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[ she’s spent hours in Rose’s room, huddled beneath the blankets on her bed, clinging to the teddy bear her parents had gotten for her years ago. she made the post from there and she hadn’t moved from it since.

she hears the first knock on the door and rolls over, grip on the stuffed animal tight. she didn’t want visitors. she didn’t want anyone to see her or to offer hollow condolences and old memories like it were a funeral. rose wasn’t dead, she was just gone. she was just in the ocean and maybe she’d return one day.

the second knock makes anger flare up in her and she shouts, knowing she won’t be heard on the second floor before she rolls out of bed to stumble down the stairs. it’s so much easier to be angry than so full of grief she felt as if she were drowning in it.

she swings the door open, ready to yell at the person on the other side, when she sees who it is. her anger drains out of her and she suddenly feels weak. tears prickle at the edges of her eyes.

she looks exhausted, deep bags beneath her eyes and face splotchy from crying. she was still in her pjs and her hair was a mess. pressed under her arm is a brown teddy bear ]

F-Falco? [ she hesitates before she steps aside to let him in but lingers close in case he needs her assistance. ] You—you didn’t have to come all the way out here.

[ they exchange a gaze once the door swings open, with falco’s forming smile being a bittersweet one. there she was, tired and saddened, of course, but he brings surprise. he hopes to bring more. ]

Of course I did—!

[ the second there’s space to, between the open door and sharon lingering close (along with the confidence to), falco launches himself to her with his arms extended, to wrap around her midsection tightly and make up for the time he couldn’t. that, and much more.

his crutch has fallen, clattering in front of her front doorway, but he was only a step away. he wouldn’t fall. ]

[ Falco propels himself forward to wrap his thin arms around her waist and Sharon nearly stumbles back out of shock. The teddy she had clutched to her chest falls to the floor to lay at their feet as her own arms move to clutch at him instead.

She can feel the walls she thought she had managed to put up around her heart start to crumble, her strength of will fading. She lets out a shuddering breath, the tears she had been holding back overflowing with such sudden ferocity she can’t speak.

She thought she was all cried out. She thought she was done with this.

Sharon clings to him as tightly as he clings to her, her sobs silent but shaking her whole frame. She had wanted to be strong — for herself, for Rose, for Falco — but she realizes she just doesn’t have it in her.

Another ragged sob escapes her lips and it’s as if Falco’s appearance has broken some dam deep within her and now she can’t stop it. ]

[ oh— the soft gasping gets him. it strikes his heart, it pricks tears at the corner of his eyes as he feels her frame quivering, sobbing— if he were taller, he would gather her. the best, absolute best he offers are circular motions right around her back where he could reach. snug and gentle, he allows her to crumble where he could cup her pieces and hold her up, keep her together while she can’t do it herself. he remembers how he hadn’t gotten a chance to see rose, either—

he swallows tight and burns through the crushed snort that gives way to tears of his own. he only responds with words when he feels he can offer them without breaking. it’s soft, kindling: ]

—It’s okay.

[ it’s okay to cry— it’s okay to feel what she’s feeling, even if rose wasn’t gone for good. the miss her, and will keep missing her. they could only hope she’s okay the way she is, where she is. ]

[ the tiny sounds of his sorrow reach her ears and mingle with her own. one hand instinctively moved up to lace up into his hair as if to offer the smallest touch of affection and comfort she can. she can tell that he’s trying to be strong for her and it makes her feel weak.

she felt like she could break apart here and now into a million little fragments and that only the hold of this child keeps her from it. ]

It hurts. [ her words are thick and heavy and so painfully obvious. she knows she doesn’t need to say it but she feels she needs to, like she needs an excuse to fall apart even with the loss. ]

I knew it wouldn’t last forever, I knew, but I’d hoped it would. I stupidly hoped it would. [ the words are broken up between sobs and gasps and squeaks of grief that make her sound half her age. she felt like she was 9 again, waking up on the couch, her father by her side and hearing for the first time that her mother was gone. ]

I didn’t want to lose her again, Falco.

[ it’s okay to cry, it’s not weak to cry— and falco shows that he can’t hold back either when his shoulders rise, shudder and he gasps, soft and sudden when he’d been holding his breath. his tears would stain her shirt, and that thought didn’t quite matter when he decides to bury his face and cling with his fingers. he only turns his face so his voice isn’t so muffled, but his response is wet, sniffing and small. ]

It’s not stupid, Miss Sharon. She’s you’re mom. [ how could you not hope and love and live it out if you weren’t close. ] I didn’t know . . . You lost her once. I’m so sorry.

