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elderberries-and-honey · 2 months

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Meanwhile, inside of the house, Louise and Millie were working in the kitchen. Louise had always struggled with cooking but with Millie's patience and guidance, she was trying to get better.

"Oh, it's awful isn't it?" Louise sighed, trying to get a read on Millie's face. Louise stood in wait, her eyes shifting between hopeful to disappointed while she took note of Millie's silence.

Not wanting to hurt the poor woman's feelings, Millie turned away and suppressed a cough. "No, no, I wouldn't say awful," She offered, "It's just a bit bland. Not to worry, honey, we'll find something to add a little flavor and we can still save it."

Louise sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "Maybe I'm just not meant to be a cook. You, though, you're a real natural in the kitchen." Before Millie could try to reassure her it just took time, both of them heard the warm sound of a child's laughter, followed by the echoing of adults laughing afterwards. But it seemed there were more voices now.

Hurrying over to the window above the door, they gazed outside, spotting everyone gathered around the picnic table enjoying the luncheon Millie, and partially Louise, had prepared for them all to enjoy.

"Oh my, they're here!" Louise said, wiping her hands off on her apron before removing the garment completely before heading outdoors to welcome the Baudelaire's home and join them for luncheon.

Everyone was digging into the food already, talking between bites about what had happened while they were away, which was hardly anything of note but it was still pleasant to catch up anyway. None of them dared mention Winifred's mother to her, afraid to "rock the boat" when she'd only just started feeling better after her daughter's untimely demise.

That was until Millie eventually made her way outside. At first, it felt almost like a dream to Winifred seeing Millie there at her farm. They both approached each other silently, uncertain how they should greet one another now that it had been so long. Were they to act as strangers? But how could they, after all they had endured together at the workhouse? Surely, a few years of silence wouldn't break a bond as deep as theirs.

While they continued to gaze at each other, they took in the features that stayed the same, the ones that whispered 'here I am, just as you left me!' but noticing where they'd changed too. Like the fact that Winifred was wearing her hair up despite her always hating to before or Millie having pierced her ears now.

Most notably though, Millie was trying her hardest not to stare at Winifred's pregnant belly. She had met Ozzy, and of course knew he was her son, but it was difficult to picture Winifred as a mother.

"Thank you for writing." Winifred said, finally breaking the ice, and that was all it took. Millie threw herself into Winifred's arms, nearly collapsing into them, mumbling apologies about not writing her back sooner and ignoring her letters all together.

"I wrote as soon as I found her," Millie explained. "Winifred, I'm so sorry. I know what she meant to you. I still can't believe it."

Winifred was still trying to take it all in. Being reunited with her son and her childhood best friend, the loss of her mother, the persistent townsfolk from earlier, Lawrence's angry outburst...she could hardly process what Millie had just said.

Had Millie truly been the one to discover her mother's body in Whitechapel or was she confused? What was she even doing there in the first place? But it was nothing she wanted to discuss here in front of everyone so instead, she simply returned the hug silently and put it out of her mind like everything else.

The remainder of the afternoon passed without anymore emotional hiccups, all of them relishing their time together in the sun, stuffing their bellies full with delicious food and laughing harder than any of them had in awhile.

Winifred and Lawrence could have never predicted such a comforting welcome home party and they appreciated their friends for such a sweet gesture. Both of them were filled with warmth at the love surrounding them, serving as a reminder yet again that there was goodness still in the world right there in their own backyard.

But as autumn does, when the sun went down, the little warmth there was left in the air began to disappear right along with it and the evening had to come to an end eventually. Everyone slowly began to dismiss themselves for the night but one of the last to do so was Beth who had feared this moment all day long.

She leaned down to kiss Ozzy's cheek, promising to return tomorrow to see him, but when she turned to leave and Ozzy realized he wasn't going with her, the meltdown she was dreading earlier began to erupt.

