Samantha Parkington (smparkington) wrote in expresslogs, @ 2012-07-01 22:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, !plot, {lyra silvertongue, {samantha parkington |
Characters: Samantha Parkington & [open]
When: Midmorning on July 1
Location: Mini-kitchen
Warnings/Rating: None
Summary: Saltwater taffy that causes one to speak entirely in Emily Dickinson poems goes perfectly with a midmorning cup of coffee, don't you think?
It wasn't unusual to find Samantha Parkington in the new mini-kitchen car most days. For one thing, it was new. Samantha had been on the train long enough to be thoroughly sick of every other type of car, particularly when it came to her art. She was pretty sure that every armchair, every side table, every window had been thoroughly captured in her sketchbook, evidenced by the quickly dwindling supply of blank pages. Besides, it made it incredibly easy to get a snack. She'd never been terribly comfortable in a kitchen, living her entire life with cooks to take care of that for her, but she'd slowly gotten better at some things. With a lot of hard work, she'd finally learned how to operate a coffee maker, so she'd gotten into the habit of making herself a cup every day, just to keep the new skill honed. It wasn't something she wanted to forget.
The other nice thing was that when she'd been on the island, she'd been considerately provided with new clothes, which meant she no longer had to choose between the increasingly bedraggled evening gown in which she'd arrived and the (still strange to her) garments in the baggage car. Today, she was dressed in a below-the-knee skirt and matching jacket; though Samantha had yet to live through the 1940s, she'd been told it wasn't unlike the suits worn then. It was much more comfortable, she thought as she prepared the coffee grounds, than the floor-length dresses and pinching shoes she was used to...
As Samantha carefully poured the water into the reservoir, a small candy dish on the counter caught her eye. "Saltwater taffy!" she exclaimed, almost childlike in her excitement. It was the candy she'd always loved most; it reminded her of vacations with Grandmary and walks in Atlantic City with Uncle Gard and Nellie. Certainly just one wouldn't hurt? She reached for one that looked to be her favorite flavor - vanilla - and unwrapped it, placing it on her tongue. She began to chew, relishing the tang of the salt mixed with the creamy vanilla...
"A happy lip — breaks sudden —
It doesn't state you how
It contemplated — smiling —
Just consummated — now —
But this one, wears its merriment
So patient — like a pain —
Fresh gilded — to elude the eyes
Unqualified, to scan —"
Samantha stopped, unnerved. How had a simple "Why, how delicious!" turned into a poem?!