Post by Launa on Oct 21, 2009 21:33:47 GMT -8
Introduction: I have always had a strong connection with Strawberry. When I write to calm my emotions, I often find myself exploring the world through her eyes. This piece is one of my favorites. It takes place after the adventure in Brazil in "Steel Chrysalis" but before "Secundus Aurora." In reality, I suppose it would straddle "Still Alchemy" and "Secundus Aurora."
Enjoy.
~*~
She unlocked the door and stepped into the little studio apartment. She knocked the door shut with her foot and tossed her coat and backpack on the floor. One strap of her backpack was broken. There was blood along one sleeve.
She walked to her sink, her worn high-tops making a soft scuffing sound with each step, and rubbed the blood off her knuckles, stretching her hand a few times to try to shake out the ache from the blow. She sighed and ran her hands over the edge of the sink, skimming her thumb along a chip in the countertop. She watched the water running, the blood floating for an instant like a ribbon of scarlet before dissolving and swirling down the drain. She ran her hands under the water and then over her face, taking a light breath before shutting the water off and turning around. She grabbed a copy of the latest issue of Scientific America off a bookshelf she had made from cinderblocks and abandoned wood and stretched out along her couch, avoiding the spring sticking out of the far cushion.
She glanced through the articles, pausing over a feature piece on the new Jack technology. She read quickly, but the words seemed to flow past her eyes without any meaning. She couldn’t concentrate. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. She could see his face when she closed her eyes. She didn’t know who he had been. He didn’t seem crazy or even particularly violent. He would never have shot her like he had threatened. He wasn’t even holding the gun correctly. But he had touched her. Grabbed her arm. And she did not like to be touched.
She laid the magazine on her stomach and stared up at the ceiling, her hands behind her head. She ran her fingers distractedly through her short blonde hair. It was a curious thing, the decision to run or to fight. She closed her eyes and slipped back without wanting to. Without even thinking.
The memory came through the eyes of a child. Her eyes. She couldn’t remember faces or even voices. Everything was black and white, clouded with a child’s lack of understanding. But she remembered little things. The color of the man’s shoes, shiny and black like the toy beetles Jerry had been given at the fair. She remembered how the office woman smelt: like cheap lavender perfume and french fries. The magazines on the office side-table had mazes on them that she sat and traced with her finger while the adults spoke. She remembered the feeling of hope when she had been told someone wanted to adopt her.
She had been so young and naïve. Too innocent to see what was going on around her. She refused to think of what could have happened if she hadn’t been warned.
She opened her eyes and looked up. The Ladybird was hovering over her head. She smiled softly.
“No one to save?” she muttered. The Ladybird didn’t whisper anything. But in its silence she had her answer. “Good, then.” She sat up and sighed. “So, you just hanging out or what?”
The Ladybird drifted in lazy circles just over her head. She watched it in fascination. It had been years since the Ladybird had visited without giving council. Not since she was a child. Not since she had learned to deal with being alone. Still, seeing it again… it was comforting.
She stood and put a teapot on to boil and pulled out her favorite chai tea. She then opened her fridge and scowled. There was next to nothing left in the house. She knew she should go shopping. She had some money left over from her last commission, building a customized security program for a local bank, but she wondered if she wanted to eat enough to take the time to walk to the market.
The teapot began to whistle before she stopped staring at the racks of the fridge and she prepared her tea. The Ladybird sat on the rim of her cup and seemed to send her a knowing look. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m allowed to be lazy some days,” she rebutted. The Ladybird flicked its wings. Her scowl deepened. “I will not be guilt-tripped by a bug, magic or not.”
She turned to her cupboard and placed her creamer on the counter. She moved a few cans of vegetables aside and grunted. She placed a cover over her tea and put it in the microwave. She then slipped on her jacket and headed for the door. The Ladybird followed.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m out of honey. It’s not because of you.”
The Ladybird flicked its wings again.
She walked quickly toward the market, the Ladybird perched on her shoulder. She glanced at people as she passed. She always looked in their eyes, wondering if any of them would see what she did. Glance at the Ladybird. But they never did. Most didn’t even look at her.
The market was small, but she had always loved open markets. She scanned the carts and stands until she spotted her favorite dealer. She glanced through the jars of honey and pulled out a jar of orange blossom honey imported from the United States. She smiled. It had been ages.
She paid the vendor and turned to leave, wondering if her tea might still be warm, when the Ladybird flew off her shoulder and deeper into the market. She watched it go and cautiously followed, tucking the honey into her coat pocket.
She spotted the Ladybird out of the corner of her eye and continued to follow. She glanced around at the crowds, searching for anything suspicious, but the Ladybird was flying slowly and silently. She wondered, briefly, if it even wanted her to follow.
Suddenly, the Ladybird zoomed to the side and landed on a nearby produce stand, perching on a pile of strawberries. She ran and reached out for it, but as her fingers touched it, it disappeared and another hand brushed against hers. She pulled back and glanced up. Her heart began to beat faster. She knew this woman. She knew her face. Her voice.
