butter pecan with flavour of the day and whipped cream
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Steady
Rating: G
Challenge: FOTD: ambisinister, Butter Pecan #29: steady
Toppings/Extras: whipped cream
Wordcount: 594
Summary: Siobhan Tynker’s usual wake-up call arrives.
Notes: More of the same! Ambisinister: Clumsy or unskilful with both hands.
Siobhan Tynker never got to finish her dreams these days-every morning she woke to the same thumping impact on her makeshift bunk and then continual bouncing until she forced her eyes open. Twisting like a corkscrew under the thin blankets, she stretched shudderingly and then swiped an arm out at her excitable son.
“Quiet down, yer little snotrag,” she said, rubbing her fists into her eyes and finally opening them. “Jesus, yer’ll be the death of me.”
“Mam,” he said, kicking his legs out and landing heavily on his backside with an alarming wheeze from the bunk. At the grand age of four he already thought he owned the place. “Today?”
Siobhan sighed loudly and ran a finger through her blonde hair, frowning at how knotty it was.
“No, Cobby, not today,” she said, wondering how in the world he chose the days to become convinced his father would come to visit. He seemed to choose them utterly at random; all of a sudden he would wake up one morning and know for certain that his old man would be arriving within the hour.
“’Ow d’yer know?” he demanded, sprawling onto his front and then squirming across the bed. Before she could respond, he suddenly disappeared down the side of the bunk with a squawk, taking the blanket with him.
Pulling her nightdress down over her knees, Siobhan rolled her eyes.
“How’d I end up with such a lumberin’ little oaf of a boy?” she asked as she reached down the crack between the bed and the wall and fished him back up. The brown-haired child squiggled in her arms as she brushed hay from his hair.
He really was very unusually clumsy. Ever since he’d learned to stand he’d been falling over at every opportunity. The wild-haired boy was, to use her father’s words, abso-blinkin’-bloody-lutely useless. Most of the carnival brats earned their keep by juggling or stilt-walking or doing some manner of entertaining. Jacob couldn’t do any of those, not without causing a huge mess and making her the laughing stock of the whole camp.
The last time he’d visited-oh, perhaps a year ago now-Todd Graham had seen this as excellent news. “Aye, seaman’s legs,” he’d said with a wink. “He’ll be a fine sailor one day.”
“C’mere, maggot,” she said, grasping him by the skinny wrists and hauling him out of bed. “Go get yerself washed up at the waterin’ pipe, and don’t yer come back ‘til yer ears are sparklin’. Got it?”
Jacob began making his typical dismayed noises at the situation. Ordering him to stop whinging, Siobhan frogmarched him out of the room and then out of the wagon. She watched him scuttle away across the dew-heavy grass, whitish morning light showing her the first stirrings of their camp. She closed the flimsy door behind him to blot the cold and tiptoed back towards her room, thankful that if any of her sisters had heard the commotion, they hadn’t seen fit to complain.
When Jacob had been born-a squalling, writhing, whimpering infant-Todd Graham had promised to her that once he was old enough to be workable, he’d take the boy onto his ship and teach him how to sail. Take him off of her hands, as it were. At the time, she’d been relieved at the thought of getting rid of her accidental baby.
Now she dreaded Todd’s visits and hated how eager Jacob was for them. Sure, he was a clumsy, troublemaking loudmouth-but she liked being the one that held him steady.
Title: Steady
Rating: G
Challenge: FOTD: ambisinister, Butter Pecan #29: steady
Toppings/Extras: whipped cream
Wordcount: 594
Summary: Siobhan Tynker’s usual wake-up call arrives.
Notes: More of the same! Ambisinister: Clumsy or unskilful with both hands.
Siobhan Tynker never got to finish her dreams these days-every morning she woke to the same thumping impact on her makeshift bunk and then continual bouncing until she forced her eyes open. Twisting like a corkscrew under the thin blankets, she stretched shudderingly and then swiped an arm out at her excitable son.
“Quiet down, yer little snotrag,” she said, rubbing her fists into her eyes and finally opening them. “Jesus, yer’ll be the death of me.”
“Mam,” he said, kicking his legs out and landing heavily on his backside with an alarming wheeze from the bunk. At the grand age of four he already thought he owned the place. “Today?”
Siobhan sighed loudly and ran a finger through her blonde hair, frowning at how knotty it was.
“No, Cobby, not today,” she said, wondering how in the world he chose the days to become convinced his father would come to visit. He seemed to choose them utterly at random; all of a sudden he would wake up one morning and know for certain that his old man would be arriving within the hour.
“’Ow d’yer know?” he demanded, sprawling onto his front and then squirming across the bed. Before she could respond, he suddenly disappeared down the side of the bunk with a squawk, taking the blanket with him.
Pulling her nightdress down over her knees, Siobhan rolled her eyes.
“How’d I end up with such a lumberin’ little oaf of a boy?” she asked as she reached down the crack between the bed and the wall and fished him back up. The brown-haired child squiggled in her arms as she brushed hay from his hair.
He really was very unusually clumsy. Ever since he’d learned to stand he’d been falling over at every opportunity. The wild-haired boy was, to use her father’s words, abso-blinkin’-bloody-lutely useless. Most of the carnival brats earned their keep by juggling or stilt-walking or doing some manner of entertaining. Jacob couldn’t do any of those, not without causing a huge mess and making her the laughing stock of the whole camp.
The last time he’d visited-oh, perhaps a year ago now-Todd Graham had seen this as excellent news. “Aye, seaman’s legs,” he’d said with a wink. “He’ll be a fine sailor one day.”
“C’mere, maggot,” she said, grasping him by the skinny wrists and hauling him out of bed. “Go get yerself washed up at the waterin’ pipe, and don’t yer come back ‘til yer ears are sparklin’. Got it?”
Jacob began making his typical dismayed noises at the situation. Ordering him to stop whinging, Siobhan frogmarched him out of the room and then out of the wagon. She watched him scuttle away across the dew-heavy grass, whitish morning light showing her the first stirrings of their camp. She closed the flimsy door behind him to blot the cold and tiptoed back towards her room, thankful that if any of her sisters had heard the commotion, they hadn’t seen fit to complain.
When Jacob had been born-a squalling, writhing, whimpering infant-Todd Graham had promised to her that once he was old enough to be workable, he’d take the boy onto his ship and teach him how to sail. Take him off of her hands, as it were. At the time, she’d been relieved at the thought of getting rid of her accidental baby.
Now she dreaded Todd’s visits and hated how eager Jacob was for them. Sure, he was a clumsy, troublemaking loudmouth-but she liked being the one that held him steady.