Post by Jack Trove on Jul 7, 2008 22:07:34 GMT
"Well, boy... y'all sure do look a lot better."
"I feel a lot better, Miranda!" Jack laughed, stretching. "I'm clean, I'm talking like a human being, I can eat with boking it up and I can go outside again!"
She laughed too, tucking a brown braid behind her ear as she did so. "Jack, your poor mother's nerves couldn't take you running about outside like a wild animal so soon after your recovery- and nor could mine."
"Why?" His eyes sparkled. "Worried about me?"
"Worried about me," she chuckled, "I don't want to have to clean up another lot of vomit, thanks."
Dropping his arms to his sides, Jack lifted his right leg back to stretch his thigh. "A jog's not going to make me sick."
"It better not."
"You could always come too," he grinned. "Y'know, to make sure I'm okay."
"Didn't you just guarantee me you'll be fine?"
"I will be," he agreed, "but... just in case..."
"Jack Trove," she smirked, "what will your mother say?"
"Isn't she asleep?"
"Why, yes."
"Then she won't say anything. She won't know."
Miranda held up a blackened duster. "I've got work to do. Come on- what d'you reckon your parents pay me for? To play games?"
Miranda's long, braided hair was tucked behind a hairband today. Usually, she wore a ponytail, and as of yet, Jack had only seen her hair loose once, when she was coming out of her bedroom to deal with his vomiting. She'd come straight from her bed, her eyes had been bleary, and she'd worn a threadbare cardie over a thin nightie. She'd looked exhausted, and since Jack had been a little off his head at the time, so he he couldn't remember if he'd spoken to her or not. But he had this... vague sort of recollection of... her hands holding him steady as he walked to the bathroom. He remembered the oddly scratchy feeling of her washing his face, and that she'd brought him a change of clothes. When Jack finally had climbed back into his own bed, a fresh, clean smell hovered all around his room and clung to him... a sweet, familiar smell... The smell of orchids.
He'd recognised the scent instantaneously, for orchids rampaged their way through the beds of the Gardens, and because of this- along with the rose and the daffodil- it was the only flower he could actually identify.
"You work far too hard, Miranda," he replied, revolving his ankle on the spot. "Mum's bound to begrudge you the odd break or two."
"Hmm... but can I forgive myself?"
"This house is going to be dusty again tomorrow," he raised a hand to gesture around him, shaking his head as he did so, "but I'm only going to be here for several more weeks. Then you won't see me again 'til... oof... Christmas? C'mon, Miranda, you've gotta make the most of me while you can!"
The duster dropped to her side reluctantly, and Jack knew he had won, though her face still conveyed traces of her inner conflict. "Maybe not seeing you again until Christmas wouldn't be such a bad thing."
Jack chuckled. "Ooh. Maybe. Strong words."
Miranda sighed, admitting defeat. "Alright. A quick jog. Just let me go and get my trainers."
Jack's eyes followed her appraisingly out of the room, before glancing outside and recognising the need to take off his hoodie. Hell, London really hotted up this time of year- and they weren't anywhere the near the city centre! Tugging off his hoodie roughly, and folding it out of respect for Miranda, Jack set it down on the sofa and headed out to the hall.
Miranda found him there a good ten minutes later, and Jack felt himself gulp. She hadn't just changed her shoes. She'd changed to shorts and a tank top- one which, when she moved, fluttered slightly, revealing a taunting glimpse of her taut brown stomach. Jack could see clearly now that although she was curvy, she had a tight, athletic body. She was held together by muscle, not fat, yet somehow, she still managed to look feminine.
It was probably her breasts. A lot of sporty girls just did not have breasts- a highly lamentable fact. Jack may not be a great fan of girls "heavy up top"- what guys saw in Jordan, he'd never know- but that didn't mean he liked girls so flat they looked like boys.
Miranda was an in-betweener. She was the perfect size to accentuate her curves.
"Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"You're staring at my chest."
