Sometimes, people tell me random things and then stories happen. Like that time a friend told me to write a Doctor Who stapler monster. Stuff like that
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Evidently Deviltown, Part 4bendingsignpostJuly 17 2011, 21:15:03 UTC
She comes back with a bag of things to go into the fridge. Some of it’s called fruit and some of it’s veg and she doesn’t really know where to start.
“Where did you get off to?” Jackie asks the second she’s in the flat. “It’s nearly light out!”
“Had a few errands to run,” she says, putting the stuff away, still in the grocery bag. She’s never given much thought to this sort of thing before, but she doesn’t envy the weres, always having to go out and find all of these different things to stick in their mouths. Solid food is so complicated. Even the bananas are mystifying.
She brings him the three she bought. “I wasn’t sure what kind you wanted,” she explains, setting down the brown, the green, and the yellow on the floor. The rough trousers and simple shirt he wore all week are by the door. They catch her eye. Having expected a heap, she’s startled to find shirt and trousers folded to within an inch of their life, painstakingly forced into exact lines.
Maybe because of that, the striped jimjams suit him. He goes on watching her without a word, but he’s watching her and the bananas. There’s hunger across his face, that and a flash of something else. Almost amusement, she wants to say, which is a bit weird.
“What kind do you want?” she asks, picking the fruit - fruit? - up and bringing it closer. “You can tell me, it’s okay.”
Again, that flash of something else. He points to the yellow and the green. She hands those to him and, when he waits, she hands him the brown one, too, just for the hell of it. She almost reaches for his cup to refill it, but there’s water in it already. From the shower and not the toilet, she hopes.
Looking around at the rest of the room, she’s pleased to see he hasn’t drawn on the walls, but she’s shocked to see what’s become of the cards. They’ve formed a great, intricate tower against the partition hiding his little loo. The levels populated by his cardboard checker pieces, it looks profoundly delicate. How didn’t it fall when she walked in? She’s amazed.
“That’s,” she says, “that’s really good. Did someone teach you to do that?”
He slides his hand under the blanket. He withdraws it, revealing one of the sheets of paper, folded into thirds. Brown eyes stare hard into her face. They don’t quite match each other and neither do his ears. The left ear in particular bulges out a bit. It’s not bad, though, not really.
“Is that for me?” she asks.
She holds out her hand and he passes the folded paper to her.
She unfolds it.
Balanced diet, it reads in thick crayon lines. Carbohydrate 8 : Vegetable 4 : Fruit 3 : Protein 2 : Dairy 3.
She stares. “Okay, Freckles,” she says slowly. “Who taught you that one?”
He lifts his eyebrows and doesn’t quite smile. It’s not a little mocking.
“Tell me and you get a book.”
He blinks and sits up straight. It turns out that the wall was all that kept him from wobbling, and he winds up leaning forward heavily, elbows on his knees. Crouched down with him, she wants to smooth his hair down again. Right now, it looks as fluffy as it is.
“A thick one,” she adds. “With or without pictures, whatever you like.”
He makes a face at her like an eleven-year-old being called a “big boy”. At least, he pulls the same face her cousin did the last time she babysat him.
“Fine, no pictures,” she allows. She settles back onto her heels to wait, her knees on his blanket. She should probably clean that too, come to think of it.
“No one,” he says.
It’s her turn to blink. “No one taught you? You mean you taught yourself?”
“No,” he says. “I know it. I’ve never not known it. I didn’t need to learn.”
“...Uh-huh. Okay.” She gets up, taking the paper and dirty clothing with her. The whole locking routine repeats. After searching through her room and then a quick raid of the linen closet, she returns.
Re: Evidently Deviltown, Part 4.1bendingsignpostJuly 17 2011, 21:15:25 UTC
He looks up when she enters, startled. Why, she’s not sure.
“Fresh blanket,” she says. Holding it in a bundle makes her feel sloppy, especially compared to his neat folds. She’s been working at the shop for ages and she doesn’t think she’ll ever make folds that crisp. The blanket goes on the floor and she gathers up the dirty one, needing to tug it away from him. “And your book.”
“That’s a children’s book,” he says.
“Hey,” she says. “That’s Harry Potter. Everyone loves Harry Potter.”
He looks sceptical. It’s adorable.
“Is that going to be enough food for now?” she asks. “I’ve never done this before, I don’t know how much to feed you.”
He hesitates.
“Hungry, got it.”
Back out, back in. He already has the book open, has his little light on and angled at the pages.
“I’m going to leave this here,” she tells him, putting the bread down in the bag it came in.
“Mmhm,” he acknowledges absently. He’s got what he wants and now he’s barely paying attention. She was right, he is such a cat.
