Logs:Break of Day
| Break of Day | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2020-11-16 A quiet morning in the Village. |
| Location
<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. The front door opens to the kitchen and eating area, the most furnished area at the moment. A bright blue range stands out in the kitchen. A square wooden table, just big enough for four chairs and room to eat is squeezed into a corner. A sunflower 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. Here and there, taped the walls, are collections of colorful drawings on sketchbook paper. Flowers, bees, and birds in this group, various people in another, sketches of buildings and landscapes in a third, and so on. At the back of the room, a hallway continues to the left. Two doors are on the left of the hallway, the first leading to a small but nice bathroom, tiled in white and black. The second door leads to the smaller of the two bedrooms, which belongs to Sarah. The door at the very end of the hall leads to Angie and Rayne's room. Inside Sarah’s bedroom, the furniture is sparse. Her mattress and box spring, covered with soft and loose bedding, rest on the floor against the far corner. A rolling rack holding a colorful array of clothes stands opposite. The small closet occupied is by a school desk that currently displays textbooks and a laptop, its cord trailing to a plug. The walls are plastered in drawings, blossoming out from the closet like paper kudzu. One window faces the brick wall of the building next door, but at least lets in some natural light. Early morning sunlight just illuminates the otherwise dim bedroom at the moment, the quiet noise of a neighborhood that has barely begun to wake filtering through the closed window. An almost suspect quiet, considering the chaos of the few previous weeks. Neither of the rooms occupants are awake to think about it. Dressed in Candy Land pajamas and curled up on the edge of the mattress, breathing deep and even, Sarah holds her knees to her chest with one hand and onto the blankets with the other. Kitty, on the other half of the bed, is fully clothed and asleep on her stomach, face smushed into the pages of a textbook instead of a pillow. Her phone lies nearby, fully out of battery. Part of the covers are tucked up over her legs , but not all the way. Outside, a cat screeches, a car honks and brakes to a sudden halt. The noise cuts through the peace of the room, startling Sarah into half-awakeness. Her spine presses against Kitty’s as she jerks, uncurls. Inquisitive groan escaping her as her head barely lifts from the pillow. Kitty’s eyes flutter open, too, head lifting from the book. She squints at the book, shoves it out of her way and rolls onto her side, facing Sarah. She holds up one finger -listen- but all is quiet now. Sarah’s head falls back to her pillow. Rolling over, she hooks an arm around Kitty’s waist, pulling the blanket over them both. Her head rises again, the bare minimum needed to let her scootch half of the pillow into Kitty’s space, before falling back with a sigh. A faint flush, a contented sigh. Kitty’s head lands on the pillow. One hand reaches up, brushes some fuzz off of Sarah’s forehead, before rolling onto her other side, slowly, letting Sarah’s arm stay where it is. Sarah adjusts as Kitty rolls over, legs bending to slot in behind hers, snuggling the tiniest bit closer to hook her chin over Kitty’s shoulder. A brushing touch that may be lips meeting jaw before she’s asleep again. It’s almost a purr, the sleepy hum that Kitty makes as Sarah pulls closer. Where Sarah’s arm rests around her waist, Kitty lays her own arm on top, twining her fingers in with the other woman’s. It’s comfortable, safe, warm- the perfect conditions to drift back off into sleep. | |
