Who: Pansy and Marcus When: Wednesday, 31 August, evening Where: Flint Manor What: cousins chat Rating: high for language, low for content Status: threading
Dinner had been good, with Pansy visiting Marc and Isolde. After the meal was done, Marc left them talking while Isolde picked at her dessert and retreated (with the book Pansy had brought) to the library. But relaxing and reading eluded him. He started the book, then laid it aside, his place marked for later perusal, sitting next to the high wingbacked chair.
He looked through the shelves, pacing past them, seeking something to occupy his mind. It was a rare evening that he was actually at home, and he suspected there was something he should be doing. But the one thing he wanted to be doing wasn't available to him, and that thought made his skin prickle. Jaw tight, he sough something else. He couldn't fight. Couldn't go out. And he didn't have a response to what he'd written earlier. Fuck.
He started pulling books off the shelves, idly flipping through the pages, searching for a pattern. He found a blanket that was almost what he wanted, but the pattern wasn't quite right. Opening the book on one end of the desk, he laid out graph paper on the other end, and started transferring the pattern block by block, adding new twists to it that he thought would enhance it as he wanted. After all, he needed the perfect pattern to make three blankets for the three perfect infants that would be coming into his life. Once he had the pattern, he'd find the yarn. That would at last give him something to do.