“Strawberry?” The woman pushed her designer sunglasses up onto her head.
“You can have them,” she muttered.
“No, no, you’re Strawberry, right? From Brazil? Remember me? Darlin’?” The woman chuckled. “Stupid nicknames, huh? But I never learned your real name.” Strawberry pursed her lips into a tight line, glaring a bit. Darlin’ laughed. “Yeah, it’s you.”
Strawberry spun around and walked away. She barely realized how quickly she was walking.
“Hey, wait!” Darlin’ called. Strawberry glanced back and felt her face twist into a look of incredulousness. The woman was following her.
“I don’t appreciate being followed,” she announced as Darlin’ caught up with her. Darlin’ chuckled.
“This fell out of your pocket.”
She held out the jar of honey. Strawberry took it cautiously, fighting a slight blush.
“Thank you,” she muttered and continued to walk away.
“No problem,” Darlin’ stated, keeping stride with her. Strawberry glared.
“I still don’t appreciate being followed.”
“You wouldn’t want to go for something to eat, would you?”
Strawberry’s eyes grew wide again. “Did I give you any indication that I would?”
“No.”
“I’m busy.”
“With what?” Strawberry ignored her. “Does it have to do with the honey?” Darlin’ grinned and Strawberry rolled her eyes.
“Yes. Every week I cover myself with it and dance naked in my garden to attract bees.”
Darlin’ walked into a food stand.
“Really?”
“No.”
“I hear honey’s good for the skin.”
Strawberry whirled around and crossed her arms over her chest. “Darlin’, I don’t know what you want from me or what you are doing in France, but I can assure you I am completely uninterested. You did good work in Brazil. I’m glad you were on our team. But that hardly makes us buddies. Now, I am going home and I would appreciate it if you would not follow me.”
“I’m staying two blocks from here in an apartment over the bakery.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t care less,” Strawberry grumbled and turned away, heading home once more. Darlin’ didn’t follow.
Strawberry reached her home. The Ladybird was perched next to the microwave.
“I didn’t want to see her again,” she grunted as she pulled out her tea, huffed that it had gotten cold, and proceeded to warm it.
The Ladybird settled on the counter as if resting, clearly unconcerned with what Strawberry did or didn’t want.
“I’m not going to look for her.”
The Ladybird’s wings rustled as if in a shrug.
“You’re ridiculous.”
The timer on the microwave beeped and she prepared her tea, grabbed her magazine and sat back on the couch. She glanced over at the counter. The Ladybird was gone. Strawberry shrugged and sipped her tea, licking a line of undissolved honey off her top lip. She suddenly had a craving for scones.
In the silence of the apartment, she saw a flicker of spotted wings. She smiled.
“Still ridiculous,” she muttered and finished her tea.
Enjoy.
~*~
She unlocked the door and stepped into the little studio apartment. She knocked the door shut with her foot and tossed her coat and backpack on the floor. One strap of her backpack was broken. There was blood along one sleeve.
She walked to her sink, her worn high-tops making a soft scuffing sound with each step, and rubbed the blood off her knuckles, stretching her hand a few times to try to shake out the ache from the blow. She sighed and ran her hands over the edge of the sink, skimming her thumb along a chip in the countertop. She watched the water running, the blood floating for an instant like a ribbon of scarlet before dissolving and swirling down the drain. She ran her hands under the water and then over her face, taking a light breath before shutting the water off and turning around. She grabbed a copy of the latest issue of Scientific America off a bookshelf she had made from cinderblocks and abandoned wood and stretched out along her couch, avoiding the spring sticking out of the far cushion.
She glanced through the articles, pausing over a feature piece on the new Jack technology. She read quickly, but the words seemed to flow past her eyes without any meaning. She couldn’t concentrate. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. She could see his face when she closed her eyes. She didn’t know who he had been. He didn’t seem crazy or even particularly violent. He would never have shot her like he had threatened. He wasn’t even holding the gun correctly. But he had touched her. Grabbed her arm. And she did not like to be touched.
She laid the magazine on her stomach and stared up at the ceiling, her hands behind her head. She ran her fingers distractedly through her short blonde hair. It was a curious thing, the decision to run or to fight. She closed her eyes and slipped back without wanting to. Without even thinking.
The memory came through the eyes of a child. Her eyes. She couldn’t remember faces or even voices. Everything was black and white, clouded with a child’s lack of understanding. But she remembered little things. The color of the man’s shoes, shiny and black like the toy beetles Jerry had been given at the fair. She remembered how the office woman smelt: like cheap lavender perfume and french fries. The magazines on the office side-table had mazes on them that she sat and traced with her finger while the adults spoke. She remembered the feeling of hope when she had been told someone wanted to adopt her.
She had been so young and naïve. Too innocent to see what was going on around her. She refused to think of what could have happened if she hadn’t been warned.
She opened her eyes and looked up. The Ladybird was hovering over her head. She smiled softly.
“No one to save?” she muttered. The Ladybird didn’t whisper anything. But in its silence she had her answer. “Good, then.” She sat up and sighed. “So, you just hanging out or what?”
