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luthier_balloonistOriginally posted here
For the next few nights Barir dreamed of Marcus, waking in a cold sweat, heart pounding, with the bedclothes twisted about him. The dreams were a strange mixture of memory and fabrication, echoes resonating from the depths of Barir’s mind where he had kept them assiduously buried for years. He spent his days wary and ill-at-ease, feeling as though the slightest thing might crack him open. Whenever he remembered how he had wept in Kay’s arms a hot sense of shame had suffused him;
For the next few nights Barir dreamed of Marcus, waking in a cold sweat, heart pounding, with the bedclothes twisted about him. The dreams were a strange mixture of memory and fabrication, echoes resonating from the depths of Barir’s mind where he had kept them assiduously buried for years. He spent his days wary and ill-at-ease, feeling as though the slightest thing might crack him open. Whenever he remembered how he had wept in Kay’s arms a hot sense of shame had suffused him;
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Originally posted <a href="https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/686060.html?thread=4245378540#cmt4245378540">here</a>
<cut text="For the next few nights Barir dreamed of Marcus, waking in a cold sweat, heart pounding, with the bedclothes twisted about him.">
For the next few nights Barir dreamed of Marcus, waking in a cold sweat, heart pounding, with the bedclothes twisted about him. The dreams were a strange mixture of memory and fabrication, echoes resonating from the depths of Barir’s mind where he had kept them assiduously buried for years. He spent his days wary and ill-at-ease, feeling as though the slightest thing might crack him open. Whenever he remembered how he had wept in Kay’s arms a hot sense of shame had suffused him; <emWeeping?</em> the Marcus in his memories had said in disgust. <em>Like some pathetic woman.</em>
Kay had not seemed ashamed or disgusted, however; he had been solidly present, holding Barir until his tears eased, and had then taken him to bed with nothing more than concern in his face. Still, Barir could not help but worry that Kay had seen some hidden truth that night, and that one day soon he would realise, and leave. So far he showed astonishingly little sign of leaving, taking Barir for lunch and sending him notes that, while they were rather short and unsentimental, were always signed, <em>Yours, as ever</em>.
Now it was a frosty Saturday morning, the grass silvered and the trees dark skeletons against the slowly lightening sky. Barir’s shoes left dark imprints in the grass as he crossed the park to where Mr Bridges and his associate were already inflating the balloon. He stood for a moment just to watch, something easing inside him at the familiar sight of that great scarlet envelope swelling into the sky. There were passersby watching with curiosity, since winter ascents were by necessity much later in the morning, so those walking through the park as they went about their daily business would be given a good view of the flight. Barir did not much mind, though he did prefer the strange, pristine quiet of summer dawns.
“Good morning, Mr Bridges!” Barir called as he grew nearer. Mr Bridges came forward to shake hands. “Thank you for taking care of her for all this time.”
“Good to see you, Mr Ridley,” said Mr Bridges, puffing and red-cheeked in the cold. “You couldn’t keep away from us, eh? Nothing like England for a bit o’ civilisation.”
Mr Bridges had likely never left England in his life, nor would he have the first concept of the great civilisation of India, but Barir just made a non-committal sort of noise. “What can I say? I’ve grown fond of the place. Here, this is for you— and something extra, since I’ve roused you from your bed in these temperatures…”
Mr Bridges and his fellow accepting both money and bottles of whisky gladly, and the three of them turned back to setting up the balloon. Barir was just checking his instruments when he spotted two familiar forms approaching across the park, and leapt over the side of the basket to greet them.
“Good morning!” he exclaimed, shaking Amador’s hand and pressing Jenny’s between his own for a moment. “Are you coming up as well, Amador?”
“No, no,” said Amador, to Barir’s guilty relief. “I have no head for heights, as Jenny has been mocking me for relentlessly. No, I’ll wait here while you fly. I hope to sketch the scene, in fact.” He gestured with the drawing pad beneath his arm.
“I have hardly mocked you at all,” said Jenny. “There’s no need for such dramatics.”
