A/N: Written with input from my sister. Holly's parents can be imagined as actors Adam Godley and Carol Kane.
~oOo~
At first glance Mr. Holly's apartment appeared to be devoid of furniture. Upon closer inspection worn fittings could be discerned scattered throughout the shadows, pushed tightly against embellished cream walls. Two chairs, an end table and a dark bookshelf, with its neat lines of books and accumulated curios, haunted the part of the room Holly imagined as the living area - his entire apartment being one small room separated only by invisible walls. The space entered the mind as a room half finished.
A round champagne colored carpet was set in the centre of the wooden floor. A single window, with its second story view of the nearby rail-line, was the lone ornament of vacant walls. All photographs were kept in albums at his mother's house.
In the middle of the ceiling was a single round lamp, its glass the color of amber. Fibrous brown veins were visible as though merged reeds beneath its chalky surface.
The room was infrequently spotted with long panes of sunlight ridden with dust. In a corner of this golden light set a pot belled stove, a small pail of wood stationed near its feet. To the side of the stove a narrow cupboard housed tinned goods, jams and crackers. Holly often dined out and was therefore not well stocked when it came to non-perishables. When he purchased food, it was for an immediate dinner, usually sausages brought home from the butcher in waxen paper.
Situated at the back of the apartment was Holly's bed, narrow and worn, but always well-kept. A wardrobe was to its side. Under the bed he kept hidden a water basin, a clove shaped hot water bottle and a bed pan.
Light music from the gramophone of the proprietress' apartment downstairs morosely colored the entirety of his room in hues of moss and citrine, shifting as if with the sun's reflection on billowing water.
~oOo~
Having just arrived home, Holly crouched near the floor, searching through his tins and boxes of food. As he carried out the task, he felt something press against his ankle and realized it was his cat. He could see Bunt's thin black tail as it encircled his leg, her yellow eyes as they removedly searched his face and hands.
Holly took a tin of fish from the shelf, along with a bottle of burdock and dandelion, which he placed on a table; something to celebrate with later. Opening the tin, he spooned some fish into the cat's bowl, sampling some before reprimanding himself.
He ran his moist hands over his jacket and tried to remember what he next meant to do. He looked to his timepiece, realizing that he had a little over twenty minutes before his mother was scheduled to arrive.
The cat was unapproved. When she was finished eating, he gently ushered her outside with his broom. "You knew it would come soon, Bunt."
By a jar on the kitchen shelf was peels from an orange which he'd gifted himself. Seeing the slips of rind, he crushed some into his palm, making sure the soft layers slipped under his nails. The scent was one he loved, and he hoped other people would appreciate him more because of its presence.
Moving into the living room, he made subtle changes to his belongings, revolving a glass bowl, placing a chair closer to the wall. His mother would notice. She always noticed even the smallest of settings left out of place.
Tonight, Emily, his mother, would be even more prone to emotion as the week was the anniversary of her husband, his father's, death.
Samuel Holly, a tall, insubstantial figure, had been a fisherman before tuberculosis laid claim to him. Hezekiah's fondest memories were of helping his father unload catches by the sea. The sight and sound of waves were to this day a way of connecting to the past and his father's voice, now barely remembered.
Being an eccentric and one who loved the sea, Samuel, knowing he was living his final days, moved into a small building next to shore, one normally used for storage. His friends, mostly fellow fishermen, visited him at night, sharing stories and music; provisions as well as spirits to ease Samuel's pain.
Finding his father in his bed, already gone, had hardened Holly. Living afterwards was to face a world, an existence, worse than death.
Holly's mother had fallen into a state of despair; one manifesting as an ocher lake from which she'd never recovered once submerged. The water always in her lungs.
The same encompassing veil shrouded Holly, the same water stagnated inside him. Choked him in sleep. He attempted to busy himself with work.
With the passing of time, his grief was not as encompassing as it had once been but still it remained. As a weight over his eye, his heart, areas of his being were forever to be devoted to his loss.
His pain manifested as anger and will in the daytime and with night, he drowned in their source.
Now he would be forced to reenter the depths with his mother in a room of gas lamps.
~oOo~
Holly 'facts':
Lots of loose papers are usually around his apartment, spread on the bed and on the floor. Writes a lot, has bad penmanship. Tries to improve his drawing skills with little luck.
Cleans shoes with a brush; can't afford the name brands but improvises.
Cheap but for food. If it's for himself, he won't bother, but if it's for his mother or a friend he will splurge.
Loves to wrap things in paper.
Goes to market more than once a week, often just to see if any new sweets have arrived.
Helps support his mother.
Has a black change purse, which he keeps on him at all times.
Goes, 'mmm,' quite often.
His mother always kisses him on the cheek seeing him. He kisses her back.
Nervous, as he's been through a lot. Is streetwise, not afraid. Has been beaten and has beaten others.
Is not looking for love but wouldn't say no.
Hair is smooth and mellow. Takes brisk breaths. Grinds teeth.
Doesn't have much money or clothes, brushes, takes good care of the ones he has. Owns cologne, but rarely wears it.
It's a rare thing for him to give gifts.
His mother asks for comments on clothes.
Has a habit of snatching sweets and food from market. Sometimes from crime scenes or "friends."
Doesn't like menthol.
Holly's never broken a bone.
Calls his fat old cat, "you old buntcake" and "sack of potatoes."
Associates citrus with happiness.
His clothes smell smokey, like wood smoke.
He sweats a lot, on face more than elsewhere. Never dresses down unless home alone. Is ashamed of body, embarrassed by it.
His teeth ache. His shoulders are very tense, so is his neck.
He has a pocket watch.
Loves vanilla ice cream, prefers it over chocolate. Doesn't get much ice cream, so when he does go out for it he doesn't get anything but what he knows is good. Likes butterscotch too, though.
Keeps clean. Careful shaver.
~oOo~