tampered | log;ongoing

log;ongoing

When; This morning, or at least 'this morning' for sleepyheads
Rating; Probably PG-PG13
Characters; Sister Esther Blanchett (

lefeufollet), Father Abel Nightroad (

whofelltoearth
Summary; Crumpets. Uncomfortable crumpets.
Log;

Abel clutched the brown paper bag full of dairy products he'd stopped to buy in is white-gloved hand, skin below nearly just as pale with the tight hold he had on the bag. He brought the other hand up and rapped three times on the wood of Sister Esther's door with sharp knuckles and cleared his throat, his voice cracking and plaintive when he finally spoke.

"Miss Esther, I brought the groceries for you. And some petit fours, because I had extra money, and there's a bakery here that makes very cute ones. I hope I'm not disturbing anything if you have guests."

This was strange to him. He was usually polite, but not quite so polite with Esther. They had a familiarity, but one which was sometimes removed by Abel's obfuscation. This had happened before, at least twice. Usually it would be her to come to the bedroom on his side of the apartment, not the other way around. Usually she would come to visit him whenever she was bored, or lonely, or if she had something on her mind. She certainly did have something on her mind, but not something so banal as what she should do that evening or what the weather was supposed to be like or little questions about science that they didn't teach a nun.

The hand left the door and moved to touch his lips softly.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A few hours without seeing a person may not have seemed significant to most people, but in that amount of time, Esther had been unable to relax during Abel's absence, fussing and turning in her bed at night, wandering around the halls of the buildings by day. Indeed, the little things that she was usually able to focus her attentions on in her spare time--it was so strange, this concept of free time; she'd never had much of it back home--such as mending clothes, or the sounds of the children playing outside, or the rather expansive and all-too-revealing books available to her in the City, just wouldn't hold any weight that morning, no matter how fascination the human anatomy was.

Taking a break to make crumpets with the Bishop had been nice, but even that was rushed upon Esther learning that Abel was to visit her later that day--she'd left the Bishop's apartment in a rush, crumpets still warm and wrapped in cloth to protect them from the late winter chill, smears of flour still left on her face as she rushed back, hair messy from catching in the wind.

Why was she rushing, Esther wondered. Certainly, part of it was simply that she wanted to see Abel again, feeling much like a glove without its partner during the silence held between them--but even Esther wasn't so naive as to believe that she would really be seeing the Abel she knew that morning. Their last encounter had been too... weighty, to say the least; to go completely back to normal would almost be insulting the situation in itself.

Perhaps part of it was guilt, having left him so suddenly, even when his need had been so apparent in his touch, fingers digging into her arms, her back--Esther could still feel them.

Perhaps part of it was a need to reassure herself that he hadn't disappeared completely, that his existence wasn't a total lie, the Father Abel that she had met all those months ago at the train station.

There was something else still, Esther was pretty sure, even if she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

She had hardly managed to place the crumpets down on the table and catch her breath when the knock sounded on the door, leaving Esther without any time to check her appearance in the mirror--if she had, she might've tried to do something about the deep flush on her face, mostly a result of running such a distance.

His voice sounded strained.

Calmly, Esther approached the door, turning the knob and yanking it open, a pout on her face.

"Would I have invited other people over when I clearly set aside time for tea with you, Father? Really now," Esther complained, hands on her hips in an almost defiant manner, before her frown gave way to a gentle smile. "Please come in, Father. I think the crumpets are still warm, for now."

She wondered if her smile was reaching her eyes.

"Thank you, Esther, I heard you made those yourself, so I really don't deser--" He stopped before he was finished, eyes raking over her face, the pink across her delicate nose and the look in her blue eyes that he recognized as one seeking his approval. He felt guilty under that look, but it was a bad time to feel guilty. More importantly, she had white flour on her forehead, some of it dusting her bangs, and it was...His mind wandered to a time over a year ago, when he'd knocked her over and she'd looked at him with the same flushed expression, with the dust from the cobbled road on her face.

