Through The Ashes • •

[marcella aveline de vos]

Marcella never intended to be in America as long as she had been. She had always envisioned going to college in Europe, or specifically Belgium. Now she doubted she would ever see her home continent again, let alone her home country. Even reading about flight left her shaking, and Marcella couldn’t entertain the idea of boarding a plane for any reason. She was trapped in America, for all intents and purposes, unless she decided to board a boat and travel by ship like something ridiculous. The thought of being stuck on a ship for weeks on end, waiting for the next port made her feel foolish for her fears in the first place, even though they were entirely justified. There was a reason she never spoke about them, and being a wallflower made it easier for people to not ask questions. Being quiet was often mistaken by strangers as being shy, so she was easily left alone even when she didn’t want to be. It was something Marcella had grown accustomed to. At times she was thankful for it, but other times she wanted to scream at the world for not understanding; alas, screaming at the world was not something she was prone to doing.

Living in New York City and being polite as she was meant that she was often at a loss. She often didn’t get a seat on the subway, and Marcella found herself pushed in front of too many times to count when she was in line at the coffee shop. Rude behaviour and arrogance were things she didn’t consider herself equipped to deal with. Even at work if there was a customer who needed to complain, or who came in with an attitude problem, Marcella could do little more than smile, offer an apology and quickly race to get the nearest person who could handle it a hell of a lot better than she could. Mostly that was Poppy since it was her place and all that, but if she wasn’t around it would be anyone but herself. Right before her lunch break on a busy Saturday, Marcella had just that problem. A sour attitude from someone who really didn’t have a problem but who needed to make one. Their tea was not the right temperature that they had ordered it at, and the cake they had purchased alongside it came with frosting not icing.

By the time the icing queen had been dealt with, Marcella was desperate for her break. She ordered herself a pot of chamomile tea and grabbed one of the sandwiches from the counter, ditching her apron in the back so she could enjoy her break in peace. She had a favourite table by the window which was thankfully vacant and popped herself down there, feeling the sun on her skin as she settled down, pouring herself a cup of the soothing tea. She opened up the paper to the crossword puzzle and clicked the top of her pen, scribbling the answer to three down in immediately. Marcella enjoyed puzzles when she wasn’t working on school assignments. She felt they kept her brain sharp. She would do any that came her way, but the process of crossword puzzles made her feel like she was learning something new when she had to go digging for a complicated answer. It was a feeling she liked, and one that she didn’t have to share in a project or presentation of her coursework. Sometimes Marcella liked having things that were just her own.

• • •

TAGGED! Thatcher Mathias Tennyson
WORDS! 588!
OUTFIT!  Pretty Flower!
LYRICS! I Am The One - - - Maryden Halewell.
NOTES! <3

[Thatcher Mathias Tennyson]

Thatcher loved doing his work at Hatter's because of the atmosphere. It was more than a little bit crazy with its miss matched chairs and tables, polka dot wallpaper and colourful awning outside, drawing the eye straight to the tea house. The employees were just as quirky and the clientele, for the most part, were just as eclectic as the shop itself. The music was never the same two days in a row and as long as he kept asking for more pots of tea and plates of treats, he was left alone. It didn't hurt that he'd had a word with the owner after she got concerned he was stalking one of her employees. In truth, he just liked the table and whenever it was available, he snatched it right up. He had the perfect view to people watch on the street and in the shop. If he'd been a writer, it would have been the perfect place to collect ideas and do research. As it was, the shop was good for him as well. It wasn't always easy to come up with those crossword puzzles and the creative atmosphere kept his mind sharp. And as long as he put money into the cash registered, Poppy didn't really care if he was there open to close.

He never had deadlines exactly, that was too formal for his line of work. Instead, he created his puzzles and then he submitted them either to the papers or to the publisher who put together puzzle books, sometimes both when the paper returned with a "too easy" note. It was surprisingly well paid work and he picked up royalty payments every couple months when one of the books with his puzzles in sold. It certainly made living in New York a little easier. Sometimes it felt like you had to make six figures before you could even consider New York, or any of its boroughs, an acceptable home. And other days it seemed like it was too easy to live in the big apple. As long as he was busy and able to do what he loved, Thatcher didn't really care where it was he lived. Technically, he didn't even have to be in New York. It wasn't like he had proper in person meetings with editors, he sent in his work and waited for email responses. He could have lived on another continent for all it mattered, it was just that much easier to be in the city.

