Vanilla (1)
Title: Not On The List
Author: morethanmending
Rating: PG
Word Count: 941
Universe: Gone WIP
Characters: John Warner, Abigail Warner
Fic Contains: a mild jump scare, more for John than for the audience
Notes: Written for the flavor "Vanilla" - prompt #01 "Shopping".
Summary: Food's getting low back at the homestead. John takes Abigail shopping.
---
"Come on, Abby, stay close."
Abigail sighed and stared around the darkened shop. Dust covered the cans and bags. Mold grew in dark spots over a sack of flour left too close to the door.
Jingling the charm bracelet on her wrist, she caught up to her father, taking his outstretched hand.
The grocery store was farther away than the one they usually visited. They had to do that now, had to travel farther from home to find what they needed. John didn't like it, she could tell, but Abigail enjoyed their trips. She loved the smell of exhaust when the engine finally caught and turned over. She loved the long dusty roads and grass covered fields. Sometimes they saw a horse or two. Sometimes they didn't. Abigail liked best when they saw the horses.
It was quiet as they moved between the shelves, John stopping now and again to place a carton or box into their shopping cart. He paused to read something, lips moving as he muttered to himself, and Abigail shook her hand free, her other absently clicking her small flashlight on and off. On again. Off again. The pale yellow beam bounced from rice to beans and back.
"Most've this stuff's expired," John murmured, more to himself than to Abigail. "Or getting near it. Canned stuff's probably okay, though."
Their feet left imprints in the grime covering the old tiles. She bent down to examine them, careful not to muss her leggings. Blonde hair fell into her eyes and she tucked it behind an ear, tiny fingernails speckled with pink polish. She shone her light on the footprints John left as he moved down the aisle, dark grey smudges marring the even coating of filth.
She touched the tile, once, twice, underlined the dots with a curved swipe. A smiley face grinned up at her.
"Abby."
Abigail huffed as she pushed herself upright and trailed after her father.
It was dark near the back of the store. Even with the doors propped open, the light that trickled towards the freezer cabinets was weak and cast everything in shadow. Abigail felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as they turned a corner, moving towards the coffee and powdered creamer. She reached up for her father's hand again.
John took it without question, his palm warm and dry against hers. The dull gold band on his ring finger bumped her knuckles.
"Doing good?" he asked, moving her and the cart down the next aisle.
"Doing good," she repeated. He squeezed her hand.
"Grab up some of that milk," he said, motioning to the cans on a low shelf.
"Okay," Abigail said, pulling away and kneeling to see better. The labels were faded and parched, flaking away to dust when she touched them. She wrinkled her nose at the gritty texture and grabbed one in each hand, moving them to the low basket hanging under their cart. "How many?" she asked.
"Might as well grab all of them," John said, his voice muffled as he looked over a box of cereal. "Won't hurt to have 'em."
Abby crouched lower, arm stretching as she reached towards the back of the shelf. It was dark so low down to the ground, but she could just make out the glint of something beyond the reach of her fingers. Pulling back, she grabbed up her flashlight and clicked it on.
Shadows coalesced into a hunched monster. Light reflected off teeth and claws.
It hissed and Abby jerked back with a shout.
A hand snatched her arm and had hauled her to her feet. John shoved her behind his broad frame, pulling his revolver free of its holster in the same motion, hammer cocked and finger reaching for the trigger-
"Daddy!" Abigail shouted, clutching his arm. "It's just a cat!"
"What?" he asked, ducking down, eyes still locked on the lower shelf. A grumpy yowl sounded behind a cluster of canned pumpkin puree.
"Just a cat," Abigail said, crouching to glance between her father's legs, wanting a better look. The cat was small and black with a white tuff at the end of his tail. His ribs protruded beneath thin skin. Yellow eyes stared at Abigail. One lip curled back, revealing a sharp tooth.
She glanced up at her father. "Can we keep him?"
Training his own flashlight on the bottom shelf, John caught sight of the cat and sighed, thumbing back the safety and seating his gun back into its holster. "No, Abby. We already have a cat at home."
"But we need another!" Abigail protested as John began to move the cart away, shoulders rolling to shake off the tension.
"No, Abby."
"But Benson's lonely," she said, catching one of the charms dangling from her wrist and twisting it between her fingers. "He doesn't have anybody. Like us," she added.
John stopped and sighed, turning back to glance at his daughter. "What have I said about bringing home strays?" he asked.
"He's hurtin', Daddy," she said, quiet, lips pursed into a small frown.
John returned her frown before his gaze flicked down to meet the critter crawling its way out from beneath the shelf.
The cat meowed, pitiful and low, limbs trembling.
"God damnit," John muttered.
"Thank you, Daddy!" Abigail squealed. She scooped the cat into her arms, dirt and dust rubbing from its fur into her shirt. The cat bared a tooth and growled again.
"You're grouchy, aren't you?" Abigail cooed.
"Come on, Abby," John muttered, hurrying her along. Another couple of minutes and she'd have him taking the rats home too. "Let's get our stuff and get home."