She rolls her eyes and stifles a yawn. “Good dawning,” she says, a pointed reminder that manners exist. It gets nothing out of him, naturally, but she feels better for saying it. She goes to bed and falls asleep wondering if she should get him some socks.
“Where did you get off to?” Jackie asks the second she’s in the flat. “It’s nearly light out!”
“Had a few errands to run,” she says, putting the stuff away, still in the grocery bag. She’s never given much thought to this sort of thing before, but she doesn’t envy the weres, always having to go out and find all of these different things to stick in their mouths. Solid food is so complicated. Even the bananas are mystifying.
She brings him the three she bought. “I wasn’t sure what kind you wanted,” she explains, setting down the brown, the green, and the yellow on the floor. The rough trousers and simple shirt he wore all week are by the door. They catch her eye. Having expected a heap, she’s startled to find shirt and trousers folded to within an inch of their life, painstakingly forced into exact lines.
Maybe because of that, the striped jimjams suit him. He goes on watching her without a word, but he’s watching her and the bananas. There’s hunger across his face, that and a flash of something else. Almost amusement, she wants to say, which is a bit weird.
“What kind do you want?” she asks, picking the fruit - fruit? - up and bringing it closer. “You can tell me, it’s okay.”
Again, that flash of something else. He points to the yellow and the green. She hands those to him and, when he waits, she hands him the brown one, too, just for the hell of it. She almost reaches for his cup to refill it, but there’s water in it already. From the shower and not the toilet, she hopes.
Looking around at the rest of the room, she’s pleased to see he hasn’t drawn on the walls, but she’s shocked to see what’s become of the cards. They’ve formed a great, intricate tower against the partition hiding his little loo. The levels populated by his cardboard checker pieces, it looks profoundly delicate. How didn’t it fall when she walked in? She’s amazed.
“That’s,” she says, “that’s really good. Did someone teach you to do that?”
He slides his hand under the blanket. He withdraws it, revealing one of the sheets of paper, folded into thirds. Brown eyes stare hard into her face. They don’t quite match each other and neither do his ears. The left ear in particular bulges out a bit. It’s not bad, though, not really.
“Is that for me?” she asks.
She holds out her hand and he passes the folded paper to her.
She unfolds it.
Balanced diet, it reads in thick crayon lines. Carbohydrate 8 : Vegetable 4 : Fruit 3 : Protein 2 : Dairy 3.
She stares. “Okay, Freckles,” she says slowly. “Who taught you that one?”
He lifts his eyebrows and doesn’t quite smile. It’s not a little mocking.
“Tell me and you get a book.”
He blinks and sits up straight. It turns out that the wall was all that kept him from wobbling, and he winds up leaning forward heavily, elbows on his knees. Crouched down with him, she wants to smooth his hair down again. Right now, it looks as fluffy as it is.
“A thick one,” she adds. “With or without pictures, whatever you like.”
He makes a face at her like an eleven-year-old being called a “big boy”. At least, he pulls the same face her cousin did the last time she babysat him.
“Fine, no pictures,” she allows. She settles back onto her heels to wait, her knees on his blanket. She should probably clean that too, come to think of it.
“No one,” he says.
It’s her turn to blink. “No one taught you? You mean you taught yourself?”
“No,” he says. “I know it. I’ve never not known it. I didn’t need to learn.”
“...Uh-huh. Okay.” She gets up, taking the paper and dirty clothing with her. The whole locking routine repeats. After searching through her room and then a quick raid of the linen closet, she returns.
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“Fresh blanket,” she says. Holding it in a bundle makes her feel sloppy, especially compared to his neat folds. She’s been working at the shop for ages and she doesn’t think she’ll ever make folds that crisp. The blanket goes on the floor and she gathers up the dirty one, needing to tug it away from him. “And your book.”
“That’s a children’s book,” he says.
“Hey,” she says. “That’s Harry Potter. Everyone loves Harry Potter.”
He looks sceptical. It’s adorable.
“Is that going to be enough food for now?” she asks. “I’ve never done this before, I don’t know how much to feed you.”
He hesitates.
“Hungry, got it.”
Back out, back in. He already has the book open, has his little light on and angled at the pages.
“I’m going to leave this here,” she tells him, putting the bread down in the bag it came in.
“Mmhm,” he acknowledges absently. He’s got what he wants and now he’s barely paying attention. She was right, he is such a cat.
She rolls her eyes and stifles a yawn. “Good dawning,” she says, a pointed reminder that manners exist. It gets nothing out of him, naturally, but she feels better for saying it. She goes to bed and falls asleep wondering if she should get him some socks.
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