(no subject)
After the rain, Luce knows there are many things. Rainbows, dreadful little after-headaches, and loose soil. When she pokes her head outside the door and doesn't get a drenched head of hair for it, she immediately ducks back inside for a pair of khaki capris, a tank top, and gardening gloves. She's been told there are dozens of kinds of plants here and she's been itching to see them, to touch them, to cultivate.
Anything that gets her mind off dinosaurs, off rainstorms, off Rachel.
She's been distracted. She thinks she sees Heck, but he's older, not the same. She inevitably decides she's going mad with guilt -- isn't that just lovely -- and sets the thought aside. She thinks she sees Rachel in every lovely blonde woman she sees, but it's never her and Luce needs to stop this before she goes around the bend.
So now, she's wandered not far at all from the Compound, small spade and shovel in hand, a bowl to carry the flowers back with her, roots and all, and an intent to begin window-boxes. Maybe she'll find a way to plant some azaleas and wish people financial security. Or maybe daffodils for chivalry or orchids for wooing.
Hours into her work, she's got bowls surrounding her, dirt on multiple inches of her face, her hair is mussed and frizzed from the humidity (and the ponytail is doing no favours) and she's sweating in an absolutely abhorrent way.
But for the first time in a good while, she feels good.
[Find her gardening outside the Compound anytime! ST/LT welcome through Tuesday]
Anything that gets her mind off dinosaurs, off rainstorms, off Rachel.
She's been distracted. She thinks she sees Heck, but he's older, not the same. She inevitably decides she's going mad with guilt -- isn't that just lovely -- and sets the thought aside. She thinks she sees Rachel in every lovely blonde woman she sees, but it's never her and Luce needs to stop this before she goes around the bend.
So now, she's wandered not far at all from the Compound, small spade and shovel in hand, a bowl to carry the flowers back with her, roots and all, and an intent to begin window-boxes. Maybe she'll find a way to plant some azaleas and wish people financial security. Or maybe daffodils for chivalry or orchids for wooing.
Hours into her work, she's got bowls surrounding her, dirt on multiple inches of her face, her hair is mussed and frizzed from the humidity (and the ponytail is doing no favours) and she's sweating in an absolutely abhorrent way.
But for the first time in a good while, she feels good.
[Find her gardening outside the Compound anytime! ST/LT welcome through Tuesday]