Keri and I kept talking about it til she asked me for it. Except in my fic THEY KIND OF DO GET TOGETHER. IS IT CAIN I HOPE IT'S CAIN IT'S PRETTY.
One more Domestic-ness and then I go to bed:
There was a narrow and quaint little Central townhouse that came completely furnished and didn’t break the bank. One sunny autumn day sometime after the Witch fell, Wyatt Cain moved in with all his possessions and the day after that, so did Sir Ambrose. They quickly became the gossip of the town and the palace, though folk were often forced to admit: “Well, no, I’ve never actually seen any of this with my own eyes, but it comes from a friend of my cousin’s friend. Very reputable source!” Logic, though, insisted that something was afoot. Why else would two bachelors lock themselves in a family abode? It quickly became ritual for citizens of Central City to perch beneath the lamp outside the townhouse, just watching the windows for activity, for proof.
It most likely would have frustrated the whole city, really, if they knew that neither Cain nor Ambrose thought it possible for people to believe such a thing.
They had established their own comfortable routines. They spent nine to ten in the morning at the market (but never touched hands, gossiped the women, and certainly never kiss, harrumph those in the gentlemen’s clubs). Once fresh food for the day had been bought, Ambrose regularly passed a note to Cain and they parted ways to different directions of town.
“I bet it’s a love note,” the ladies sighed at the launderettes.
“Some reminder of appointments to be punctual for,” said the men at their poker games.
(It would disappoint to know that it was merely a shopping list of meat, priced to the nearest pound and ounce)
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Date: 2008-08-09 05:42 am (UTC)One more Domestic-ness and then I go to bed:There was a narrow and quaint little Central townhouse that came completely furnished and didn’t break the bank. One sunny autumn day sometime after the Witch fell, Wyatt Cain moved in with all his possessions and the day after that, so did Sir Ambrose. They quickly became the gossip of the town and the palace, though folk were often forced to admit: “Well, no, I’ve never actually seen any of this with my own eyes, but it comes from a friend of my cousin’s friend. Very reputable source!” Logic, though, insisted that something was afoot. Why else would two bachelors lock themselves in a family abode? It quickly became ritual for citizens of Central City to perch beneath the lamp outside the townhouse, just watching the windows for activity, for proof.
It most likely would have frustrated the whole city, really, if they knew that neither Cain nor Ambrose thought it possible for people to believe such a thing.
They had established their own comfortable routines. They spent nine to ten in the morning at the market (but never touched hands, gossiped the women, and certainly never kiss, harrumph those in the gentlemen’s clubs). Once fresh food for the day had been bought, Ambrose regularly passed a note to Cain and they parted ways to different directions of town.
“I bet it’s a love note,” the ladies sighed at the launderettes.
“Some reminder of appointments to be punctual for,” said the men at their poker games.
(It would disappoint to know that it was merely a shopping list of meat, priced to the nearest pound and ounce)