Rabbit: October 1968
Title: Rabbit
Chapter Number/Title: October 1968: Rain (20/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 867
Workshop?: Suggestions always welcome.
October 2, 1968
Rain
Rabastan sat up in bed, and did not bother to look outside. Flopping his teddy bear from one side to the other, he listened, and he heard all he needed to hear. The rain pattered against the glass and the stone, and drenched out all his hopes of having a sunny day. “Pitter patter pitter patter,” he whined to Laurens.
“I know, me too.” He flopped the bear around a bit more. “No, it wasn’t at all as fun as I thought to have an adventure in the rain. I got cold, don’t you remember?” Flop. “I know.” Flop. “Good idea,” he whispered.
The boy pulled his bear back to his chest with one arm and threw himself back down, yanking his blankets over his head with the other arm. The tapping of the rain was a bit quieter, but it never stopped.
He hardly had time to shut his eyes before he heard his door open, and Maman’s voice. “Rabastan Algernon Lestrange, what do you think you are doing in that bed?”
The covers came down to reveal a mess of dark hair and one blue eye. “It’s raining.”
“So it is.” All the blankets and sheets folded themselves over, and Rabbit looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway with her wand out. “Up. Now. There is juice and a croissant waiting for you downstairs, and Mr. Greengrass will be here very soon.”
“But it rained yesterday.”
“And the day before. It will maybe rain tomorrow. This is England, no?”
Rabastan sighed heavily and plopped his feet onto his rug. “Will you help me?”
“No. Our little Rabbit is nine years old, now. He can dress himself and be downstairs for breakfast in time. You have ten minutes before you miss your father.” With that, Mrs. Lestrange turned and glided away.
Behind Rabastan, the rain kept falling. He struggled out of his night-clothes and pulled open his wardrobe. In went the old robe, out came a new one for the day. It was grey, with darkest blue, just like the clouds and the rain. He held it up and tried to slide his arms through the sleeves and his head through the neck all together, and with a little wiggling, the tunic hung from his shoulders. Dropping onto the floor, he tugged open a drawer and pulled out a soft belt and a pair of black tights. Soon, those were all on, and he had successfully dressed himself.
The chiming for half-past-seven began as Rabbit was making his way to the top of the stairs-a sign that he had taken too long. Sure enough, as he bounded down the staircase he saw his father sweeping through the foyer, heading toward the tall fireplace. Not thinking, he shouted down, and rushed full force. “Father!”
Theodore Lestrange turned, startled, and saw Rabastan tumbling down the last set of stairs. He was quick enough to magick a soft landing for the boy, but it did not stop the fall. Within seconds, the tumbler was in a heap in the foyer, whimpering.
“Angelique!” the wizard called, though she was already rushing into the room at the sound, and bent over her son, checking for any serious harm. Rabastan could only see a blur behind the wall of salty tears. “How is he?”
Dying, he thought. In a thousand pieces. Awful. But Maman rested a hand on his forehead, shook her head, and said, “Quite all right. Go on, you’ll be late.”
Father sighed and tucked his wand back into his cloak. Before Rabastan could say anything else, he was out of sight, and the fire was roaring, taking him away. Rabbit did not feel quite all right, and even after all that, he didn’t even get to say good-bye. He looked up and met Maman’s eyes, and that shamed him into looking back down, curling up over his bruised legs.
“Were you running, Rabastan?”
He made a sound, close to “Mmmpt.”
“Rabastan, words. And look at me.”
“Yes.” He peeked up from his knees. “Yes, I’m sorry. I just-I just-you said I only had ten minutes, and he was leaving and-”
Her face was like stone.
“Sorry,” he mumbled again.
“No excuses. Now, up we go, breakfast.”
Rabastan reached for a step and pushed himself up. “Can’t you make it stop hurting?”
Angelique helped the boy to his feet and shook her head. “It's the price of rushing. And it was only a little fall. It should not be so slippery, though, even with this rain. We shall have an elf throw itself down them a few times.” She took a step back, and inspected the outfit. “You got everything on without help, no? But, no, this… do not wear black with dark blue, Rabastan. And you must brush your hair when you get dressed.”
“Oh. Yes, Maman.” He rubbed his elbow. “Maman?”
“Yes?”
“What kind of juice is there?”
Her hand ran through the boy’s hair, smoothing it into place, all except a little bit of fringe that insisted on curling up to the sky. “Pumpkin.”
Rabastan smiled and took her hand, and they walked together back to the table where his small breakfast was waiting, tucked amongst tall windows with long white drapes, and surrounded by the pitter-patter of the rain.
