Hey, I wrote something! *boggles*
Hi, all. :) I really am alive. I don't have a house yet, but that may be rectified by next week. *cross fingers, says a prayer* And since my husband is off golfing, I thought I'd commandeer his work laptop and work on a little Abby/Sirius ficlet that won't leave me alone. With any luck, you might see the rest of it next spring. ;)
The very rough and un-betaed beginnings of "A Knock at the Door"...
Her arms contorted behind her back, battling an uncooperative zipper, Abigail Loomis scurried into her kitchen. A faint trace of smoke was beginning to rise from the oven, which was also making a noise to rival a sleep-deprived Banshee. Abby rolled her eyes at the sound of the new timer, a recent mail-order purchase from the back of Witch Weekly magazine. The screeches of the device were decidedly unpleasant, but after she had charred more than one dinner to cinders while preoccupied with her weaving or some other project, it had been a necessary recourse.
Giving one one last hearty yank on the zipper, Abby seized a pair of oven mitts and hurriedly pulled out the bubbling chicken and mushroom pie. Her shaking hands nearly deposited the dish on her shoes as she rushed to the table, but with one last burst of speed, she managed to place it down safely. Breathing deeply in relief, she removed the oven mitts and surveyed the sight. Her finest linen tablecloth. Rosmerta’s crystal candlesticks. Gleaming silver flatware. Her eyes darted to the clock above the mantle. Three minutes til seven. A smile began to grow upon Abby’s lips, developed before long into a full-fledged giddy grin. Any minute now, and he would be at the door. Any minute now, and…
Abby’s heart now began to race now racing for an entirely different reason, recalling their last meeting. She closed her eyes for a moment, savouring memories, but they soon flit back to the clock. Two minutes til seven.
Her hands seemed incapable of staying still, but Abby did not dare touch anything on the table. Rosmerta would never speak to her again if she knew that the candlesticks had almost met their doom in a tumble off the table. Instead, Abby pulled and tugged at the seams of her robes, trying to arrange the satin folds in the most becoming way possible. One minute til seven.
Though she had not voiced it aloud, Abby knew that her visitor might very be late. Such had often been the case over the course of their relationship, but it was usually with good reason. Still, there was a delectable thrill in anticipating his arrival, in imagining how the evening might carry out…
Abby’s eyes fluttered shut once more, but a sharp knock at the back door startled them open before her thoughts could go much further. Gasping in surprise, she grasped the edge of the table to steady her knees and then gave a small laugh. He was surprisingly punctual tonight, but then, perhaps she could understand his reasons. Her other hand flew one last time over her hair, smoothing back any stray wisps, but then she gave in and sped to the door, abandoning any attempt at composure. Biting her lower lip in pleasurable anticipation, Abby undid the lock, pulling the door open with a beaming smile. The expression lasted for but a short second, however - in fact, it swiftly turned to befuddlement as she viewed the man before her.
"Dad???"
The very rough and un-betaed beginnings of "A Knock at the Door"...
Her arms contorted behind her back, battling an uncooperative zipper, Abigail Loomis scurried into her kitchen. A faint trace of smoke was beginning to rise from the oven, which was also making a noise to rival a sleep-deprived Banshee. Abby rolled her eyes at the sound of the new timer, a recent mail-order purchase from the back of Witch Weekly magazine. The screeches of the device were decidedly unpleasant, but after she had charred more than one dinner to cinders while preoccupied with her weaving or some other project, it had been a necessary recourse.
Giving one one last hearty yank on the zipper, Abby seized a pair of oven mitts and hurriedly pulled out the bubbling chicken and mushroom pie. Her shaking hands nearly deposited the dish on her shoes as she rushed to the table, but with one last burst of speed, she managed to place it down safely. Breathing deeply in relief, she removed the oven mitts and surveyed the sight. Her finest linen tablecloth. Rosmerta’s crystal candlesticks. Gleaming silver flatware. Her eyes darted to the clock above the mantle. Three minutes til seven. A smile began to grow upon Abby’s lips, developed before long into a full-fledged giddy grin. Any minute now, and he would be at the door. Any minute now, and…
Abby’s heart now began to race now racing for an entirely different reason, recalling their last meeting. She closed her eyes for a moment, savouring memories, but they soon flit back to the clock. Two minutes til seven.
Her hands seemed incapable of staying still, but Abby did not dare touch anything on the table. Rosmerta would never speak to her again if she knew that the candlesticks had almost met their doom in a tumble off the table. Instead, Abby pulled and tugged at the seams of her robes, trying to arrange the satin folds in the most becoming way possible. One minute til seven.
Though she had not voiced it aloud, Abby knew that her visitor might very be late. Such had often been the case over the course of their relationship, but it was usually with good reason. Still, there was a delectable thrill in anticipating his arrival, in imagining how the evening might carry out…
Abby’s eyes fluttered shut once more, but a sharp knock at the back door startled them open before her thoughts could go much further. Gasping in surprise, she grasped the edge of the table to steady her knees and then gave a small laugh. He was surprisingly punctual tonight, but then, perhaps she could understand his reasons. Her other hand flew one last time over her hair, smoothing back any stray wisps, but then she gave in and sped to the door, abandoning any attempt at composure. Biting her lower lip in pleasurable anticipation, Abby undid the lock, pulling the door open with a beaming smile. The expression lasted for but a short second, however - in fact, it swiftly turned to befuddlement as she viewed the man before her.
"Dad???"