"No! Down! Down!" Ozzy cried, his little face turning bright red when his pleas were ignored. Echoing throughout the vicinity, the little boy shrieked at the top of his lungs, calling after his Auntie while Lawrence struggled to keep his grip on him as his small body thrashed around in his arms.

Beth tried to keep putting one foot in front of the other but his tearful voice repeating 'Auntie Bef, Auntie Bef!' after her became too much.

Despite being hesitant to put her nose where it wasn't wanted, she suggested keeping Ozzy for a few more days while the Baudelaire's settled in at home and the little one could get used to not being with her as often.

But even after they all agreed it was for the best, she didn't know which one of them needed a few more nights together more. Herself or Ozzy. Prior to them coming home, she had been utterly exhausted and wanted them to return so badly. Yet, now that they were here...she didn't know how to handle the thought of her home being empty again as it was before.

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#ts4 historical #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 storytelling #sims 4 storystelling #ts4 legacy #sims 4 legacy #the baudelaire legacy #1890 #winifred baudelaire #lawrence baudelaire #oscar baudelaire #beth herbert #jackson mcadams #valerie mcadams #louise mcadams #millie thomas

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moominofthevalley · 5 months

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The Girl with the Glass

Trystan finds a mysterious scrapbook. Emily has a deep conversation with a stranger.

Characters: Trystan Thorne x Emily Rose

WC: 2.5k

Rating: Teen | CW: Mentions of Grief

CFWC Prompt Used: ‘Visiting a Holiday Market’ & ‘The holidays won’t be the same now that they’re gone’

A/N: Happy Holidays, everyone! This drabble is inspired by an influx of things – mostly my favorite film, “Amélie,” if you couldn’t tell by the title. (Which, of course, is not-so-subtle-symbolism). Enjoy!

“It’s your turn, Trystan!”

Snow sprinkled downwards, little husks of angels drooping to the wintry ground. Crowds of faces walked the busy New York streets, surrounded by shiny knickknacks and dusty clothes. Cheeks were stained pink, and lips curled upwards in the holiday spirit. Trystan urged out a cocky grin, arms around Emily’s waist.

“Is it, now?”

“Yes, it is! I’ll go and get something for us to eat.”

Trystan pecked her forehead, whispering, “Do something good!” before disappearing into the crowd. He grew fond of these new habits of love, searching for a trinket to take back to their hearth.

It was a silly tradition, but a tradition nonetheless. It began with a scratched Pierrot figurine Emily bought from a vintage shop. Ivory skin and porcelain eyes, and a black-and-white costume with a frilled collar. Like some haunted elf on the shelf, the clown explored the apartment all by itself – according to Trystan, at least. The second well-loved piece was a gift from Marguerite: a brass ladybug ashtray. Neither Emily nor Trystan smoked, though the aureate bug was far too interesting to be thrown away. The most recent find was a print of Renoir’s The Luncheon of the Boating Party Emily purchased from a local art gallery. Both of them adored it; the celebration of warmth and good company, the splendid wines and fruits, calmness in beauty in the mundane. Drinks and company aside, Emily was far more fascinated with the girl with the glass. A sullen woman drinking wine in a sea of chatting strangers.

It was Trystan’s turn, and he was keen on finding an old book of sorts. He insisted on a leather novel of yellowed papers and annotated lines, with intricate Victorian details along the spine. Trystan paused, exhilarated at the antique booth before him. Forgotten scrapbooks, noir polaroids, rotten thrown-away cameras, and fringed lamps cornered him with an enticement to explore.

Emily wandered around the opposite side of the market, searching for nearby food vendors. A strange harmony bubbled inside her; a soft scent, a beam from the clouded sun. She breathed in the scent of chestnuts and red wine, a wintry chill slipping through her bones. Silver bells danced in the December wind, faces greeting each other with a blissful smile. It was a perfect moment, a painting from her own eyes.

