Tatty:His Room:Rocking and Tatting
Tatty left the Extra Cafe and headed downstairs, straight past everything without looking up, and into his room he now shared with Anna. He saw the chair as he entered, centered in the corner facing the beds, and he touched the arm delicately, running his finger over the smooth wood. It was just like Mama's, it was beautiful, and if he could hug it, he would. Sitting down, Tatty uncurled his fist, his tatting shuttle had been pressed into his flesh, but not broken the skin, and he stretched his hand out, feeling as it loosened up again. Yes, somehow, rocking in a chair that was like hers, doing something she used to do, made him feel that much closer to her. He could almost remember the smell of his father's aftershave when he'd come home, and Tatty sighed contentedly. He was safe here. At least, he hoped so, he refused to remember what had happened earlier, this would become his sanctuary, he knew Ryan would keep him safe, and Tatty was starting to feel somewhat good about living here, as good as Tatty could feel about anything. Unwinding the thread a bit, he fixed it on the bobbin and began again, working on this new piece of lace slowly, carefully, meticulously, lost in his work.