Post by Shipfish on Sept 1, 2012 17:40:42 GMT -6
He sighed.
The present was dumb.
But he couldn't think of anything else.
The dark red rose, more of a rosebud, lay on the kitchem table. Attached to the thorny stem was a note on light purple stationary. It was handwritten, though he knew his handwriting was terrible. Instead of using a ribbon to attach it to the flower, he had impaled a corner of the papery rectangle to an especially fearsome thorn. He thought it was rather less of an issue to separate the note and the flower that way.
His sigh turned into a grimace. Reaching out, he picked up the rose and brought the bloom to his nose. He couldn't smell a thing, curse the idiot who told him this was the most pleasingly scented rose ever bred. The bad thoughts centered on the rose was beginning to make it quiver, slightly.
He looked at the offending bud.
The liar who had sold him the flower had said the rose would most likely bloom in the day that he had waited to give it to her. It obviously had not.
A corner of one petal had peeled away from the main clump. Wondering, for a second, he reached with his mind and pulled the petal ever so carefully open. With a little tinkering, the petal looked as if it had bloomed open naturally. Before his thoughts even consciously turned to opening the rest of the flower, the bloom unfolded and spread wide. Now he could smell that fragrance the rose-grower had spoken of.
And it was a lovely scent. It was strong, but dainty. Like her.
He forced all the air out of the tiny kitchen in the living room, a slight breeze ruffling his hair as the air from the hallway flowed in. He also pushed the scent to the bedroom, so it would suffuse the newly-laundered sheets.
He had been unconsciously holding the flower up and floating in the air, so he let it drop, catching it before the bloom could compress against the counter. One of the smaller but sharper thorns pierced his finger. A tiny spot of red welled up on his dark skin. He casually reached over to the roll of disposable towels and wiped his finger there. The tiny red stain was inconspicious on the patterned paper towels she had bought with a coupon.
He heard her car's locking beep and scrambled out of the kitchen, going into the hallway. Peeking around the doorframe, he quickly pushed his seat back in, careful not to let it squeak on the floor, and arranged the rose to look magnificent as a slightly limp rose could.
He heard the unlocking of the front door, but didn't hear her open or close it. He didn't hear her walking into the kitchen either, but the light touch of her mind's presence was distinguishable enough. He wanted so badly to peek around and see what she was looking at but he could not without revealing himself prematurely.
He had forgotten exactly why he was hiding but that was completely fine.
There was a very slight noise as she set down her bag, and a tiny little squeak as she pulled back a chair at the counter. A few seconds later, a contented sigh.
"Vrael, come on out. Thank you for the rosse."
Vrael did, and he saw his love had her hand clutched loosely but possessive around the thorny stem, her face beaming, her nose bowed to sense the flower's fragrance more closely. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his one arm over his chest to hang near his other hip, something he had a wont to do. It was like crossing his arms in triumph.
As she inhaled deeply again and smiled at him, he felt the smallest of grins hover on his lips. He had done well.
She looked at the paper that was lying on the table, she had taken it off to bring the blossom to her nose. It read: "Skaskhueen. I remembered you." For a second she couldn't quite take her eyes off the paper, as happy as she was to see it. Sashueen looked up to him when she could, leaning against the door to take his weight off the bad leg, something he didn't even do consciously. And the arm draped over his torso, around to settle on his other hip. And that tiny, lovely, asymmetrical smile.
"T-thank you. It meanss a lot to me." She managed to force that out of her mouth before turning to smell the rose again. He remembered, Vrael remembered. No one else.
He came to her, half-walking, half-gliding. "Vhat... Are you skad?" His voice was puzzled. His hand was on hers immediately, soothing, reassuring.
She shook her head. She feared she might cry, but more out of happiness than sadness. Perhaps a peculiar mix of both. "No, no, not at all..."
"But you skhake." His hand drifted to her shoulder, and she realized she was indeed shaking a little. With an effort of will, she quit trembling, and set the note back on the counter.
He grabbed her hand when she put the slip of clean purple stationary on the table. He tangled their fingers together, and leaned down to see her eyes. Seeing this, she lifted her face and smiled at him. "You remember me." It was simple, as sentences go, but loaded for her.
"I do. I do." Vrael was smiling that tiny smile again.
