e_delmar | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's nice on Shadow, quiet. Work's good, even if he ain't sleeping much.

But not sleeping's better'n what happens when he sleeps.

He don't need anything more'n what he's got there, but sometimes when he stares at the ceiling - or the night sky - he can't help but think about a thing or two left behind that maybe he don't want got rid of.

So it could be that it's late one night (on Shadow, anyway, who ever knows how times match up) Ennis sneaks into the bar, headed back towards his (their) room.

He's quick, and he's quiet, but could be you could catch him.

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"FINE."

He might as well get a tape recorder.

Mary looks a little exasperated.

"You keep saying that. But it is not."

"What'you know?"

"I know that your eyes look all bruised like Colin's did when everyone thought he was dying," Mary says, promptly.

"And you are being cross, and trying to make me cross - that is what I did when I was ill in India."

Ennis only shrugs.

"Well," Mary informs him, finally, "you shall not make me cross."

She sounds rather cross, as she says it.

"But you ought to listen to me; it is only silly to make yourself ill."

Ennis looks cross right back.

"Well, I've things to do."

What, try to escape? Never.

"If you fall over when you do them," Mary says, dourly, "you shall remember that I told you so."

"Sure will."

In fact, he prolly won't be able to think of much but.

"Fine, then," says Mary, stealing a phrase.

"FINE."

And somewhere deep down he realizes this is all utterly ridiculous, but he can't seem to care all that much about it.

Mary feels it is not ridiculous for her, seeing as she is ten.

"I already said that," she points out.

"Right.

well. Things."

Those things he mentioned. That he's obviously so anxious to do.

He shuffles his toe along the ground, and gives a kick.

Mary considers him for a moment, seriously.

"If kicking the ground is one of the things," she says, finally, "I am not sure if I see the point."

But there might be one! Mary is open to explanations.

. . . . "It's not."

"I did not think so," Mary agrees, "but people do strange things often. What are they?"

"Had to get some things, is all."

Mary blinks.

Information processes.

"- you are not staying here anymore," she says, comprehending, and frowns. "Are you going home?"

She shakes his head and looks at the ground.

"Stayin' with a lady called Mrs. Reynolds."

"Mrs. Reynolds?" Mary repeats, startled.

It's not the same - but it sounds rather too similar for comfort.

"What sort of lady is she?" she asks, warily.

'Warm and maternal' are keywords for danger!

"Rancher, like me. Works a farm."

Mary relaxes, a very little.

Not yet all the way, though.

"What sort of farm? Are there sheep on it?"

~~Ennis' mun ain't quite sure, to be honest.~~

"Horses, mostly."

"And," Mary persists, "it is not in Wales."

He looks at her oddly.

"Don't think there's a Wales out on Shadow, no."