Mary Poppins stepped into the room she had been renting for the past few days and closed the door. She yawned quietly. It had been a long afternoon of running errands. The wind wasn't due to change for a few more days, so she figured she had some time to relax, for once.
Something by the window caught her attention. She opened the window and picked up a white envelope. Her name was written on it in an oddly familiar scrawl. Mary opened the envelope and unfolded the paper.
It was a painting. It was of Michael and Jane Banks, Bert, and herself in the park. They were dancing to some unheard music. Underneath the painting was written one word. 'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious'.
Mary flipped over the painting. It was bound to be from Bert. Only he could paint something like this and manage to find her here, in this quiet little bed-and-breakfast.
Mary- tho' ya' might like t' ha' this. List'n, I don't know how much longer you're in town, but if you're still here tomorrow around fi'e, I've come int' a bit of money an' I was wonderin'- you, me, dinner? Nothin' fancy. Just two friends? Hope I'm no' oversteppin' any lines. Just want t' say goodbye. Yours always, Bert.
Mary sighed and shook her head fondly. Bert always was around when she needed a friend. But he also knew when she just needed some space. She hated to disappoint, and right now she just wouldn't be good company. What she needed was just an hour or two of quiet. Bert would understand, Mary decided.
She wrote a quick response on a spare piece of stationary. Bert-five o'clock is fine. The painting is lovely- going to explore. I'll be back in a few hours. Rooftops? Mary P. She didn't bother asking about the 'yours always' in his note.
She called a passing bird and asked him to pass along the note. The bird took it carefully and set off cheerfully, no doubt to tell everyone that he himself had spoken to Mary Poppins.
Mary lay down on the bed, painting in one hand, notebook in other. She wrote down each letter on a separate page, ready for whatever she felt like writing. Her little word meant so much, it was best to leave enough room. She suppressed another yawn, and then dove into the painting.
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Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. That seems like a good place to start out. That's the tune that they were dancing to that day. She had been teaching them how to spell it, bit by bit. Bert had stood there making funny hand motions to go with each letter until the children had nearly collapsed with laughter.
She had sighed and shook her head, fighting a smile. Bert had winked at her, and made yet another gesture. She had giggled and started the next series of letters, trying to concentrate. Bert had shaken his head and grinned, running a finger through his hair.
Eventually they had managed to spell the whole word. Bert managed to get Michael to copy his motions, and soon they were all standing in a line, twisting and turning their hands. Once that was finished, Mary said it backwards.
It was worth all the time she had taken trying to figure out how to say it backward just to see the looks on their faces. Michael's mouth had inadvertently fallen open, showing off the sweet he had hidden in his cheek. Jane was trying not to go the same way as her brother. Bert had just smiled.
That was a wonderful day. The most fun she'd had in ages. The children had learned their lessons, and it was nearly time for Mary to leave again. Mary didn't have to be as strictly practically perfect as always. She could have a little fun. And so she did.
The day had turned out well. Mary had passed on the secrets of her little word. Jane and Michael were better behaved than ever. Bert had grown closer than ever to Mary. And Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way, had let her guard down, and, for a few moments at least, had fun.
Umbrella. Mary loves her little umbrella. It's been hers since the day she turned eight, and first learned of her powers. Her Uncle Albert had taken down the umbrella from its place by the door and pressed it into her little hand. He told her it was hers, and to take care of it always. And so Mary did.
It's not a common fact that a person can store magic into other things. Whenever Mary's heart was filled to the bursting with magic, she would send some of it into one of her accessories. It was always good to have a bit of magic saved up, for those times when she needed a bit of a lift.
As a bonus, those little accessories sometimes took on magical properties of their own. Like her umbrella. Without it, Mary isn't nearly as capable at flying as she is with it. But no one really needs to know that, do they?
Her umbrella also likes to talk to her. The day it first spoke was the day she turned nine, and it nearly scared the wits out of her. She gave a most undignified screech and was scolded severely.
"Practically Perfect people don't screech." Her uncle had admonished. "And all things are to be treated with respect. Now apologize."
Mary was about to ask what practically perfect people were supposed to do, but decided that probably wouldn't be the greatest question to ask at the time. It was her birthday, but her uncle was bound to scold her. She was supposed to be on her way to being practically perfect. She was just finally getting a handle on her powers. It wouldn't do to misbehave now.
Mary had apologized, the bird at the handle had ignored her, and so began a beautiful friendship.
Well, this is supposed to be exactly 1,000 words (without this A.N.) but there seems to be a discrepancy between this word count and the one on my computer. Huh. Anywhoo...welcome, I'm Cocoa, review, ect.