Thatcher sighed as he scrubbed his hands over his face. He had probably been there too long or working too hard. He'd come up with a lengthy list of options for the next several puzzles, now it was just a matter of connecting them together. At least he hadn't been sitting there, twirling his thumbs, he'd actually gotten work done. Thatch was hoping this next puzzle would be tough enough to get in the Sunday edition of the Times; a dream of his that would stick around no matter how many times his work landed the coveted spot. Which, so far, had been twice. He needed a break and a refresh on his pot of server's choice tea. He liked telling them to surprise him and finding out only when they'd set his pot down what was heating up the ceramic. On this rare rougher days, Thatcher ordered one of the fancy coffees but for the most part, he enjoyed the extensive tea collection. He signaled for another pot and plate of snacks, knowing whatever was brought over to him would be amazing and leaned back to stretch. He'd been hunched over a bit in his manic scribbling session and he felt it now. He had been spun around to work out those deep kinks in his lower back when he saw the puzzle open in the hands of a young woman behind him. "That's a tricky one. And you're doing it in pen. Must be confident." He blurted out with a bit of a smug smile. Thatcher had created that puzzle months ago and had only been told it would be considered for the paper. And since he'd been more worried about expanding his clues list and word options, he hadn't actually checked out the paper yet.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tag || marcella aveline de vos
Words || 714
Clothes || Puzzling Puzzle Maker
Music || Hit The Gas --Kane Brown
Notes || <3

[marcella aveline de vos]

Marcella honestly couldn’t wait for the day when her job meant she was working with plants and not with people. It wasn’t that the dark haired Belgium was anti-social, but she had experienced how quickly friends could turn into gossiping betrayers. Plants were definitely not the type to whisper behind her back, or make up rumours that were entirely untrue. Marcella had struggled, and even now when she had a decent enough friendship with those she worked with, she still struggled to talk with them, to break out of that shell she had built up in grief. America had been a strange place to her, and she was still getting used to it when her parents had died. To realise that it wasn’t as glossy and perfect as it was supposed to be was an extra knock when she was already down and out. Marcella was barely back on her feet now, even though she was aiming for her future, for that life as a botanist just like her father before her.

Attending college was a freedom from the private school where friends had been as fake as Barbie Dolls. Yet it was another world Marcella didn’t quite feel like she fitted into. A lot of the classmates were whispering and showing off their fake IDs, talking about parties on the weekends and who would bring the beer. Marcella wasn’t into that. She was more than happy to spend her weekends working and then go home to a quiet apartment where she would sit and read, nibbling on something freshly baked in her oven, or spend some time cultivating whatever she had growing in the greenhouse she had filled with stems and vines, plants of all shapes and sizes. Marcella had tasted beer once – peer pressure – and it had been warm and bitter. It was disgusting. The idea of drinking that to end up in a state where she would only feel sick. Marcella didn’t dare speak up to ask about the appeal of such a thing, or why her classmates wanted to break the law to go to a club with bad music and headache inducing lighting. She had been an outcast once before, stared at and whispered about. Marcella wasn’t about to put herself in that position again.

She froze when she heard a voice right by her. Marcella slowly turned her head and cast her ice blue eyes over the kind looking man who spoke to her. A shy smile tugged at the side of her mouth, but then her attention was back on the crossword to write in another of the answers. “There is no challenge in them being easy.” She said quietly, speaking slow enough that her accent wouldn’t cloud the words. It was a bother when it got in the way of her English. She could speak the second language perfectly well, but her accent was still thick enough that some people struggled if she didn’t speak slowly. “We only get one chance at life. It is too precious to waste it on pencils for crosswords. Besides, if I make a mistake there is always tomorrow. Or I can buy another paper.” She shrugged, quickly connecting up another word and crossing out the clue. Marcella reached for her tea, sipping elegantly from the cup and sighing contently at the sweet chamomile she was so fond of.

• • •

TAGGED! Thatcher Mathias Tennyson
WORDS! 566!
OUTFIT!  Pretty Flower!
LYRICS! I Am The One - - - Maryden Halewell.
NOTES! <3