Hearing Anne talking to her little heart’s content warmed Dolores’s own. It was a true sign that she was relaxed within the walls of her new home; and the more importantly she felt safe enough to do so. She was so quiet when Dolores had first sat down next to her; so reserved to draw by herself when all of the other students had abandoned trying to talk to her. And the ironic thing about it, was that it was merely for a lack of trying on their end. Cause once she had started trying to actually get to speaking with her, Anne seemed to get brighter and brighter as she colored in her little octopus; a work of art that would now forever be magnetized to the front of her fridge. Dolores wouldn’t be surprised if it would be there for the remainder of Anne’s life.

     Such a prospect was almost daunting, and exciting. Dolores was in this for the long run; raising a child was never part of the plan when she looked at her own life. But the more she thought about it, the more content she had been with being a mother. She doesn’t care if her own mother considered it a drastic move, or if the social worker had told her that she should probably think it over. No- taking Anne in was the best thing that she could have done. And hearing Clara’s acceptance gave her hope that perhaps Teddy might take well to it too.

     Dolores folds her arms and turns to rest her weight against the counter, listening to what her tenant had to say on the matter.

       With Clara’s hand rested along her shoulder, Dolores feels any sort of tension in her slacken with a short nod. “Thank you, Clara. I mean it. It means a lot that you think so.” It meant a lot that there had been faith in place of doubt, especially from someone who was already a loving mother who did her best for the child in her care. She hums quietly, a moment to think over the days prospect before she pushes up onto her feet. “First things first, I gotta find a job. Something more’n I already got- n since I got time now I’m thinking of something in the morning.” Since Dolores doesn’t have classes anymore, it’s easy enough to fill it with another occupation. “They gotta eat, after all.” And then a pause, “Speaking of, did Eleanor eat yet? I’m just gonna fix Anne somethin’ n I don’t wanna leave her out- especially if she hasn’t gotten anything in her tummy yet.”

       In the short time that Clara has known Dolores, she knows that this would not be a decision made lightly. She trusts her judgement, completely and in its entirety. She was a sensible woman and if anyone had it in them to be a fantastic mother, it would be her. Clara didn’t have much to compare it to, what with her own mother dying and leaving her at the mercy of the foster care system, but from what she’s seen on TV and in passing, she knows that the little girl wouldn’t go unloved. Kindness is something that rolls off of her in droves, and Clara hopes that there would never come a time when someone would take advantage of it. She was the first person to look at her, with her bruised face and tired eyes, and not look down her nose at her. For that, Clara would give her the world if she asked for it. 

       If anyone could take motherhood in their stride, it would be her. All of that love had to go somewhere, and as Clara moves to the fridge and pulls out a large jug of iced tea that she’d made that morning, she beckons for Dolores to get two glasses. Tenant or not, Clara has done her best to not be a completely pain in the arse while she lived there. She fixes her with a look that’s equal measures fond, and as she takes the glasses from Dolores and moves to pour them both a little glass. On another occasion, she might’ve thrown a little rum or vodka in it, but with two tinys to watch over, it didn’t feel like too great of an idea.

        Clara offers her the glass and grins at her.

“And an unkind world only leaves us with so many avenues to keep up with it.” Once upon a time she may have been softer, kinder, desperate for acceptance. But time stretched on and the unkindness persisted. Maybe her nature was partially due to a life that had stretched on for far too long, and her just turning with the world.

@soucriante· liked for a lyric/random starter! accepting! || es by crying.

    “all i care to do is sip on beer and chocolate milk,” she says, cracking open a can and pulling her cup of milk closer to herself. it’s too early for this sort of chaos and yet, here she is.

    To have lived through generations completely unchanged, is to also discover that the idiocy of mortals remains just that: posturing and peacocking in a desperate attempt to outdo one another. It often led to wars, wars led to death and starvation, and more often than not, those without the money to put food in their mouths often went hungry. Clara is over two-hundred years old and were she in the position to give up what little she had, she would in a heartbeat. They were victims of a King’s foul temper and the delicate politics that kept everything hanging in the balance. The corpses made good food for necrophages, and Clara has witnesses the use of a body or two to bait them closer so they might be slain for the alchemic properties. An awful practice, really. 

      It was then once she is comfortable that he turns and hangs her coat up on the hanger just next to the entrance. “So it would seem sh would have you suffer along with her, is that it.” He snorts along with himself, a playful chide as he settles his hand along a hip, then contemplates the offer briefly. Then he smiles, “Almost sounds like you’re just trying to keep me around.” He says, a flirt as he’s turning to face her as he steps backward toward the kitchen. “I could go for something to drink, yeah.”

@soucriante·

Hamlet was moving along the cutting board with a surgeon likeprecision. Every tomato, onion, and pepper was cut just so. Every looked likeevery other. He was cutting the olives in half now and cursed under his breathbecause the oil had made the board a little bit more slippery than it had tobe.

He looked up at Clara and smiled. “How do the two of you feelabout Italian dressing?” he asked.

     Warm and open hospitality was something that was wonderful about this new and modern world. One could put a listing in a window and find themselves a room, if they needed it and this place was no exception -- it was safe, it was warm and there was little need to fuss and fret over whether or not they would be found.

bloodied knuckles  ･ tear stained cheeks  ･ rust  ･ a busted lip ･ claws  ･ fangs ･  a bloody nose ･  chattering teeth  ･  a dark space underneath the bed ･ scratching noises on a wall ･  creaking metal  ･  fog ･ dancing under moonlight ･ blood dripping lips ･ heavy breathing in the dark ･ a feeling of unexplained dread ･ a figure in a dark corner ･   dirty peeling wallpaper  ･ a bloody handprint on the wall ･  sobbing in the dark ･  bite marks on the skin ･eerie whispers ･  a hood covering a stranger’s eyes  ･ the growl of a hidden animal ･ the sound of a blade being sharpened ･ a deep, dark forest ･  walking on the streets alone at night ･ a cobweb-filled, abandoned building  ･ eyes darting in paranoia ･  a heavy beating pulse ･ the feeling of being trapped ･  struggling to get out a scream  ･ boards covering broken windows  ･  a quiet graveyard ･  a gas station in the middle of nowhere ･ a road that never ends ･  heavy fog rolling in ･ the scent of blood in the air  ･  eerie old photographs  ･ walking along traintracks at night  ･ a chill going up the spine ･  gathering crows ･ a dusty, dimly lit study ･  mist over a deserted cobblestone street ･  ghost towns ･ shadows around a campfire ･ the sound of chanting  ･ church bells tolling ･  an orange harvest moon ･  a broken down carnival  ･  a dirty stuffed animal abandoned  ･  wiping bloody hands on fabric ･nightmares ･  waking up in a panic ･  a power outage  ･ heavy lightning storms ･  a secret trap door  ･ the feeling of being watched ･ fear from trauma ･  a ouija board set out on a table  ･  an eerie doll  ･ a scream of anguish & pain ･ withered plants  ･  a room that’s been forgotten & gathered dust ･  owl eyes in the dark ･  curled, dead tree branches ･  a ritual altar ･ flickering candles ･ a lantern held up in the dark･ fear of being followed ･  creaking floorboards ･ repressed, horrible memories  ･clenched teeth ･  soft, echoing piano keys  ･ an old book covered in dust ･  many pairs of glaring eyes ･  stumbling in pitch black darkness  ･ being stranded in the middle of nowhere  ･  tarot cards on a table  ･  a trail of blood