"Not all who wonder are lost" - J.R.R. Tolkein. Who: Jofranka Westwick [narrative] What: Jofranka is directed towards a bed & breakfast by one, Mr. Pyrrhus. When: Backdated, Two months ago prior to Christmas morning. Where: Morning Star Inn, Pennsylvania Warning: N/A
One foot was wearing a shoe two times her size while another fitted painfully tight.
Borrowed clothes and homemade scraps sown together covered her thin body as she let the white door close behind her - an open door, probably kind people - her eyes already darting towards what must have been the dining room, with the silverware all spread out. Dirty fingers took up a polished knife as she had curiously looked into it at an upward angle, trying to figure out just how bad this foreign state's unexpected weather had affected her.
"Can I help you?"
The knife had immediately slid right into her sleeve, effectively hiding it from sight and having been pocketed as well as she quickly turned to face an older woman with a stack of plates in her hands.
A smiling kind person. Not surprising.
Jo considered her options during that moment, wondering if gabrias really did know what he was doing in sending her to this kind of place.
"I need a place to stay. A guy said that I could stay here." She said simply with a shrug, shoving her hands into her pockets, letting the knife slip into a safer holding place. "'nyone named 'Pyrrhus' ring a bell?"
A look of realization had passed the woman's face, much to Jo's relief (if she hadn't, she had been planning to die of utter embarrassment and probably take some silverware and make a run for it right afterwards).
But it was the way that her smile continued to warm up that made the metal in her pocket feel as if it could pretty much burn a hole and reveal her intentions right then and there.
"Make yourself at home, dear. Any guest of Mr. Pyrrhus is welcome here."
---
Damn it.
It was after a hot shower and a hot meal that Jo had started to feel a little bit too comfortable for her own nature, having been unable to sleep for that first night and spent it spinning the silver knife over and over again on the hardwood floor. Kindness had always made her squeamish, uncomfortable, only because the world just never worked that way. Not in the way that she was taught and brought up. It was a sort of faith that could never be fully exploited unless you had everything to lose.
So then why hadn't those people - Tim and Victoria, was it? - thrown her out yet? She had seen them collect the rest of the silverware to been put away, so what was stopping them from questioning her about the empty knife place in the velvet case?
The loud clatter of the knife falling against the floorboards made her towards the door of the room she was given, herself fully expecting someone to come in and catch her red-handed. She wasn't afraid for them to, but it was the echoing sound of silence that made her shift uncomfortably at the foot of the bed, as if she had been caught already.
"Not asking for trouble," she murmured outloud with an indignant scowl before standing up, her sore feet finding their way towards the bed again and her weary body, its soft mattress.
---
"Who's 'Mr. Pyrrhus'?" Jo blurted out one day over the sound of water and dishes. The curiosity, even a month after her arrival, had been constant throughout the days. She just never could decide whether she wanted to really know or just be happy without knowing.
The sound of silence from the other side of the kitchen almost made her go "ah-ha-ha, got me, dontcha?" but the apologetic response of "what was that, Jo?" made her sigh.
But she didn't repeat the question.
---
Truth was, she really wasn't supposed to be here.
Still be here.
Whether or not that was the gypsy blood telling her that or her conscience, Jo had given up trying to figure it out since day one when she stumbled into the quaint bed and breakfast establishment in a disheveled state.
But like it or not, here she was at the table on Christmas morning with a pair of strangers that she had grown to like, tolerate, and learned from. Probably "strangers" were not how she should label them so, but it was a peace of mind that soothed her gypsy nature and assured her that she wasn't turning into a homebody and a pleasant girl any time soon.
The metal felt both familiar and foreign in her slim fingers as she turned it over for the umpteenth time in her palm and examined it.
"He's not Santa Claus, is he? 'cause that's a bit weird, the whole just dropping by."
Makes him crazier than I'd thought he'd be.
Tim's low and now-familiar laugh made her look up from the charm as she placed it back into the linen bag.
"Jo, are you sure you don't want to stay? You know you're more than welcome to."
Victoria's own motherly tone made Jo square her shoulders and stand up to take her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. It was unfortunate, that she never learned how to become impervious against the woman - it would've come in handy for the future, in case fate had decided to throw any more kind couples her way.
So appearances would just have to get along with the attempt to feel nonplussed about the whole "should I stay or should I go" situation.
"I'm sure. Time to go."
Normally, she was fast on her feet, but not quick enough to escape Tim's bear hug and Victoria's fussing that had left her with more than one scarf and a pair of shoes that she had originally decided to set out with in her knapsack.
The couple waved one last time to the dark-haired girl that had finally turned around to look at them, giving them her own little wave before disappearing around the corner.
"Would you put it back into the pantry, dear? I need to check on the pies before they burn."
The silver knife was picked up wordlessly by Tim as he walked towards the dining room, the polished metal reflecting the man's warm smile.
[ooc note: Dora, I hope the characterization for Tim and Victoria was okay - I kinda took a bit of liberty in creating them and since this was kinda spontaneous around 3AM to write, I just winged it. Let me know if it's not!]