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starlordtrix-blog · 8 years ago

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The Writers of History

2005

At age 10, Francis Valois disliked sharing his study hall with a girl who probably did not know squat about stars, or electromagnetic fields.

All she does is play with her tiny doll, the one with angel wings sown into the soft, worn cloth.

She stayed silent, always preferring to sit in a corner, but that corner would always be wherever he was in. If he was in the library, the soft pitter patter of her feet would follow.

If he was outside, she’d sit sullenly under a tree.

In dinner times she was always beside him.

It was annoying to have a shadow.

And now she even shared his lessons, even though she would surely not understand anything.

He tried complaining about it to his father once. But he simply said that Mary Stuart was the daughter of his dear friend James, and he promised to care for her and give her a happy home in the event that he dies.

He did not really understand how Mary’s father died, but he could not imagine not having his dad or his mum around to help him, and so he made an effort to be nicer to Mary even if she was a tad bit annoying.

And so, even if he disliked having Mary follow him around, he halted his instructor, on one sunny day in 2005 and approached the sullen girl who was sitting on a corner, frowning at her doll.

“Mary? Why don’t you sit up front where you can hear Monsieur Le’Blanc’s lecture better?”

Mary turned her eyes to his and looked down at her doll again.

Patience, Francis, he muttered to himself.

“Mary?”

“I don’t speak French very well. It’s hard to understand. And your legs are much longer than mine. I’m always chasing after you.”

She knuckled a tear from her eye and she looked so small, with her dark hair hastily bundled up, as if she rushed out of the nursery before Nanny can fully brush it all up.

A small niggling guilt tugged at his heartstrings and he reached out a hand to her, shoving it under her nose.

Mary stared at his hand and turned her eyes back up to his.

She was quite a pretty girl, he thought. Much like her treasured dull. Flushing a bit he looked away from her and grumbly said “Take it. I’ll walk with you. You won’t ever have to chase after me.”

It was the first time Mary Stuart smiled since her father passed away.

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2017

At age 22, Francis Valois hated sharing a car with a girl who probably did not know squat about shutting up and not lording her superior intellect at him.

And this was a girl who did not know squat about electric fields before he taught her.

And now she was entering as the youngest freshman in his college. Beating his record by 2 months, as Mary was born later in the year than he was.

And he was to be stuck with her for the next year, as if they were again 6 and 10, sharing a nursery and a tutor.

Deep in his heart, somewhere where he would never admit it, he was quite glad for it. He missed her terribly when she left to go to boarding school four years ago. It was the first time he was ever really apart from Mary, for he chose to go to Eton when she was sent to the primary school in England that her father chose for her, and so even if they went to separate schools in the day, they were still able to come together in the evenings.

He chose Cambridge over Sorbonne for the same exact reason, but Mary was sent off to Boarding School in the recesses of England and he was too busy with everything he was doing to constantly talk to her on Facetime.

And now she was here, back with him, but 4 years changed things between them, and there is a new found awkwardness with her proximity, and the familiar scent of her apple shampoo.

“Francis, have you been listening to me?”

He was jolted from his reverie by Mary’s hand on his wrist and the concerned expression on her face.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

She frowned at him, and he could see her eyebrows furl together in her signature Mary is deeply worried look. “Do you not want me to be here? Should I have stayed where I was?”

“No! No. I’m glad you’re here. I missed you. So much. I just... have a lot on my mind.”

She smiled then, and laid her head on his shoulder once more, a habit she picked up from their youth and the long car rides they had to take from the manor to the train to take them back to England every weekend.

“I’m glad. I worked so hard to get here you know. I was afraid you might not have wanted me here.”

“Nonsense, Mary. I will always, always want you here.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her close, noting the oddity of his thundering heartbeat.

Looking back, Francis knew, in that deep deep dark place he’d never admit existed, that it was that moment he knew everything had changed.

#Frary

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starlordtrix-blog · 8 years ago

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When You Try Your Best But You Don't Succeed

The crappiest of days start out crappy. Rain has come to the tiny land I call my home. And with rain comes the hordes of people lining up for the train. And when I say hordes, I mean hordes. And so you shuffle in, try to see if you can get on the train and make yourself as tiny as possible.

It’s hard to move around. And so it’s understandable that sometimes you don’t have the opportunity to take your bag out and stand properly. Everyone does it. It’s a cramped train. Cry me a river, build a bridge and get over it.

So when this rude old guy complained of my bag which is not even that big touching him though to be honest it was him that was pushing himself against it because he was a stupid idiot who would not move forward when he could and insists on joining the cramped train brigade in the center, I was not going to move mountains just to get him to shut up.

Here was my sitch - I was stuck in between 3 women because we all had to squeeze in together in the cramped train virtually motionless. If I tried the maneuver to remove my backpack I would hit all three of them. So I was waiting for the next station, when it was easier to move to remove my bag which was not bulky at all but it was heavy because I was carrying a laptop, an iPad, and a water bottle full of 1.5 L of water. So it hurt my back also but because I could not move I bore the pain.

And then this asshole behind me, instead of asking nicely to maybe give him room, upon which I would have said sorry uncle it’s a bit cramped and I cannot really move, he goes on to noisily flip newspaper and mutter under his breath and make a spectacle of himself in the train.

No one even cared about him cause he was an ass and everyone knew it. We were all cramped. Bags were all on shoulders and people saw my bag wasn’t that bulky. So no one even tried to help him out and he got off with his own steam at MY STOP.

So I followed him, veering out of my usual path because I wanted to see where he was going. I lost him when he descended to who knows where (probably to hell where his old as mold soul is being summoned) And I swear to the River Styx, if this guy ever tries to be rude to me again, I will do what I did today. Say nothing and stand my ground. In the end I didn’t look funny at all. He made himself into a spectacle and ended up looking like a big fat loser for it.

#rude #old people #assholes #trains

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