well, this is awkward. I've been working on this fill for the past week, so I hope the A!A doesn't mind...
It was April now, spring. He hated spring. Stijn embraced winter fully, with a scarf and a thick woolen coat, and the many layers of clothes. "You've been so quiet," Sophie groaned, letting her head loll back. "Did you get a fine for smoking in a public place again?" "No," he responded dully, eyes fixated on the duck that was busy snapping away its competitors for crumbs. Scrunching the paper bag the bread had come in, he looked for a trashcan. One of Sophie's few talents (in his opinion) was that she knew when to shut up. Her green eyes, the same color of his own, bore into him. She could see every crease and crumb, and even knew when he hadn't slept well. With his winter-pale skin, that wasn't such a feat, but still. She was observant. She cared. Nowadays. He smiled, just a small one, like he always did, and ruffled her hair. "Don't go ruining my hair just because your gel ran out," she huffed, straightening the ribbon. Instead, he plucked the satin so hard the soft knot unraveled. "Will this make me look better?" "Yellow isn't your color." "Neither is it yours. Makes your foundation prominent." "I don't wear makeup." "I always go commando." She rolled her eyes, and stood on her tippy-toes to retrieve the ribbon. His grin reappearing, he held it up higher. Being 6'8" definitely had its benefits. Even with her fancy leather boots didn't help her, and she wasn't short. As he looked over his sister, and saw a couple strolling along, he sighed, and let the ribbon fall in the wind. Sophie turned around, and she popped her lips. "I thought you said you were over the fourteen year olds." "I've been seeing the neighbor. Floor? Just turned ten." "Cute. What about a real girlfriend?" Sophie said, stretching out the cute. He ruffled her hair again, and leaned with his elbows on her shoulders. "Maybe you should stop triple-timing guys before you give me advice," he said softly, only for her to hear. "That French guy?" Stijn tsk-ed, and shook his head. "You aren't going to that dinner tomorrow. We are going to do something fun." Sophie turned around. "Whatever happened to Matthias?" Stijn sighed, and let her go. Digging into his pocket, he grabbed the packet of shag, and began to roll a cigarette. "And whatever happened to quitting?" she continued, plucking it from his hands. "Tomorrow." With that, he plucked it back, and lit up. Matthias was at some Lego conference. The dork. And he'd refused to go to the Mondriaan exhibition with him. "It's just blocks of color!" So were Legos, as far as he was concerned. "I'll see you tomorrow night at the café. If you forget your wallet, remember what happened last time." "Cheap bastard." "You are the cheap one here, Ms. Three-timer." He turned around and walked back home. His floorboards creaked, and his stoop outside was dirty with mud. Stijn sighed, and unwound his scarf. It really was getting too hot. There was so much work to do, and he felt like giving his place a good spring cleaning. The copper pans no longer shone, and his antique silver was becoming tarnished. His Persian carpets needed a good parting from their layers of dust, and nobody had ever gotten hurt by rebuffing their floors. However, his hands were tied, and as he slipped into his house slippers, he had to walk past his garden and go up to his office.
Not Quite Kosher [1/?]
It was April now, spring. He hated spring. Stijn embraced winter fully, with a scarf and a thick woolen coat, and the many layers of clothes.
"You've been so quiet," Sophie groaned, letting her head loll back. "Did you get a fine for smoking in a public place again?"
"No," he responded dully, eyes fixated on the duck that was busy snapping away its competitors for crumbs.
Scrunching the paper bag the bread had come in, he looked for a trashcan. One of Sophie's few talents (in his opinion) was that she knew when to shut up. Her green eyes, the same color of his own, bore into him. She could see every crease and crumb, and even knew when he hadn't slept well. With his winter-pale skin, that wasn't such a feat, but still. She was observant. She cared. Nowadays.
He smiled, just a small one, like he always did, and ruffled her hair.
"Don't go ruining my hair just because your gel ran out," she huffed, straightening the ribbon.
Instead, he plucked the satin so hard the soft knot unraveled.
"Will this make me look better?"
"Yellow isn't your color."
"Neither is it yours. Makes your foundation prominent."
"I don't wear makeup."
"I always go commando."
She rolled her eyes, and stood on her tippy-toes to retrieve the ribbon. His grin reappearing, he held it up higher. Being 6'8" definitely had its benefits. Even with her fancy leather boots didn't help her, and she wasn't short. As he looked over his sister, and saw a couple strolling along, he sighed, and let the ribbon fall in the wind. Sophie turned around, and she popped her lips.
"I thought you said you were over the fourteen year olds."
"I've been seeing the neighbor. Floor? Just turned ten."
"Cute. What about a real girlfriend?" Sophie said, stretching out the cute.
He ruffled her hair again, and leaned with his elbows on her shoulders.
"Maybe you should stop triple-timing guys before you give me advice," he said softly, only for her to hear. "That French guy?" Stijn tsk-ed, and shook his head. "You aren't going to that dinner tomorrow. We are going to do something fun."
Sophie turned around. "Whatever happened to Matthias?" Stijn sighed, and let her go. Digging into his pocket, he grabbed the packet of shag, and began to roll a cigarette. "And whatever happened to quitting?" she continued, plucking it from his hands.
"Tomorrow." With that, he plucked it back, and lit up. Matthias was at some Lego conference. The dork. And he'd refused to go to the Mondriaan exhibition with him. "It's just blocks of color!" So were Legos, as far as he was concerned. "I'll see you tomorrow night at the café. If you forget your wallet, remember what happened last time."
"Cheap bastard."
"You are the cheap one here, Ms. Three-timer."
He turned around and walked back home. His floorboards creaked, and his stoop outside was dirty with mud. Stijn sighed, and unwound his scarf. It really was getting too hot. There was so much work to do, and he felt like giving his place a good spring cleaning. The copper pans no longer shone, and his antique silver was becoming tarnished. His Persian carpets needed a good parting from their layers of dust, and nobody had ever gotten hurt by rebuffing their floors. However, his hands were tied, and as he slipped into his house slippers, he had to walk past his garden and go up to his office.