Joe had been looking for Dale, to be honest, but when he saw Ruth in the rec room he couldn't stop himself from going over to join her at the bookshelf. Bucky had left him alone for almost two full weeks now, except the occasional glimpse of him in the background, and he found himself feeling better.
"Find anything good?" he asked, peering over her shoulder at the pictures she was looking at. It took him a minute, but when he realized what they were, he laughed, unable to help himself.
"It's only rude when the person is holding naked pictures of themselves," Joe pointed out with a smirk, still leaning close to Ruth, trying to get another look at the polaroids she was holding to her chest.
"You alright honey?" Debbie immediately asks, coming into the rec room from the hallway. She has a canvas tote on one shoulder and a broad-brimmed red hat on that almost matches her hair, making it pretty damn clear that she was just at the beach. She's all concern now as she nears the other woman, brow knitted together. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
[I'm assuming they've met each other since... hi, red-head mothers inna kitchen, but feel free to play it however you'd like.]
"Bullshit," Debbie announces, though there's no special emphasis on the word other than her usual brash tone. "You stay put. I'm going to get you a glass of water. Have you eaten?"
She knows Ruth's a grown woman, a mother herself, and she hopes as a mother she'll know that this is just Debbie being caring. If she doesn't... well too fucking bad, Debbie's gonna do it anyway. She moves into the kitchen, moving quickly despite age and girth, setting down her beach things and filling her hands with a glass of ice water and a plate of the lemon bars she'd cooked the day before. Coming back out, she pushes the glass into Ruth's hand and pulls up a chair, holding the plate out so she can eat, and looks expectantly at her. "What happened?"
"Really, Debbie, I'm-" she called after her, but after the other woman disappeared into the kitchen, Ruth gave up trying to stop her. Before she knew it, she had lemon bars and a glass in her hand, and she would've been grateful if she hadn't been too busy staring dumbly at the collection of photographs in her hand.
"I'd heard that this happens. I kept expecting to find that damn hearse parked outside my hut one morning, or one of Nathaniel's dusty old suits. I'd forgotten all about these," she said, the envelop crinkling softly in her hand.
Daisy hears the sound and she's just come from the recreation room, where the jukebox just refuses to play her anything but Sunset Boulevard and she's glad for a familiar face, barely even noticing the distress. "Well, I haven't seen those in years," she says, of the Polaroids, even though she can't see what the pictures are of.
"Neither have I," Ruth murmured faintly, and had her eyes not been fixed on the polaroids in her hands, she would've realized how rude it was not to even look up and say hello.
Not in ages. A lifetime ago. She hardly remembered being that girl.
Daisy hops onto the nearest flat surface, leaning forward as her hair tumbles over one shoulder and she gives Ruth a curious look and a half-grown smile. "Well? What's the subject?"
Letting out a soft laugh, Ruth say down in the chair next to the younger woman, her smile one full of bittersweet memories.
"I am. These were taken on my honeymoon." Even as her cheeked flushed faintly scarlet, she passed one of the photographs over, shuffling the others neatly in her hands and and covering them with her palm.
In the polaroid, she sat on the hotel bed wearing only her shell-pink slip, sheet pulled up modestly to her chest and her face turned partially away.
"Found something good?" said Ruth-Anne, her attention caught by the sound of the books falling and seeing only the back of Ruth's head as she peereed intently at something. "If so, that puts you one up on me. I've been having rotten luck for the past two days."
"I don't know," Ruth answered with a laugh, because she hadn't decided yet if they were bad or good. They'd been... so terribly happy for those few stolen hours, and it seemed like so long ago.
So very long ago since she'd felt that way. So many possibilities. So very much in love.
"They're photographs. Nathaniel, my husband, took them right after we were married."
"Well that sounds lovely," said Ruth-Anne, even though it was a bit of a surprise to find something like that on the bookshelf. She'd certainly heard of stranger things. "Do you mind if I take a look?"
"They're honeymoon photos, Ruth-Anne," she said with a pointed look, her lips twisting into a reluctant smile, "I can't believe I even agreed to them. It must have been all that champagne."
She laughed, the sound almost girlish as she passed over one of the more tame of the photographs: A shot of her sprawled on her stomach across the still neatly made bed in her nightgown, long red hair streaming over her back and the sheets around her.
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"Find anything good?" he asked, peering over her shoulder at the pictures she was looking at. It took him a minute, but when he realized what they were, he laughed, unable to help himself.
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"Oh, for heaven's sake! Don't sneak up on a person like that, it's rude."
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[I'm assuming they've met each other since... hi, red-head mothers inna kitchen, but feel free to play it however you'd like.]
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[Safe assumption. XD]
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She knows Ruth's a grown woman, a mother herself, and she hopes as a mother she'll know that this is just Debbie being caring. If she doesn't... well too fucking bad, Debbie's gonna do it anyway. She moves into the kitchen, moving quickly despite age and girth, setting down her beach things and filling her hands with a glass of ice water and a plate of the lemon bars she'd cooked the day before. Coming back out, she pushes the glass into Ruth's hand and pulls up a chair, holding the plate out so she can eat, and looks expectantly at her. "What happened?"
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"I'd heard that this happens. I kept expecting to find that damn hearse parked outside my hut one morning, or one of Nathaniel's dusty old suits. I'd forgotten all about these," she said, the envelop crinkling softly in her hand.
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Not in ages. A lifetime ago. She hardly remembered being that girl.
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"I am. These were taken on my honeymoon." Even as her cheeked flushed faintly scarlet, she passed one of the photographs over, shuffling the others neatly in her hands and and covering them with her palm.
In the polaroid, she sat on the hotel bed wearing only her shell-pink slip, sheet pulled up modestly to her chest and her face turned partially away.
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So very long ago since she'd felt that way. So many possibilities. So very much in love.
"They're photographs. Nathaniel, my husband, took them right after we were married."
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She laughed, the sound almost girlish as she passed over one of the more tame of the photographs: A shot of her sprawled on her stomach across the still neatly made bed in her nightgown, long red hair streaming over her back and the sheets around her.
Reply
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