Bee (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
apidae) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bigapplesauce2014-06-13 02:31 pm
apidae) wrote in bigapplesauce2014-06-13 02:31 pm
Entry tags:
The primroses were over. [closed]
Bee's obtained shoes by now, but she hates to use them. Even in a place like Manhattan, walking barefoot is safe enough if you're trained how to keep an eye on the ground.
She's exploring a new part of the park, hoping to find new friends, but she hasn't seen any other rifties today. Nothing wrong with meeting natives, though it can be harder to find common ground, can't it? So she keeps to herself, ambling through the soft grass, smiling in the sun.
Her time here so far has been pleasant and surprisingly calm. Daine helped her get registered with the Rebels and housed in their apartments; and she's found, oddly enough, that she wakes each day feeling clean and refreshed, as though she can't seem to get dirty. This, Daine has told her, is not typical of rifties. It was posited that this oddity might be a "Rift-power" - that she's gained some measure of immunity to the effects of time. How strange. And yet somewhat suitable, given the nature of what she's always been able to do.
She's still working to understand the new web of causality that she's been brought into. It will take time to reorient herself; everything here is a little different. Still, she knows how to recognize certain familiar lines - loss, for example, having been cut away from something too abruptly - that is very familiar. And it is currently emanating from beneath a lilac bush.
Bee hesitates, then crouches down gently.
Within the sweet-smelling, leafy fortress, she can see him: huddled in the dirt looking lonely and very afraid. A little rabbit, quite young, and visibly not a wild one. A Havana breed, if she's not mistaken; silky and black, clearly a pet. Or a former pet.
"Oh," she says very softly, sadly. Someone's left the little thing out here, all alone. She extends her hands slowly, not wanting to startle him. "You poor thing. Come here, little one. I won't hurt you."
He lifts his head slightly, nose wiggling. Can he trust her? But this is a pure domesticated rabbit, one accustomed to - and clearly missing - human contact. After a few moments he inches out, approaching her cautiously.
"That's right," she cooes soothingly. "You're all right, my darling."
Apparently encouraged, he comes close enough to sniff her fingers, then nudges closer still. She gives him a delicate stroke on his soft head, then picks him up carefully, holding him to her breast.
"There, now," she says. What to do with the poor dear? Perhaps Daine will know; and Daine can talk to him! "I'll take you somewhere safe."
The little rabbit nuzzles against her, and she stands up and turns, heading to the Base.
She's exploring a new part of the park, hoping to find new friends, but she hasn't seen any other rifties today. Nothing wrong with meeting natives, though it can be harder to find common ground, can't it? So she keeps to herself, ambling through the soft grass, smiling in the sun.
Her time here so far has been pleasant and surprisingly calm. Daine helped her get registered with the Rebels and housed in their apartments; and she's found, oddly enough, that she wakes each day feeling clean and refreshed, as though she can't seem to get dirty. This, Daine has told her, is not typical of rifties. It was posited that this oddity might be a "Rift-power" - that she's gained some measure of immunity to the effects of time. How strange. And yet somewhat suitable, given the nature of what she's always been able to do.
She's still working to understand the new web of causality that she's been brought into. It will take time to reorient herself; everything here is a little different. Still, she knows how to recognize certain familiar lines - loss, for example, having been cut away from something too abruptly - that is very familiar. And it is currently emanating from beneath a lilac bush.
Bee hesitates, then crouches down gently.
Within the sweet-smelling, leafy fortress, she can see him: huddled in the dirt looking lonely and very afraid. A little rabbit, quite young, and visibly not a wild one. A Havana breed, if she's not mistaken; silky and black, clearly a pet. Or a former pet.
"Oh," she says very softly, sadly. Someone's left the little thing out here, all alone. She extends her hands slowly, not wanting to startle him. "You poor thing. Come here, little one. I won't hurt you."
He lifts his head slightly, nose wiggling. Can he trust her? But this is a pure domesticated rabbit, one accustomed to - and clearly missing - human contact. After a few moments he inches out, approaching her cautiously.
"That's right," she cooes soothingly. "You're all right, my darling."
Apparently encouraged, he comes close enough to sniff her fingers, then nudges closer still. She gives him a delicate stroke on his soft head, then picks him up carefully, holding him to her breast.
"There, now," she says. What to do with the poor dear? Perhaps Daine will know; and Daine can talk to him! "I'll take you somewhere safe."
The little rabbit nuzzles against her, and she stands up and turns, heading to the Base.