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psalm_onethirtyoneDidn't really get anything written to-day, although am unperturbed by it. To-morrow, we shall write Combeferre/Enjolras for the many people who asked for it.
Also, to-day was my last day of Scum Club. Somehow, I am fantastically relieved by this. >_> That place is not good for my self-esteem, or rather, lack thereof. Me messing myself up over people.
So instead, I drabbled a little, played lots of Scarlet Pimpernel, and generally did not many things. Oh, but I did clean my bathroom, since it's going to be Daniel's bathroom while he visits.
And... um...
We aren't going to raise chicks this year, but we will again next year, and perhaps Mum shall get her geese next year.
And, if anyone cares: (Twas for Scum Club)
The Wind and the Rain
Tommy was sitting on the doorstep of his house, watching the people go by. Mostly they ignored him, which was rather natural; he was only a non-descript boy of fifteen with his hair worn too long, and mostly the people were far too preoccupied.
His foster father, William, was inside, wrapped in a blanket with a mug of tea. Tommy wasn't all that fond of tea, and so he was avoiding the prospect of having any.
He was in his shirtsleeves, without a coat, despite the cold. His eyes were bright from it, and his breath came out in white clouds. He breathed with his mouth open just to see the white come out and disappear into the air.
Suddenly, he observed a boy about his age limping down the streets, looking highly amused. The boy had a stick with him, and he was casting out at rocks on the street with it. Tommy was intrigued. There was also a swirl of snowflakes that seemed to belong only to the boy, for no one else was being snowed on.
As he came closer, Tommy could hear him singing.
"Hey Robin, jolly Robin, tell me how thy lady does!"
Tommy blinked. The boy looked over at him and grinned. "Hello. Do you like my snow? Would you like some? No two snowflakes are alike, did you know that?"
"Of course," said Tommy scornfully. "Everyone learns that in first grade."
"Do they remember it in college?" The boy raised his eyebrows. "I am gone, sir, and anon, sir, I'll be with you again," he sang, laughing, and holding out his hands for the snowflakes. Tommy realised his palms were bandaged in soft, grey cloth. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a snowflake? I've got thousands, and they're all different."
"I'm sure."
"Well, would you like a flower? I peddle flowers, and rainbows when people buy."
"Are you a door-to-door salesman?" Tommy asked, a little interested.
"God, no! Not at all. Faith, I'm just a peddler. Would you like a rainbow?"
"No," said Tommy, feeling irritated. "Anyway, you can't sell rainbows."
"I can."
"Liar."
The boy raised his eyebrows again, grinning wider than ever. He flipped up the ends of his scarf, and knocked a rock against Tommy's shoes with his stick. "Not I, sir. You'll regret it, I suppose. It's always good to have a rainbow around. Well, if you don't want me, I'll be off." He began limping up the street, singing again. "When that I was and a little tiny boy, with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain; a foolish thing was but a toy, for the rain it raineth every day..."
Tommy went inside. William was still sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in his blanket.
"Hello, Tommy."
"I just met a crazy guy. It was weird."
"What do you mean?" William frowned.
"Oh, this guy tried to get me to buy snowflakes and rainbows. And he kept singing stuff, too."
"Did he show you the rainbows?"
"No; didn't let him."
William got up creakily (his arthritis was starting to bother him quite a lot) and wandered over to a cupboard drawer. "I think I know who you're talking about. He must have been very old when you met him, mustn't he? He was about eighty when I saw him."
"Uh, nope. He was my age."
"Hmm," said William, unperturbed. "Ah, here it is." He held up a photograph of a rainbow over a cliff, with a river running rapids beneath it. He smiled rather. "For thirty-five cents, a rainbow. Not quite as good as the real thing, but it's nice, isn't it?"
Tommy tilted his head. "Oh, is that all? Well, he was still crazy. And he kicked a rock at me."
William snorted softly. "Go run after him and see if he still sells harpstrings. Here's a dollar. Go on, run. I would if I could."
Feeling a little exasperated, Tommy took the money, and headed back out. As he did, he heard William behind him in the house, singing, in a scratchy, off-key voice:
"But when I came to man's estate, with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain; 'gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gates, for the rain it raineth every day..."
