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Machina (Preston)
Some silence closed around one's awareness like a fleece in the long stretches of the night - welcome, restorative. Others walked alongside oneself, becoming a companion that never asked too much and filled the spaces where garish talk might otherwise have marred the moments from here to there. And there were some silences that pressurized, filled the room to creaking, or would have, had the room dared make a single sound to approach that silence. There had been a time when Evey could have differentiated between the three. Tonight, she couldn't find the energy to try it. But she knew enough not to disturb whatever it was here in the room with her now.
She'd already removed what little dust she'd found on the tops of appliances or in the tiny corners of the shelves. John Preston's flat was spotless, and there was little for her to do to improve on it. Muscle memory drove her on to organize whatever she could get her hands on - but she found as she moved through the task that most everything already had its place, and the flat was laid out with extreme efficiency. It was admirable to find someone as fastidiously organized as Evey herself had become.
The yellow mid-afternoon settled into that soft lavender of early evening. After what must have been hours, the Londoner finally lifted her chin from her arms and her arms from where they'd been folded on the windowsill overlooking the City. Her body moaned softly, reminding her that she'd been too still for too long to escape some pain. It was hardly worth noting. It would pass.
They'd fallen into an easy routine, found unspoken rules, and followed them. Perhaps it was an artifact of life on the island, but they both seemed to understand that around this time was dinnertime for the both of them - regardless of where they were or what they were doing. Evey began setting the table mechanically, placing the cutlery with barely a sound on their white linen napkins. She wasn't very hungry. It seemed these days that she never was. But this was what they did. She would do it. Evey poured ice water from a jug in the refrigerator, inwardly cringing at the crisp sound of liquid hitting glass, and set the glasses out when she was done.
She didn't turn around when she heard a door behind her open. She was dressed in a plain gray blouse that was too thin to have ever been useful, and a pair of similarly-dyed linen pants. Her feet were uncharacteristically bare, though she and Preston had picked out a selection of shoes for her to wear the first day they found each other. The clothing fit her very well, and in the quiet of the room, she could hear it brushing against her skin as she moved. It was a strange sort of sound, Evey thought distantly, and then let the thought float away again. When she straightened from the table, she finally looked over at John.
She was grateful that he never clogged the air with unnecessary niceties, never asked her how she was doing unless he actually wanted to know... Evey was just as considerate, then, and turned toward the kitchen to put together a dinner from whatever it was that was in the kitchen.
She'd already removed what little dust she'd found on the tops of appliances or in the tiny corners of the shelves. John Preston's flat was spotless, and there was little for her to do to improve on it. Muscle memory drove her on to organize whatever she could get her hands on - but she found as she moved through the task that most everything already had its place, and the flat was laid out with extreme efficiency. It was admirable to find someone as fastidiously organized as Evey herself had become.
The yellow mid-afternoon settled into that soft lavender of early evening. After what must have been hours, the Londoner finally lifted her chin from her arms and her arms from where they'd been folded on the windowsill overlooking the City. Her body moaned softly, reminding her that she'd been too still for too long to escape some pain. It was hardly worth noting. It would pass.
They'd fallen into an easy routine, found unspoken rules, and followed them. Perhaps it was an artifact of life on the island, but they both seemed to understand that around this time was dinnertime for the both of them - regardless of where they were or what they were doing. Evey began setting the table mechanically, placing the cutlery with barely a sound on their white linen napkins. She wasn't very hungry. It seemed these days that she never was. But this was what they did. She would do it. Evey poured ice water from a jug in the refrigerator, inwardly cringing at the crisp sound of liquid hitting glass, and set the glasses out when she was done.
She didn't turn around when she heard a door behind her open. She was dressed in a plain gray blouse that was too thin to have ever been useful, and a pair of similarly-dyed linen pants. Her feet were uncharacteristically bare, though she and Preston had picked out a selection of shoes for her to wear the first day they found each other. The clothing fit her very well, and in the quiet of the room, she could hear it brushing against her skin as she moved. It was a strange sort of sound, Evey thought distantly, and then let the thought float away again. When she straightened from the table, she finally looked over at John.
She was grateful that he never clogged the air with unnecessary niceties, never asked her how she was doing unless he actually wanted to know... Evey was just as considerate, then, and turned toward the kitchen to put together a dinner from whatever it was that was in the kitchen.