Post by Clementine on Sept 21, 2014 19:50:28 GMT -8
The letter had come rather unexpectedly. Sunshine didn’t write them very much. After the Marquis had sent to him about the Mouth she’d checked the papers every day hoping one would come. It was hard to characterize exactly how unpleasant that ritual really was. There’s a sickenin’ feeling that happens in your stomach when you’re betrayed by someone you trust. It’s like you’re back to bein’ one-ah the kine moanin’ about bad clams at a dinner party.
After he was put to ground she spent more days then she would care to mention in that room with him. Sound doesn’t really travel much in the rooms downstairs, which is probably for the best. The amount of screaming she did and kickin’ at that damn box didn’t make her look particularly dignified. A few times she caught herself crying about it and before she realized what she was doin’ she had the rats on ‘im again.
It wasn’t really even about the Poke bein’ dead anymore, it was about picturing the Mouth’s face on that rotten body. She kept worrying that Sunshine would ask her to do the honors. The idea that she might have to kill her own fool brother made her so mad that she almost fantasized about it.
Then that letter finally came. It was agony to read; longer then it shoulda been. Sunshine went on for a long time about what a fool the Mouth was and how much better the new one was gonna be. But then in the last line he threw in the detail that on this account he was technically innocent. A little footnote that meant everything.
She woke up the Marquis and showed ‘im. She didn’t even hear what he said, just sat down and waited next to the box while the rest of them took their sweet time gettin’ outta bed. The waitin’ made her feel sick again and a sense of warm dream piled onto the joy. She pictured fallin’ into his arms like she use to and makin’ everything finally right, but then she remembered the rats eatin’ away at his face. Then before she realized it e’eryone was crowded around and the Marquis was pullin’ the stake out. He groaned and opened his eyes, lookin’ straight at her. She started to smile and move toward him.
And then he flinched.
It wasn’t even that big, really, but somehow it brought up all the bile again and all she could see was his throat.
“Woman,” he called her.
As a word it wasn’t so different from girl or sister, but it changed e’erything. It took her a few months to sort out all the feelin’s enough to realize she owed him a sorry of sorts. She couldn’t say it to his face so she carved it on a rock and left it next to his door. When she found it in the nets a few days later that was it for a while. When he finally approached her she practically spat in his face.
They didn’t let it interfere with business a’ course. One exasperated sign from the Marquis was enough to make them both behave. The fire kept burning out then kept getting relit again by what were probably mole hills, in the end. It took years before the last of the bile dried up. One day there was a box sittin’ by her door with an apology in his hand. Inside was a small tortoise-shell hair comb that she used to use back in the school. She had told the Mouth he could hawk it once, but there it was a hundred years later. Somethin’ about running her finger along the filigree made her swell with nostalgia.
All of a sudden it dawned on her how to make everything right. She knocked on his door and then whispered softly a name she had sworn she would never tell him.
“Kenneth”
Do two betrayals make a right? Probably not, but they may make a truce.
After he was put to ground she spent more days then she would care to mention in that room with him. Sound doesn’t really travel much in the rooms downstairs, which is probably for the best. The amount of screaming she did and kickin’ at that damn box didn’t make her look particularly dignified. A few times she caught herself crying about it and before she realized what she was doin’ she had the rats on ‘im again.
It wasn’t really even about the Poke bein’ dead anymore, it was about picturing the Mouth’s face on that rotten body. She kept worrying that Sunshine would ask her to do the honors. The idea that she might have to kill her own fool brother made her so mad that she almost fantasized about it.
Then that letter finally came. It was agony to read; longer then it shoulda been. Sunshine went on for a long time about what a fool the Mouth was and how much better the new one was gonna be. But then in the last line he threw in the detail that on this account he was technically innocent. A little footnote that meant everything.
She woke up the Marquis and showed ‘im. She didn’t even hear what he said, just sat down and waited next to the box while the rest of them took their sweet time gettin’ outta bed. The waitin’ made her feel sick again and a sense of warm dream piled onto the joy. She pictured fallin’ into his arms like she use to and makin’ everything finally right, but then she remembered the rats eatin’ away at his face. Then before she realized it e’eryone was crowded around and the Marquis was pullin’ the stake out. He groaned and opened his eyes, lookin’ straight at her. She started to smile and move toward him.
And then he flinched.
It wasn’t even that big, really, but somehow it brought up all the bile again and all she could see was his throat.
“Woman,” he called her.
As a word it wasn’t so different from girl or sister, but it changed e’erything. It took her a few months to sort out all the feelin’s enough to realize she owed him a sorry of sorts. She couldn’t say it to his face so she carved it on a rock and left it next to his door. When she found it in the nets a few days later that was it for a while. When he finally approached her she practically spat in his face.
They didn’t let it interfere with business a’ course. One exasperated sign from the Marquis was enough to make them both behave. The fire kept burning out then kept getting relit again by what were probably mole hills, in the end. It took years before the last of the bile dried up. One day there was a box sittin’ by her door with an apology in his hand. Inside was a small tortoise-shell hair comb that she used to use back in the school. She had told the Mouth he could hawk it once, but there it was a hundred years later. Somethin’ about running her finger along the filigree made her swell with nostalgia.
All of a sudden it dawned on her how to make everything right. She knocked on his door and then whispered softly a name she had sworn she would never tell him.
“Kenneth”
Do two betrayals make a right? Probably not, but they may make a truce.
