-last edited on Jan 12, 2019 23:33:19 GMT by TeaLeaf❀
Post by TeaLeaf❀ on Jan 12, 2019 23:32:18 GMT
The mother has her mouth parted and trembling ever so slightly, hands locked in a holding position—ah, the grocery bag laying by her feet, the apples and ham tumbled out on the wood-tiled floor of the entrance. He, too, a bit stunned by her return, uncomfortably turns away from the smoking kettle and gestures to the bag.
“The—” he starts. “Ah—!” she peers down in shock. “Well—” “O-oh—!” “Let me—” “No, I—” “The oranges—” “Got it—” “Okay—wait—” “Huh—?” “The eggs—” “AHHHHHH—”
It took them a while to clean up the yokes; it’s fortunate that only five of the dozen broke from Lillian’s surprise drop. The rest were either protected by the case or suffered minor cracks, but the mother still looks devastated. Yet with a glint of determination in her eyes, Mrs. Wesley quickly takes off her winter cape and picks out the causalities with expert hands, soon batting them in a small metal bowl with a pair of handy chopsticks. While this is going on, she directs him to wash an empty pot next to the sink and fill it with water before setting in on the stove. Lillian turns up the heat and proceeds with her unannounced rescue plan, beckoning him to take a seat on the couches as she works. He does this and much more, wandering and perusing the house with a sense of mild familiarity and interest, the pain and confusion no longer troubling his mind.
The living room has little decorations to admire, however, and he frowns at the absence of photos and mementos which are compensated by books and a single painting: a scenic cut of what he can identify as the Birchwood forest, lake, and glaciers the mother and son have mentioned. There’s an additional frame of flattened paper with words he cannot read, and he squints at the characters with curiosity.
-last edited on Jan 12, 2019 23:42:52 GMT by TeaLeaf❀
Post by TeaLeaf❀ on Jan 12, 2019 23:41:50 GMT
“Alright! Drink up!” Lillian hands him a bowl and his hands quiver at the incoming heat. Corn, chicken, and the battered eggs are covered by a layer of cream, and he lights up with a smile.
…Why? Is it my turn to make dinner?
“Corn soup?” The stranger spins the serving with the spoon, marveling at the rising steam. “How did you…and with so little time—” “Well…” Lillian picks up two empty cans in her hands, “sweet corn” and “creamy chicken” labels staring back at his astonished expression as she shakes them for extra emphasis. Rattle, rattle. “I mean, the eggs are my idea, but….”
His awe falters, in its place is a polite nod of thanks as he sips on the liquid, the magic of the moment gone but fulfilled with ample contentment. The stranger savors the taste and relishes the warmth as he finishes the soup quicker and rowdier than he likes, the hunger within him overcoming his usual mannerism.
The two of them said nothing for the next twenty minutes, with Lillian combing through the fridge to clear out a space for the groceries and refilling his bowl with seconds, thirds… (he lost count after fifth) and him shamelessly partaking in the soup feast, negotiating unsuccessfully to stop eating every time the mother offers yet another serving. By the time he’s finished, only one-third of the pot remains, and his body temperature is well-restored. He pries his hands away from the spoon then, in a low voice:
“I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Wesley freezes. She gently closes the refrigerator door then, just as softly: “For what?”
“My stupidity.” He sighs. “It was late, the area was too dark…I should’ve checked the equipment, should’ve realized the zipline was unsafe, should’ve told you what we were doing, should’ve convinced Théo—”
“Enough.”
“I promised to take care of him, but I ended up giving you more problems and placed both of us in danger. I was the adult in the situation, but I acted like a fool—”
“Enough—”
“None of this was your fault, Lillian! I brought this upon myself! You—”
-last edited on Jan 12, 2019 23:56:48 GMT by TeaLeaf❀
Post by TeaLeaf❀ on Jan 12, 2019 23:53:40 GMT
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” He jumps. The mother has moved to the seat right across from him during his confession. There is pain in her eyes and furrowed brows, and he finds himself speechless at her upset frown.