Also, to-day was my last day of Scum Club. Somehow, I am fantastically relieved by this. >_> That place is not good for my self-esteem, or rather, lack thereof. Me messing myself up over people.
So instead, I drabbled a little, played lots of Scarlet Pimpernel, and generally did not many things. Oh, but I did clean my bathroom, since it's going to be Daniel's bathroom while he visits.
And... um...
We aren't going to raise chicks this year, but we will again next year, and perhaps Mum shall get her geese next year.
And, if anyone cares: (Twas for Scum Club)
The Wind and the Rain
Tommy was sitting on the doorstep of his house, watching the people go by. Mostly they ignored him, which was rather natural; he was only a non-descript boy of fifteen with his hair worn too long, and mostly the people were far too preoccupied.
His foster father, William, was inside, wrapped in a blanket with a mug of tea. Tommy wasn't all that fond of tea, and so he was avoiding the prospect of having any.
He was in his shirtsleeves, without a coat, despite the cold. His eyes were bright from it, and his breath came out in white clouds. He breathed with his mouth open just to see the white come out and disappear into the air.
Suddenly, he observed a boy about his age limping down the streets, looking highly amused. The boy had a stick with him, and he was casting out at rocks on the street with it. Tommy was intrigued. There was also a swirl of snowflakes that seemed to belong only to the boy, for no one else was being snowed on.
As he came closer, Tommy could hear him singing.
"Hey Robin, jolly Robin, tell me how thy lady does!"
Tommy blinked. The boy looked over at him and grinned. "Hello. Do you like my snow? Would you like some? No two snowflakes are alike, did you know that?"
"Of course," said Tommy scornfully. "Everyone learns that in first grade."
"Do they remember it in college?" The boy raised his eyebrows. "I am gone, sir, and anon, sir, I'll be with you again," he sang, laughing, and holding out his hands for the snowflakes. Tommy realised his palms were bandaged in soft, grey cloth. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a snowflake? I've got thousands, and they're all different."
"I'm sure."
"Well, would you like a flower? I peddle flowers, and rainbows when people buy."
"Are you a door-to-door salesman?" Tommy asked, a little interested.
"God, no! Not at all. Faith, I'm just a peddler. Would you like a rainbow?"
"No," said Tommy, feeling irritated. "Anyway, you can't sell rainbows."
"I can."
"Liar."
The boy raised his eyebrows again, grinning wider than ever. He flipped up the ends of his scarf, and knocked a rock against Tommy's shoes with his stick. "Not I, sir. You'll regret it, I suppose. It's always good to have a rainbow around. Well, if you don't want me, I'll be off." He began limping up the street, singing again. "When that I was and a little tiny boy, with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain; a foolish thing was but a toy, for the rain it raineth every day..."
Tommy went inside. William was still sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in his blanket.
"Hello, Tommy."
"I just met a crazy guy. It was weird."
"What do you mean?" William frowned.
"Oh, this guy tried to get me to buy snowflakes and rainbows. And he kept singing stuff, too."
"Did he show you the rainbows?"
"No; didn't let him."
William got up creakily (his arthritis was starting to bother him quite a lot) and wandered over to a cupboard drawer. "I think I know who you're talking about. He must have been very old when you met him, mustn't he? He was about eighty when I saw him."
"Uh, nope. He was my age."
"Hmm," said William, unperturbed. "Ah, here it is." He held up a photograph of a rainbow over a cliff, with a river running rapids beneath it. He smiled rather. "For thirty-five cents, a rainbow. Not quite as good as the real thing, but it's nice, isn't it?"
Tommy tilted his head. "Oh, is that all? Well, he was still crazy. And he kicked a rock at me."
William snorted softly. "Go run after him and see if he still sells harpstrings. Here's a dollar. Go on, run. I would if I could."
Feeling a little exasperated, Tommy took the money, and headed back out. As he did, he heard William behind him in the house, singing, in a scratchy, off-key voice:
"But when I came to man's estate, with a hey, ho, the wind and the rain; 'gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gates, for the rain it raineth every day..."
