Time Spent

Who: Geth and Open
Where: Streets. Grocery. Fontaine Park.
When: Mid-afternoon

Her house smelled like flowers. Even by the stench of the river, the perfume of meadow was prominent. And yet, it wasn't a pleasant smell. Combined with the smell of smoke and money, it saturated her couches and hung heavy in the air over her head. It was funny how deceptive the little black balls of opium could be. Surely, nothing that smelled so strongly of springtime could be worth so much blood.

Geth shut the door behind her as she stepped in. The motion was slow and deliberate, as though it had the power to silence even gulls. But the door did not even keep out the noise of the street below.

Touching the tip of her nose with a gloved hand Geth shuddered as the cold seeped through. Back pressed against her door she listened warily, looking around her empty living room, gaze sliding below the coffee table and behind the curtains. There was no such thing as being too careful.

She pulled off the black gloves but kept her jacket on as she walked to the kitchen. Opening up the over she fiddled a bit with the thermostat before shutting the door. A cookie tin sat on the kitchen table and Geth pulled out a gingersnap and proceeded to drop the lid, flinching as it fell to the ground with a clang.

Looking out of the window, Geth squinted as the faintest daylight made footprints on her eyelids. She supposed it wasn't too cold to go out and buy real food. Maybe some bread and jam. That would be acceptable. Geth never really learned how to cook. She supposed that she could hire someone, but the concept of a stranger in her house made Geth uncomfortable. Bread and jam it was.

Finishing up her cookie, Geth yawned and went to turn off her over. Pulling her gloves back on, she flexed her fingers. They were new, and the leather was still still and unnatural over he knuckles. Shoving her hands into her pockets, Geth slipped out the door.

The walk across the park was short, and as she arrived at the grocery store and once again removed her gloves, Geth did not feel very hungry. She stared absently down an aisle of cereal. Her hands were still in her pockets. Geth was a burrower, and her hands held her deepest secrets, he insecurity twined between her finger webs. If her hands were safe, Geth felt safe. If she coul curl up in a warm ball, somewhere enclosed and tiny Geth would probably choose to spend her entire life there.

Giving up on shopping Geth stepped out of the store and strolled back into the park. Nuzzling into her scarf, Geth sat on a bench, careful to prop herself up on the corner of it. Public seats were, after all, dirty. This had potential to be pleasant. She, after all, didn't get out much.