“There was no way you could’ve known the zipline equipment was tampered with. There was no way you could’ve prepared for what happened. And you—” she laughs, the pain changing into amusement. “You, convincing Théo? HE’S TOO STUBBORN TO LISTEN TO ANYONE! I think…” The mother glances down at the table, her expression suddenly blank. “I think he got that from me. That same stubbornness…”
Silence, and he wants to look down as well, unable to bring himself to see her face-to-face after his foolish apology. “But…” He manages a polite smile. “Thank you.” She doesn’t understand. “For what?” He blinks. “…For saving me?”
“Oh…” Lillian chuckles. “Oh, no. It wasn’t me...I can’t swim for my dear life! Akira saved you. By the time I ran to check up on you and Théo, he was already there, dragging you out—”
“‘Akira’?” He repeats the name slowly.
She nods. “You’re lucky that he was nearby the landing when it happened. Otherwise…” Her voice trails off. “He’s so strong and healthy for his age, that Akira…You should’ve seen him loading you to shore on his back. I know Théo had his mouth wide-open—”
“Théo…” The stranger snaps up in alarm. “What about him? Where is—”
“School.” The mother traces her hand along the wooden edge. Tap, tap. “I…wasn’t sure if…” She takes a shaky breath. “I…I didn’t want him to lock himself in his room anymore. No, a weekend of that is enough. I didn’t even ground him, and he—” Tap, tap, tap. “He didn’t want to come out, didn’t want to talk to me, didn’t want to—” Tap-tap-tap-tap. “No, I told him he has to go outside. ‘It’s Monday morning! It’s a school day!’ What a lame excuse, I—” Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. “I…I…” Tap-tap-tap-tap. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to wake up. No offense, mister, but…” Tap, tap, tap. “I still find it hard to believe. A four, five-story drop on ice and…” her eyes dart back and forth. “Nothing! Not a scratch, not a bruise, no pain, no…” Tap, tap. “You…”
“I got lucky.”
~~~ Triple update. ^)^ It's rude to cut off conversations.
The mother has her mouth parted and trembling ever so slightly, hands locked in a holding position—ah, the grocery bag laying by her feet, the apples and ham tumbled out on the wood-tiled floor of the entrance. He, too, a bit stunned by her return, uncomfortably turns away from the smoking kettle and gestures to the bag.
“The—” he starts. “Ah—!” she peers down in shock. “Well—” “O-oh—!” “Let me—” “No, I—” “The oranges—” “Got it—” “Okay—wait—” “Huh—?” “The eggs—” “AHHHHHH—”
It took them a while to clean up the yokes; it’s fortunate that only five of the dozen broke from Lillian’s surprise drop. The rest were either protected by the case or suffered minor cracks, but the mother still looks devastated. Yet with a glint of determination in her eyes, Mrs. Wesley quickly takes off her winter cape and picks out the causalities with expert hands, soon batting them in a small metal bowl with a pair of handy chopsticks. While this is going on, she directs him to wash an empty pot next to the sink and fill it with water before setting in on the stove. Lillian turns up the heat and proceeds with her unannounced rescue plan, beckoning him to take a seat on the couches as she works. He does this and much more, wandering and perusing the house with a sense of mild familiarity and interest, the pain and confusion no longer troubling his mind.
The living room has little decorations to admire, however, and he frowns at the absence of photos and mementos which are compensated by books and a single painting: a scenic cut of what he can identify as the Birchwood forest, lake, and glaciers the mother and son have mentioned. There’s an additional frame of flattened paper with words he cannot read, and he squints at the characters with curiosity.
“Alright! Drink up!” Lillian hands him a bowl and his hands quiver at the incoming heat. Corn, chicken, and the battered eggs are covered by a layer of cream, and he lights up with a smile.
…Why? Is it my turn to make dinner?
“Corn soup?” The stranger spins the serving with the spoon, marveling at the rising steam. “How did you…and with so little time—” “Well…” Lillian picks up two empty cans in her hands, “sweet corn” and “creamy chicken” labels staring back at his astonished expression as she shakes them for extra emphasis. Rattle, rattle. “I mean, the eggs are my idea, but….”
