( one impossible task at a time )

[dieneidio]

Right, so.

In Xanadu, there's this garden - quiet, a little apart from the daily grind of the rest of the city. It's a memorial garden and as such it has its fair share of statues, some notable and some less so. The name of one of these reads Gates Enfys Keel Eddings above a simple inscription and two dates, and this isn't the way Enfys imagined

Comments

[nottopromise]

Quinn thinks of these people. Statues are what is left of them long after they're nothing but ashes and memories. He thinks of them and thinks of those that do not have statues. What becomes of the unmourned?

Here, Enfys. Have a friendless and mostly quiet would-be writer just passing through (it's complicated), studying these statues, including that of Mrs Eddings.

"Did you know her?" he asks, and almost immediately after regrets asking. Regrets and regrets not.

[dieneidio]

"Can't say as I did- well, yeah, but not really, per se." Which averages out to 'sort of', maybe, and either way isn't the clearest of answers. (People don't generally come to Enfys for a straight answer, though, so Quinn can console himself with the knowledge that this is just the continuation of an established pattern. Does he like patterns? Who knows.)

She slings an arm around the statue of this woman she didn't know (but maybe did), leaning in to snap the picture. (She does bunny ears for the second shot, in case anyone was about to mistake this for something meaningful. God forbid.)

"I'm Enfys, by the by."

[nottopromise]

He's fond of patterns, so long as doesn't end up utterly confused by them. While his nature may not be that of suspicion, he has the sort of feeling this will be confusing.

He's taken aback by the decidedly not sentimental bunny ears. Not in a bad way. It's different. His fingers slip into the back of his hair, scratching the low of his nape for lack of anything else to do. He'd like a cigarette.

"Quinn," he says softly, and a pause follows while he toys with the thought of actually asking. Enfys, like the statue. "...How do you know someone, but not really, per se?"

[dieneidio]

Dragging her thumb along the inscription, Enfys smiles up at him like she's testing an edge.

"Gates Enfys Keel Eddings. Gates Enfys Keel Llewelyn. See? That's how."

And she doesn't do this, she doesn't have these moments, it doesn't- it's not a thing, it's not going to be a thing, she's just going to take some stupid pictures and sit here for a while and then she's never going to think about this again.

That's exactly how it's going to be.

[nottopromise]

Quinn's gaze drags itself upward, appraising the statue in a new light. He regards its features thoughtfully before glancing back at Enfys (the living, breathing Enfys) and he takes a step forward.

"I see," he says, once he's no longer regarding.

It's probably impolite, that. "I think."

He tentatively sits nearby and braces his knees. Words are difficult to come by when they're meant to be spoken, but he always makes the effort. It's too quiet otherwise. In his head. (It's not pretty.) "She's pretty."

[dieneidio]

Enfys touches her fingertips to the cool metal jaw of the dead woman beside her, tilting her head as she considers this face on someone else, older. (Wiser? She knows herself too well to assume that.) "She is a bit," she says, after evidently weighing it a little herself.

"Don't know who 'Eddings' was, though," she adds, half-speculative.

[nottopromise]

"I like the inscription," he adds, slanting his head to the side as he speculates who Eddings was, himself. Quinn's imagination runs wild and sometimes the speculation is better than the real thing, anyway.

Sometimes.

"Would you like me to take a picture?"

[dieneidio]

"Sure thing, sweetpea - want to be in the next one?" Don't you want to participate in this intensely strange personal ritual, Quinn? Be a part of history. This is one of those little stories that people everywhere tell themselves they've forgotten (committing them to the past in sequence like a rosary, hail mary mother of god the lord is with thee), and Enfys's whole life sometimes seems like one of those.

[nottopromise]

"...Why not?" he asks after a moment's pause, surprising himself with the answer. Quinn rummages through his breast pockets to find his pack of cigarettes and slides one out of it. He lifts up the pack her way in offer, should she want one. If he's to be part of this very, very strange ritual, he might as well offer her a cigarette.

"Shall I sit on her lap or would that be too tawdry?"

[dieneidio]

Declining with a brief wave of her hand, Enfys gets to her feet, just about grinning - it's a crooked, honest expression. "I reckon I should get to, don't you think...?"

(Enfys, why.)