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[OPEN] Moving
Who: Angel and Y'all
What: Moving Day and the Surrounding
When: Early December
Where: Yeah!
Warning(s):
1. So take your shaking bones
Eddie leaves on the ferry on a cold misty autumn morning, and Angel spends longer waiting for him to return to the farmhouse than it'll admit to afterwards, keeping a kettle warm on the stove for afternoon tea until the water's all boiled away and it's clear that how many lumps Eddie takes in a cup is irrelevant now, irrelevant ever again and Angel still doesn't want to admit it until it has to.
It has to.
And taking care of the farm, the bees and the temple all by itself just isn't going to be possible, it's not, even if its heart was hale and whole and beating in sync with Eddie's still, so something has to give.
Something has to.
Angel decides that it is going to move.
There are appointments with town hall to discuss possible new houses and apartments and townhouses (not homes, yet), and discussions of its beehives being transported into town, and paperwork to be filled out in a heavy, stiff, blocky hand as it figures out the work of transition, hoping that living in the city will be a replacement for the bustle of clucking hens and the nagging goat and it's going to need to get a stable situation set up for Arcadia, if the horse will forgive the relocation.
Angel is alone.
This is not work to be doing alone.
And that's before we get to the process of packing, of sorting through the debris of a life and a love and the twinge that reminds it that it can't cry every time it comes across a favored book or a shirt that still smells like Eddie, and that twinge is deeply painful enough to make it stop moving for seconds, perhaps minutes before it finds something to push it past inertia, even as it feels like some vital spark inside it is guttering and dimming.
This is not work to be doing alone.
2. And step out on your own
A sign on the bulletin board:
HELP WANTED MOVING. STANDARD PAY OFFERED: PIZZA AFTER WORK COMPLETE
3. Oh, the winter never stops
[This is your wildcard. It was meant for you.]
What: Moving Day and the Surrounding
When: Early December
Where: Yeah!
Warning(s):
1. So take your shaking bones
Eddie leaves on the ferry on a cold misty autumn morning, and Angel spends longer waiting for him to return to the farmhouse than it'll admit to afterwards, keeping a kettle warm on the stove for afternoon tea until the water's all boiled away and it's clear that how many lumps Eddie takes in a cup is irrelevant now, irrelevant ever again and Angel still doesn't want to admit it until it has to.
It has to.
And taking care of the farm, the bees and the temple all by itself just isn't going to be possible, it's not, even if its heart was hale and whole and beating in sync with Eddie's still, so something has to give.
Something has to.
Angel decides that it is going to move.
There are appointments with town hall to discuss possible new houses and apartments and townhouses (not homes, yet), and discussions of its beehives being transported into town, and paperwork to be filled out in a heavy, stiff, blocky hand as it figures out the work of transition, hoping that living in the city will be a replacement for the bustle of clucking hens and the nagging goat and it's going to need to get a stable situation set up for Arcadia, if the horse will forgive the relocation.
Angel is alone.
This is not work to be doing alone.
And that's before we get to the process of packing, of sorting through the debris of a life and a love and the twinge that reminds it that it can't cry every time it comes across a favored book or a shirt that still smells like Eddie, and that twinge is deeply painful enough to make it stop moving for seconds, perhaps minutes before it finds something to push it past inertia, even as it feels like some vital spark inside it is guttering and dimming.
This is not work to be doing alone.
2. And step out on your own
A sign on the bulletin board:
3. Oh, the winter never stops
[This is your wildcard. It was meant for you.]
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It has the vaguest ring of being a joke and is the first sign Angel might eventually be okay again: it still has a sense of humor somewhere in there. He ushers Cesar inside, where packing is a work in progress.
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And once the door is closed, César lifts his arm up in an offer to continue the hug if wanted.
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Eventually, César speaks. "I traveled extensively in my youth. I'm used to moving. ... I can help you figure out the essentials you'll want access to first, the day to day things. You don't need to be searching through boxes at 2am for PJs for bedsheets when you just want to sleep on top of everything else."
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But for a while, César felt exactly like Angel feels now, and he hugs it a little tighter. "Then we won't put that on the list. Simple as that."
He won't ask Angel to process more emotionally by apologizing. Performative apologies only drain more energy from them both. Existing is already hard enough.
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This is sullen and bitter. And not realistic.
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Shrug.
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That's...not a rhetorical question. Sure, it's not shaped like a question, but Angel lacks life experience to know how a period of mourning is shaped.
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It doesn't get choked up, but instead seems to go quiet.
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"You don't need to. I can get my meals in town, now that I'm living here. Unless...you actually want to?"
Someone doesn't truly understand what comforting the bereaved might entail in practice.
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"I wouldn't offer unless I meant to follow through. I like cooking. And it's something you can share with everyone."
Because nothing bonds people to others than food. Every culture needs to eat. Pumpkin Hollow is the same way.
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Angel shrugs.
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