His awe falters, in its place is a polite nod of thanks as he sips on the liquid, the magic of the moment gone but fulfilled with ample contentment. The stranger savors the taste and relishes the warmth as he finishes the soup quicker and rowdier than he likes, the hunger within him overcoming his usual mannerism.
The two of them said nothing for the next twenty minutes, with Lillian combing through the fridge to clear out a space for the groceries and refilling his bowl with seconds, thirds… (he lost count after fifth) and him shamelessly partaking in the soup feast, negotiating unsuccessfully to stop eating every time the mother offers yet another serving. By the time he’s finished, only one-third of the pot remains, and his body temperature is well-restored. He pries his hands away from the spoon then, in a low voice:
“I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Wesley freezes. She gently closes the refrigerator door then, just as softly: “For what?”
“My stupidity.” He sighs. “It was late, the area was too dark…I should’ve checked the equipment, should’ve realized the zipline was unsafe, should’ve told you what we were doing, should’ve convinced Théo—”
“Enough.”
“I promised to take care of him, but I ended up giving you more problems and placed both of us in danger. I was the adult in the situation, but I acted like a fool—”
“Enough—”
“None of this was your fault, Lillian! I brought this upon myself! You—”
@underlined: OK, I have officially stopped struggling through irrational self-doubt now. I don't need any more proof.
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” He jumps. The mother has moved to the seat right across from him during his confession. There is pain in her eyes and furrowed brows, and he finds himself speechless at her upset frown.
“There was no way you could’ve known the zipline equipment was tampered with. There was no way you could’ve prepared for what happened. And you—” she laughs, the pain changing into amusement. “You, convincing Théo? HE’S TOO STUBBORN TO LISTEN TO ANYONE! I think…” The mother glances down at the table, her expression suddenly blank. “I think he got that from me. That same stubbornness…”
Silence, and he wants to look down as well, unable to bring himself to see her face-to-face after his foolish apology. “But…” He manages a polite smile. “Thank you.” She doesn’t understand. “For what?” He blinks. “…For saving me?”
“Oh…” Lillian chuckles. “Oh, no. It wasn’t me...I can’t swim for my dear life! Akira saved you. By the time I ran to check up on you and Théo, he was already there, dragging you out—”
“‘Akira’?” He repeats the name slowly.
She nods. “You’re lucky that he was nearby the landing when it happened. Otherwise…” Her voice trails off. “He’s so strong and healthy for his age, that Akira…You should’ve seen him loading you to shore on his back. I know Théo had his mouth wide-open—”
“Théo…” The stranger snaps up in alarm. “What about him? Where is—”
“School.” The mother traces her hand along the wooden edge. Tap, tap. “I…wasn’t sure if…” She takes a shaky breath. “I…I didn’t want him to lock himself in his room anymore. No, a weekend of that is enough. I didn’t even ground him, and he—” Tap, tap, tap. “He didn’t want to come out, didn’t want to talk to me, didn’t want to—” Tap-tap-tap-tap. “No, I told him he has to go outside. ‘It’s Monday morning! It’s a school day!’ What a lame excuse, I—” Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. “I…I…” Tap-tap-tap-tap. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to wake up. No offense, mister, but…” Tap, tap, tap. “I still find it hard to believe. A four, five-story drop on ice and…” her eyes dart back and forth. “Nothing! Not a scratch, not a bruise, no pain, no…” Tap, tap. “You…”
“I got lucky.”
~~~ Triple update. ^)^ It's rude to cut off conversations.
Théo. . . ? Ó,Ò Poor lil guy.
Wow, it's amazing how Bert survived--it's like he's not human.
These parts are great, Leaf! They just really capture the moment--I felt like I was there with them, holding my breath. . . i liek
The mother has her mouth parted and trembling ever so slightly, hands locked in a holding position—ah, the grocery bag laying by her feet, the apples and ham tumbled out on the wood-tiled floor of the entrance. He, too, a bit stunned by her return, uncomfortably turns away from the smoking kettle and gestures to the bag.
