01-29-2010, 11:16 PM
384.
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He followed her up the stairs—she flitted up them, her steps like the beating wings of a hummingbird. Raskolnikov was much more ponderous, moving slowly and yet gracefully like an egret or heron. She was waiting for him at the landing when he arrived, stepping onto the top step and looking around. She darted ahead of him again, always curious before cautious—perhaps the little differences between them like like that were what made them a balanced duo. She approached a closed door, one with a handle that looked rusted and with a frame that looked busted nonetheless. She tugged on it in vain, and he approached to help. She must have summoned a little more strength in her because she tried the door once more and with a wooden crack! it popped open.
In truth, the room could have been worse. It was the bedroom of the small cottage, easily indicated by the bed frame that supported a moth-eaten and tattered mattress and set of sheets. The curtains were in no better condition, though the addition of windows to the room was nice enough. There was a dresser and a cabinet, and Raskolnikov even spied a mirror above one that was only cracked in one place along the top. It was not perfect, but it was better than he would have guessed in this rundown town. Sonja looked to him with a smile flickering on her dark lips, and he responded with his own. His smiles were always mixed with a soft glow and a tinge of sorrow, though Sonja would probably not notice. He had smiled that way ever since he had done that, back in Russia.
"It will be beautiful once we fix it up. I think the work will be a healing experience after all of this traveling," he said in Italian, approaching his mate and brushing one side of her face with a hand. "How do you like it, Sonja? This new home of ours in this new world." He was not starkly opinionated—he believed that this place was in decent enough condition and that it would be much more homey when they fixed it up. Her opinion mattered much more, for if she thought there was another place that was better, they would be off again.
He followed her up the stairs—she flitted up them, her steps like the beating wings of a hummingbird. Raskolnikov was much more ponderous, moving slowly and yet gracefully like an egret or heron. She was waiting for him at the landing when he arrived, stepping onto the top step and looking around. She darted ahead of him again, always curious before cautious—perhaps the little differences between them like like that were what made them a balanced duo. She approached a closed door, one with a handle that looked rusted and with a frame that looked busted nonetheless. She tugged on it in vain, and he approached to help. She must have summoned a little more strength in her because she tried the door once more and with a wooden crack! it popped open.
In truth, the room could have been worse. It was the bedroom of the small cottage, easily indicated by the bed frame that supported a moth-eaten and tattered mattress and set of sheets. The curtains were in no better condition, though the addition of windows to the room was nice enough. There was a dresser and a cabinet, and Raskolnikov even spied a mirror above one that was only cracked in one place along the top. It was not perfect, but it was better than he would have guessed in this rundown town. Sonja looked to him with a smile flickering on her dark lips, and he responded with his own. His smiles were always mixed with a soft glow and a tinge of sorrow, though Sonja would probably not notice. He had smiled that way ever since he had done that, back in Russia.
"It will be beautiful once we fix it up. I think the work will be a healing experience after all of this traveling," he said in Italian, approaching his mate and brushing one side of her face with a hand. "How do you like it, Sonja? This new home of ours in this new world." He was not starkly opinionated—he believed that this place was in decent enough condition and that it would be much more homey when they fixed it up. Her opinion mattered much more, for if she thought there was another place that was better, they would be off again.