✞ facies angeli ✞ (angelorum) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2010-05-01 00:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | angel, drusilla |
Who: Herb and Drusilla
What: Sick day
Where: Dru's flat
When: Afternoon
Rating: PG-13
Status: Incomplete
Hailing from Baltimore, Herb Saunders was a man of simple tastes and wants. He liked to read and travel, though the latter was a bit of a challenge given his heliophobic nature. Perhaps it was because of the lack of sunlight in his daily regimen that he liked bright, flashy things. Like Hawaiian shirts, for instance. Not to mention that they were comfortable. He also liked hats, sunglasses, coats that easily outsized him and gigantic parasols. Or perhaps need was a better word. He really didn't have the best of relationships with sunlight.
A solitary introvert, he didn't have very many friends. The friends he did have were forced to put up with his dorky, occasionally obnoxious behaviour. Curious, then, that he should go into the field of customer service. But it paid the bills while he was in the city so what the hell. Why not? It was just a temporary job to tide him over before he moved onto the next big city. Or maybe a small village. A small village might be a nice change of scenery from these stuffy corporate types. Big steel and glass wonders weren't for everybody.
Oh, and he also really, really liked food. Loved them like a parched man in desert would love a single drop of water. With the minor exception of yogurts. Too, did have peculiar habits. Traditions were very important to him. A Thanksgiving without turkey? Blasphemy.
Today was a drizzly climate. Oh boy! That meant he could take his two-wheeler out for a ride. He just loved bike rides. Humming a jolly tune to himself, he loaded up the basket (lined with a quite loud tablecloth) with catered chicken soup, bottles of medicines, an extortionately overpriced bouquet of fresh flowers, a pastel blue fleece blanket, a get well card and his drawing kit. He was an excellent artist, if he did say so himself. The books said that ladies could be impressed with a little personal touch.
And he was off, a ludicrously large parasol fixed to the bicycle's handle. Even under the parasol, he took the extra care of huddling beneath the cover of his long wool coat. It was quite the sight to behold, but he had never been one to place much weight on what people thought. In fact, that was sort of the problem as he tinkled the cycle's little bronze bells for pedestrians and motors alike to kindly take themselves out of his way. Drivers pressed on their horns and mothers pulled to safety their children mistaking the sight for the circus.
The flat was only a few blocks away from the office and he reached it quite quickly. Gathering up the contents of the basket awkwardly in both arms, he climbed up the stairs and reached the suite he knew to be Dru's. He gave it a small tug and found it left unlocked, just as she had said it would be. Perfect. He waltzed in and walked smack dab into an invisible barrier. Ow. He'd quite forgotten about that. His psychiatrist had told him that it was all in his head, but he couldn't help it.
'Uh. Dru?' he called out in a sing-song voice. 'It's me, Herb. I brought you some stuff, like I promised. Can I come in?'