Sashueen could do nothing but stand to embrace him in thanks.
The present was dumb.
But he couldn't think of anything else.
The dark red rose, more of a rosebud, lay on the kitchem table. Attached to the thorny stem was a note on light purple stationary. It was handwritten, though he knew his handwriting was terrible. Instead of using a ribbon to attach it to the flower, he had impaled a corner of the papery rectangle to an especially fearsome thorn. He thought it was rather less of an issue to separate the note and the flower that way.
His sigh turned into a grimace. Reaching out, he picked up the rose and brought the bloom to his nose. He couldn't smell a thing, curse the idiot who told him this was the most pleasingly scented rose ever bred. The bad thoughts centered on the rose was beginning to make it quiver, slightly.
He looked at the offending bud.
The liar who had sold him the flower had said the rose would most likely bloom in the day that he had waited to give it to her. It obviously had not.
A corner of one petal had peeled away from the main clump. Wondering, for a second, he reached with his mind and pulled the petal ever so carefully open. With a little tinkering, the petal looked as if it had bloomed open naturally. Before his thoughts even consciously turned to opening the rest of the flower, the bloom unfolded and spread wide. Now he could smell that fragrance the rose-grower had spoken of.
And it was a lovely scent. It was strong, but dainty. Like her.
He forced all the air out of the tiny kitchen in the living room, a slight breeze ruffling his hair as the air from the hallway flowed in. He also pushed the scent to the bedroom, so it would suffuse the newly-laundered sheets.
He had been unconsciously holding the flower up and floating in the air, so he let it drop, catching it before the bloom could compress against the counter. One of the smaller but sharper thorns pierced his finger. A tiny spot of red welled up on his dark skin. He casually reached over to the roll of disposable towels and wiped his finger there. The tiny red stain was inconspicious on the patterned paper towels she had bought with a coupon.
He heard her car's locking beep and scrambled out of the kitchen, going into the hallway. Peeking around the doorframe, he quickly pushed his seat back in, careful not to let it squeak on the floor, and arranged the rose to look magnificent as a slightly limp rose could.
He heard the unlocking of the front door, but didn't hear her open or close it. He didn't hear her walking into the kitchen either, but the light touch of her mind's presence was distinguishable enough. He wanted so badly to peek around and see what she was looking at but he could not without revealing himself prematurely.
He had forgotten exactly why he was hiding but that was completely fine.
There was a very slight noise as she set down her bag, and a tiny little squeak as she pulled back a chair at the counter. A few seconds later, a contented sigh.
"Vrael, come on out. Thank you for the rosse."
Vrael did, and he saw his love had her hand clutched loosely but possessive around the thorny stem, her face beaming, her nose bowed to sense the flower's fragrance more closely. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his one arm over his chest to hang near his other hip, something he had a wont to do. It was like crossing his arms in triumph.
As she inhaled deeply again and smiled at him, he felt the smallest of grins hover on his lips. He had done well.
She looked at the paper that was lying on the table, she had taken it off to bring the blossom to her nose. It read: "Skaskhueen. I remembered you." For a second she couldn't quite take her eyes off the paper, as happy as she was to see it. Sashueen looked up to him when she could, leaning against the door to take his weight off the bad leg, something he didn't even do consciously. And the arm draped over his torso, around to settle on his other hip. And that tiny, lovely, asymmetrical smile.
"T-thank you. It meanss a lot to me." She managed to force that out of her mouth before turning to smell the rose again. He remembered, Vrael remembered. No one else.
He came to her, half-walking, half-gliding. "Vhat... Are you skad?" His voice was puzzled. His hand was on hers immediately, soothing, reassuring.
She shook her head. She feared she might cry, but more out of happiness than sadness. Perhaps a peculiar mix of both. "No, no, not at all..."
"But you skhake." His hand drifted to her shoulder, and she realized she was indeed shaking a little. With an effort of will, she quit trembling, and set the note back on the counter.
He grabbed her hand when she put the slip of clean purple stationary on the table. He tangled their fingers together, and leaned down to see her eyes. Seeing this, she lifted her face and smiled at him. "You remember me." It was simple, as sentences go, but loaded for her.
"I do. I do." Vrael was smiling that tiny smile again.
Sashueen could do nothing but stand to embrace him in thanks.