A/N: I'm glad that the first installment had somehow gathered good responses. This chapter is infinitely longer. I wonder where this story would go? I actually only thought of it on a whim... Have at thee, folks. Thanks in advanced for the reviews.
Chapter One - Exchanged Letters, Confused Looks (And His Informal Introduction to You: Welcome to His Life)
A glum and rainy morning, lethargically
Somewhere over here and there
8:09 AM, Steadfield
- On the man's drowsy face, there rose a blank expression. He stopped halfway upon lifting the cup of coffee to his lips as he took time to stare at the foreign object in front of him.
A letter? It's been years since he last received one.
He yawned, took a sip of his (supposed to be bitter but always ends up too sweet to stomach) drink, set down the mug, and started to read.
- "Could I become your apprentice?"
"Ah." His eyebrows rose up to his receding hairline (which is unfortunate for him, because he was only of the young and tender age of twenty-eight), steely gray eyes frozen in a wide stare.
You know what he wrote to her as a reply.
The day after that, frustratedly,
By the riverbank, beside the shipwrecked boat
2:34 PM, Richmond
- How dare he? After all he said to her before! That liar! That... heathen, that... whatever!
It was funny how one word had made her so angry. Such a simple word it is, really. Such a simple question - "Why?"
She kicked up her feet, scattering small rocks on the path in front of her. She somehow managed to wound herself in the process. She winced as she bent down, ripped off part of the hem of her skirt. She wrapped the thin lace around the bleeding scratch on her foot, and walked on with a limp, still fuming.
- "You'd become a great writer. With the proper help and guidance, of course."
She believed him. Of course. She hung on to every word he said, every criticism, every praise, every comment. Every single hint of saying "good work", although the words were not directly presented to her, she clasped near her chest and held them there like treasures.
He was so convincing, that man, and so, despite her shame, and despite them not even knowing each other that well (they've only met that day, after all), she wrote to him, in hopes that he'll accept her "proposal."
With the proper help and guidance, he said. He smiled as if implying that there was no one else, only him.
And she believed that smile.
How she loathed herself for it. She loathed herself, and felt ashamed for ever trusting that man, for getting him involved in her quiet little life.
Liar, liar.
I hope your hair catches fire.
She was turning twelve, tomorrow.
Curtly, when she got home, she wrote to him a proper reply.
At the coffee shop, soberly amused,
In his usual place by the window,
7:00 PM, Gertrude
- The man was startled once again by the arrival of another letter, but he didn't dare make it evident on his face. He fingered the envelope, relishing the feel of the porous material of the paper. He lifted it up to his nose. It smelled faintly of rubbing oil and green tea. He grimaced.
Using one hand and his teeth, he ripped open the letter and slid out its contents.
He laughed as he read.
- "Because."
"Girl's got some spunk." He ran a hand through his locks, sweeping away the strands which had made their way to his eyes. His hair might already be shedding, but he can still afford to sweep it forward to create an illusion of having bangs. Yes, he was quite vain. But at least the women loved him for it.
Here comes another, waving him over to the counter.
He smirked.
The moon was beginning to rise on the glass panes of Caffe Ladro. Warm, butterscotch lights lit up the shop from the inside. It made the cylindrical, antique venue look like a sodden lamp in the dark.
Looking in further - past the crowd that was dwindling like dispersing milk into the warm, dark thickness of cocoa, and past the furniture which sat from corner to corner like blocks of chocolates scrumptiously arranged in a luxurious velvet box - there stood a man whose flaxen hair is of the same shades of brown, in the arms of several women whose names he didn't know of and didn't plan to remember anyway.
Aside from this moment, nothing else was on his mind.
The little girl's next letter can wait for another day.
Or maybe even longer.
It depends.
