thesporadicstoryteller-blog

[thesporadicstoryteller-blog]

The Blacksmith

The memories of youth. The view out of the kitchen window, blurred around the edges of her mind, facing the little garden at the back of her home. Parsley, lavender, chives, chervil and basil tinting the plots chartreuse and lilac and verdant; planted by her mother when she herself was still struggling to look through the glass and was carelessly stomping onto the plots while catching butterflies. Pies, filled with apples, bilberries and cinnamon, resting on the windowsill, placed out of reach of little hands, granted a few minutes of peace to lose their heat. Their smell still stayed with her. She had smiled fondly out of the self-same window back then, the movement of his hammer on an anvil beating a continuous rhythm, four loud bumps, a lighter one, four loud ones and the sizzling of water in which burning metal had been thrust. She’d only ever caught glimpses of him through it, but what she’d seen always made her heart swell and happy bursts of butterflies erupt in her stomach. One day, she knew one would flutter over her herbs toward his little window that was always steamy as it seemed, just more on some days and less on other occasions, knock on the plane and lead him right to her. How sweet he was, how kindhearted and how lovable. The way his dirty dark locks surrounded his sooty black cheekbones and his rough beard grazed his heartfelt smile just barely, made her feel faint and the blood rush to her cheeks all at the same time. He was as tall as the small willow that stood beside the brook north of town and twice as broad, with large hands and calloused fingertips from lifting and pushing and hammering all day, sometimes into night as well. He’d only been a hushed dream, her good blacksmith. She quietly smiled again out of that window with its newly painted red frame to look into the garden that now held lush berry bushes and a singular pear tree and of course still that treasured patch of herbs, and hid a small pie under a thin linen cloth from her own little rascals that were so like herself back then. He still hammered out there now. However, she knew he’d be home within the hour.

An attempt to improve my descriptive writing. I tried to build this short story around the following five randomly generated words: hammer, pies, hushed, happy and kindhearted.

Thank you very much for reading! (:

[thesporadicstoryteller-blog]

Peanutbutter

Buttery goddess.

[thesporadicstoryteller-blog]

Tranquility

A Kuroshitsuji fanfiction, inspired by the following prompt: Ciel Phantomhive is a world-renowned actor, flitting from set to set, hounded incessantly by paparazzi. Searching for a moment of quiet while visiting London, he stumbles into Sebastian Michaelis’ unassuming tea shop. https://kuro-prompts.tumblr.com/post/161039212724/prompt-notting-hill-au

