Logs:Bedtime Routine

Bedtime Routine
Dramatis Personae DJ, Polaris, Wendy	2020-11-15 '
Location <GA> Across the Rift - Holland Farm - Hiawassee
One of many such family farms -- though fewer all the time -- in this little Appalachian town, the Hollands' 160-some rolling acres are divided about evenly between peach orchards and yearly rotations of crops. A burbling creek winds along one edge of the property, which extends up past the arable portions into steep, wooded mountainside. There are several acres of vegetable gardens nearest to the farmhouse, producing enough food to feed the family and often with excess to sell locally. The barn and pasture adjoining this are likewise mainly for the family's own use, with just a couple of dairy cows, a pair of horses, and plenty of chickens. The farmhouse itself is a big rambling white affair with a generous wraparound porch, full of rustic charm even in its no-nonsense practicality. The furniture is sturdy and plain and well-cared for, the walls adorned with handmade crafts, children's artwork, and some of Jackson Holland's more whimsical original paintings. The kitchen is vast and airy and superbly organized, always redolent of rich home cooking and of the herbs hanging in bundles to dry. In addition to the main house there are two smaller outbuildings, used in the past to house farm hands during the harvest, though these days they mainly host the steady stream of mutant refugees passing through the farm on their way to an uncertain hope of safety beyond the borders. The bedroom is bright, colorfully decorated, whimsical paintings adorning the walls. Currently only dimly lit, one of its several stained-glass lamps switched on where it sits between two matching beds -- only one of which is occupied. The small blonde-haired child in one bed perks up when Wendy enters the room, looking eagerly to the book in Wendy's hand (A Rule Is To Break, its cover featuring an illustration of a small child in a fox-looking monster costume.) Wendy, in chunky brown and orange sweater and a long skirt that are both still splattered with damp, is frowning at the empty bed. She sets the book down, holds one finger up as she hastens out of the bedroom to search the house, stopping when she finds Polaris with hands spread and a questioning lift of brows. Polaris is just pulling a stack of thick, soft knit blankets from the linen closet when Wendy intercepts her. She's dressed not much different from Wendy, though her sweater is a soft heather green and her yoked skirt denim. Her wide eyes blink and she sighs theatrically before peeling off to their recently filled guest room, where a sleepy-eyed black girl accepts the bedding to bring to her sister. On her circuitous way back through the house Polaris spies the kitchen door open and rushes to it. Too late, though--the brown-haired toddler is padding rapidly across the yard toward the barn in blue fleece footie pajamas covered with cartoon fish. Polaris steps into a pair of flip-flops and runs after her daughter, her frown more exasperated than worried. One of the stall doors at the near end of the barn is open; DJ has been on a stool inside in green-grey flannel shirt, heavy jeans, boots. He's patting the side of a short-eared black and white goat who has been standing beside him with remarkable patience while he gently pulls a small syringe out of one swollen teat. He's just tugging off a pair of gloves, chucking them and the syringe both when tiny feet pad inside; the smile when he turns around is broad. He leans down, swoops his daughter up under one arm with a kiss and a laugh. He's already starting to whisk her back to the house -- Polaris is just nabbed en route in a giddy whirlwind that deposits them all back in the bedroom. The bedroom is -- now empty. The picture book is still on the neatly-made bed. The rumpled bed, previously occupied, is now vacant; distant in the house there's a thump of small feet overlapping with a soft heavy four-footed pad. A thump, a crash, a giggle-shriek. Skittles comes loping back up the stairs, his patchwork tricolor fur now powder-white with a dusting of flour that he's shedding down the hallway as he goes. Wendy, grimacing, is running behind. Tackles the pup with a handful of grooming wipes before her slightly haggard eyes go wider, apologetic at the continued giggling coming from downstairs. Polaris tucks herself tight against her husband's side for the ride, then gives his rear a surreptitious squeeze when she pulls away. Leaving one twin in DJ's capable hands, she slips past Wendy and Skittles on her way downstairs in pursuit of the other. Young JaxLynne is may be quick, but she has no skill at concealment, peeking out with a mischievous grin from behind the old couch. Polaris fakes one way, then the other, throwing herself after the toddler. The little girl squeals when she's caught up, throwing her chubby arms and legs around her mother. Returning to the nursery, Polaris deposits her daughter in bed and twitches up the blankets. Her cheeks are flushed from the exertion of the chase, but she picks up the book from the bed and peers out the door to check on Wendy's progress. DJ has gotten RyAnne nestled into bed in the meanwhile, tucked neatly under the blankets with a soft stuffed turkey vulture half as big as she is clutched between her arms. The girls are watching the progress of The Book in Polaris's hand with eager eyes. DJ kisses both girls in turn; swipes an equally large stuffed alligator to tuck it into bed with Lynne before flitting over to the doorway. He reaches for the picture book Polaris holds, brows lifting questioningly. Wendy has wiped the last of the flour off the dog, though there are still some faint white paw tracks up the stairs. She ducks into the bathroom to throw the wipes away, ducks back out, smoothing her hands down against her skirt. She frowns as DJ reaches for the book. Her lips press together, her nose scrunching. She ducks closer, snatching the book away from Polaris. Her head shakes firmly; she bundles the two out of the nursery in the direction of their room, ducking into the girls' room with the book tucked under one arm. Closes the door behind her. Polaris relinquishes the book easily enough, but squeezes Wendy's arm in passing and blows kisses to her girls as she and her husband are herded out of the room. Her smile is a little sheepish as she takes DJ's hand and pulls him into their own room. She sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, tugging impatiently at her hair to free it from the messy but serviceable updo and let it tumble down in a wavy green cascade over her shoulders while her woven wire mesh bracelets helpfully remove themselves--sans clasp or hinge--from her wrists. Her gaze follow's DJ intently all the while, her smile weary but eager. DJ's eyes skip to the pawprints on the floor -- but not for long. The look he flashes Wendy is grateful. He follows after Polaris, pausing in the doorway as she moves to the bed. His gaze locks on her -- breath catching, eyes a little wider, a slight flush rising to his cheeks. A smile curls his lips, warm, just before he pushes the bedroom door closed decisively.