Of course, he'd mistaken her for a boy of about thirteen then, but...

Abel tugged the glove from the hand that still lingered near his face off roughly with his teeth and stuck it in his pocket. He licked the tips of his fingers with his tongue and leaned over to press them against Esther's warm forehead and wipe the flour away. His hair, gathered in its ribbon, fell over his shoulder and onto her head. He jerked away, realizing how idiotic he must have seemed.

"Ah, damn, Esther, I'm sorry, just-- here, I got your clotted cream, it's in the bag, I didn't mean to act like nothing was...wrong."

Edited 2008-03-14 22:06 (UTC)

Esther's eyes widened slightly, carefully following Abel's expression, something unreadable passing through his own, irises almost seeming to change color. Her eyebrow arched with curiosity, trying to read him; she knew she would only get better at it with practice, no reason to stop now. Unfortunately, her eyes did not manage to catch the movement of his hand beyond a white blur which failed to register in her mind, before the moist surface of his thumb met her forehead, causing Esther's shoulders to hunch slightly as she bit her lower lip, determined not the flinch--she wasn't afraid of him, no.

One eye closed reflexively as Esther felt the brush of his hair, smooth and silken, on top of her head, and she jumped slightly as Abel pulled back, inhaling sharply and immediately trying to calm her nerves, shoulders drooping with the effort. Her hand rose to where his had been just moments before, a radiant flush on her cheeks.

"N-no need to apologize, Father, it's--it's quite all right," Esther babbled, not exactly sure what Abel was referring to but figuring that hers was a blanket statement which could cover them all. "I... it's nice to see you, really. And thank you very much for the cream; I've been craving this all day, and--"

Abruptly, she stopped talking, feeling rather ridiculous. As if anyone didn't know what she'd been craving, with the way she posted on the Network.

"I know you were, Esther. People on the other side of town knew you wanted clotted cream. I didn't do anything special, just forced my legs ten minutes out of my way."

He smiled, just slightly, a look that was hesitant and genuine at the same time as he moved away, setting the brown bag down on the table and pulling a chair out, sliding heavily into it, feeling strangely old suddenly. How many times had he felt this awkward in the past? How many more times in the future? The chair creaked under him, the numerous rosaries attached to his belt clacking as they slowly swung to a stop. The noise was distracting in the quiet of their shared apartment. Or was it still Caterina's apartment?

Her ghost lingered there along with every furnishing and teacup she'd chosen. He spared a look to the tea service; Caterina's. The little tin was full of sugar cubes. Caterina's skeleton, but Esther's work.

He started and looked over his shoulder for her, face apologetic. Here he was, mind elsewhere when he'd come to be there for her.

"Come and have a seat, then. You're the one who wanted to eat the most."

Edited 2008-03-14 22:46 (UTC)

Her gaze had begun to lower as Abel walked past her and to the table; by the time he spoke to her again, they had already been resting on her feet, and Esther's head tilted up sharply, expression apologetic--she had been listening, really, even to the sounds of metal meeting metal, but the distractions elsewhere were great in number.

"You make it sound like a chore," Esther noted quietly, pausing after her words before walking over, taking care not to sit down just yet and busying herself with the tea service and crumpets, laying them out, then pausing and rearranging things for no particular reason other than to keep her hands busy. "I hope you'll like the crumpets; I've never made them before, and I haven't had a chance to try them yet, but the Bishop said that they turned out well."

Carefully, she unwrapped the cloth, revealing the crumpets inside, searching for one of the rounder ones and placing it on a plate, which made a soft tap as she placed it in front of Abel.

"Oh! The blackberries... I should go get them," Esther suddenly remarked, heels tapping quickly as she shuffled over to the kitchen, pulling the refrigerator door open and peering inside, breath condensing in the cold.