Chapter Number/Title: October 1968: Rain (20/100) [[ Previous | Next]]
Rating: G
Word Count: 867
Workshop?: Suggestions always welcome.
October 2, 1968
Rain
Rabastan sat up in bed, and did not bother to look outside. Flopping his teddy bear from one side to the other, he listened, and he heard all he needed to hear. The rain pattered against the glass and the stone, and drenched out all his hopes of having a sunny day. “Pitter patter pitter patter,” he whined to Laurens.
“I know, me too.” He flopped the bear around a bit more. “No, it wasn’t at all as fun as I thought to have an adventure in the rain. I got cold, don’t you remember?” Flop. “I know.” Flop. “Good idea,” he whispered.
The boy pulled his bear back to his chest with one arm and threw himself back down, yanking his blankets over his head with the other arm. The tapping of the rain was a bit quieter, but it never stopped.
He hardly had time to shut his eyes before he heard his door open, and Maman’s voice. “Rabastan Algernon Lestrange, what do you think you are doing in that bed?”
The covers came down to reveal a mess of dark hair and one blue eye. “It’s raining.”
“So it is.” All the blankets and sheets folded themselves over, and Rabbit looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway with her wand out. “Up. Now. There is juice and a croissant waiting for you downstairs, and Mr. Greengrass will be here very soon.”
“But it rained yesterday.”
“And the day before. It will maybe rain tomorrow. This is England, no?”
Rabastan sighed heavily and plopped his feet onto his rug. “Will you help me?”
“No. Our little Rabbit is nine years old, now. He can dress himself and be downstairs for breakfast in time. You have ten minutes before you miss your father.” With that, Mrs. Lestrange turned and glided away.
Behind Rabastan, the rain kept falling. He struggled out of his night-clothes and pulled open his wardrobe. In went the old robe, out came a new one for the day. It was grey, with darkest blue, just like the clouds and the rain. He held it up and tried to slide his arms through the sleeves and his head through the neck all together, and with a little wiggling, the tunic hung from his shoulders. Dropping onto the floor, he tugged open a drawer and pulled out a soft belt and a pair of black tights. Soon, those were all on, and he had successfully dressed himself.
The chiming for half-past-seven began as Rabbit was making his way to the top of the stairs-a sign that he had taken too long. Sure enough, as he bounded down the staircase he saw his father sweeping through the foyer, heading toward the tall fireplace. Not thinking, he shouted down, and rushed full force. “Father!”
Theodore Lestrange turned, startled, and saw Rabastan tumbling down the last set of stairs. He was quick enough to magick a soft landing for the boy, but it did not stop the fall. Within seconds, the tumbler was in a heap in the foyer, whimpering.
“Angelique!” the wizard called, though she was already rushing into the room at the sound, and bent over her son, checking for any serious harm. Rabastan could only see a blur behind the wall of salty tears. “How is he?”
Dying, he thought. In a thousand pieces. Awful. But Maman rested a hand on his forehead, shook her head, and said, “Quite all right. Go on, you’ll be late.”
Father sighed and tucked his wand back into his cloak. Before Rabastan could say anything else, he was out of sight, and the fire was roaring, taking him away. Rabbit did not feel quite all right, and even after all that, he didn’t even get to say good-bye. He looked up and met Maman’s eyes, and that shamed him into looking back down, curling up over his bruised legs.
“Were you running, Rabastan?”
He made a sound, close to “Mmmpt.”
“Rabastan, words. And look at me.”
“Yes.” He peeked up from his knees. “Yes, I’m sorry. I just-I just-you said I only had ten minutes, and he was leaving and-”
Her face was like stone.
“Sorry,” he mumbled again.
“No excuses. Now, up we go, breakfast.”
Rabastan reached for a step and pushed himself up. “Can’t you make it stop hurting?”
Angelique helped the boy to his feet and shook her head. “It's the price of rushing. And it was only a little fall. It should not be so slippery, though, even with this rain. We shall have an elf throw itself down them a few times.” She took a step back, and inspected the outfit. “You got everything on without help, no? But, no, this… do not wear black with dark blue, Rabastan. And you must brush your hair when you get dressed.”
“Oh. Yes, Maman.” He rubbed his elbow. “Maman?”
“Yes?”
“What kind of juice is there?”
Her hand ran through the boy’s hair, smoothing it into place, all except a little bit of fringe that insisted on curling up to the sky. “Pumpkin.”
Rabastan smiled and took her hand, and they walked together back to the table where his small breakfast was waiting, tucked amongst tall windows with long white drapes, and surrounded by the pitter-patter of the rain.