02-08-2019, 03:10 AM
Everything was loud and scary, and abashed just wanted it all to be done and to go away and hide. But this was important, like really, really big important. So she did her best to stay on her feet even though she still felt so, so yucky, and to listen even though all the voices made her head hurt way worse, and even though the loud scary purple man was here she didn’t run away or nothing. Even if his shiny hurt her eyes and his mad-sounding voice made her heart quake and her legs wobble even more than the sick was already doing on its own.
This was her home. Hers and mommy’s. Even if they were quiet, they were here, ‘cause it was safe, and ‘cause for abashed at least, it was the only home she’d ever known. And it wasn’t just scary purplish men who talked, even if both of the ones who did made her want to hide. Not that they even looked at her, but their presence made the air vibrate, and she just wanted to turn into a teeny tiny mew and find somewhere cozy and dark and hidden to curl up until they all went away.
But she was being so, so brave. And also there were less scary people. There was pretty Miss Wallace, who was lots less scary than the men. And there was a nice, soft roan lady too, with soft eyes and a soft voice and a soft smile for her babies that made abashed’s heart hurt, made her wonder what it was like to have a mommy look at her like that instead of her Mommy’s sharp voice and sharp temper and sharp edges.
That was not a very nice or grateful thought, though, and probably that lady’s babies were better than she was, nicer and quieter and not whiny or demanding or needy or snively or needing all their mommy’s time and attention, not disturbing her sleep in the nighttime ‘cause they had one little scarifying dream, not wailing obnoxiously when they got a little boo boo. She bet those babies were much better babies than she was, and that’s why their mommy was so happy. ‘Cause she didn’t have such a burden weighing her down as abashed’s Mommy did, having to take care of her all the time.
She knew she was an awful lot of trouble. Poor Mommy. She’d have to try harder to be a good girl, and maybe someday if she tried real hard, Mommy would have that soft look in her eyes too.
And even though they were boys, the next two to talk didn’t seem quite as scary either, all smiling eyes and bright tone and playful-sneaky-sounding. Maybe not everybody was scary, and it made her brave enough to take one tiny step forward on hooves that wanted very badly to shift to paws and find somewhere sneaky-cozy to curl up away from prying eyes. One teeny, tiny step forward, and she spoke in a whisper-soft voice that barely made a sound. “Hi. Um, I’m...I’m abashed. I live here with my mommy too--oh, um. I don’t ‘member her name name, just I call her mommy? An’--”
Oh no, abashed broke off, a wet, yucky coughing fit taking over and shaking her whole body, making her lungs ache and her throat hurt and choking her a little when she coughed up some ick. She coughed hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, and croaked out a pathetic, miserable little, “Sorry,” when it was done and she could breathe again. “Please don’t be mad, I din’ mean to. I just wanted to say um, thank you for keeping our home safe.”
This was her home. Hers and mommy’s. Even if they were quiet, they were here, ‘cause it was safe, and ‘cause for abashed at least, it was the only home she’d ever known. And it wasn’t just scary purplish men who talked, even if both of the ones who did made her want to hide. Not that they even looked at her, but their presence made the air vibrate, and she just wanted to turn into a teeny tiny mew and find somewhere cozy and dark and hidden to curl up until they all went away.
But she was being so, so brave. And also there were less scary people. There was pretty Miss Wallace, who was lots less scary than the men. And there was a nice, soft roan lady too, with soft eyes and a soft voice and a soft smile for her babies that made abashed’s heart hurt, made her wonder what it was like to have a mommy look at her like that instead of her Mommy’s sharp voice and sharp temper and sharp edges.
That was not a very nice or grateful thought, though, and probably that lady’s babies were better than she was, nicer and quieter and not whiny or demanding or needy or snively or needing all their mommy’s time and attention, not disturbing her sleep in the nighttime ‘cause they had one little scarifying dream, not wailing obnoxiously when they got a little boo boo. She bet those babies were much better babies than she was, and that’s why their mommy was so happy. ‘Cause she didn’t have such a burden weighing her down as abashed’s Mommy did, having to take care of her all the time.
She knew she was an awful lot of trouble. Poor Mommy. She’d have to try harder to be a good girl, and maybe someday if she tried real hard, Mommy would have that soft look in her eyes too.
And even though they were boys, the next two to talk didn’t seem quite as scary either, all smiling eyes and bright tone and playful-sneaky-sounding. Maybe not everybody was scary, and it made her brave enough to take one tiny step forward on hooves that wanted very badly to shift to paws and find somewhere sneaky-cozy to curl up away from prying eyes. One teeny, tiny step forward, and she spoke in a whisper-soft voice that barely made a sound. “Hi. Um, I’m...I’m abashed. I live here with my mommy too--oh, um. I don’t ‘member her name name, just I call her mommy? An’--”
Oh no, abashed broke off, a wet, yucky coughing fit taking over and shaking her whole body, making her lungs ache and her throat hurt and choking her a little when she coughed up some ick. She coughed hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, and croaked out a pathetic, miserable little, “Sorry,” when it was done and she could breathe again. “Please don’t be mad, I din’ mean to. I just wanted to say um, thank you for keeping our home safe.”