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Baka Neko's picture
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She had never thought about Joe having an apartment. She had never thought of Joe living... anywhere. She had certainly never thought that he could cook.

She looked up from the book she had been trying to read for the last couple of days and looked across the room to where Joe stood by the tiny stove stiring a saucepan of soup. Even this, a simple soup, had been carefully prepared from selected fresh vegetables with just the right amount of herbs and seasonings. She was in no doubt that it would be just as delicious and nutritous as every meal Joe had made for her since he had found her wandering the streets a week earlier and brought her home.

They hadn't spoken much those first couple of days. No explanations, no apologies. There had been no need. they both knew. They both wanted to forget.

That had been harder for her than it had been for Joe. New memories had emerged, still were emerging. Memories that made her gasp. Memories that made her cry with shame. Memories that even made her think about killing herself. Joe never said anything when another memory triggered such reactions. He would just look at her calmly and then talk about the weather or someone he had met or something funny or unusual that had happened that day.

Only over the last three or four days had they started to have conversations that were anything other than trivial. In these conversations she had slowly started to share with Joe what she had learned about herself. She explained what she wanted to do and Joe had listened. She had made suggestions and Joe had made notes. When she had become tired he had put her to bed.

Two days ago Joe had come home and found a small pile of her belongings had appeared. An old canvas bag, a few clothes, some books. He helped her put them away because the trip to fetch them had exhausted her.

Yesterday she had come home dirty and distraught and smelling of smoke. He had calmed her down, fed her then helped her to wash before at last tucking the blankets around her sleeping form. Later that day, in the pub, Joe had learned of a fire west of Hope Springs. He knew where she had been. He had been there himself, too many times. The ground roundabout had been soft and easy to dig.

Joe poured the soup into two deep bowls and carried these across to the table. In the middle of the table was a large plate with thick doorsteps of fresh home baked bread. She joined him at the table, each sitting opposite the other as was their routine. They ate a few spoonfulls each in silence before she spoke.

"Is she safe?"

Joe nodded.

"Yes"

"You're sure?"

Joe stopped, his spoon halfway to his mouth. Soup dripping back into the bowl. He looked at her steadily over the poised spoon.

"Yes. I'm sure. They are good people."

The meal continued in silence. The pile of bread diminished. The level of soup in the bowls fell.

She spoke again.

"We have to catch him."

Joe finished chewing on his piece of bread, watching her bowed head as she lifted the spoon to her mouth slowly, methodically as was her way. He swallowed.

"And then what?"

She sat back in her chair. Twirling the spoon between forefinger and thumb. Staring past Joe and into space.

"I don't know." She snapped her eyes down to meet Joe's and for a moment he was facing HER. But even before the fear could register on his face SHE was gone and she was only looking at him. "I need you to get some things. Start with the NFPD. The girl in the motel. I want rumours, odd incidents, anything. Then..." She paused and the hand holding the spoon slowly sank to the tabletop. "Then I need you to find a certain house."

Joe's notebook came out and he scribbled in it for a few moments.

After Joe had put his notebook away the meal continued in the same silence it had begun.

Comments

Michael Destefano's picture

((Everytime I see a post from Baka I get excited :-) I am sooo looking forward to the coming rp

Lost Bride's picture

(( it's because her stories fill the gaps of in game RP, which I find great. It makes the story complete. ))


"There was a girl, a girl named Lost. Her eyes, they were like frost" - from the infernal journal of Zane Gore

Michael Destefano's picture

((Yes *nods head eagerly in agreement* but....also the fact that she is a great writer ;)



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