He jumped about a foot in the air; all the blood in his body rushing to his head and dying his cheeks brick red. "Oh. God. Miranda, it's not like that-"
"Now, Jack," a smile crossed her lips, and Jack was both relieved and shocked to see small crinkles of laughter encircling her dark eyes. "Don't tell me that, 'cause I'd rather think that a young fella' like you was looking at me like that. Makes me feel as though even at my age I've still got something good going for me."
Jack gagged. "Even at your age? C'mon, Miranda, you're... what? 22?"
"I'm 25 next week," she corrected miserably. "Halfway to 50."
Jack wasn't quite sure if he could believe what he was hearing. "25 is hardly old, Miranda."
"Aah," she sighed. "Says the 17 year old boy."
Boy.
Jack knew it was pointless, but his heart sank anyway.
Suddenly, Miranda's eyes snapped upwards, and she stretched forwards, her chest heaved beautifully as she inhaled, and she walked to the door.
"After you, sir."
"Seriously, Miranda," Jack laughed on the way past. "My name is Jack. You don't have to call me, 'sir'."
But, God, oh God, he liked it when she did.
Miranda winked. "Give over, Jack. You love it."
... could this woman read his mind or what?!
Jack's neighbourhood was large, sprawling and crawling with snobs. Palaces of extreme and sometimes ridiculous proportions littered the pavements, and it was rare for anyone to leave the comfortable cocoon they'd built for themselves and wander onto the wide, open roads. These roads were uncommonly clean. They were swept and tended to everyday, although people rarely walked up or down them. The only cars from beyond the neighbourhood to drive down them were those cutting through to get to the nearby estates- estates which were growing and expanding- and fast.
These estates were a source of constant discomfort to people like Jack's parents; people who read about knifings and burglaries and building developers, and believed that the estates would encroach upon their perfectly untroubled neighbourhood, and destroy it.
Jack liked the estates. They reminded him of Cardsdale. Of course there was the odd person who- recognising the designer labels splattered across his trainers- spat and swore at him, but mainly, the people there ignored him. Besides, the street graffiti there was mainly responsible for his vast vocabulary of swearwords. He owed that place a lot.
Miranda- oddly enough- was completely silent as the two jogged side-by-side. All Jack could hear was the pounding of blood in his ear; their scattered footfalls; and the heavy sound of her breathing beside him. She followed him without complaint, did not question his route, and did not protest when he sped up. Miranda held her own, and at the same time, Jack felt the well of respect he already had for her steadily rise.
Finally, as he approached the barred gates into the estates, Jack slowed to a stop. "I guess... you wouldn't want to go in?"
Miranda stopped too, and as she turned towards him, he saw her forehead was creased. "Whatever you want, Jack."
"You're not..." he watched carefully, "scared to go in, are you?"
Miranda stared at him. "What? Of a bunch of houses?"
"I was thinking more of the people in the houses."
"Well," Miranda frowned, folding her arms, "Jack Trove, that sounded like a challenge."
"Maybe it was," he realised.
Miranda took a step towards him, leaning forwards and looking up. She was around 5 ft 10; tall, but still a bit of a shrimp against his 6ft 3. Yet she didn't seem in the least put off it by their height differences. Jack assumed that this was because as she leaned forwards, he shrank backwards.
"Y'all scared, or what?"
"No," Jack's answer was automatic, "no. I mean... er... no. I come here all the time."
"As do I," she answered softly, glancing at the gates. "My lil' sister and her kids live here."
"Oh." He felt bad, and he'd no idea why.
She smiled suddenly at him. "Y'all thinkin' I'm some sort of privileged, prejudiced pig?"
"No." His voice was firm.
"Mmhmm," she pressed her lips together, but the smile was still there. "Well, I'm glad to see you ain't one, Jack Trove, what with growing up in that house of yours. I'll have you know I like you, Jack. Really," she extended a hand, "I do."
He lifted his head high, and shook her hand. Unsurprisingly, her grip was strong. "Right back atcha', Miranda."
