(no subject)
Why is it that when life seems so complex it all comes back to
It was eerie, this courtyard full of smiling statues. Or, perhaps they would have been smiling if they had been human. But they weren’t. At best they were a morbid caricature that did not quite hold up to real life. Their too-tall figures looked awkward and stretched as if someone had taken a normal person and pulled them until their limbs were no longer properly affixed to their joints. Standing in a slightly sloping posture in various places among otherwise innocuous flowers, they looked unsightly. It wasn’t that they were ugly-aside from the rounded chasms their mouths formed, which displayed perfectly triangle teeth.
The mid-afternoon sunlight which played cheerfully over these dull grey figures did little to warm the grisly stone or Becca’s fancy as she stared out at the rounded courtyard from behind the barred windows of the one story adobe styled ranch house.
“Ah really don’t see your need for tha drah-matic.” The cool southern voice drawled from somewhere not terribly far behind the pensive slayer. This was followed, in turn, by a punctuated sniff and a soft clinking of china. “They’ll either come or they won’t and there’s no need for yah ta worry your pretty lil’ head o’ver it. Now, have some tea.”
“I’m not waiting for anyone.” Jutting her chin upward with a stubborn air, Becca enunciated each word in an effort to stomp out the trances of a southern accent which might normally linger in her tone. She did not want this woman thinking they were anything alike. The very thought pulled the corners of her lips down further.
“If ya stick your bottom lip out any further you’ll step on it.” It was the absurdity of the statement that caused Becca to pivot on her heel more than anything else. Turning her back on the window she peered, nonplussed, at the middle-aged woman. With neatly coifed hair and black Capri pants with lime green margarita glasses on the bottoms of the cuffs, the woman was not what the younger woman expected. She, in fact, found it a bit odd that a woman who looked so much like most of the women in her family could be cavorting with zombies. Creepy.
“I’m not five.”
“Then stop acting like it. Sit.”
Exhaling a frustrated breath, Becca stomped the few paces to the vacant chair across from the woman and took it up. “Fine.” She huffed before lapsing into stony silence. But the woman didn’t seem to notice or care in the least. Scarcely had her bottom touched the seat had a cup of hot liquid been thrust into her hands.
“Don’t worry. It’s sweet. Ah just like ta serve it hot- tha flavour is a mite stronger tha’ way, don’tcha think? And it keeps more sugah that way. Ah don’t know how anyone can drink it straight, though. Ah mean, really! Imagine!” She prattled on leaving little room for response for Becca, not that the brunette offered any. Blinking, she clutched onto the tea cup as the woman’s gregarious nature blind-sided her.
“. . .um.” She began oh-so-eloquently, interrupting the woman mid-sentence as she had gone on to talk about how difficult it was to keep a dog in a house full of zombies. The woman smiled pleasantly at her guest.
“Yes, dear?”
“…am I just here for tea?”
“No, of course not. Don’t be silly.” A silvery laugh sounded from the woman as she waved her hand in an airy gesture of dismissal. “There’s cookies, too.” At the huntresses’ disgusted look an impish smile curls at the woman’s lips, briefly altering the otherwise benign expression she had been wearing. “Really, though. It isn’t mah place ta tell. Sunset’ll come soon enough. Our job is just ta wait.”
“Lovely.” She responded dryly.
Elsewhere entirely, the lovely young man followed behind Kathy in an almost Pepe la Pew sort of fashion with his arms folded neatly behind his back; always a few steps behind, just out of the reach of her fist. At least, that’s what it seemed like.
“You won’t catch up like this.” His voice was smooth and calm as it offered up fact without having the edge of one looking for confrontation. His green eyes were upon the young woman in front of him instead of on the horizon. She grunted a noncommittal answer. “You’re hurt. At least let me be of some help.”
It was eerie, this courtyard full of smiling statues. Or, perhaps they would have been smiling if they had been human. But they weren’t. At best they were a morbid caricature that did not quite hold up to real life. Their too-tall figures looked awkward and stretched as if someone had taken a normal person and pulled them until their limbs were no longer properly affixed to their joints. Standing in a slightly sloping posture in various places among otherwise innocuous flowers, they looked unsightly. It wasn’t that they were ugly-aside from the rounded chasms their mouths formed, which displayed perfectly triangle teeth.
The mid-afternoon sunlight which played cheerfully over these dull grey figures did little to warm the grisly stone or Becca’s fancy as she stared out at the rounded courtyard from behind the barred windows of the one story adobe styled ranch house.
“Ah really don’t see your need for tha drah-matic.” The cool southern voice drawled from somewhere not terribly far behind the pensive slayer. This was followed, in turn, by a punctuated sniff and a soft clinking of china. “They’ll either come or they won’t and there’s no need for yah ta worry your pretty lil’ head o’ver it. Now, have some tea.”
“I’m not waiting for anyone.” Jutting her chin upward with a stubborn air, Becca enunciated each word in an effort to stomp out the trances of a southern accent which might normally linger in her tone. She did not want this woman thinking they were anything alike. The very thought pulled the corners of her lips down further.
“If ya stick your bottom lip out any further you’ll step on it.” It was the absurdity of the statement that caused Becca to pivot on her heel more than anything else. Turning her back on the window she peered, nonplussed, at the middle-aged woman. With neatly coifed hair and black Capri pants with lime green margarita glasses on the bottoms of the cuffs, the woman was not what the younger woman expected. She, in fact, found it a bit odd that a woman who looked so much like most of the women in her family could be cavorting with zombies. Creepy.
“I’m not five.”
“Then stop acting like it. Sit.”
Exhaling a frustrated breath, Becca stomped the few paces to the vacant chair across from the woman and took it up. “Fine.” She huffed before lapsing into stony silence. But the woman didn’t seem to notice or care in the least. Scarcely had her bottom touched the seat had a cup of hot liquid been thrust into her hands.
“Don’t worry. It’s sweet. Ah just like ta serve it hot- tha flavour is a mite stronger tha’ way, don’tcha think? And it keeps more sugah that way. Ah don’t know how anyone can drink it straight, though. Ah mean, really! Imagine!” She prattled on leaving little room for response for Becca, not that the brunette offered any. Blinking, she clutched onto the tea cup as the woman’s gregarious nature blind-sided her.
“. . .um.” She began oh-so-eloquently, interrupting the woman mid-sentence as she had gone on to talk about how difficult it was to keep a dog in a house full of zombies. The woman smiled pleasantly at her guest.
“Yes, dear?”
“…am I just here for tea?”
“No, of course not. Don’t be silly.” A silvery laugh sounded from the woman as she waved her hand in an airy gesture of dismissal. “There’s cookies, too.” At the huntresses’ disgusted look an impish smile curls at the woman’s lips, briefly altering the otherwise benign expression she had been wearing. “Really, though. It isn’t mah place ta tell. Sunset’ll come soon enough. Our job is just ta wait.”
“Lovely.” She responded dryly.
Elsewhere entirely, the lovely young man followed behind Kathy in an almost Pepe la Pew sort of fashion with his arms folded neatly behind his back; always a few steps behind, just out of the reach of her fist. At least, that’s what it seemed like.
“You won’t catch up like this.” His voice was smooth and calm as it offered up fact without having the edge of one looking for confrontation. His green eyes were upon the young woman in front of him instead of on the horizon. She grunted a noncommittal answer. “You’re hurt. At least let me be of some help.”