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| Veran Clacher | Apr 15 2008, 11:41 PM |
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Veran pulled a chair away from the worn kitchen table, flopping into it and stretching out his legs. His bare feet, soft and wrinkled from the water he'd been mopping with, could feel every ridge in the worn floorboards. He glanced around the room, raking fingers through his freshly-cut hair. A pot sat in the sink, full of hot water, soapy suds, and the remants of the oatmeal he'd made for breakfast. On the counter, a lone turke sandwhich sat on a platter, a single bite taken out of it. Breakfast and lunch had both gone by, and Livia wasn't back with the latest kid yet. She'd been home long enough to snatch a few hours of slee before darting off again, too early for breakfast but far too late for dinner. He'd spent the day mopping and dusting, mostly in preparation for the kids coming in. The latest one he'd seen -- Kat, somewhat snobby and fairly shell-shocked -- had taken time to forcibly settle in and feed, and she'd sapped what energy he'd had left. Currently, he couldn't decide if he was worried for Livia, or if he was more annoyed at her than he'd ever been. |
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| Free Time · Kitchen | |
3:56 AM Nov 29