“The—” he starts. “Ah—!” she peers down in shock. “Well—” “O-oh—!” “Let me—” “No, I—” “The oranges—” “Got it—” “Okay—wait—” “Huh—?” “The eggs—” “AHHHHHH—”
It took them a while to clean up the yokes; it’s fortunate that only five of the dozen broke from Lillian’s surprise drop. The rest were either protected by the case or suffered minor cracks, but the mother still looks devastated. Yet with a glint of determination in her eyes, Mrs. Wesley quickly takes off her winter cape and picks out the causalities with expert hands, soon batting them in a small metal bowl with a pair of handy chopsticks. While this is going on, she directs him to wash an empty pot next to the sink and fill it with water before setting in on the stove. Lillian turns up the heat and proceeds with her unannounced rescue plan, beckoning him to take a seat on the couches as she works. He does this and much more, wandering and perusing the house with a sense of mild familiarity and interest, the pain and confusion no longer troubling his mind.
The living room has little decorations to admire, however, and he frowns at the absence of photos and mementos which are compensated by books and a single painting: a scenic cut of what he can identify as the Birchwood forest, lake, and glaciers the mother and son have mentioned. There’s an additional frame of flattened paper with words he cannot read, and he squints at the characters with curiosity.
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” He jumps. The mother has moved to the seat right across from him during his confession. There is pain in her eyes and furrowed brows, and he finds himself speechless at her upset frown.
“There was no way you could’ve known the zipline equipment was tampered with. There was no way you could’ve prepared for what happened. And you—” she laughs, the pain changing into amusement. “You, convincing Théo? HE’S TOO STUBBORN TO LISTEN TO ANYONE! I think…” The mother glances down at the table, her expression suddenly blank. “I think he got that from me. That same stubbornness…”
Silence, and he wants to look down as well, unable to bring himself to see her face-to-face after his foolish apology. “But…” He manages a polite smile. “Thank you.” She doesn’t understand. “For what?” He blinks. “…For saving me?”
“Oh…” Lillian chuckles. “Oh, no. It wasn’t me...I can’t swim for my dear life! Akira saved you. By the time I ran to check up on you and Théo, he was already there, dragging you out—”
“‘Akira’?” He repeats the name slowly.
She nods. “You’re lucky that he was nearby the landing when it happened. Otherwise…” Her voice trails off. “He’s so strong and healthy for his age, that Akira…You should’ve seen him loading you to shore on his back. I know Théo had his mouth wide-open—”
“Théo…” The stranger snaps up in alarm. “What about him? Where is—”
“School.” The mother traces her hand along the wooden edge. Tap, tap. “I…wasn’t sure if…” She takes a shaky breath. “I…I didn’t want him to lock himself in his room anymore. No, a weekend of that is enough. I didn’t even ground him, and he—” Tap, tap, tap. “He didn’t want to come out, didn’t want to talk to me, didn’t want to—” Tap-tap-tap-tap. “No, I told him he has to go outside. ‘It’s Monday morning! It’s a school day!’ What a lame excuse, I—” Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. “I…I…” Tap-tap-tap-tap. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to wake up. No offense, mister, but…” Tap, tap, tap. “I still find it hard to believe. A four, five-story drop on ice and…” her eyes dart back and forth. “Nothing! Not a scratch, not a bruise, no pain, no…” Tap, tap. “You…”
“I got lucky.”
~~~ Triple update. ^)^ It's rude to cut off conversations.
Théo. . . ? Ó,Ò Poor lil guy.
Wow, it's amazing how Bert survived--it's like he's not human.
These parts are great, Leaf! They just really capture the moment--I felt like I was there with them, holding my breath. . . i liek
._. The kid...has been through some things...
Or the guy is just really lucky. You never know. Every time I write these scenes it's like I'm eavesdropping in their conversations. o-o Thank you! liek is gud.
![[derp]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/YqNTPqyQUocVMYXZgUAI.png)
![[li]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/GYGttfyoFUnuedg0UBiD.png)
![[uni]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/mPKcREJAtrpeAXSOgaOH.png)
![[lenny]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/7elNEqtPK2hcSAiIMFNh.png)
)
![[fp]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/72cJSUMelnneD_GuLdak.png)
I completely forgot their last name is Wesley! xD Maybe they're distantly related to my Dr. Wesley. 