Spindle might have grown an inch, but if anything Freida has grown--could it be?--almost graceful. The girl who stumbled around at the beginning of the school year is gone now, replaced by someone more at ease in her own skin. It seems having a real home does a Boggan body good, even if all the subsequent baking fills it out a tad. Already she has greeted the morning hour with pies; by this afternoon it will be cookies.
The afternoon is still far away.
For now, the scent of cinnamon precedes her, carried on her hands as she glides up behind her husband and wraps her arms around him. She presses her mouth to the curve of Spindle's one shoulder blade, images of the night before playing behind her eyes. That, at least, has not changed. There's time yet, before the oven timer will go off. Perhaps...
Freida's mouth twitches. There it is again, that look of his. With a little sigh, plans of naughtiness unravel, replaced by an all too frequent concern. "Are you at least going to tell me what it is?"
Spindle's free arm rests over one of Freida's, hand to hand. He closes his eyes and revels in the scent of cinnamon and flour, mixed with the faint scent of Freida's shampoo that he's always loved so. Is it actually her shampoo? Or does her hair smell like that no matter what? Not that it really fucking matters. He relaxes a tad further as she kisses his shoulder from behind. Doesn't matter one frellin' bit.
Her comment startles him out of his reverie a little. "What what is?"
"You had that far away 'something is fuckered and I can't figure out what it is' look. Usually that means you're about to fill our house with smoke again. Not that I can claim complete innocence," Freida says with a laugh, snuggling in once more. "That damn recipe of Willy's... You can scrimp on the butter, my ass. Can't believe you actually choked it down."
She pauses for a moment, listening to the quiet. Somewhere in the distance, a bird trills, the only sound rising from the last of the mist.
Another soft kiss the shoulder blade. "This is the point where you tell me the worrying is all in my head, Spin. You know the drill."
Spindle sounds off with something that's half of a raspberry and half of a snort. "What, the drill you love?" he teases. "As far as Willy's cholocate cake recipe? Shit, a little bit of ketsup and it was tolerable."
He shakes his head. "Different thing this time around, Freida. No smoke, nothing exploding, no bactine. It's just..."
It's quiet for a moment while he gropes for the words.
"It's just been so quiet out there." He waves his coffee mug as if to include the whole of the campus. "I mean, I like it quiet, keep the fucking roar to a dull minimum and all that, but... there's no goddamn life out there. No background noise. I know everyone went home for summer break, but where exactly did they go? Are they coming back? We really haven't heard from anyone since June, have we? It's like a ghosttown where even the geists have gone on bloody holiday."
He shrugs. "Call me meshuganah, but it'd be nice to see some folks... at least once in awhile."
Comments 7
The afternoon is still far away.
For now, the scent of cinnamon precedes her, carried on her hands as she glides up behind her husband and wraps her arms around him. She presses her mouth to the curve of Spindle's one shoulder blade, images of the night before playing behind her eyes. That, at least, has not changed. There's time yet, before the oven timer will go off. Perhaps...
Freida's mouth twitches. There it is again, that look of his. With a little sigh, plans of naughtiness unravel, replaced by an all too frequent concern. "Are you at least going to tell me what it is?"
Reply
Her comment startles him out of his reverie a little. "What what is?"
Reply
She pauses for a moment, listening to the quiet. Somewhere in the distance, a bird trills, the only sound rising from the last of the mist.
Another soft kiss the shoulder blade. "This is the point where you tell me the worrying is all in my head, Spin. You know the drill."
Reply
He shakes his head. "Different thing this time around, Freida. No smoke, nothing exploding, no bactine. It's just..."
It's quiet for a moment while he gropes for the words.
"It's just been so quiet out there." He waves his coffee mug as if to include the whole of the campus. "I mean, I like it quiet, keep the fucking roar to a dull minimum and all that, but... there's no goddamn life out there. No background noise. I know everyone went home for summer break, but where exactly did they go? Are they coming back? We really haven't heard from anyone since June, have we? It's like a ghosttown where even the geists have gone on bloody holiday."
He shrugs. "Call me meshuganah, but it'd be nice to see some folks... at least once in awhile."
Reply
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