On the sidewalk stood a white-haired woman in a vibrant Christmas sweater, her cane tapping the frozen ground. Breaths escaped her parted lips in subtle clouds of white. Trystan’s words repeated in Emily’s head, a determination settling within her. This was peace and contentment; the mundanity of a random December afternoon.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you need help?”

“Yes, please!”

“Careful of the curb, here we go!”

The woman held onto the cane, her other hand wrapped around Emily’s. Her heart burst at the scene developing around her. Laughs and joyous days echoed around her, the wind so sweet she gulped for more.

“Hear that? That’s a florist laughing, he has crinkly eyes! A booth that smells like eucalyptus and rose is selling crystals and botanical postcards. The food truck across them is selling lollipops and hot cocoa for children. A farmer’s booth has rows of persimmons, oranges, and tangerines. Next to the fruits, a baby is watching her dad throw his hat in the air. We’re at the end of the market, there’s a bookstore and a vinyl shop in front of us. I’ll leave you here, goodbye!”

The elderly woman struck out a pleased laugh, touched by moments folding around her. Memories of today fell like dominoes, scattering about like new snow. Her cheeks shined pink as Emily cradled her hand, stilling the woman’s trembling fingers.

“Have a good day,” She whispered before walking off.

“Wait,” The woman called out, “Are you hungry? Let me get you something to eat!” * * * *

Emily and the white-haired woman split an orange and two empanadas on a quiet bench. Emily, of course, contently peeled the oranges in thirds, ignoring the pith underneath her nails.

Familiarity struck her as she handed the woman an orange. Her father’s willow-leaved eyes resembled the stranger’s. Perhaps in another life, Jimmy Rose grew old and never walked the wistful grounds of Box Thirty-Two. To breathe with wrinkled skin and grey hairs, lines creasing about his lips and forehead.

“What’s your name?”

“Diana.”

“I’m Emily,” she hid the third orange wedge in her coat pocket, “Do you like the food?”

“I love it,” Diana grinned, “God, that vendor was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

Emily gulped, taken aback, “How could you tell?”

The other woman laughed and patted her lap, “Partial blindness. I can only see things if I’m up close.”

“Oh!” Emily blushed awkwardly, “I’m sorry – I didn’t-”

“Don’t worry.”

“But, er, yes, the vendor was beautiful.”

Diana perked up, casting an amused grin, “Are you a lesbian?”

“Bisexual. And my boyfriend wanted to check this market out. He’s looking for…I dunno, some silly trinket to take home, and I told him I’d get us some food. Are you…also…?”

Diana nodded.

“How old are you?”

“Sixty-eight. And you?”

“Twenty-eight,” Diana winced.

“Don’t worry, it does get better.”

Emily shrugged, unconvinced. Her bones were brittle as if made of glass, jaded memories of Drakovia hitting her like violent waves against a sandy beach. Grief thrashed inside her head so intensely she’d wake up in the night, begging for air. There was avoiding it, no going under or over it. Whether she’d acknowledge it or not, trauma and grief permeated her life.

“When?” Emily asked innocently, her eyes burning. Diana scooted slightly closer, resting her wrinkled hand over Emily’s.

“When does it get better?” Emily nodded, cringing at her childish question, “However long it takes. Eventually…it’ll pass.”

It had been sixteen years. Sixteen lonely years, and it had, indeed, not passed. She swore that she’d be done with everything by twenty. That foolish promise broke, and twenty-eight was no different than twenty. All that was left of Jimmy Rose’s legacy was a cruel memory.

“It’s been almost twenty years. I don’t think it will.”

Emily gritted her teeth ruefully, furrowing her fingers into her hands until they became beet red. With a blink of an eye, she was no longer the famed private detective who took down the Heartache Killer; but a tall child with no father.

“Oh, Emily,” Diana cooed, “I’m so sorry. But that’s simply not true,” She murmured, struggling to find the right words, “Nothing lasts forever. Things pass, lives go on, and it feels fucking awful when you’re…stuck. But when we are stuck, all we have is each other. To get by, at least.”

