Evie
normality is a paved road
comfortable to walk, but where no flowers grow
comfortable to walk, but where no flowers grow
Evie can’t withhold the small, eager gasp at the proposal of a trade. She is inherently predisposed to some manner of materialism after a lifetime in the barrier yes, but Deimos’ gifts are always impossibly personal no matter the size. She’s spoiled, frankly, and ecstatic to be. She will simply ignore the fact that the gift she has for him will pale in comparison.
Nudged onward, Evie presses a fleeting kiss to his departing shoulder before heading to the nursery to coax Erebos into wakefulness. It’s easy as pie to feed him, and with the sling it’s even easier to keep her own hands free at the same time as she hustles downstairs to where she’d stashed the gift. It’s macaroni art to put it nicely, and Erebos is not old enough for anything to be particularly distinguishable, but it’s a fair degree better than the crayon scribbles they have so far. Even if Evie had largely orchestrated the final product by keeping the glue from covering one of said crayon scribbles which had served as the outline for…whatever it was Erebos had been envisioning.
As the skillet heats and she begins cracking eggs into a bowl to whisk, Evie adjusts a few of the pieces that had not fully glued themselves down and scrapes off a few globs of glue that had been overlooked against the white paper. Laughing to herself, she uses a touch of magic to help it dry fast enough to make it all seem planned, and then covers it with an empty folder from the office to conceal it in some poor mockery of wrapping.
As the eggs go into the skillet for a large batch of scramble, Evie calls up the stairs, “Ready when you are!”
Nudged onward, Evie presses a fleeting kiss to his departing shoulder before heading to the nursery to coax Erebos into wakefulness. It’s easy as pie to feed him, and with the sling it’s even easier to keep her own hands free at the same time as she hustles downstairs to where she’d stashed the gift. It’s macaroni art to put it nicely, and Erebos is not old enough for anything to be particularly distinguishable, but it’s a fair degree better than the crayon scribbles they have so far. Even if Evie had largely orchestrated the final product by keeping the glue from covering one of said crayon scribbles which had served as the outline for…whatever it was Erebos had been envisioning.
As the skillet heats and she begins cracking eggs into a bowl to whisk, Evie adjusts a few of the pieces that had not fully glued themselves down and scrapes off a few globs of glue that had been overlooked against the white paper. Laughing to herself, she uses a touch of magic to help it dry fast enough to make it all seem planned, and then covers it with an empty folder from the office to conceal it in some poor mockery of wrapping.
As the eggs go into the skillet for a large batch of scramble, Evie calls up the stairs, “Ready when you are!”
