blessingone | (no subject)

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[At the south of the village, once a bit farther out of the way before the higher numbered community buildings and the battle dome appeared, is a single-floor house surrounded by way more gardens than any reasonable person could ever need. There, in House 34, an eclectic group from the Legacy reside and raise the child left behind by Senel and Stella.

This is their fourth wall post.]

[Specifically, this is a group post for Norma, Grune, Fenimore, and Walter. Comments inside for each will give more detail on what they're up to.]

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I've... been here before. [It's not a question, but a statement. Fenimore wouldn't lie to her. Fenimore has always been honest with her, no matter what.] Did I-- ... ... did I live together with you, in this house?

Yeah. [There's a fondness in her voice and her smile.] When I first arrived here, you'd...already been around for a while. And then we lived here for a little over a year together.

It... [She hesitates and her eyes shift away from Shirley's face.] It was good that you were here, then. [And then her gaze is back on Shirley.] I guess it made it worth getting used to all the weirdness of this place, to get to spend a bit more time with you.

So, that's why... [... everything is so familiar, but not.] I'm sorry I can't really remember, Fenimore...

Shirley....

[And then her hand is used for something a little less in the realm of comforting.]

What have I told you about saying you're sorry so much for things that aren't your fault? Geez. [Even though that's not really what "I'm sorry" means in these kinds of circumstances....]

-- Though, I...guess you wouldn't remember that, either.

Ow! Fenimore, that hurt!

[Perhaps it's due to the blunt shock of being playfully smacked on the head, but the conversation that Fenimore's talking about--it feels so close. It's painfully easy to imagine sitting with Fenimore in the kitchen, eating a slice of warm peach pie in the summer, talking and laughing late into the afternoon.]

Well... [Shirley rubs the top of her head, her expression a little sulky. Not being able to remember the things Fenimore is talking about a little frustrating.] You probably said something like, "Modesty is a virtue, but you could use a lot less of it." Or that no one was ever going to take me seriously.

[Fenimore is unrepentant. There's even a hint of a grin at the corner of her mouth as she sees the sulky expression, not recognizing the part that comes from frustration at the lack of memories. At least she does put a little effort into holding it back, even if it isn't entirely successful.

It fades shortly, though, as Shirley continues and Fenimore's expression relaxes into one of surprise. That sounds...incredibly familiar. She could almost swear that those were the exact words she had used once. A vivid memory of the smell of peach pie reaches her as she thinks of that conversation -- or perhaps that's just the baking tarts in the kitchen. Still, she was sure....]

[But that can't be right. While Fenimore can remember much about that conversation, she doesn't remember her own exact words with enough confidence to believe that Shirley was regaining her memories, as much as she wants it to be true.

She leans back somewhat and crosses her arms as the surprise turns to a smile.]

You really know me well, huh? It was something like that. [She chuckles.] Though I'm sure that, even knowing that, you still wouldn't take a compliment on your pies.

Well, my peach pie is nothing special... it's just a recipe out of a cookbook. [Shirley idly fiddles with one of her braids as she tries to recall more details about that day.]

And now you're doing it aga --

[...She hadn't said anything about it being a peach pie.]

You -- [She's afraid to ask the question, so, instead, she tries to fish for more details to test if Shirley is remembering.] You got a lot of practice at that recipe, what with how many you made.

I suppose that's true... [She looks a little sheepish.] I just can't help myself. And- besides. Peaches spoil so quickly in the summer. I just think it's sad to see nice peaches go bad...

Shirley.... [She speaks slowly, choosing her words carefully.] That's something that happened here. I think you're starting to remember.

It... really did? [Shirley's voice has a note of hesitation in it.] ... ... even when I try and think about it, it's... all in bits and pieces.

It'll come back to you. It happens like this sometimes, that it takes a while for people to remember.

[And sometimes it never goes beyond vague memories. But she isn't going to think about that. And no one has ever come back without wings. But she isn't going to think about that.]

[She takes one of Shirley's hands in her own and squeezes it.] It'll be fine. I promise.

[Reassured by Fenimore's words and her touch, Shirley manages a smile for her friend.]

I hope so... [She gently turns her hand in Femiore's, so their palms are touching and she can return the gesture.]

[Fenimore's own smile warms at the gesture, but the uncertainty that Shirley is expressing is making it hard to keep from thinking about her own worries that it mightn't turn out as well as she is pretending it will.

But, rather than let that show, she tries to force her way through any uncertainty.] Hey, don't you trust -- ?

[She cuts herself off in mid-sentence and sniffs the air. And then sniffs again.

...She'd left a batch of tarts on, hadn't she. That smell was them starting to burn, wasn't it.]

Oh, good grief! [And, as much as she appreciates the gesture, Shirley, she is going to need her hand back as she scrambles to her feet and makes a mad dash for the elec'ric stove in the hope that she can get them before they're a total write-off.]

[Surprised by Fenimore's sudden movement, Shirley twists in her seat to watch as Fenimore darts into the kitchen. Between that and the smudge of of flour on her cheek, it's obvious that she was baking.]

Is- everything alright? [Oh no. Oh no, she distracted Fenimore from her bakinng...]

[It would be an exaggeration to say that smoke billows from the oven when she opens it, but it's pretty clear that these tarts are a write-off. She sighs, but sets the pan down on top of the stove and turns back towards Shirley, still wearing oven mitts.]

Yeah -- well, other than the tarts. I think this batch is beyond saving at this point.

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