Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Day Five-Forty-Eight: Dirty Deeds, Done Dirt Deep

After she was done drubbing me for putting Fynn in danger yesterday, Libby and I had a moment. 

After the rough start, things have smoothed out in Villeinville. Cannonbottom has sequestered himself back in the tower, but everyone else has happily embraced us as temporary parts of the community. Those of us allowed in last night were privy to a big feast, and this morning the cooks of the town brought us a huge breakfast. Fynn had his first taste of sugar, and I'll be damned if he hasn't been bouncing off the walls ever since.

Libby, taking a break from the repairs, entered Villeinville 'round lunchtime to replace Morris, who'd spent the morning trading for veggies. After some wheeling and dealing of our own we had a late lunch in my parents' old fields, watching Fynn do cartwheels across the abandoned furrows while we chewed on carrots.

"Kid's spastic," Libby grunted, though she smiled as she spat the end of a carrot onto the ground. "Better not give him sugar too often. Could tear the Dauphine's guts apart."

"Yeah, I bet he's strong. Like his… yeah." I coughed. "Less sugar. Gotcha. But, y'know, kids are just… like this. Mostly."

Libby looked at me. Her eyes screamed 'Not our kids', but she said something else. "I wasn't. My dad says I was quiet. When I wasn't cuttin' down or haulin' trees I'd just get lost in the forest near our house, not makin' a peep. Gave him a heart attack a dozen times when he had to play hide 'n seek to find me."

"Ha. Poor guy." I thought back. "I… I guess I was kinda quiet, too. Robert was the loud one. Never shut up, that kid. I probably woulda talked more if he'd kept his mouth shut, but… always planning."

Libby patted me on the shoulder. "I'm sorry. Y'don't have to talk about him."

I shook my head. "No, it's okay. It's… kinda nice. He was a good guy, even when he was acting the prat. Nice to remember the old times… easy to do it in a place like this, too…"

I let my eyes wander, drinking in the old neighbourhood. The farms, the fields, the silos, the ponds, the wells, the spiky wooden wall, the tower… all of it. Even the sun, beaming down on us, seemed more familiar within the confines of Villeinville.

Home. Not the home I love, but… still home.

We watched Fynn in silence for a while, chuckling as he attacked a tree with a stick. His giggles are infecitous.



"I ever tell you 'bout the old lady?"

Libby raised an eyebrow. "Don't have another wife, do ya? Might have to break her in half."

I laughed. "No, no. One's enough. "

"Then no, I guess not."

"Kay." I took a breath. "When we were kids, Robert 'n me, we didn't have much to do when our chores were done. Dad sucked at playing with us. Usually beat us up if he tried. Said it built our 'character'. Shit like that. Anyway, when we couldn't find anything else to do, we'd get into trouble. Good way to spend time, trouble."

"Uh huh."

"It is! And gods know that Rob was good at getting into trouble. Him'n his stupid-ass plans. They never worked, not a once."

"His strike worked pretty well. Back at the castle."

"Yeah, but, Driscol…" I waved my hands. "Losing track. Back on topic. Old woman. Right? Old woman."

"Right. Go ahead."

"So this old woman. I can't remember her name. Gladys, maybe?, Sure, Gladys. Something that sounds old. Grew and sold turnip shrimp in her gardenquarium. Anyway, she lived on the other side of the village, in a little shack, so Robert figured we could get away with wrongin' her without, you know, gettin' in too much trouble. Get in trouble without getting in trouble. Savvy?"


"Savvy. So Robert, he sneaks into our kitchen and grabs a biiiiig bug of cooking oil. Mom always kept a ton of it around, since Robert was on a cooking warpath when he was young, and she never noticed that it went missin'. We take the jug…" 


"We haul it around the edge of the village to the back of the old woman's house…"

"… yeah…?"

"We find her best pair of shoes, a pair she always went on about as bein' so damned great to everybody…"


"… and we dunk them in the cooking oil. Like, immerse. Left them sitting in it for a good five minutes. By the time we fished 'em out again, they were, well, ruined. Big 'ol blobs of oil and leather. Left them there for her and ran off."

"… oh."

I let the story sink in for a few moments. 

Fynn joined us, the sugar high wearing off. He flopped into his mother's arms and had a nap.

"That's…" Libby shifted Fynn from one arm to another, wincing. "That's… um. Well, how did she react?"

I scratched my head. "… not sure I rightly remember."

"Oh." Libby pursed her lips. "That's kind of a lame story, Dragomir."



"… yeah…"

I never said it was a GREAT moment. I just said we had a moment.


Dragomir the Wanderer


  1. That's the most couple-like moment we've ever seen. It's beautiful.