---
End.
Author: morethanmending
Rating: PG
Word Count: 941
Universe: Gone WIP
Characters: John Warner, Abigail Warner
Fic Contains: a mild jump scare, more for John than for the audience
Notes: Written for the flavor "Vanilla" - prompt #01 "Shopping".
Summary: Food's getting low back at the homestead. John takes Abigail shopping.
---
"Come on, Abby, stay close."
Abigail sighed and stared around the darkened shop. Dust covered the cans and bags. Mold grew in dark spots over a sack of flour left too close to the door.
Jingling the charm bracelet on her wrist, she caught up to her father, taking his outstretched hand.
The grocery store was farther away than the one they usually visited. They had to do that now, had to travel farther from home to find what they needed. John didn't like it, she could tell, but Abigail enjoyed their trips. She loved the smell of exhaust when the engine finally caught and turned over. She loved the long dusty roads and grass covered fields. Sometimes they saw a horse or two. Sometimes they didn't. Abigail liked best when they saw the horses.
It was quiet as they moved between the shelves, John stopping now and again to place a carton or box into their shopping cart. He paused to read something, lips moving as he muttered to himself, and Abigail shook her hand free, her other absently clicking her small flashlight on and off. On again. Off again. The pale yellow beam bounced from rice to beans and back.
"Most've this stuff's expired," John murmured, more to himself than to Abigail. "Or getting near it. Canned stuff's probably okay, though."
Their feet left imprints in the grime covering the old tiles. She bent down to examine them, careful not to muss her leggings. Blonde hair fell into her eyes and she tucked it behind an ear, tiny fingernails speckled with pink polish. She shone her light on the footprints John left as he moved down the aisle, dark grey smudges marring the even coating of filth.
She touched the tile, once, twice, underlined the dots with a curved swipe. A smiley face grinned up at her.
"Abby."
Abigail huffed as she pushed herself upright and trailed after her father.
It was dark near the back of the store. Even with the doors propped open, the light that trickled towards the freezer cabinets was weak and cast everything in shadow. Abigail felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as they turned a corner, moving towards the coffee and powdered creamer. She reached up for her father's hand again.
John took it without question, his palm warm and dry against hers. The dull gold band on his ring finger bumped her knuckles.
"Doing good?" he asked, moving her and the cart down the next aisle.
"Doing good," she repeated. He squeezed her hand.
"Grab up some of that milk," he said, motioning to the cans on a low shelf.
"Okay," Abigail said, pulling away and kneeling to see better. The labels were faded and parched, flaking away to dust when she touched them. She wrinkled her nose at the gritty texture and grabbed one in each hand, moving them to the low basket hanging under their cart. "How many?" she asked.
"Might as well grab all of them," John said, his voice muffled as he looked over a box of cereal. "Won't hurt to have 'em."
Abby crouched lower, arm stretching as she reached towards the back of the shelf. It was dark so low down to the ground, but she could just make out the glint of something beyond the reach of her fingers. Pulling back, she grabbed up her flashlight and clicked it on.
Shadows coalesced into a hunched monster. Light reflected off teeth and claws.
It hissed and Abby jerked back with a shout.
A hand snatched her arm and had hauled her to her feet. John shoved her behind his broad frame, pulling his revolver free of its holster in the same motion, hammer cocked and finger reaching for the trigger-
"Daddy!" Abigail shouted, clutching his arm. "It's just a cat!"
"What?" he asked, ducking down, eyes still locked on the lower shelf. A grumpy yowl sounded behind a cluster of canned pumpkin puree.
"Just a cat," Abigail said, crouching to glance between her father's legs, wanting a better look. The cat was small and black with a white tuff at the end of his tail. His ribs protruded beneath thin skin. Yellow eyes stared at Abigail. One lip curled back, revealing a sharp tooth.
She glanced up at her father. "Can we keep him?"
Training his own flashlight on the bottom shelf, John caught sight of the cat and sighed, thumbing back the safety and seating his gun back into its holster. "No, Abby. We already have a cat at home."
"But we need another!" Abigail protested as John began to move the cart away, shoulders rolling to shake off the tension.
"No, Abby."
"But Benson's lonely," she said, catching one of the charms dangling from her wrist and twisting it between her fingers. "He doesn't have anybody. Like us," she added.
John stopped and sighed, turning back to glance at his daughter. "What have I said about bringing home strays?" he asked.
"He's hurtin', Daddy," she said, quiet, lips pursed into a small frown.
John returned her frown before his gaze flicked down to meet the critter crawling its way out from beneath the shelf.
The cat meowed, pitiful and low, limbs trembling.
"God damnit," John muttered.
"Thank you, Daddy!" Abigail squealed. She scooped the cat into her arms, dirt and dust rubbing from its fur into her shirt. The cat bared a tooth and growled again.
"You're grouchy, aren't you?" Abigail cooed.
"Come on, Abby," John muttered, hurrying her along. Another couple of minutes and she'd have him taking the rats home too. "Let's get our stuff and get home."
---
End.