Luke's gaze slid from the set meal to Hook's massive desk. Oiled, meticulously maintained wood, on which she could recognize a certain order even in the chaos of parchments and bric-a-brac intertwined with it. The kind of orderly chaos where everything had its place - if she hadn't messed it up when she got stuck at the table in her haste. Everything in the room seemed the same: orderly. A bit... stiff? Or it simply reminded her of that, because it was the exact opposite of the actual disorderly mess in the Lost camp? There, no pillow, blanket, or mug matched. Even among the furniture, there was no chair like the next. But here, everything had a noble harmony. 'Everything has style.' she corrected her inner voice, which waved her aside like an unwanted troublemaker. The only thing that could be considered untidy was the jumble of cards lying in a pile or the stacks of parchments. Nothing else seemed out of place: the inkwell was closed, and the quill was cleaned and put in its place. She spotted a slightly tarnished compass, a sextant, compasses for measuring nautical miles... Ah, she almost screwed up her face.
She wasn't supposed to know that. It was part of all the things she wanted to bury. Just like in the past, she had left behind the mists. But... a life that had been lived seeped into the limbs. Sometimes it was just little things. How one carried one's nose or chin, how one ran, bent for something, or stretched one's fingers. The way one spoke, how one gave words their shape. Fine and gentle or angular and sharp. You could read people if you watched them closely enough for a long time. Did someone have rough hands, marked by hard work? Calluses in particular places? Was the hair strictly together - or tied in elaborate hairstyles? Skin perhaps discolored or tarnished with dye? Pants rubbed up at the knees?
Little things and details would always distinguish aristocrats from factory workers. Even though she had been living on the streets for some time now, the fine glass castle of her old life collapsed and was no more than a ruin, the bedrock that would always give her form somewhere continued to stand beneath it. Even when green tendrils, fresh shoots, or thorny undergrowth lay over it, walls collapsed or storms swept away over it.
In her case, the curved signature of her Old Life lay in the subtle signs of good parenting. At that moment, she reached for the cutlery. It didn't even occur to her to hesitate to hold the knife or fork differently. It had been years now since she had held such cutlery in her fingers. Almost three to be exact. In the dirty pile of boards, they later called home, there was certainly no such luxury. Since they lived on the street, they usually had stew, soup, bread, or potatoes. Simple food - because it was cheap and could often be watered down and shared. With the measly pay, they earned as dockworkers and Jake as a boy whore, they could just about affordable housing and the bare necessities.
Among the lost, few told of their past or detailed what their lives had been like before Peter rescued them. Perhaps because some did not remember, did not want to remember, or simply did not want to tell Pip these things. Memories were valuable here, she had understood that after all. All the more she wanted to take care to guard her treasures. Every night before she fell asleep and before she woke up, she would go over certain memories and recite names out loud that she didn't want to forget. And she also reminded Jake to do the same. He, however, was different from her. He wanted to forget and start over.
Now, however, there was no wild influence of the lost here. All the more she would have felt shabby stuffing the good food clumsily into her mouth. Instead, she chewed, gradually shoving the small morsels between her lips, and even though she didn't say it, her eyes spoke an undisguised, honest appreciation. Mh, she had... not eaten so well for far too long. And if she was honest, she hadn't expected to ever dine this well again, either. She hadn't even realized that she had missed it SO much. Ah, she didn't want to whine. She had Jake. They were healthy and alive. And damn it - sitting across from her was HOOK! She had other things to worry about than thinking about the last time she had eaten off silver plates.
YOU ARE READING
A Neverland Tale - HOOKED (eng)
Fantasy** Only one thing can still prevent Neverland's downfall: In the dark times when a star's light perishes, a new one must be found! ** Neverland - a world in which simply everything was possible as long as you could dream it. But behind a shining lig...
