Susannah Alexandra Hattington-Hallmeyer (vintage_fraud) wrote in halcyon_halls, @ 2008-07-22 10:43:00 |
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Current mood: | hungry |
Week Fourteen: Wednesday
Who: Sasha and Dreizen (and any other stomach interested)
Where: Stretch of beach close to school.
When: Early morning. Very, very early.
What: Pre-pre-breakfast. Also, Sasha VS Ocean, Round I.
It said something about Sasha’s personality that she began her First Day at Halcyon searching for what she feared: water. A lot of, lot of, lot of, lot of water. A whole damn sopping ocean of it, actually.
Our sense of anxiety is an interpretation of the primal fight-or-flight survival mechanism as filtered and distorted by thousands of years of civilized living is what Dr. Quinn would say. Your phobia is an enlarged combination of that anxiety and previous distress; it is logical, but invalid.
…ri-ight. Grouchy and resigned, she looked at the great wet sweep of marine beauty: the waves, the sand, the early light sheeting across the water, more sand, Dreizen crunching on a starfi—oh, bloody hell, not again.
“Dizzy, spit that out! You don’t know what it mated with! Fuß!” Chagrined, the big Doberman loped back to his mistress. She patted his ears and then quickly wiped the damp off on her pullover. This early Sasha was still “off the clock”, dressed in an uninspired set of casuals. Without makeup or hair "maintenance" she looked about fourteen and a scruffy fourteen at that. But Dreizen didn’t care.
Later, yes, later she’d button up her vintage linen, slip on peep toe pumps, and apply the full course of makeup. She’d go to class to sit with her hands clasped and her ankles crossed and expressions respectful. She’d be alternatively sunny and shy, and generally charming. She’d be a Good Girl.
And somewhere belly deep inside the pretty package she’d keep wondering why entering school of "monsters" was a safer option than going home.
"...hell with it.” Sasha shouldered off her backpack and plopped down. Dreizen immediately lay down besides her. “Let’s eat before melodrama spoils the rest of me.”
Per standard procedure, Sasha employed the wisdom that the outside world was easier to face with something delicious inside you. Luckily, she’d finally located the rest of her errant luggage and discovered its contents intact. Whatever gastronomic terrors or delights Halcyon’s cafeteria would prove capable of, today Sasha wanted no risks; this morning her breakfast was her own. She was rather pleased with her foresight in packing the upmarket edibles. It’d been emergency grocery shopping, imperfect and hasty, but Bangkok’s international delis met the challenge admirably. Of course, finding a Dean & DeLuca shop during the flight’s stopover was a dandy spot of luck.
Her backpack nestled safely between crossed legs, Sasha fished out a large linen napkin and flattened it best she could on the uneven ground. Next she pulled out a plain bento box, rolling her eyes at the way Dreizen’s nose perked up.
She pried open the bento box and set it in front of Dreizen. Inside was his typical good fare of lean meat and veggies, no grains. She’d worried about finishing his provisions even more than collecting hers. And what about future meals? Dry kibble was easy to order, sure, but making it the primary factor in Dizzy’s diet was unacceptable. This meant (of course) that she’d have to hunt down the school chef and make arrangement to use the kitchen without delay—praying the chef wouldn’t punt them to the curve.
“Life would be simpler if you were a canary,” she informed the dog. He wasn’t insulted by the remark.
Once Dizzy was settled, Sasha turned to her own repast. First off was a sexy D&D salumi (not salami) sampler: a mild air-dried and aged Saucisson, Molinari Toscano promising a peppery jolt, and Molinari Sopressata resplendent with burgundy wine, garlic, and vivid spices. A wrap of buckwheat blini and a half a lobe goose foie gras with a (barely) serviceable plastic fork tucked into the wrappings. A humble assortment of crackers, ranging from rosemary to wheat. Pity the green bean and almond soup hadn’t survived the journey, she’d have to manage with the Gui Chai dumplings. She had a tin of curry-dusted almonds, too. Finally came the thermos of cold Bourbon Vanilla and a bottle of water; Dizzy got the agua, Sasha took the tea. The rest of the backpack's bounty could wait till the second course.
Last thing Sasha took out was a rosewood scaled dual action knife, a birthday souvenir from Kostya, and thumbed it open. Then closed it, then opened. Close, open, close, open, close—okay, enough of that. She laid the (closed) blade in her lap, clasped her palms together, and lowered her head.
“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord. Amen.” She paused, then sighed. “And please help me not embarrass myself and my name, and my teachings, in class today.” Raising her head, Sasha watched the ocean roll ahead. “I offer You my prayers, works, joys and sufferings, all that this day may bring, be it good or bad: for the love of God, for the conversion of sinners, and in reparation for all the sins committed against the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Amen.”
Unclasping her hands, Sasha picked up the knife and the Saucisson. “That’s one small slice for man, one giant wedge for schoolgirl, kind of..."