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CHAPTER THREE OFF TO CULTIVATE YOUR GARDEN?
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
The sun was going down by the time Atlas was making his way up the small walkway that led to the front door. A bouquet of flowers was in his right hand, and a plastic bag full of vervain was in his jacket pocket. He raised his free hand to knock on the door, but stopped when it flew open before his knuckles could touch the wood, revealing a middle-aged woman with dark brown skin and warm brown eyes. She broke into a grin at the sight of him, and Atlas grinned back. Marie Larue had been his neighbor for nearing thirty years, and the sight of her always brightened his day. Especially since she was one of the few humans who knew about the supernatural community and had consented to being compelled in regards to the deed to his house.
"Atlas!" Marie said brightly, stepping over the threshold to gather him into a warm hug. Atlas returned it as best he could considering he was still holding the bouquet of flowers. "Oh, honey, it's been too long. Come in, come in." Atlas did, toeing off his shoes by the door.
"I can't stay long, Marie," Atlas said apologetically, following her into her small kitchen, where she was cooking up vegetable soup and cornbread. His mouth watered, but he shook his head quickly. He had promised Marcel he'd join him and the rest of the inner circle during a party that night, as Marcel showed Klaus the ins-and-outs of how Marcel ran the vampire faction of the city. Tonight, he'd be showing Klaus how he fed the vampires without leaving behind a massacre. Marcel wanted Atlas there to help keep the younger vampires in line. "But I brought you a new bouquet, and more vervain. I would've brought you a new vase, but..."
"You've brought me enough vases," Marie dismissed quickly, smiling as he reached to take the flowers from him. She went to replace the wilting ones on the windowsill, and Atlas took the opportunity to put the plastic bag of vervain on the dinner table. "Well, even if you can't stay for long, the least you can do is stay for dinner. Sit down. I'll make you a bowl." Atlas thought about arguing with her on that, but figured it would be a moot point. She was a very stubborn woman, and he didn't like disappointing her. He sat down in the seat she motioned toward and waited, cupping his jaw in his hands as he watched her work.
"So," Atlas started conversationally, glancing at the stack of envelopes on the counter, "is there anything I can help you with? Squeaky hinges, loose steps, overdue bills—" Marie, who had come back to the table with a bowl of vegetable soup, used the spoon in her hand to whack Atlas on the back of his hand. He cried out dramatically, though it hardly hurt, and brought his hand to his chest, looking at her with wide eyes. His attempt to make her feel bad for hitting him didn't work. She just clicked her tongue and set the bowl in front of him, dropping the very spoon she had hit him with into the soup.