With a click, the door closed behind him, seemingly shutting out the entire world’s hustle and bustle. Quiet silence enveloped him, something he did not think possible in the city that London had become over the years. Not that he had seen much of his hometown over the last year, his schedule stuffed full of mostly American cities he had to travel to. However, it did not seem to differ much from other’s in his opinion, its British charm had never quite gotten to Ciel though he did enjoy, as much as he could phrase it that way, the people more than the Americans by far. Those usually were way too touchy-feely with ‘such a cute youth as him’ by giving him hugs as a greeting or touching him while conversing, constantly being too loud while talking to him and generally behaving in a manner nauseating to him. Of course, not every one of them, but the actor was still pleased to take a little vacation here in England. Not that his holiday destination proved much better right now. The nostalgia had put a little layer of mist over his mind because going to London was probably not the best idea if you wanted some much needed tranquillity. Plus, some idiot apparently had had a slip of tongue and his dear fellowship of paparazzi grew aware of where he was going. Simply wonderful. Ciel was even less than delighted now as he had to outright flee to get away, which was most unbecoming in his opinion. However, here he was. In midst of London City, now with silence droning in his ears. That was unexpected. Very welcome indeed, but not what he’d thought he’d get when he barged into this small shop somewhere in one of the less popular back alleys (if he was honest he hadn’t had the slightest clue where he was exactly, but the Internet would probably fix that problem for him later on). Apparently, the actor had stepped in a parallel dimension: the shop was tiny, stuffed full of shelves that had immaculately stacked boxes of tea leaves in them and that seemed to cover most of the space on the room’s walls. In here, it smelt like thousand different things at once, flavours reaching from vanilla, over hibiscus to an assortment of berries and winter spices, but somehow it did not get him to sneeze or be overwhelmed, it just made it feel… homey, as if he stuck his head into all nice memories of tea he’d ever had. The room was decorated in a fashion that seemed ancient as well as timeless (however that worked, but it worked very well), all dark furniture – rosewood or ebony maybe –, tables on which a single glass vase had been placed holding seasonal flower arrangements, comfy looking cushions in a dark, velvety red adorned with golden ornaments and a recamier next to the window looking over a tiny garden area that seemed to be skilfully tended to and also held another two tables. Except him, the shop was empty. Ciel blinked a few times to take everything in, before he heard the shrieking of an old kettle going off and he snapped out of his trance. A grinning smile met him. His eyes shot wide open. Two of a most extraordinary colour stared right back at him. How did that man even do that, just appear out of thin air? Ciel could’ve sworn a few seconds prior he… “You’ve been staring into nothing for the last five minutes.”, his opposite chuckled. “I thought you could use some tea, so I heated up some water.” The youth quickly regained his posture, sweeping his fringe out of his eyes, trying to look less like some sort of psycho. “Thank you.”, he answered after a short pause in which he cleared his throat. “Oh, don’t worry. As you see, I’ve not really got a full house today.” It was not like him to not know what to say, but that’s exactly what was the case now. He just took a seat on one of the plush chairs and looked at the apparent shop owner. That he did not recognise him was impressive, even here in England he’d been printed in magazines and been on TV, but that man did not seem to have any regard for who he was or conveyed any impression of even knowing that he was more than some very creepy kid that just stormed into his shop, looking around for minutes in total silence. If he had not been so embarrassed, he would have run away again by now, making that the second time today. “So,” darn, how did that guy always manage to startle him, “What brings you here?”, the man inquired with a smile that somehow sent the chills down his spine, even if it was nothing less than friendliness that was portrayed on his face. “Usually, one does not get customers right before closing time, you know?” Ciel hadn’t even thought about that. It was four minutes short of 6 o’clock now – which would probably be the recently mentioned closing time -, but a cup of steaming tea was still placed before him on a black saucer with white swirls; cream on hot chocolate fudge cake. “I’m sorry.” “And I’m Sebastian.”, the other grinned right back at him. Sebastian, huh. He seemed like a peculiar fella, all dressed in sleek black with the exception of a red tie that had an uncanny resemblance to his eyes; if he wore contact lenses, Ciel wondered, or maybe it was just the light playing tricks on him. However, he could not help but note what a good-looking man he was, all sharp lines and symmetrical features, black hair that fell into his eyes in a perfectly styled manner; he truly looked like quite the lady charmer. “Usually people would tell you their name after you told them yours.”, Sebastian continued their barely existing conversation. “But you haven’t been most people since you came in, so I probably should not wonder.” “I’m Ciel.”, the younger one told him, ears flushing. Maybe the running combined with the smells in here had messed with his head. His usually rather eloquent self had been reduced to a stammering fool. Perfect. He quickly took a sip of his tea to spare him from any nonsensical retort of his. All the while, Sebastian waited patiently, fingers crossed like in half-hearted prayer in front of his stomach, smile still in its place. He quickly averted his attention to his drink, which truly was formidable; perfectly brewed so that the aroma came out in exactly the right way, bergamot hovering directly under his nose. He had to admit, he was quite impressed and soon took another sip, the liquid soothing his tense nerves until his shoulders relaxed slightly, back slumping into the cushion. “So, Ciel.”, Sebastian hummed, taking a seat on the armrest of the opposite chair, legs crossed at the ankles. “Will you tell me now, how you got here? Usually, my place isn’t found all that often by people like you.” “People like me?” Maybe he did know who he was after all. “People under 60 that storm into my shop looking like they just ran a marathon, being very confused at that.” His eyes narrowed a bit. What should he make of that? Of course, he had been out of breath! But he felt as if that topic should be a closed chapter by now. Or did this guy usually embarrass his customers like that? Just as he opened his mouth to tell this insolent idiot exactly what he thought, Sebastian added: “Or people quite that good-looking, if I may say so.” That quickly shut him up again and Ciel closed his mouth like a fish taking his last breath. The raven-haired man however just laughed at his baffled expression. “So, do you want to answer my question or would you prefer that I continue this monologue for the time being?” “Well.” Another contemplative sip of tea. “Basically, I just wanted to get away from the city.” “Seems as if you failed miserably at that. London is right outside these doors, you know.”, Sebastian hummed and the young man nodded. “Yes. But it is not in here, is it?” “Indeed, it is not.”, a smile growing broader. Apparently, his answer had pleased the man and for some unknown reason, that pleased him. “However, what would you consider is ‘in here’, Ciel?” He answered him after two more sips and at the same moment he decided he had to visit Sebastian again. “Tranquillity.”