"So," she jerked her head back at the gates. "We going in?"
Jack shook his head, beginning to move on down the road. "I don't think that's necessary, Miranda... 'sides, there's somewhere else I'd like to show you."
On the way back home, an oddly... sober air had fallen over the two of them. The evening was light and cool, and rainclouds were already gathering overhead. It was going to pour tonight. He could taste it in the air. He supposed you got a feeling for it, after living in England all your life. He wondered if Miranda had it, what with living in Texas, and all.
"Is it sunny over there?"
"Sure. Hot, dry and dusty."
"Do... people really go around wearing cowboy hats?"
She giggled. "Uh huh. More'n they should."
Jack smiled. "My mate always wears his."
Miranda rolled her eyes. "Oh, gawd. Is he a good-looking boy? That's the only way it's ever acceptable!"
"Er..." he paused, scratching his head mid-step, "y'know, Miranda, I just can't say for sure."
They rounded the corner, and Jack saw the great walls outlining his house appear; and the iron gates blocked off by trees. Reaching it, Jack pressed the little intercom button, and a crackly voice replied:
"Sir? Miss Miranda? Where have you been?"
Jack glanced up to address the little camera. "Out. We've been jogging. Miranda here was kind enough to offer to keep me company."
Beside him, Miranda made a telltale snort of suppressed laughter. Both knew that Jack had practically begged her into it.
"Oh. Oh, well that was very kind of her, sir... but she cannot neglect-"
"Her duties?" Jack finished, raising his eyebrows. "Come now, Jonas. She never would've offered if she hadn't been done."
"But... you've been gone for hours..."
"Haven't you ever noticed what a fast worker she is?"
"Well, yes-"
"How dedicated; how thorough; how very well worth the money we pay her?"
"Of course-"
"Then, chop, chop, Jonas!" Jack even clapped his hands together; a sign that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Open up and let us in!"
Miranda gave him an oddly reproachful look as the gates swung open to receive them. Jack noticed, and slowed down, so that they both carried on up the path at a slow, steady walk.
"What?"
"Jonas is a lovely man, Jack," Miranda responded softly, "but that won't stop him from giving me a real earful when I get in!"
"He wouldn't dare," Jack grinned, "and if he does, tell me!"
"You were teasing that man, Jack."
"Only a little!"
"Y'all promise me you'll show him a little more respect next time?"
Jack groaned in exasperation. "And will that make you happy?"
"Oh, yes, Jack," she smiled; with a shadow of a smirk. "It would be great."
As they crossed the threshold of the Trove household, Jack's heart leaped to his throat as Mal came into view, a mobile pressed to his ear. He spotted the two of them, and, for a second, he looked shocked. Then, after another moment, he returned to his phone conversation.
"Of course not, Tony; you know I've got it. Anything you need, we've got-"
Miranda's eyes followed him apprehensively out of the house, and Jack, noticing this, reached out and patted her gently on the shoulder. "Don't worry about him, Miranda. He can't say anything about us. We haven't done a single thing wrong."
Her eyes seemed to warm as they refocused on him. "Yeah, Jack. You're right. Thank you."
As it turned out, they'd been gone for more than a few hours. It was around about half past 10... and they'd... er... left at midday.
"Maybe we should've gotten dinner," Miranda muttered, running her hands through her hair as she turned towards the kitchen.
"I'm not hungry," Jack told her.
She narrowed her eyes. "I knew it. You're catching something again."
Jack rolled his. "No. Honest, Miranda, I'm just not... hungry."
She couldn't have made it clearer that she didn't believe him, but Jack didn't mind. Miranda herself was also relatively un-hungry. All she wanted was a cup of cocoa, something she admitted to being a mild addiction of hers. Jack just got himself a drink of water, and bid her goodnight. As he left the room to go upstairs, he heard a mild voice calling after him.
"Oh, and you're wrong, Jack Trove. I'd totally kick your ass at strip poker."
