Late Night, 20 Hamis, 2719
Above Woven Delights, The Painted Ladies
Above Woven Delights, The Painted Ladies
t was a torrential sort of rain, the sort that it seemed like it might herald the end of Vita. It was hard to imagine, in the midst of such a storm, how anything would be the same after; it seemed as if the rain fell with such force that the ground would be torn up and turned to mud, that the lightning that split the sky and thunder that shook the walls would, by their combined force, rip the very air asunder.
It was the sort of storm that children either delighted in or were terrified by, depending on their temperaments. Ava Weaver, when she had been Nellie Tucker, had always been delighted. No storm was too powerful for her, then, and Old Rose Harbor had had its fair share of terrible storms. Not for her the pitiful sobbing of a child who thought this rain might never end, no hiding from lighting that might strike and split them apart, no screams at the cracking booms of thunder. Now, more than a decade past any last vestiges of that childhood, Ava wondered if Nellie might have done better for a little fear.
And yet - Ava had never quite lost that little girl’s fascination with bad weather. If there remained a metaphor in there, somewhere, for tonight she chose to ignore it. This was a storm that forbade sleep, that shook the very foundations of the Painted Ladies and left them groaning but upright. Rain drove in heavy sheets against the window, beating out a strange tempo all its own. Inside though, it was warm and dry. The wood and sheet of glass had been worn down by so many storms over the years, by fiery summer heat and frigid winter cold, by sheeting rain and paint-peeling sun, but they hadn’t given in. Whatever it had been through, this house, it still did what it needed to; no more than sound, light, and the faintest sensation of cold passed through from the storm outside.
Ava sat close to the pane, curled up on her window seat beneath a soft warm blanket, dry and safe from the storm beyond. Distant flashes of lighting reflected through the water-streaked glass, making strange otherworldly patterns on the pale peach silk of her robe and the soft white fabric of her nightgown, nothing like she could ever hope to sell.
Sometimes she drifted on the distant winds, sifting through a tapestry of memories past and plans ahead. Sometimes she slept between the cracks of thunder, or at least existed only in that place between waking and sleeping where nothing was quite real.
From one of those half-sleeps it was quite a different sound that woke her. There was a thump against the glass, and a loud and distinctive mew.
Ava’s eyes fluttered open. She blinked once, twice, touching a gentle finger to the corner of one eye to encourage it to open, and looked down.
A sopping wet cat pawed at the base of the window, looked up at Ava with bright yellow eyes, and mewed again, the sound swallowed this time by a distant crack of thunder.
Ava stared down at her visitor.
The cat mewed, the soft plaintive noise trickling through the glass between the rain.
After a moment, Ava reached for the latch, wondering if she might be dreaming. She fumbled it open, and the sopping wet cat strode in, tail flicking and scattering cold drops of water across her face and blanket. The gusts of winds fought back against Ava’s attempts to shut and latch the window once more, rattling it violently as rain snuck through every available inch, and by the time it was closed Ava’s face was thoroughly wet, to say nothing of the blanket and nightgown - and the cat was nowhere in sight. A distant flash of lighting revealed tiny wet paw prints tracked along the floor, disappearing somewhere into the darkness.
Ava bundled the blanket onto the wet seat, standing on legs that shook with pins and needles, looking around in the dark room. “Here, darling,” she called, softly, taking a step forward with one hand extended towards the ground. “Come here.”
No response. Ava thought, wryly, that the cat knew his business well. He was safe indoors now - why take any risks?
After a moment, sleepily blinking in the midst of her room, Ava sighed. She bundled thick hair off her shoulders, stroking it back and swooping it up, twisting it into a knot off her neck, and made her way over to the small cold chest where she kept those precious foodstuffs that might spoil. She pulled out her little glass bottle of milk, one of her few extravagances, most of it carefully saved for customers who might want a few drops of milk in their tea.
With a little sigh, Ava tipped a bit of it into a small flat bowl, and set it down on the ground. After a moment of thought, she poured a little more into a saucepan, heating it on the stove. She didn’t look at the bowl on the floor, keeping her focus squarely on the slowly warming saucepan, stirring the milk gently, heating it – keeping it shy of the point of boiling, just letting it warm through, until the temperature would be pleasant and comfortable, but still cool enough to drink. After a little time, as the milk slowly rose in temperature, Ava heard the soft lapping of a rough little tongue against the bowl.
Ava didn’t look, stirring the milk a little more, checking the temperature with a single drop of it. She turned the little gas stove off, poured the milk into one of her chipped mugs, and felt a small, furry body wind its way between her legs, warm, loud purring echoing up through her.
Ava smiled.
She settled onto her bed, taking a little sip of her milk. The cat leapt onto the bed next to her, curling promptly into the middle of it, taking up an enormous amount of space for such a sleek gray creature. She didn’t have space for a cat, Ava told herself. She dealt in fabrics; there was no way she could afford an indulgence such as this. Cats were nosy creatures, poking in everywhere; how could she keep it out?
Idly, as she contemplated how much the cat wouldn’t fit in her life, Ava stroked its small soft head and down along its back, feeling the rough patches of fur on its skin where its life had taken a toll. After a few minutes of this attention, he rose and settled into her lap, curling into a little ball, tail lashing once and settling steadily against her thigh, those bright yellow eyes fluttering closed, sharp gray ears softly pricked forward.
Ava looked down at him, at the little prickle of claws already marking the silk of her nightgown. She felt his warm soft body like a comforting light weight. Her hand paused, and the cat shifted, letting out a grumbling little mutter of a meow.
Ava laughed, softly, and resumed stroking the little thing. He settled back into place, and began to purr again, a soft and steady rumble.
In the morning, Ava told herself, settling the empty mug down on the nightstand. The cat leapt up and wandered over, tail twitching, batting at the cup, and Ava reached over and tipped it gently on its side so that the cat could lap up the last few drops remaining. The storm still raged outside, but Ava found herself curling up on her bed, silk nightgown pooling on the floor, crawling beneath her blankets with a furry, warm body cuddled against her. In the morning, she promised herself, eyes fluttering shut. She would figure everything out in the morning.
