Logs:Vignette - Kairos

Vignette - Kairos
Dramatis Personae Sarah, Angie
In Absentia	2019-12-14 kairos (n.) - the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words, or movement; also, weather
Location Sarah's Apartment - Village Lofts
<NYC> VL 203 {Bakehaus} - East Village The soothing light gray walls and the light hardwood floors make the small, two bedroom apartment look bigger than it is. That may also be caused by a significant lack of furniture, but everyone has to start somewhere. The front door opens to both the kitchen, and an empty area that will hopefully have a table and chairs one day. Currently, it has one or two beanbag chairs and an assortment of cushions to sit on. The kitchen is the best furnished room at the moment; partly (mostly) because it came with it's own shiny metal fridge and bright blue range. A ceramic cookie jar sits on the countertop, next to a metal canister full of various, colorful utensils. The cabinets are filled with a similar mish-mash of dishes, glasses, and cookware. At the back of the room, a hallway continues to the left, leading to a bathroom and the bedrooms. There has been a significant change to the front room over the past two days. The cushions and beanbags have been pushed against the wall, their space now occupied by a Christmas tree no taller than Sarah. It's all lit up, covered in a colorful assortment of ornaments no bigger than ping-pong balls (save for one much larger one that seems to contain an assortment of cat toys.) There are even presents underneath. Not many, but there, wrapped and labeled and everything. Sarah wants to cry every time she looks at it. They've never had a Christmas tree before, or anything that comes with it. And not a single bit of it was fairly earned. She's bundling up by the front door, preparing for the hours ahead, when Angie wanders into the kitchen. He's yawning, rubbing at his face, steps swayed--just awake--and for a delirious moment, Sarah thinks she might be able to hurry, get her boots on, and leave before he notices her. Rainbow puffer coat and all. That makes her want to cry too, how she wishes she actually could. "Oh, hey," Angie says, once his hand drops and he does, of course, see her. "Thought you were working at the bakery this morning?" he asks, pulling open the fridge. "I did, my shift is over already." Sarah kneels to put on her boots while Angie starts pulling leftovers out of the fridge. "Going to work at the cafe, or to paint or something?" She focuses on tying her boots. "No." "Walking dogs?" "No." Please just drop it. "Yeah, I guess you don't really need to do that for a bit, huh?" He sounds proud. Sarah pulls her shoelaces tight around her fingers. "Why wouldn't I?" she asks, against better judgement. In the edge of her vision, she can see him wave a hand at the tree and everything with it. "We barely put a dent in that check with that stuff. Figured you would want to save the rest and give yourself a break, but I think we should get some furniture. Maybe a TV and something to sit on while watching it." Laces pulling tighter, she cuts him off before he can ramp himself up with more ideas. "I'm giving the rest back." The sudden stillness makes her want to pat her pockets, make sure the envelope of cash is still hidden away. She finishes tying her boots instead, fingers tingling. By the time Angie speaks next, she's stood and carefully pulling her hat and gloves from her jacket pocket. "What do you mean you're giving it back?" Frustration gives her courage, even if she can only watch herself pull on her gloves. "I shouldn't have taken it in the first place. That painting wasn't worth twenty-five hundred dollars, it wasn't even worth what we did spend. I have to give it back, Angie." "Says who?" he fires back. "Who says it wasn't worth that much? That random rich girl seemed to think it was, just blurting that price out." Her head snaps up. "You made her say that, Angie, don't--" "No." Angie holds a hand up, leftovers on the counter forgotten. "I might have tried to make her up the price some, but I sure as shit didn't--" "That's not better!" she exclaims, throat aching. Her hands come up to cover her face, to keep herself from telling Angie how he just doesn't get it. She knows how he'll take it. She knows the argument it leads to. How silly of her, to think this was all behind them. To basics then. Make it into something Angie can care about. "You're the one always saying I'm meant to be this big professional artist," she tries after a moment, hands falling from her face. She can't look at him while she speaks; looks at the tree, instead, all it's lights and colors, turning her hat in her hands. "How does it make me look, to have my first sale be such a scam? If you want so bad for me to make it, Angie, you need to let that stay my business." She leaves him scowling in the kitchen and goes to wait in the park.