"I apologize if I make it seem like a chore, Esther, to be truthful, I'm just not very used to shopping for things. It's never a chore to go out of my way for you, despite..." He paused and, at length, removed his glasses from his nose and wiped them with the edge of his sleeve, hoping she wouldn't notice the self-resentment in his expression if he hid it behind an exaggerated squint as he talked, staring down at the food she placed in front of him.

He was, upon thinking about it, very hungry. He'd forgotten to eat, aside from a handful of cookies that Lilith had given him to placate his mood.

Abel kept his head facing away from Esther as she looked into the refrigerator, voice muffled by the wool collar surrounding his head. He reached out and lifted the lid of the sugar tin and plucked a cube out with his still-gloved hand, turning it thoughtfully in his fingers.

"Despite the nasty things I told you earlier. It's much easier to be resentful when you can't see people's faces. You're still a valued partner."

Edited 2008-03-15 00:19 (UTC)

It was strange, the way Abel used his words, twisted in a way which almost seemed to turn the blame back on Esther herself--or maybe she was just thinking too much. Resentful, still a valued partner... well, perhaps he was right to have felt that their working relationship had been put at risk, given the way they had parted last. Esther's gaze lost some of its focus as she grabbed the basket of blackberries from the refrigerator, closing the door behind her with a soft nudge of her foot and holding the berries under running water in the sink, gloves tucked away in her pockets as she carefully turned them with her fingers. She stole a quick peek in Abel's direction, lips pursing as she noticed him almost sinking into his collar, but not saying a word.

Once she'd shook the berries dry, for the most part, Esther walked back over, placing them on the table before putting her gloves back on and smacking Abel lightly on the head--no harder than she would have for a child, but enough to draw his attention, she hoped.

"We've both said nasty things to each other, now stop hiding behind your collar; I'm not going to bite, and I really am grateful for the cream and other things you brought, because it was out of your way even if you were willing," Esther scolded, wishing to avoid a certain topic, even though she knew that it would be addressed eventually. "And I hope you don't plan on still using that cube after having touched it with your gloves, Father."

Seeing the untouched crumpet still on Abel's plate, Esther sighed and sat down in the chair next to him, taking care not to make too much noise as she drags it out, before pulling the plate in her direction. After rummaging through the bag and finding the container of cream--which drew a small smile to her face despite the tension; craving crumpets hadn't been an act--she spread some onto the crumpet, before then spreading raspberry jam liberally on top, accidentally smearing some onto her fingers. She pushed the plate back towards Abel, nodding at it, and then looked at her fingers, stalling and trying to decide whether it was worth it to head back to the sink to wash them, or if she'd forego manners for the moment.

Normally, it'd be the latter.

He jumped slightly when she smacked his head with her open palm, bringing his free hand to rub the spot out of instinct-- it hadn't hurt, hadn't been intended to, but he touched at it anyway as he turned to give her a soft look, hiding his startle under the length of his bangs before forcing a smile onto his face as she took the crumpet and plate and began to prepare it for him. More faint reminders, the memory of dust and the smell of Methuselah blood and...peanut butter and jam.

Abel placed the sugar cube he was toying with into his mouth. The smile fell for a fraction of a second and then left completely, replaced by a very serious look and a grave, deep tone of voice.

"Who knows where these gloves have been, Esther. I'm going to get some horrible, grave, completely untreatable disease and die a slow and painful death, so God wills it-- oh, why thank you."

He eyed the crumpet critically before sliding the jar of jam closer to himself, taking the knife out before turning his head to the side and giving Esther an apologetic look that said that there was obviously too much crumpet in his jam.

"You can lick your fingers off, you know. Nobody's going to see you. There's nobody here but us."

One eye arched as Esther started to reach out for a crumpet of her own, then stopped at his words, gaze falling to her fingers once more. "That's not funny, Father," she replied, mentally noting that in fact, she did know where those gloves had been for a significant amount of time before the both of them arrived in the City. "You've been in the Underground, haven't you? And I can't imagine that you've gone to the dry cleaner's since, although if you have, I'll be pleasantly surprised."