The Ladybird drifted in lazy circles just over her head. She watched it in fascination. It had been years since the Ladybird had visited without giving council. Not since she was a child. Not since she had learned to deal with being alone. Still, seeing it again… it was comforting.
She stood and put a teapot on to boil and pulled out her favorite chai tea. She then opened her fridge and scowled. There was next to nothing left in the house. She knew she should go shopping. She had some money left over from her last commission, building a customized security program for a local bank, but she wondered if she wanted to eat enough to take the time to walk to the market.
The teapot began to whistle before she stopped staring at the racks of the fridge and she prepared her tea. The Ladybird sat on the rim of her cup and seemed to send her a knowing look. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’m allowed to be lazy some days,” she rebutted. The Ladybird flicked its wings. Her scowl deepened. “I will not be guilt-tripped by a bug, magic or not.”
She turned to her cupboard and placed her creamer on the counter. She moved a few cans of vegetables aside and grunted. She placed a cover over her tea and put it in the microwave. She then slipped on her jacket and headed for the door. The Ladybird followed.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m out of honey. It’s not because of you.”
The Ladybird flicked its wings again.
She walked quickly toward the market, the Ladybird perched on her shoulder. She glanced at people as she passed. She always looked in their eyes, wondering if any of them would see what she did. Glance at the Ladybird. But they never did. Most didn’t even look at her.
The market was small, but she had always loved open markets. She scanned the carts and stands until she spotted her favorite dealer. She glanced through the jars of honey and pulled out a jar of orange blossom honey imported from the United States. She smiled. It had been ages.
She paid the vendor and turned to leave, wondering if her tea might still be warm, when the Ladybird flew off her shoulder and deeper into the market. She watched it go and cautiously followed, tucking the honey into her coat pocket.
She spotted the Ladybird out of the corner of her eye and continued to follow. She glanced around at the crowds, searching for anything suspicious, but the Ladybird was flying slowly and silently. She wondered, briefly, if it even wanted her to follow.
Suddenly, the Ladybird zoomed to the side and landed on a nearby produce stand, perching on a pile of strawberries. She ran and reached out for it, but as her fingers touched it, it disappeared and another hand brushed against hers. She pulled back and glanced up. Her heart began to beat faster. She knew this woman. She knew her face. Her voice.
“Strawberry?” The woman pushed her designer sunglasses up onto her head.
“You can have them,” she muttered.
“No, no, you’re Strawberry, right? From Brazil? Remember me? Darlin’?” The woman chuckled. “Stupid nicknames, huh? But I never learned your real name.” Strawberry pursed her lips into a tight line, glaring a bit. Darlin’ laughed. “Yeah, it’s you.”
Strawberry spun around and walked away. She barely realized how quickly she was walking.
“Hey, wait!” Darlin’ called. Strawberry glanced back and felt her face twist into a look of incredulousness. The woman was following her.
“I don’t appreciate being followed,” she announced as Darlin’ caught up with her. Darlin’ chuckled.
“This fell out of your pocket.”
She held out the jar of honey. Strawberry took it cautiously, fighting a slight blush.
“Thank you,” she muttered and continued to walk away.
“No problem,” Darlin’ stated, keeping stride with her. Strawberry glared.
“I still don’t appreciate being followed.”
“You wouldn’t want to go for something to eat, would you?”
Strawberry’s eyes grew wide again. “Did I give you any indication that I would?”
“No.”
“I’m busy.”
“With what?” Strawberry ignored her. “Does it have to do with the honey?” Darlin’ grinned and Strawberry rolled her eyes.
“Yes. Every week I cover myself with it and dance naked in my garden to attract bees.”
Darlin’ walked into a food stand.
“Really?”
“No.”
“I hear honey’s good for the skin.”
Strawberry whirled around and crossed her arms over her chest. “Darlin’, I don’t know what you want from me or what you are doing in France, but I can assure you I am completely uninterested. You did good work in Brazil. I’m glad you were on our team. But that hardly makes us buddies. Now, I am going home and I would appreciate it if you would not follow me.”
“I’m staying two blocks from here in an apartment over the bakery.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t care less,” Strawberry grumbled and turned away, heading home once more. Darlin’ didn’t follow.
Strawberry reached her home. The Ladybird was perched next to the microwave.
“I didn’t want to see her again,” she grunted as she pulled out her tea, huffed that it had gotten cold, and proceeded to warm it.
The Ladybird settled on the counter as if resting, clearly unconcerned with what Strawberry did or didn’t want.
“I’m not going to look for her.”
The Ladybird’s wings rustled as if in a shrug.
“You’re ridiculous.”
The timer on the microwave beeped and she prepared her tea, grabbed her magazine and sat back on the couch. She glanced over at the counter. The Ladybird was gone. Strawberry shrugged and sipped her tea, licking a line of undissolved honey off her top lip. She suddenly had a craving for scones.
In the silence of the apartment, she saw a flicker of spotted wings. She smiled.
“Still ridiculous,” she muttered and finished her tea.