Jack floated upstairs on a cloud of laughter.
"I feel a lot better, Miranda!" Jack laughed, stretching. "I'm clean, I'm talking like a human being, I can eat with boking it up and I can go outside again!"
She laughed too, tucking a brown braid behind her ear as she did so. "Jack, your poor mother's nerves couldn't take you running about outside like a wild animal so soon after your recovery- and nor could mine."
"Why?" His eyes sparkled. "Worried about me?"
"Worried about me," she chuckled, "I don't want to have to clean up another lot of vomit, thanks."
Dropping his arms to his sides, Jack lifted his right leg back to stretch his thigh. "A jog's not going to make me sick."
"It better not."
"You could always come too," he grinned. "Y'know, to make sure I'm okay."
"Didn't you just guarantee me you'll be fine?"
"I will be," he agreed, "but... just in case..."
"Jack Trove," she smirked, "what will your mother say?"
"Isn't she asleep?"
"Why, yes."
"Then she won't say anything. She won't know."
Miranda held up a blackened duster. "I've got work to do. Come on- what d'you reckon your parents pay me for? To play games?"
Miranda's long, braided hair was tucked behind a hairband today. Usually, she wore a ponytail, and as of yet, Jack had only seen her hair loose once, when she was coming out of her bedroom to deal with his vomiting. She'd come straight from her bed, her eyes had been bleary, and she'd worn a threadbare cardie over a thin nightie. She'd looked exhausted, and since Jack had been a little off his head at the time, so he he couldn't remember if he'd spoken to her or not. But he had this... vague sort of recollection of... her hands holding him steady as he walked to the bathroom. He remembered the oddly scratchy feeling of her washing his face, and that she'd brought him a change of clothes. When Jack finally had climbed back into his own bed, a fresh, clean smell hovered all around his room and clung to him... a sweet, familiar smell... The smell of orchids.
He'd recognised the scent instantaneously, for orchids rampaged their way through the beds of the Gardens, and because of this- along with the rose and the daffodil- it was the only flower he could actually identify.
"You work far too hard, Miranda," he replied, revolving his ankle on the spot. "Mum's bound to begrudge you the odd break or two."
"Hmm... but can I forgive myself?"
"This house is going to be dusty again tomorrow," he raised a hand to gesture around him, shaking his head as he did so, "but I'm only going to be here for several more weeks. Then you won't see me again 'til... oof... Christmas? C'mon, Miranda, you've gotta make the most of me while you can!"
The duster dropped to her side reluctantly, and Jack knew he had won, though her face still conveyed traces of her inner conflict. "Maybe not seeing you again until Christmas wouldn't be such a bad thing."
Jack chuckled. "Ooh. Maybe. Strong words."
Miranda sighed, admitting defeat. "Alright. A quick jog. Just let me go and get my trainers."
Jack's eyes followed her appraisingly out of the room, before glancing outside and recognising the need to take off his hoodie. Hell, London really hotted up this time of year- and they weren't anywhere the near the city centre! Tugging off his hoodie roughly, and folding it out of respect for Miranda, Jack set it down on the sofa and headed out to the hall.
Miranda found him there a good ten minutes later, and Jack felt himself gulp. She hadn't just changed her shoes. She'd changed to shorts and a tank top- one which, when she moved, fluttered slightly, revealing a taunting glimpse of her taut brown stomach. Jack could see clearly now that although she was curvy, she had a tight, athletic body. She was held together by muscle, not fat, yet somehow, she still managed to look feminine.
It was probably her breasts. A lot of sporty girls just did not have breasts- a highly lamentable fact. Jack may not be a great fan of girls "heavy up top"- what guys saw in Jordan, he'd never know- but that didn't mean he liked girls so flat they looked like boys.
Miranda was an in-betweener. She was the perfect size to accentuate her curves.
"Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"You're staring at my chest."