Esther paused, then raised her fingers to her lips, licking off the jam and making sure to keep her gaze away from his face--old habits, after all, even if Father Abel wasn't Bishop Laura, and she probably wasn't going to receive even so much as a slap to the wrist.

After her hands were already covered in reddish marks and still feeling somewhat sticky--so maybe this was the downside to not washing her hands in the sink--Esther finally gave in and reached for a crumpet, spreading the cream thickly on its surface and tilting her head before adding a couple of berries to it for garnish, finally placing it on her place and waiting for Abel to take the first bite.

And laughing a bit when she peeked at it once more, the poor little thing almost completely drowned in jam.

Maybe there was a bit too much jam on the plate to be healthy, but Abel missed it. Processed jam. Artificial sweeteners. Open-bag-here and drink-before-date-on-can. It was the kind of nostalgia you kept to yourself.

He finally gave up the knife to the open jam-jar, shooting Esther a confused glance and pausing in the middle of tugging off the remaining glove. Why wasn't it funny? Was she that worried about him, that she'd chastise him for eating dirty food? Was she that worried about him?

"E-Esther..." he stuttered, before continuing. "A little dirt and grime is hardly likely to kill me. I was just being facetious and trying to lighten the mood."

He stared at the plate. He should eat while it's still warm. It was only right, after Esther went to all the trouble.

"I know," Esther sighed, slumping forward slightly, shoulders hanging, "I know that, it's just..."

Wonderful. His pure dismissal was making Esther feel ridiculous about the entire thing, a suspicious warmth spreading to her ears as she bit her lower lip, hands smoothing her skirt out in her lap before she quickly reached out for the teapot and cups, laying them out in front of her neatly before starting to pour. To be honest, Esther was more than aware that Abel was capable of holding his own in terms of strength alone--although whether that luck extended to his immune system was unclear--but she couldn't quite explain the unease that tightened her chest at his mention of pain, of death, however flippant it was.

"It's just not something you should joke about so casually. You're the one who told me to eat the oranges, weren't you?" Esther muttered quietly, still eying his hands and his plate, before clearing her throat and speaking up. "Milk with your tea, Father? And presumably all the cubes in the sugar bowl, as well?"

"The jam is sweet so you may as well just put a handful in, or it won't taste right. And milk. Please."

Abel rested his elbows on the table and folded the crumpet in two, taking a bite that was larger than actually necessary, a lack of table-manners despite Caterina's best efforts showing, as per usual. He chewed thoughtfully; it really wasn't bad for a first try, not at all, and Abel had had a lot of crumpets in his life. He wished he could bring himself to compliment her, but his mood had suddenly turned for the serious. Hers clearly had, as well.

He tilted his head to regard Esther as she readied to prepare the tea and took another bite of the folded, halfed pastry.

"I apologize, Esther, I sometimes forget how morbid my sense of humor can be, never meant to upset you. But you and I are different matters entirely, Esther, and I need you to take care of yourself. You're only human."

He paused, eyes shooting open from their typical half-lidded gaze. He knew the slip of the tongue before Esther could even answer.

Edited 2008-03-15 02:33 (UTC)

Esther paused abruptly in the middle of pouring the tea, tilting the pot back and pulling her lower lip in, worrying it with her teeth, not sure how to respond. Yes, it was safe to assume that Krusniks were different somehow--she'd even seen it firsthand--but Esther had always wanted to assume that it was something similar to vampires when their powers were activated, or vampires during bloodlust. Things were so much easier that way.

Wordlessly, she reached out for the sugar bowl and picked out a few cubes, spooning them in one by one and watching them dissolve. What could she really say to that? To him?

Yesterday had already taught her that asking too many questions could lead to rather disastrous results, even if today, he wasn't cursed. She didn't really want the white lies, either.

