Enola Holmes

Dirty shoes

(Sidenote: Marcus went to bed in the afternoon. The meeting time for his job is at night. He usually gets up early in the mornings looking for work or attempting to exercise. Only on rare occasions does mercury get up in the early mornings. Even when she does she’ll be fast to fall back asleep) 

Mercury's pov

I slowly began to wake, in my lovely big room, and its busted large window on the far left, it was only patched up to the point no absurdly large animals could come in, due to me wanting a lot of sunlight to shine through my room. Marcus claimed me old enough to fend off any small critters that would perhaps decide my room was warm enough for a makeshift home.
Although that’s what he told me, i was far from trusting him to defend me from animals, my grudge of him abandoning me to a fussy, pregnant, alleycat when we were six has yet to be forgotten,
though I never verbalized my hurt from his eternal betrayal. Instead, I opted to make fun of his at the time,new founded fear of cats, in sensible amounts of course.

It was around the afternoon when I awoke, getting up with a little ballerina twirl to the medium sized mirror Marcus had awkwardly gifted me and helped install after our argument of what sort of “feminine luxuries'” were appropriate for me to, or, to not have, given our circumstances. Looking at my caramel skin and frizzy hair that was now defying the laws of physics, I decided to do another little spin over to my dresser and throw my favorite hat on top of my head, yanking and pulling my hands through my hair so it would at least point downwards.

After the brief fight and tiresome struggle, I gave a content sigh not wanting the process of doing my hair to ruin my currently blissful day. I looked down at my white nightgown with its small remains of last night's dinner, and promptly threw my big brown coat over it and grabbed my running slacks.
After my shoe’s were on I grabbed my black cotton bag that had a flap and slung it over my chest, throwing my raggedy hand-me-down ballet shoes in it.

Opening my closet I grabbed the broom from the bakery that I had gotten banned from last week, I had used it in the heat of the moment to beat up the bakery's owner, obnoxious son. Mostly hitting him with the hay part in fear of the metal part being too harsh of a punishment for his crime of talking ill of my brother, all of the hay tied to the bottom became raggedy and undone when I was finished fighting the boy. Considering we had very little time before the police were notified of my assault I had run with the, now metal pole, in hand. After we had gotten too some alleyway far from the baker,  I realized I was still holding the weapon of assault and had left a trail of hay that had luckily ran out before we stopped to take a break in the alleyway. Deciding the metal was sturdy enough I happily kept it as an emergency weapon in my closet. May we have some unexpected visitors in our home, be they man, or beast.

Walking down the stairs as loudly as I possibly could to alert anything and everything I was home gripping the metal pole fully prepared to swing, I stopped at the end of the steps and silently waited for another sound of movement to be made.
Concluding it was safe after a few minutes of silence, I went to the kitchen grabbing 2 cooked biscuits. While eating my breakfast I gave our house a once over to make sure my scrawny, and quiet twin who always appeared tired and stiff wasn’t home. After seeing no sign of him I went to the bathroom swiping my hands together and rubbing the crumbs off my mouth. I gave myself a few more glances in the mirror.
I reached into my hat pulling out a piece of hair that was more frizz than curl over my left eye in case my face would "coincidentally" appear on another wanted poster, figuring I was better safe than sorry to keep my face a little hidden. I gave one last look.
Looking as homeless and as poor as a teenager could possibly appear, I smiled and winked at myself ready to walk out the door and start the day, metal pole still in hand.

Walking through the forest wasn't as adventurous and exhilarating as it usually is.Due to me deciding not to inspect, climb, and touch every interesting or climbable thing in sight, i kept my hands to myself and walked my way too From Surrey to Birmingham.

I usually tended to hang out with a group of children who were sometimes a bit too sheltered, for even me- They were all about my age though, a handful younger, the only real difference between me and them were parents, and people who called themselves they're "mentors”. Yet the special thing about this group and why I wouldn’t trade they’re posh and ignorant selves for the world.Is because they also enjoyed ballet. I'd snuck into many theaters and witnessed a bundle of plays, performances,and dances in my lifetime. Yet the ones that always managed to blow me away- that filled me with envy and admiration, was what I sought after.

I can admit I'm the kind of "problem child" parents and "upstanding adults" would ward away from children. But I'm definitely the kinda fun any normal child would be interested in! I normally teach the group tricks and stunts as well as a few special things that unfortunately can't be mentioned in case any adults are present. and in return they teach me the dances, and steps, they learned from their private instructors, and mentors. I even occasionally teach them a little bit about self deference and acrobatics!

  My eternally moody brother
‘to add insult to injury of our almost non existent luxuries’
once told me the only "girly" things I understood how to do well was dance, and somewhat act prim and proper.I for one had no problem with my limited skills of being a lady. Despite my brother's opinion, Besides he himself admitted there was no point in wearing dresses outside, 'no one would hire a self proclaimed princess who looks like she'd be unwilling to even carry a pail'
were his exact words- 
‘though- i did have to ask what “self  proclaimed ment before I fully understood his meaning. I would swear to the gods he just uses his big words to annoy or secretly insult me’
  So with those in mind.

I made it to the studio~
finishing up the long walks and train rides it took me to get here, also stopping my train of thought

Walking to the changing section,
I began putting on a white leotard and a pair of my brother's old trousers over ‘em.
‘Just wearing the leotard for lessons made me uncomfortable so I tended to wear things over it. Despite how much “improper etiquette” my friends insisted it was’ 

I looked up at my poofed up, shoulder length, curly hair that was messily stuffed under my favorite tan colored hat, yet still managing to slip out to drape over my eyes, through the changing room mirror. Realizing how worse it made the pristine white leotard that didn't belong to me, tan colored shorts that used to be my brother’s, and scoot dyed ballet shoes that did,

Look.

Deciding to at least look a little presentable I pulled my hair in a tiny ponytail, leaving the rest of it down. giving it a half bun type look. I also had two thick, stubborn strands that were too short to fit into the bun, sticking out in the front of the hairstyle.

Existing the changing rooms I saw the other dancers doing warm up stretches in the studio
“Okay, just another day of the usual~”
I reminded myself taking a deep puff of air walking over to the studio bar.