He jumped about a foot in the air; all the blood in his body rushing to his head and dying his cheeks brick red. "Oh. God. Miranda, it's not like that-"
"Now, Jack," a smile crossed her lips, and Jack was both relieved and shocked to see small crinkles of laughter encircling her dark eyes. "Don't tell me that, 'cause I'd rather think that a young fella' like you was looking at me like that. Makes me feel as though even at my age I've still got something good going for me."
Jack gagged. "Even at your age? C'mon, Miranda, you're... what? 22?"
"I'm 25 next week," she corrected miserably. "Halfway to 50."
Jack wasn't quite sure if he could believe what he was hearing. "25 is hardly old, Miranda."
"Aah," she sighed. "Says the 17 year old boy."
Boy.
Jack knew it was pointless, but his heart sank anyway.
Suddenly, Miranda's eyes snapped upwards, and she stretched forwards, her chest heaved beautifully as she inhaled, and she walked to the door.
"After you, sir."
"Seriously, Miranda," Jack laughed on the way past. "My name is Jack. You don't have to call me, 'sir'."
But, God, oh God, he liked it when she did.
Miranda winked. "Give over, Jack. You love it."
... could this woman read his mind or what?!
Jack's neighbourhood was large, sprawling and crawling with snobs. Palaces of extreme and sometimes ridiculous proportions littered the pavements, and it was rare for anyone to leave the comfortable cocoon they'd built for themselves and wander onto the wide, open roads. These roads were uncommonly clean. They were swept and tended to everyday, although people rarely walked up or down them. The only cars from beyond the neighbourhood to drive down them were those cutting through to get to the nearby estates- estates which were growing and expanding- and fast.
These estates were a source of constant discomfort to people like Jack's parents; people who read about knifings and burglaries and building developers, and believed that the estates would encroach upon their perfectly untroubled neighbourhood, and destroy it.
Jack liked the estates. They reminded him of Cardsdale. Of course there was the odd person who- recognising the designer labels splattered across his trainers- spat and swore at him, but mainly, the people there ignored him. Besides, the street graffiti there was mainly responsible for his vast vocabulary of swearwords. He owed that place a lot.
Miranda- oddly enough- was completely silent as the two jogged side-by-side. All Jack could hear was the pounding of blood in his ear; their scattered footfalls; and the heavy sound of her breathing beside him. She followed him without complaint, did not question his route, and did not protest when he sped up. Miranda held her own, and at the same time, Jack felt the well of respect he already had for her steadily rise.
Finally, as he approached the barred gates into the estates, Jack slowed to a stop. "I guess... you wouldn't want to go in?"
Miranda stopped too, and as she turned towards him, he saw her forehead was creased. "Whatever you want, Jack."
"You're not..." he watched carefully, "scared to go in, are you?"
Miranda stared at him. "What? Of a bunch of houses?"
"I was thinking more of the people in the houses."
"Well," Miranda frowned, folding her arms, "Jack Trove, that sounded like a challenge."
"Maybe it was," he realised.
Miranda took a step towards him, leaning forwards and looking up. She was around 5 ft 10; tall, but still a bit of a shrimp against his 6ft 3. Yet she didn't seem in the least put off it by their height differences. Jack assumed that this was because as she leaned forwards, he shrank backwards.
"Y'all scared, or what?"
"No," Jack's answer was automatic, "no. I mean... er... no. I come here all the time."
"As do I," she answered softly, glancing at the gates. "My lil' sister and her kids live here."
"Oh." He felt bad, and he'd no idea why.
She smiled suddenly at him. "Y'all thinkin' I'm some sort of privileged, prejudiced pig?"
"No." His voice was firm.
"Mmhmm," she pressed her lips together, but the smile was still there. "Well, I'm glad to see you ain't one, Jack Trove, what with growing up in that house of yours. I'll have you know I like you, Jack. Really," she extended a hand, "I do."
He lifted his head high, and shook her hand. Unsurprisingly, her grip was strong. "Right back atcha', Miranda."
"So," she jerked her head back at the gates. "We going in?"
