The Great Shipwreck of Life
WHO: Raivis and Ivan
WHEN: Wednesday June 16th, 10:00 am Timeskip? What?
WHERE: de Rosnay Gardens
WHAT: "I really wish you'd talk to me like a confidante and not just an employee" said he, unaware of the burden his employer carried.
Inevitable- comical, really, how Ivan was the punctual one when his secretary was the very essence of the word. The morning tasted bitter, and everything seemed so uncannily quiet for mid-June, like a hair-thin layer of frost had blanketed this section of the city and sealed it away from the fabric of time. A wrinkle in time, sheltered by the scent of lilacs and lilies and irises, and far too cold for ten ante meridium.
The sun was just shy of the sky's center. Ivan was just shy of slipping into the fountain behind him and waiting underneath the surface until cold was the only thing left to feel. The ghost of Francis Bonnefoy's warmth haunted him, left imprints between the cracks in his lips and and hips. Even the cold of the early mid-June air couldn't bring the patches of hot down to a reasonable degree, and ice froze at initial contact. Like he'd been slapped clear across the cheek, his skin still stung with a radiant heat. June punished him for it, but the flowers she bloomed upon her arrival could rival the beauty of Garland: ground zero. Like the clouds ahead were in the shape of a prism, the sun's light separated into the spectrum and cascaded on the petals of roses and poppies planted to spell out the word LIBERTY. Red, white, and blue decorated a nearby bed; purple and white irises tangoed with the columbines in the passing breeze.
Ivan had chosen to sit on the arc of the fountain nearest the sunflower bed. He absentmindedly wondered what the aspens looked like in autumn, but skipped over to the weeping willows lining the stone path leading to the fountain. Like a compass rose pointing north, south, east, west, the four pathways lead to different parts of the internationally themed garden. The fountain bore a thin, stone woman presumed to be lady Liberty as the city was named after. Water poured from her torch, her bare feet scarcely graced the surface of the water, and her dress went just beyond that. Ivan wondered if her arm ever tired.
Pennies and nickels shined in the water-tamed sunlight, wishes rolling with the mild current of the rippling water. The Muscovite briskly dig through a large pocket in his favorite beige coat for the lint-decorated spare change chiming like the robins in the nearest aspen. His fingers fought out a shiny penny, and he dully examined Lincoln's profile before tossing it into the water. It wasn't that he believed in luck or superstitions, but what Yao called 'karma' was looming over him like the ghost of his great-grandfather. Sacrificing a penny for a measly shiver of hope...
He rounded on his heel just in time to catch Raivis's figure, avoiding the cracks in the stone pathway.
WHEN: Wednesday June 16th, 10:00 am Timeskip? What?
WHERE: de Rosnay Gardens
WHAT: "I really wish you'd talk to me like a confidante and not just an employee" said he, unaware of the burden his employer carried.
Inevitable- comical, really, how Ivan was the punctual one when his secretary was the very essence of the word. The morning tasted bitter, and everything seemed so uncannily quiet for mid-June, like a hair-thin layer of frost had blanketed this section of the city and sealed it away from the fabric of time. A wrinkle in time, sheltered by the scent of lilacs and lilies and irises, and far too cold for ten ante meridium.
The sun was just shy of the sky's center. Ivan was just shy of slipping into the fountain behind him and waiting underneath the surface until cold was the only thing left to feel. The ghost of Francis Bonnefoy's warmth haunted him, left imprints between the cracks in his lips and and hips. Even the cold of the early mid-June air couldn't bring the patches of hot down to a reasonable degree, and ice froze at initial contact. Like he'd been slapped clear across the cheek, his skin still stung with a radiant heat. June punished him for it, but the flowers she bloomed upon her arrival could rival the beauty of Garland: ground zero. Like the clouds ahead were in the shape of a prism, the sun's light separated into the spectrum and cascaded on the petals of roses and poppies planted to spell out the word LIBERTY. Red, white, and blue decorated a nearby bed; purple and white irises tangoed with the columbines in the passing breeze.
Ivan had chosen to sit on the arc of the fountain nearest the sunflower bed. He absentmindedly wondered what the aspens looked like in autumn, but skipped over to the weeping willows lining the stone path leading to the fountain. Like a compass rose pointing north, south, east, west, the four pathways lead to different parts of the internationally themed garden. The fountain bore a thin, stone woman presumed to be lady Liberty as the city was named after. Water poured from her torch, her bare feet scarcely graced the surface of the water, and her dress went just beyond that. Ivan wondered if her arm ever tired.
Pennies and nickels shined in the water-tamed sunlight, wishes rolling with the mild current of the rippling water. The Muscovite briskly dig through a large pocket in his favorite beige coat for the lint-decorated spare change chiming like the robins in the nearest aspen. His fingers fought out a shiny penny, and he dully examined Lincoln's profile before tossing it into the water. It wasn't that he believed in luck or superstitions, but what Yao called 'karma' was looming over him like the ghost of his great-grandfather. Sacrificing a penny for a measly shiver of hope...
He rounded on his heel just in time to catch Raivis's figure, avoiding the cracks in the stone pathway.