was squirming so bad she couldn’t get her hands near it to help untangle the tiny creature.
A choice was made, and Liessel was on her feet again. She rushed the house, ignoring Cog’s questions and telling him she needed a saucer of milk as she stole into the cabinet that kept her gardening clippers safe. She was then back outside and kneeling in the grass, chopping away at blossom and stem, sacrificing them to free the kitten that had gotten trapped there.
It was easier to free him once he wasn’t fighting the knot he had gotten himself tied into. And once he was freed, Liessel sat there with him, holding him gently while whispering softly to calm him down. He was still all teeth and claws for a good while, and her hands showed it with the dozens of little scratches he’d left behind. But she held him, cradling him, until the kitten calmed.
He was a white little cloud with a patch of orange sweeping up and over one ear, down his face and to the sock of his paw.
By the time Cog came out with the saucer of milk, Liessel had him playing with a piece of stem she’d cut away.
“Oh, how wonderful,” She heard the mechanical man say, “You know, if you feed it, it won't go away.”
Liessel shot Cog a glance and reached for the saucer of milk, “Don’t worry Cog, you won’t have to look after him. I will.”
“He’s got a name already, then?”
“I think I’ll call him Sprite.”
The pipe that Liessel had gotten much practice with since being introduced to the habit sat cold, unused, and perched atop her tobacco roll which she had laid on the railing that hugged the edge of the backporch to the Knightsbridge house. She had gone outside with the intent of taking in the morning air, of watching the mist settle over that little green oasis of a world she had created. Once she was outside and settled, though, the porch felt far more empty than it should have, as it had every time she went out there to enjoy the scenery.
It was no less beautiful, no less filled with the colors she had put there, or the scents that came with those blossoms. Even with the summer plants starting to fade there was still color to enjoy. Only, now, she found that there was something about them that seemed incomplete. Even the porch itself felt a little more barren and removed from that beauty than it had not too long ago.
She went out there, still, with her tobacco and pipe to sit on that porch where so often she’d held a conversation or two with an old man whose mustache was twisted and curled at the ends. If she let those memories carry her, she could most certainly see him leaning against the banister with his own pipe in hand. It looked so natural, he stood as if he was born to it. That was his experience settling on him, she knew, but it was still such a perfect sight.
And then he’d turn, and say something to her as the breeze blew to bring them the sweet smell of the flowers she was growing.
Those flowers were smelling a little less sweet these days.
Liessel settled back in her chair, trying to push those thoughts away so she could focus on what was in front of her. That back porch garden had been something to everyone who stepped out that back door. But when it was just her and Gerold out there, it had been theirs.
He was gone. He’d left a handful of days before. She’d woken up to the news that he would be back. But what would he be coming back to? She could make herself grow no more quickly than she could force her flowers to reach full bloom. And he -- she didn’t want to think about that!
Her bare feet hit the floorboards of the backporch from where she’d had them propped up on the railing with a dull thud, nearly knocking over the mug of hot chocolate she had left sitting there when she sat down. She felt the rim of the handle against her ankle and leaned forward to pick the now-cold chocolate up. The mug was set on the seat she had been occupying, and left behind there. The railing and the lush colors beyond the porch were given her full attention as she tried to shove her thoughts back into line.
She needed not to worry. Liessel needn’t be afraid. But she did worry, and she was afraid. What made it cut worse was the feeling that she’d lost something to three simple, and yet beautiful words.
As she stood there braced against the railing with her eyes closed, trying to conjure the true smell of his tobacco, and the sound of his voice, all she could see behind her closed eyes was his frown, that tight-lipped expression. The one that spoke of deep fears and great concerns, none of which she could lay to rest. There was the grief that swallowed his eyes, and her heart broke for him all over again.
Please, she found herself praying to those blossoms behind her house and to the skies above, let him be okay. Let him be safe. Let him be well. Let him find his peace.
She could ask for no more than that. Her thoughts were unsettled, but she was drawn away from them by a small sound that came from the jungle of stems and flowers that she had coaxed from the earth. At first she had thought she had imagined it, but once she stilled and listened, it came again.
It was soft, muted. Desperate.
It was not human, but it was a cry for help.
Her bare feet left the porch behind, having flown her down the short flight of stairs and sending her into her beloved oasis. It took her a few moments to hunt the sound down. She found it beneath a crowd of Dahlia blossoms, all tangled up in thick, wirey stems and leaves.
The thing was no bigger than the palm of her hand all teeth, claws and fur as it tried to free itself from where it had gotten tangled. The little ball of fluff was squirming so bad she couldn’t get her hands near it to help untangle the tiny creature.
A choice was made, and Liessel was on her feet again. She rushed the house, ignoring Cog’s questions and telling him she needed a saucer of milk as she stole into the cabinet that kept her gardening clippers safe. She was then back outside and kneeling in the grass, chopping away at blossom and stem, sacrificing them to free the kitten that had gotten trapped there.
It was easier to free him once he wasn’t fighting the knot he had gotten himself tied into. And once he was freed, Liessel sat there with him, holding him gently while whispering softly to calm him down. He was still all teeth and claws for a good while, and her hands showed it with the dozens of little scratches he’d left behind. But she held him, cradling him, until the kitten calmed.
He was a white little cloud with a patch of orange sweeping up and over one ear, down his face and to the sock of his paw.
By the time Cog came out with the saucer of milk, Liessel had him playing with a piece of stem she’d cut away.
“Oh, how wonderful,” She heard the mechanical man say, “You know, if you feed it, it won't go away.”
Liessel shot Cog a glance and reached for the saucer of milk, “Don’t worry Cog, you won’t have to look after him. I will.”
“He’s got a name already, then?”
“I think I’ll call him Sprite.”