Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

Chapter 4: Home

July 7th, 2478

Guinevere smiled for the rest of her shift, and through the entire trolley ride back to Six. She nodded politely at everyone who joined at each stop, trying to spread a little bit of her joy. I have a friend, she thought happily. As she got off the transport, she skipped slightly.

As she draped her jacket across the back of a chair, she shouted to Nicholas over his banging in the kitchen. "Are you trying to make enough noise so Father can kill and man and hide the screams?"

"Someone's in a good mood," noted Nicholas, walking into the living drying his hands on a ragged apron. "Is this because of the person you invited over?" He hugged her, then pushed her out, holding her at arm's length so he could study her.

There wasn't much use in denying it, so Guinevere nodded. "She's really great. She likes books. Well, I think she does. Otherwise she wouldn't have been at the Library."

Isn't it funny how when you give words a capital letter, they immediately get pronounced just a little bit differently?

Christopher came in, holding a potato in one hand and a bag of corn in the other. He answered the question on Guinevere's face with a smile. "I don't know what they're for either." He handed them over to Nicholas and added. "Just please don't make the green bean casserole from the Betty Crocker cookbook."

In mock hurt, Nicholas put a hand to his chest. "I thought you liked it!"

"I did! Until we found out that the milk you used was sour and we both had food poisoning for the next two days!"

"That was years ago," laughed Nicholas. "But I won't. I promised, remember?"

"So what year was this?" Guinevere asked, stepping into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. "After World War 2?" She dragged out the "two" as she thought. "I'm guessing before the twenty-first century... How about 1976?" She turned, eyebrows raised, taking a long sip from her cup.

Christopher burst out laughing. "That's exactly right. Five hundred years ago."

"And you still won't let me make it!" Nicholas cried indignantly. "Five hundred years!" He waved the potato in his hand. "So I am forced to make mashed potatoes and chicken!"

"It's fine, Dad," Guinevere consoled. "Mashed potatoes and chicken is an excellent birthday dinner."

Better than their normal dinners, at least. Rice, beans, and a rotation of dried or canned fruits and vegetables tended to get boring after a while. It wasn't exactly my idea to give only staples to the general population (I took the precaution of a few smart interns who are no longer with us) but I implemented it. What was a little more blood of change on my hands? The stains will never come out.

Out damned spot, out I say! One. Two. Why then, 'tis time to do 'it. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier and afeared? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 1

A buzzer sounded throughout the apartment, and Guineve tried to fight a smile. She was twenty two now. Having someone over to your apartment for your birthday was a normal thing. "I'll get it!" she half shouted, despite the fact that everyone in the apartment was right there.

"Go on, then!" Christopher yelled back with equal fervor and a teasing glint in his eye. He sat down on the sofa, and swung his legs onto the coffee table.

"Get your feet off of the table!" Nicholas called from the kitchen, a loud clanging following his words.

"Only if you promise to stop dropping pans on the floor!" Christopher stood up, following the sound.