[ Sharon sobs quietly in response. She can feel every little gasp and cry of Falco’s and though it spurs on her own tears, it manages to provide a hint of comfort; she wasn’t alone in this grief.

She thought she should be, that it’d be better to suffer this alone, but she’s realized it would’ve destroyed her. It was already killing her inside but it no longer felt as if she was standing on the brink.

It takes some time before her tears slow and come to a halt and she feels capable enough to pull away from him, though one hand remains holding him in consideration of his condition. Her face is cherry red and her eyes are swollen and pink but she appears to be gathering herself the best she can. ]

C-come on, let’s go sit down. [ her head is pulsing and her mouth is dry. Crying like that always drains her. ] You probably shouldn’t be standing too long. I can… I can make us some tea, does that sound good?

[ sharon could take all the time she needed, for falco’s small (but growing, he’s got some inches on his previous height) frame maintains its soothing embrace around her. when she lifts, so does he— a little greener around the eyes and cheeks, where they’d previously share the bright red flush.

the first thing he does is carefully bend down, from the waist, to scoop up the arm of sharon’s plush bear. he’ll need help getting up, but quickly retorts with: ]

—Can I? Please? [ there was one other reason why he had wanted to come, to. he doesn’t have the confidence to rid himself of his steadying lean on her, but he does manage to lightly pat at the top of his messenger bag to better gesture, all while returning her bear. ] I even brought eggs.

[ even with how she feels, the moment Falco bends over she immediately begins to fret, her grip on him gentle but firm. she helps him rise back up.

she wants to deny him but just looking at him she knows she can’t. her eyes fall to his pack. eggs? a ghost of a smile appears on her face. even in his current state, he wants to help her. she takes the bear and tucks it under her arm. ]

As long as you let me help. [ she reaches down to grab the fallen crutch and offer it up to him. ]

And maybe fill me in on what happened? [ she motions for him to come with her to the kitchen and she keeps close to him. she knows he knows where it’s at given that he’d stayed with rose for a time. ]

[ that's enough compromise that he'll accept, even with the smallest of grateful smiles. he nods— they could help each other, as intended. giving her a soft thank you, falco returns the crutch's underarm pad where it should be, erects his posture and follows her inside. ]

It's nothing much . . . Like an injury, or something— [ that's to reassure her. ] I stayed quadrupedal for a really long time. It starts feeling more comfortable to walk that way, and . . . I forget.

[ since it actually feels more natural. he now has greater respect for pieck, who actually can stay this way for months on end. ]

It's just for me to remind myself to walk straight until it feels natural again. It should only take a few days.

[ the way he phrases that makes her scrutinize him, searching for any obvious issues as if she could peel back his clothing and skin with just her gaze to reveal the red meat beneath. the explanation that follows doesn’t completely ease the worry nestled in her abdomen or erase her sudden desire to scoop him up in her arms to protect him with a wild fervency. ]

If you say so. [ but the way she says it and the tightness to her still wet and too blue eyes make it clear she has doubts; worries. she’s lost Rose and she fears losing Falco, too.

the kitchen is tidy. no dishes in the sink or cups upon the counters. she hasn’t come in here since she found out Rose was gone; there’s been no need. she hasn’t felt the familiar pang of hunger and hydration was far from her mind. she only suggested tea because she thought it might do Falco some good.

she pulls the kettle out and begins to grab all the little necessities for tea; the sugar and honey, the myriad of teas she’s collected over the months, and a pair of teacups hand painted with butterflies and flowers. ]

[ he's fine— as much as a shifter could be. which is to say, he does really have nothing visibly daunting on him. he has no scars to account for his trauma, no lasting injury. just a ticking time bomb that no one could see but himself.

falco wishes to spare them of that. it's too painful a notion to have. he nods nevertheless and eases a hand reassuringly behind the woman's back as they walk into the kitchen. falco takes a seat and opens the flap of his messenger bag; there, nestled on top of books, notebooks and other student accessories, is a small wovern basket, covered by a cloth. inside are the eggs, and he sets them on the table briefly just to prepare them for show.

they're cute and actually hold a light blue tint to them. getting back onto his feet, he pulls himself toward the counter where sharon begins to work on the tea, using it for support with one hand and carrying the eggs with his other. at last, he holds them up to her. ]

I can bring more whenever you want.

Edited 2022-08-15 12:34 (UTC)

[ no visible wounds, no twist to his ankles or strange bends but it brought no relief; the fear still sat there pressed up against her chest and hummed like an insect. the only thing that did offer even a hint of it was the closeness of him behind her; the knowledge he was still there.

she fills the kettle and then looks over to him. the show of eggs brought a tiny grin to her face, one as fragile as freshly blown glass. they were cute —— as cute as little eggs could be. ]

They’ve got a pretty hue to them. [ she reaches over to grab one and examine it after she sets the kettle on the stove before she returns it to the basket. ]

Where’d you get them from? A lot of the eggs I’ve gotten here have been brown. [ there’s a definite curiosity to her tone. the light blue of these eggs would be almost ideal for what she needs eggshells for. ] These shells would make a pretty paint, I think.