Jack shook his head, beginning to move on down the road. "I don't think that's necessary, Miranda... 'sides, there's somewhere else I'd like to show you."
* * *
On the way back home, an oddly... sober air had fallen over the two of them. The evening was light and cool, and rainclouds were already gathering overhead. It was going to pour tonight. He could taste it in the air. He supposed you got a feeling for it, after living in England all your life. He wondered if Miranda had it, what with living in Texas, and all.
"Is it sunny over there?"
"Sure. Hot, dry and dusty."
"Do... people really go around wearing cowboy hats?"
She giggled. "Uh huh. More'n they should."
Jack smiled. "My mate always wears his."
Miranda rolled her eyes. "Oh, gawd. Is he a good-looking boy? That's the only way it's ever acceptable!"
"Er..." he paused, scratching his head mid-step, "y'know, Miranda, I just can't say for sure."
They rounded the corner, and Jack saw the great walls outlining his house appear; and the iron gates blocked off by trees. Reaching it, Jack pressed the little intercom button, and a crackly voice replied:
"Sir? Miss Miranda? Where have you been?"
Jack glanced up to address the little camera. "Out. We've been jogging. Miranda here was kind enough to offer to keep me company."
Beside him, Miranda made a telltale snort of suppressed laughter. Both knew that Jack had practically begged her into it.
"Oh. Oh, well that was very kind of her, sir... but she cannot neglect-"
"Her duties?" Jack finished, raising his eyebrows. "Come now, Jonas. She never would've offered if she hadn't been done."
"But... you've been gone for hours..."
"Haven't you ever noticed what a fast worker she is?"
"Well, yes-"
"How dedicated; how thorough; how very well worth the money we pay her?"
"Of course-"
"Then, chop, chop, Jonas!" Jack even clapped his hands together; a sign that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Open up and let us in!"
Miranda gave him an oddly reproachful look as the gates swung open to receive them. Jack noticed, and slowed down, so that they both carried on up the path at a slow, steady walk.
"What?"
"Jonas is a lovely man, Jack," Miranda responded softly, "but that won't stop him from giving me a real earful when I get in!"
"He wouldn't dare," Jack grinned, "and if he does, tell me!"
"You were teasing that man, Jack."
"Only a little!"
"Y'all promise me you'll show him a little more respect next time?"
Jack groaned in exasperation. "And will that make you happy?"
"Oh, yes, Jack," she smiled; with a shadow of a smirk. "It would be great."
As they crossed the threshold of the Trove household, Jack's heart leaped to his throat as Mal came into view, a mobile pressed to his ear. He spotted the two of them, and, for a second, he looked shocked. Then, after another moment, he returned to his phone conversation.
"Of course not, Tony; you know I've got it. Anything you need, we've got-"
Miranda's eyes followed him apprehensively out of the house, and Jack, noticing this, reached out and patted her gently on the shoulder. "Don't worry about him, Miranda. He can't say anything about us. We haven't done a single thing wrong."
Her eyes seemed to warm as they refocused on him. "Yeah, Jack. You're right. Thank you."
As it turned out, they'd been gone for more than a few hours. It was around about half past 10... and they'd... er... left at midday.
"Maybe we should've gotten dinner," Miranda muttered, running her hands through her hair as she turned towards the kitchen.
"I'm not hungry," Jack told her.
She narrowed her eyes. "I knew it. You're catching something again."
Jack rolled his. "No. Honest, Miranda, I'm just not... hungry."
She couldn't have made it clearer that she didn't believe him, but Jack didn't mind. Miranda herself was also relatively un-hungry. All she wanted was a cup of cocoa, something she admitted to being a mild addiction of hers. Jack just got himself a drink of water, and bid her goodnight. As he left the room to go upstairs, he heard a mild voice calling after him.
"Oh, and you're wrong, Jack Trove. I'd totally kick your ass at strip poker."
Jack floated upstairs on a cloud of laughter.
