After the Work
Title: After the Work
Fandom: Original
Table/Prompt: Table 5/16. Peaceful
Rating: PG
Word Count: 350
Summary: Liam still doesn’t really understand what the hell is going on.
There was a steaming cup of tea on the kitchen table, a little slice of lemon floating on top like a cheery smile. The mug was dedicated to the World’s Best Dad, one of those cheap things one could find at the Church Fete, at the same table that sold pre-made name plates that all said Sally or Tommy. “Drink up,” Xanthe advised. “It’ll settle your nerves.”
“Tentacles,” Liam said.
“Just little ones. And the sucker marks will fade by Sunday.” Xanthe brushed his hair back to inspect the marks on the vicar’s face, clucking her tongue. “Oh. Might be a bit of a rash forming. You sit tight, I’ve got something for that.” And with that, the grave differ clumped her way out of the cheery little kitchen, leaving a trail of muddy boot prints behind her.
The kitchen was quaint and homey, filled with knickknacks and all those little touches that said family, like lumpy clay cups clearly made in school art class, put to use holding fresh cut flowers, and little marks on the wall measuring the growing height of children. Strangely, Xanthe seemed to be the only one living in the groundskeeper’s cottage, in spite of all the little signs. Liam knew, of course, that the woman’s father had passed away a few years ago, but it had been more than long enough for her to redecorate. She came clomping back carrying something in a jar that looked oily and smelled like a peat bog. “Little home remedy,” she said, dipping her fingers in to the oily goopy.
“Who are you?” Liam asked.
“I’m the grave keeper. Hold still.” She slathered the good on to the sucker marks. “I keep things like this from getting out. My family’s been doing this since before recorded history.” She inspected her handywork. “Just put this on every six hours, and if there’s any puss, you come find me. Drink your tea.”
Fandom: Original
Table/Prompt: Table 5/16. Peaceful
Rating: PG
Word Count: 350
Summary: Liam still doesn’t really understand what the hell is going on.
There was a steaming cup of tea on the kitchen table, a little slice of lemon floating on top like a cheery smile. The mug was dedicated to the World’s Best Dad, one of those cheap things one could find at the Church Fete, at the same table that sold pre-made name plates that all said Sally or Tommy. “Drink up,” Xanthe advised. “It’ll settle your nerves.”
“Tentacles,” Liam said.
“Just little ones. And the sucker marks will fade by Sunday.” Xanthe brushed his hair back to inspect the marks on the vicar’s face, clucking her tongue. “Oh. Might be a bit of a rash forming. You sit tight, I’ve got something for that.” And with that, the grave differ clumped her way out of the cheery little kitchen, leaving a trail of muddy boot prints behind her.
The kitchen was quaint and homey, filled with knickknacks and all those little touches that said family, like lumpy clay cups clearly made in school art class, put to use holding fresh cut flowers, and little marks on the wall measuring the growing height of children. Strangely, Xanthe seemed to be the only one living in the groundskeeper’s cottage, in spite of all the little signs. Liam knew, of course, that the woman’s father had passed away a few years ago, but it had been more than long enough for her to redecorate. She came clomping back carrying something in a jar that looked oily and smelled like a peat bog. “Little home remedy,” she said, dipping her fingers in to the oily goopy.
“Who are you?” Liam asked.
“I’m the grave keeper. Hold still.” She slathered the good on to the sucker marks. “I keep things like this from getting out. My family’s been doing this since before recorded history.” She inspected her handywork. “Just put this on every six hours, and if there’s any puss, you come find me. Drink your tea.”