Emily’s walls began crumbling. Her hands instinctively covered her face, sheltering herself from the world. Diana granted her some space, moving closer to the other end of the bench.

“I’m sorry,” Emily rubbed her face, grasping at anything to change the subject. With a pained sigh, she uttered, “Y’know, I don’t really like Christmas. I just–I’m just here because of a stupid tradition.”

“I don’t either,” Diana said, “But my wife loved it. Every year, God bless her soul, she’d always cook the worst beef wellington ever!” Diana with a familiar gleefulness, “I’d always eat it. I mean, it was atrocious and entirely raw, but she cooked it. Made with love…and absolutely no seasoning. I would do anything to have it this year.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Emily whispered, “Her wellington must’ve made your day. My dad took me to Rockefeller Square every year until he passed. I always thought he was a king for that,” She chuckled, “I remember seeing it for the first time. I didn’t even know trees got that big.”

“He sounds like an amazing Dad. I’m so sorry he was lost to you.”

“Thank you. I try to remember the good things about him. It helps keep his spirit alive.”

Inklets of snow trailed down and stained their hair, solemness in the wind. Emily cleared her throat, pushing past the silence.

“Can you tell me more about your wife?”

“Of course,” Diana beamed, “Her name was Dani. She lived in the apartment next to mine. She was an amazing pianist. I’d always hear her playing through the walls. One day, I knocked on her door and asked if I could listen to her.”

“Do you remember what song she played?”

“Yes! It was, hm, ‘Camptine?’ No – ‘Comptine d’un autre été.’ You really should listen to it sometime.”

“I’ll hold you to that…how long were you two together?”

“Twenty years and ninety-eight days – but who’s counting? We were completely different and so unlike,” Diana’s face grew serious, “And she was so different in the end, too. It’s odd to see someone die when they’re already gone and so, so small.”

Emily fiddled with her hands, jaws clenched, “I’m so sorry, Diana. I can’t imagine losing–” She choked on a small pit in her throat, “I just can’t imagine a loss like that.”

“Thank you. The two of us had an amazing life. We really, really did. I mean – sometimes I still see her, even in little things, I still feel her with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I see her everywhere,” Diana’s lips quivered, “I see her when it rains, and I think of the song she played for me when we first met. I saw La Traviata last summer, and all I thought about was her. Whenever I walk by a deli, I think of her God-awful beef wellington and cry.”

A glint of doubt shimmered in Emily’s eye. Uncertainty twisted her insides, striking with fierce ripples of despair and mourning.

“Listen to me,” Diana said sternly, “One day at a time is all we got. So go on and live. But, when the time does come…kiss his forehead, rub his feet, and play a song that reminds you of him. It will be hard, and I don’t think it will ever go away completely. But I promise – after some time, you’ll wake up and feel, maybe not better, but as if you’ve adjusted to the pain of it all. And then it won’t hurt so much.”

A surge of preemptive grief washed over Emily, though tears never flooded her eyes. The burdens of the past and deaths of the future weren’t gone, but instead quiet and still in her mind. Death is only a moment, a bitter soul slipping into the next room. Two words repeated in Emily’s head until she was content.

“Thank you. I never thought of it that way…thank you.”

Easy silence lay upon them, the words shared by each other warm in their throats. Flurries of unknown faces passed by, snowflakes tangling in their hair with ease. Spotting Trystan in the crowd of strangers, Emily greeted the mischievous smirk on his face, hands tucked behind his back.

“Hey partner,” Trystan kissed the top of Emily’s head, “And who’s this?”

“I’m Diana…and you must be the boyfriend Emily was telling me about!”

“Oh, yeah? What’d she tell you?”

“Your deepest and darkest secrets, obviously,” Emily deadpanned, “...You hiding something back there?”

With a smug grin, Trystan unveiled a wrapped gift. He chuckled, “You’ll see! I’ll show you later.”