“I look forward to seeing it,” said Barir. “Come then, Mrs Amador, we should go while we have the best of the weather.”
Jenny smiled and took his proffered arm, clambering over the side of the basket, heedless of her long skirts. Mr Bridges’ associate looked a little shocked, but Mr Bridges was unmoved; he had long grown use to Jenny, and he even smiled when she greeted him with perfect courtesy.
“I have been looking forward to this all week,” Jenny said to Barir, bright-eyed.
For the first time in days Barir felt his heart lighten. “As have I,” he said with perfect honesty.
<cut text="For the next few nights Barir dreamed of Marcus, waking in a cold sweat, heart pounding, with the bedclothes twisted about him.">
For the next few nights Barir dreamed of Marcus, waking in a cold sweat, heart pounding, with the bedclothes twisted about him. The dreams were a strange mixture of memory and fabrication, echoes resonating from the depths of Barir’s mind where he had kept them assiduously buried for years. He spent his days wary and ill-at-ease, feeling as though the slightest thing might crack him open. Whenever he remembered how he had wept in Kay’s arms a hot sense of shame had suffused him; <emWeeping?</em> the Marcus in his memories had said in disgust. <em>Like some pathetic woman.</em>
Kay had not seemed ashamed or disgusted, however; he had been solidly present, holding Barir until his tears eased, and had then taken him to bed with nothing more than concern in his face. Still, Barir could not help but worry that Kay had seen some hidden truth that night, and that one day soon he would realise, and leave. So far he showed astonishingly little sign of leaving, taking Barir for lunch and sending him notes that, while they were rather short and unsentimental, were always signed, <em>Yours, as ever</em>.
Now it was a frosty Saturday morning, the grass silvered and the trees dark skeletons against the slowly lightening sky. Barir’s shoes left dark imprints in the grass as he crossed the park to where Mr Bridges and his associate were already inflating the balloon. He stood for a moment just to watch, something easing inside him at the familiar sight of that great scarlet envelope swelling into the sky. There were passersby watching with curiosity, since winter ascents were by necessity much later in the morning, so those walking through the park as they went about their daily business would be given a good view of the flight. Barir did not much mind, though he did prefer the strange, pristine quiet of summer dawns.
“Good morning, Mr Bridges!” Barir called as he grew nearer. Mr Bridges came forward to shake hands. “Thank you for taking care of her for all this time.”
“Good to see you, Mr Ridley,” said Mr Bridges, puffing and red-cheeked in the cold. “You couldn’t keep away from us, eh? Nothing like England for a bit o’ civilisation.”
Mr Bridges had likely never left England in his life, nor would he have the first concept of the great civilisation of India, but Barir just made a non-committal sort of noise. “What can I say? I’ve grown fond of the place. Here, this is for you— and something extra, since I’ve roused you from your bed in these temperatures…”
Mr Bridges and his fellow accepting both money and bottles of whisky gladly, and the three of them turned back to setting up the balloon. Barir was just checking his instruments when he spotted two familiar forms approaching across the park, and leapt over the side of the basket to greet them.
“Good morning!” he exclaimed, shaking Amador’s hand and pressing Jenny’s between his own for a moment. “Are you coming up as well, Amador?”
“No, no,” said Amador, to Barir’s guilty relief. “I have no head for heights, as Jenny has been mocking me for relentlessly. No, I’ll wait here while you fly. I hope to sketch the scene, in fact.” He gestured with the drawing pad beneath his arm.
“I have hardly mocked you at all,” said Jenny. “There’s no need for such dramatics.”
“I look forward to seeing it,” said Barir. “Come then, Mrs Amador, we should go while we have the best of the weather.”
Jenny smiled and took his proffered arm, clambering over the side of the basket, heedless of her long skirts. Mr Bridges’ associate looked a little shocked, but Mr Bridges was unmoved; he had long grown use to Jenny, and he even smiled when she greeted him with perfect courtesy.
“I have been looking forward to this all week,” Jenny said to Barir, bright-eyed.
For the first time in days Barir felt his heart lighten. “As have I,” he said with perfect honesty.
