Something Greater

oh, let's go back to the start

Questions of science, science and progress

Do not speak as loud as my heart.

– Coldplay, "The Scientist."

–-–

April 18th, 1898

London, England

12:00 A.M.

The church's bell rang off in the distance as the clock's hand reached the hour of noon, signaling the start of a new day. Birds chirped and flocked about, and the people of London slowly began their own daily morning routines.

One of these folks was none other than Lionel Frost, who had awoken upon hearing the first ring of the church bell. He scrambled up to get out of his bed, though his eyes were soon met by a familiar sight, one that made his heart ache a little.

A photo of Adelina, taken back during the time when they had been dating. In the picture, she wore a simple vest and a smile on her face – a smile that he wished he could see every day in person.

("Stand there, Adi," Lionel had said as he'd gone to get the camera. "And stay still."

"Okay," she'd laughed, a delightful little laugh.

He had come back with the camera soon enough, positioning it. "Now, smile for me."

She had a bemused look. "Don't you mean smile for the camera?"

"Oh right, yes... silly me," he'd laughed, then readied the camera. Once a smile was on her face, he'd taken the photo and afterwards, they'd been giggling like two schoolchildren over it.)

Alas, he would have to settle with seeing her smile in an old bronze-toned photograph. At least he could wake up to that...

And Susan's loud roar of a yawn, which he heard only a second after. Given that he was a sasquatch, Lionel could only expect his furry friend's mourning routine to be quite the noisy one. At least he'd woken up before him today, so he wouldn't have a roar as an alarm clock.

He got up from bed and went to get ready as per usual, washing up first, neatly combing his hair and finally, dressing in his usual attire. Once that was over with, he went straight for the kitchen, where he found Susan sitting at the table.

"Good morning!" the sasquatch chirped, eyes already alight with the usual enthusiasm. He'd always been a morning person, or so to speak.

"Morning," Lionel returned, then went over to the cupboard to fetch their breakfast; the usual eggs, bacon, fish and porridge. Seeing as how he didn't really have servants and that forcing Susan to bake was like a sentence to arson in its very concept, it was Lionel who prepared breakfast every morning. It'd been that way ever since he moved out of his parents' old home and despite how 'unmanly' and 'nontraditional' it seemed, he quite enjoyed preparing the food, for it gave him the liberty to add his own little touch – his own cooking signature.

So he prepared breakfast. While the food was cooking, Susan tried to strike up a conversation by asking, "So, how'd you sleep last night?"

"Fairly decent," Lionel said, looking back over his shoulder. "And how about you?"

Susan beamed. "Great! I dreamt that you and I were in the Northwest Highlands wearing quilts–"

"Kilts, Susan," Lionel interrupted, correcting the sasquatch. "The skirts are called kilts, not quilts. Quilt is a fabric that is used for kilts."