“Hey, I also got you something!” Emily grabbed the orange slice from her pocket, wiping away tiny beads of lint. Trystan’s face lit up, mouth agape.

“I love you. Thank you,” Trystan pecked her forehead once more before biting into the citrus, “And it was lovely meeting you, Diana. I hope Emily didn’t tell you every secret of mine.” Diana laughed, shaking his hand.

“Of course not. And Emily?” She whispered into her ear, “Remember what you’re here for.”

* * * *

“Do I seriously need to be blindfolded for this?”

“I mean,” He pressed his hands tight against Emily’s covered eyes, “Yeah, you do.”

Emily grumbled, rolling her eyes through the thick wad of fabric tied around her head. A week had passed since she met Diana, and all that was in her mind were her tender words. Emily fixed her pout, forcing a tooth-shining smirk as Trystan led her across the apartment.

“The things I do for you.”

“Careful, darling,” Trystan gently moved her away from hitting the coffee table, “And sit…err, right here!”

“Can I take the blindfold off now?”

“Not yet!”

Sounds of scuffling surrounded her, and Emily grew curious. Trystan had been hiding something since the trip to the market. Whenever she’d mentioned it, he’d waggle a finger to his lips and utter gibberish.

Emily scoffed, amused, “Is this about that thing you got last week?” Trystan snickered with a childlike excitement.

“...Maybe.”

The tussling stopped, and Trystan sat beside her. Resting a hand on her thigh, he grinned, “Okay! You can take it off now.”

“Oh…my God!”

A leatherbound scrapbook and a dainty film camera plastered with Hello Kitty stickers sat across them. Colorful children’s doodles scuffed the book cover, crayons covering every inch. Squiggly letters in blue and red revealed the title: RoSe fAmilY aDveNtureS. Emily gasped, flooded with faint memories of her father. With flushed cheeks, she turned to Trystan and gawked.

“Trystan!” Emily squealed, “You found this last week?”

“Mhm,” He bobbed his head, “I showed it to Tommy to make sure. He said he must’ve accidentally donated it while cleaning up the attic. It…may or may not have taken me a long time to figure out how to use the camera – but it works! I’ll hook it up to the TV, okay?”

“I fucking love you.”

Emily and Trystan flipped page after page, soaking in long-forgotten moments of Emily’s past. At the top of each page contained a laminated label. Little Emily as San, Halloween 2002. Trip to Luzon, June 2005. Fluffernutters and Chocolate Rocks!

Stacks of polaroids were taped against each other, smiles and blissful memories in every photo. One quickly seized Trystan’s attention. ‘2001’ was written at the hem of the photo. At the center, a pigtailed Emily smiled widely at the camera, boasting her half-eaten yan yan.

“God,” Emily grazed her thumb over the polaroid, “I can’t believe you found this.”

“Me too. Maybe we can look through Tommy’s attic sometime. There has to be other scrapbooks we can find.”

“Can we look through the camera now?”

“Of course, dear.”

Emily grinned at Trystan, warmed by his gift. It’d been years since her heart grew so fondly, a quiet ease running through her body. Her bones were, indeed, not made of glass. She was not brittle and weak, but rather brimming with love and sentiment. Pain and sorrow were in her veins, too, yet on this still and snowy morning, Emily was at peace.

* * * * A/N: This fic was both such a pain and so nice to write lol. I wanted to give a little thank you to @jerzwriter @lexicook74-blog and @logolepzy for helping me edit this fic! Thank you all so much for your feedback, I appreciate you all SO much.

Tags: @choicesprompts @choicesholidays @choicesficwriterscreations @jerzwriter @logolepzy @mooserii @starsarewithinme @jonathanmoores @shadyinternetblizzard @urcowboyboyfriend @lexicook74-blog @leahtine @jahrobin @icarusfallsforever @kyra75 @calisomnia (let me know if else would like to be added to my crimes tag!)

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