byron darlington ϟ boy blue (forgivelife) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2013-01-25 22:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | byron darlington, charlie archer |
Who: Byron Darlington and Charlie Archer.
What: Two Fables shootin' the breeze.
Where: The Farm, Albany, NY
When: Friday afternoon, January 25th, 2013.
Warnings: TBA?
It was funny how quickly time passed even when you were at peace – though honestly, Byron probably wouldn't have noticed, if not for the calendar on Briar's desk. Earlier that morning, while she was getting ready to go to the clinic, he'd put her cup of coffee in its usual place, and his eyes just happened to glance at the date. He paused and blinked and thought to himself, "Has it really been a month since Christmas?" It had, of course, and for some reason, he laughed softly to himself. Time had never passed for him quite like this – or rather, the passage of it had never escaped his attention before. Funny.
The rest of the morning, he couldn't help but wonder why. As he went through his daily routine, his mind drifted, recalling memories he hadn't exactly forgotten but, until now, had no reason to remember, either. Like memories of his father. Time was something of an obsession of his father's, even more so than most of his fellow Victorian lords. He was diligent in making sure his clocks were accurate to the second, methodically keeping time and never wasting it. Only one of his sons inherited that proclivity, though the influence of the other let it fall by the wayside as the decades dragged on. Those old habits still surfaced in small ways, though, and Byron never truly lost track of time.
But never, apparently, came to an end close to a year ago. So much had changed, mostly for the better, and Byron wasn't really sad to see some of those old habits fade away. Now, he was replacing them with new ones. Better ones. The kind that allowed him to really live his life instead of quantifying it, and with the people he and Blue loved, in a place that he loved. He had a family and a home now in a way he hadn't in more than a century – a family and a home to spend a real Christmas with. He had roots. That was better than keeping time.
His thoughts meandered with few interruptions while he worked, but after a few hours, even he had to stop for lunch. A sudden, bitter freeze had caught the Farm off-guard overnight, and half the pipes in the outbuildings were frozen through, but the rest of them would have to wait until after he'd had a sandwich (turkey, provolone, arugula, and vinaigrette on rye – his favorite). Hopefully it would be a little warmer in the afternoon too, but that was almost too much to hope for – though even the cold didn't seem to stop him from being philosophical.
A long morning, all in all, but a good one. He made his way back to his and Briar's house, looking down as he held his scarf over his face to keep the wind out of his eyes. On the way in, he saw footsteps in the snow – footsteps that were not his and definitely not Briar's, but it was too cold to linger outside to figure out where they'd come from. He hurried through the door and into the warmth, stomping his feet on the welcome mat and shaking the snow from his outerwear as he began to shed it. "Hello?" he called out over his shoulder, his voice echoing around the house. "Anybody there?"