Instead, she carefully dropped a few more sugar cubes in his cup, forming a crooked little pyramid of sorts before knocking it over with the spoon, listening to the clink of the metal against the porcelain.

He watched her face slowly falling as the tea filled the dainty cup, the kind that Caterina always had favored. What could she be thinking; did Abel really want to know? His eyes closed tightly for a moment and then fluttered open again, just barely, as he watched her spoon the cubes into the cup. They dissolved slowly as she stirred and Abel winced visibly at the sound of the spoon ringing off of the side of the glass.

She was being so quiet. It was the quietness that disturbed him the most, the resignedness. Sister Esther wasn't supposed to be this way. Sister Esther had always seemed to Abel to be the embodiment of what it was to really be alive.

"Esther..." He opened his mouth once, twice, trying to find the appropriate words for the situation. Having no luck, he put the rest of the food in his mouth and chewed slowly, letting his index finger rest in his mouth to get rid of the sticky red jam.

"I'm scared to death of you. I'm terrified."

Edited 2008-03-15 03:39 (UTC)

She let the spoon drop suddenly, hearing it hit sharply against the cup once more as her hands rushed to her lap, fisting and shaking with the effort, her jaw tensing. Perhaps Abel had really abandoned the white lies, the sugarcoating which he had used prior to the curse day, but the bluntness was still something which hit her hard and fast, Esther being as unaccustomed to it as she was. But, even more so, it was just...

"That's unfair, Father," Esther replied sharply, voice half an octave higher than usual, wavering towards the end. "What am I supposed to say to that, Father? 'Yes, I'm only human'? 'No, I don't really know what the Krusnik is and I'm afraid that even if I do, I don't like it'?"

She could feel his resignation emanating from his seat, a mental 'I told you so' of sorts--but that wasn't right, she wasn't--

"I'm not telling you to go back to hiding things from me, Father," she added preemptively, sentences increasing in speed. "It's just... I'm trying not to let it affect me. I know I'm not afraid of you, and maybe it's not even that I'm afraid of your other side either, I just... don't want to hurt you again, and this isn't helping. Because you're right, I'm only human."

"It's horribly, terribly unfair, Esther, but you know more than anyone that life isn't fair. If life was fair, I wouldn't be allowed anywhere near people like you. If life was fair, the young wouldn't have a sword put in their hand when they aren't even sure they understand what they're doing."

He took a deep breath, dry-sounding, shaking his chest, before reaching out for the other half of his crumpet and toying with it, dragging a pattern into the white cream below the worryingly red raspberry jam. What was she supposed to say? If her silence was damning enough, what was she supposed to say to him? This was why he couldn't...

"There was something today that made me realize that it's as impossible to hide every part of me as it is impossible for anyone to know every part of someone else. Whether or not I was lying or protecting, it's cruel of me to leave you to find out for yourself at inopportune times. This place can only exacerbate that..."

He stuck the finger in his mouth again, staring to his side at the cup of murky tea she'd been preparing for him. It was thick with sugar, deep red like puddle water in autumn. Good, expensive tea. When she'd dropped the spoon, the tea had splashed out across the table.

What a waste.

"I don't want to be afraid of you anymore, so I won't refuse you if you say you're ready. Just don't bang on my chest for answers this time, Esther."

"I'm sorry," Esther murmured, voice quiet once more, trailing into silence. "I've said it before, though. It... hurts, being kept in the dark, and ever since Diet--ever since the incident, I've been wary. I want to trust you, Father, and I think I do, but I trusted... him too, when I probably shouldn't have. When I never would've thought that he would--well, you heard everything I said that day. So I'm sorry if I pressured you too much... made you say things you weren't comfortable saying."

She tilted her head to glance at him from the corner of her eye, auburn strands of hair falling softly and obscuring the view, the room suddenly turning a vague shade of red.

"I really should be the one to apologize, pressing you for answers when I preach about privacy, even."