[ sharon, it is time. falco's building smile seems to have been anticipating this very moment, and once the egg basket is on the counter, he slips a hand in his pocket to retrieve his omni. ]

From my chickens— I had chickens in South Sister, last year, and they showed up on the beach about a week ago. [ while he looks for the photo— ] You can make paint with the shells?

Edited 2022-08-17 12:26 (UTC)

[ she watches him with barely concealed curiosity, ready for anything to distract her from how she feels. his chickens showed up? this place was one surprise after another. ]

Yeah, it takes a little work and I haven’t perfected it yet. Brown eggs don’t make the nicest of colors. [ show her the birdies, Falco! let her see the babies! ]

[ it’s something he’d like to see— there’s interest in his eyes. she’s surely have to show him when she’s done with the contents. for now, falco finishes getting to a picture with a boyish smile, and holds the omni up to her.

they are divas. ]

Their names are Catherine, Lucy and Gertrude.

[ he points them out from left to right! ]

And— there’s Austin, in the back.

[ somewhere in a blue is a big white rooster with . . . are those human eyebrows–? ]

[ it’s hard to keep a grin from blossoming across her face at the sight of the chickens. had this been any other moment, she’d have laughed until her sides ached. she’s never seen chickens like that before, all floof and beak. ]

They look like such fancy ladies. [ they need bonnets. ] Austin, though… He’s got some brows on him. [ the kind that would make it obvious he was judging you. jeez.

she opens up a lower cupboard to the pots and pans and bends down ] So, how do you want to cook up the eggs?

[ heheh comes a breath from falco. austin is definitely a piece to behold, but he adores his fancy ladies, and could spend just an awful amount of time watching them cluck and scavenge the grass for seeds and things. ]

I like them scrambled up. [ he is a simple being and likes to see all that jumbled up yellow. ] How do you eat yours?

I like ‘em scrambled, too —— usually with cheese and onions and loads of hot sauce. [ she pulls out a round pan and places it on the stove before she gathers a bowl and a whisk and a bunch of seasonings (salt and pepper, garlic and onion powder, and even some chili powder just in case) and sets them all on the counter. ]

I actually used to hate eggs, especially the yolk. I liked sweets for breakfast. Poptarts and sugary cereals, all eaten with a big energy drink or a glass of coffee.

[ this place kicked those habits, not that she still doesn’t indulge her sweet tooth now and again. ]

[ oh, seasoning is just. chef kiss. diamonds of the world. there is one thing that catches his attention out of all of this, and he has to ask as he helps crack an egg for each to whisk: ]

A Poptart— like pop?

[ soda!! pop!! ]

[ she snorts at the question. even after so long in this place, there’s still moments where she remembers that not everyone came from a world like hers. sure, there was a ton of overlap in some places but there was still so much different. ]

You know, they did do a soda flavored one but… [ she digresses! ] Poptarts are these breakfast, uh, pastries back home. They’re two pieces of pastry with a sweet filling, usually a fruit one but there’s brown sugar fillings and chocolate ones, and the top has this layer of frosting…! [ she touches her fingers to her thumb and brings them to her lips and makes an exaggerated kissing sound ]

Mmm.

[ she starts to heat up the pan in the stove as he whisks, drops a little oil into the bottom, and checks on him as he works in case he needs help ] But they got their name from the fact they were precooked and you just put them in a toaster to heat ‘em up and in a few minutes they’d pop up. [ there were many a mornings where they would startle her ]

Edited (phone tagging and hit post on accident lmfao) 2022-08-27 01:43 (UTC)

[ time to pour in those eggs and, mm, scramble. falco does chuckle at the pop tart’s apparent delicacy. he is glad that 1961 indeed had toasters, so he’s at least seen what one of those were instead of adding to the question. oh, thank haunted california, maybe! ]

Would it be hard to make one here, you think?

[ as he scrambles away, she pulls out the dishwater they’ll need. ]

Hmm, I can’t see it being too difficult. [ it’s just pastry right? And how hard could making pastry dough be?]

I think I’d need a good pastry dough and royal icing recipe but I’ve got plenty of things for the filling. [ she doubts she has either the knowledge or skill to make a true Poptart and that makes her a little sad. but homemade might be just as good? even if it lacks in preservative goodness. ]

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