Her gaze turned back to the cup of tea, Esther grabbing onto a napkin and letting it soak up the liquid, yet more red seeping onto white.

"When you say that you're afraid of me... why, Father?"

"You didn't make me do anything, Esther." Abel's smile returned to his face, one full of fondness but dejection. He truly didn't even know why he was upset anymore, he just was. And hadn't he always been this way? Overly emotional, and angry, and sad, but for the last ten years he'd been angry with himself and sad for the sake of people like Esther.

She lied to him once, and told him she just wanted to cry one more time. Anymore he felt like he was the one who forced her to lie. And that's what they did, wasn't it? They forced people to lie. Abel's memories trailed to Seth.

Was he doing the same as she was, on a minute scale?

He shook his head and tucked his bangs behind his ear, reaching one hand slowly out to lay it on the back of Esther's, over the napkin she was using to clean up another mess he'd made, one way or another. How quickly would she pull it away?

He ran his thumb over the ridges of her knuckles and veins.

"I'm afraid that I'll be hated again. Now eat your breakfast, Esther, before it gets cold."

Edited 2008-03-15 05:51 (UTC)

Her grip tightened on the napkin for a moment, the warmth passing from his hand to hers, and Esther let out a slow exhale, eyes slowly closing as she focused on the feel of the pad of his thumb brushing over her hand, steady in the way that nothing else seemed to be in their lives.

But that was something she could come to accept, the uncertainty and the need to stand stronger when Abel couldn't. Esther thought back to Lilith; didn't she tell Esther to stay by Abel's side? To be his support when he needed something to lean against. And she'd agreed without a second thought. Had anything really changed since then?

"I can't hate you, Father. I just can't."

No, she didn't fully understand him, never had from the start, and she doubted that she ever would, doubted that the little nerves which flared whenever their gazes met would ever be fully settled, because Abel wasn't the most comforting type of person, and there would be areas they continued to disagree. Slowly, Esther turned her hand, palm facing upwards, fingers entwining with Abel's and giving his hand a gentle squeeze. No smile pulling at her lips just yet.

He squeezed back, not as gently, more firmly, as if trying to make a point. Her hand was small, smaller than nearly anyone else he knew, and he wondered why he'd never noticed. Maybe they'd never really held hands before. It made him wonder, was it because she never wanted to, or because he never gave her the opportunity? He left the hand where it was, warming hers. Small and cold, and he felt terrible again. He was supposed to be there for her, and here he was. Being selfish again.

"I'm going to try to believe you."

There wasn't much else for him to say, under the circumstances. If she had questions, she could ask when she wanted to. It was cruel to keep answers from her, just as cruel as it was to force them when she never asked. Enough with this moping over his problems, then. He leaned over, closer, and picked up the cup with his spare hand, giving it a little wave. His queue may have accidentally-on-purpose dragged through his remaining crumpet, too.

"Everything's delicious, by the way."

The way he'd squeezed her hand back was comforting, somehow, and Esther relaxed enough to allow her eyes to slide shut, thumb running along his callouses and committing them to memory. They blinked back over as she heard something rustling, only to spot Abel taking the cup that she had been pouring sugar into not so long ago, and Esther's free hand rose, lips parting, about to protest.

"It's not d--"

But Esther sighed and smiled; well, he'd figure that out for himself when the tea turned out to be quite a bit more bitter than he usually had it.

With her free hand, Esther picked up the crumpet on her plate, turning it so that the blackberries were closest to her and taking a big bite. Briefly, she chewed, considering her work, and then making a face, swallowing shortly after.

"The Devonshire cream is quite lovely, but really Father, your praise is undeserved. It's just as cold and hard as the crumpets at the cafe down the street."

Secretly, however, she felt a flicker of self-satisfaction flare within her as she took another bite, licking her lips afterwards. With a bit of practice, her crumpets would probably be rather passable.

Or maybe her standards were just a little too high.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

log;ongoing

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject