Hi. Hehe. So...I didn't do anything over vacation. Oh well.
Park is one hundred words...Indigo turned into a monster. But it's one of my favorite letters so far.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Belongs to Disney and P.L Travers respectively. (This is another chapter that relies on the book a bit..)
Indigo Park
They sat in silence for a few moments before Bert finally asked one more question. "You do know... None of this is real. You din'nt 'ave t' do anything." Mary chuckled, one side of her mouth twisting up in a wry smile.
"I know. It was good practice either way." she stood up, brushing dust off her clothes. Bert shrugged and stood up, stretching his long legs as he stood. He glanced at the time and sighed.
"We've still got a few more places to go if you want," he informed her. Mary shrugged.
"Lead the way, then." They climbed down from the roof nimbly, and were soon trotting through the park once more. Mary vaguely recognized the route as one that led to Cherry Tree Lane.
She snapped absent-mindedly, and her clothes blurred to become the indigo dress she always wore.
Bert smiled at her cheerfully. She smiled back, feeling lighter and happier than before, somehow. They walked through the park quietly- there wasn't a need for words just yet. So Mary just followed Bert and let herself tuck away all the memories away for safekeeping until they were needed once more.
Park.
If one was to search for Mary Poppins, one would always find her at the park. It was easy to see why- there's statues and children and everything she loves. Without fail, she always takes her charges to the nearest park, and there they spend many happy days before the wind changes.
There's something about the park by Cherry Tree Lane that is special, though. Be it the streetlights or a few special statues or a certain special chimney sweep, she always finds herself there.
Secretly she thinks it's because, when she closes her eyes, it almost feels like home.
Indigo.
The constellations always met exactly three days before an eclipse, and Mary Poppins was always invited to join them. It gave her the chance to catch up with her old life, everything she was missing during her time on Earth, and she would seize any opportunity she could get.
Mary appeared five minutes early, clad in her second-nicest brown dress, and sat just behind the sun- out of sight and out of mind- but she could still hear perfectly well. Most of the meeting failed to interest her- it mainly consisted of plans for the Eclipse just days away- but she perked up at mentions of the Dance scarcely two weeks away.
The summer solstice was always marked with one of the biggest celebrations of the year. The extra hours of daylight left plenty an opportunity to celebrate. With its proximity to the Eclipse, this year's event promised to be the most spectacular of the decade- and, of course, Mary would not be permitted to attend.
The thought stung, and Mary withdrew into her seat, not-quite-sulking. She was cut off mid-sight when the Sun leaned back in his chair with a sigh, stretching both arms back and dropping a somewhat-singed note into her lap.
Mary hastily extinguished the edges of the paper, still smoldering from his fingers, and red the note twice before tucking the slip of paper into the pocket of her dress, mind racing. Arrangements would have to be made, her Day Off shifted, money to collect. It wasn't often that her sisters came for a visit.
Early the next morning, Mary Poppins, who never ever explained anything, was nearly forced to spill her life story to her rather snobby client, who refused to change her Day Off unless given a Very Good Reason. She hated hated hated using magic without a good cause, and this didn't quite seem to qualify, but with some skilled maneuvering she convinced the woman to let her have her Day Off. Spouting some half-truths about family visiting town worked to an extent, and a soft snap of her fingers took care of the rest.
She met her sisters at a dress shop halfway across London and instantly felt at home. Maia was instantly attached to her side, baby Merope clutching Electra's hand, and all the others falling into step beside her. She felt whole again, all parts of her together once more, seven pieces reattaching themselves to create part of the picture that was Mary P.
Talk echoed in the quiet alley outside the dress shop where the girls had arrived.
"You look so different-"
"-dress is so-"
"-so excited for the Solstice-"
"-forgot how beautiful you all were!" Mary exclaimed over her sisters. Maia released her hand to twirl happily, dark blue skin contrasting sharply over her soft white dress.
"It's indigo- we all decided," she informed her eldest sister, before pausing. "But- weren't you the one who-"
"Indigo is the color of the sky at night," Merope informed Mary solemnly. Mary nodded, hiding a wince at Maia's slip. Long ago, Mary had stumbled across the word, and promptly brought it into her sisters' vocabulary. It seemed that they had adopted the word, just as she had.
"Well, come along ladies. Time runs short, and we have things to do before you must leave and I must return home," she said sharply, as she turned on her heel and guided her sisters into the dress shop.
Dresses of all shapes, sizes, colors, and styles greeted the eight women, and yet none of them were quite right. The size was always just a little bit off, or the color was wrong, and two hours and three dress shops later Mary was nearly ready to admit defeat.
Mary sighed tiredly, her prim facade completely faded away after the stressful afternoon and two hours spent in the presence of her family. She had noticed herself slipping into her old accent more than once- it frightened her how easily she slipped into old habits. It was so simple to pretend that she could return to the skies at the end of the afternoon, fit right back into her old life, find a dress and dance across the skies like she longed to. It went against everything she was to remain on Earth, yet she couldn't return. Not yet.
She shook her head, focusing on the girls in front of her. "Those are the three best shops in London," she explained once more. "The afternoon is nearly gone and none of you have dresses, and I don't believe you will receive another opportunity such as this." Maia tugged her hand once.
"Can't you make our dresses for us?"
Mary was on the verge of delivering a snappish reply when she paused- and Electra took advantage of her moment's hesitation.
"You always were the best seamstress out of all of us, Mary. Couldn't you make dresses for us, oh please?" A chorus of pleas accompanied her, and Mary always had found it nearly impossible to deny her sisters.
"All right. I'll make the dresses. I'll need fabric- we don't have long and the best store is nearly clear across town." Electra laughed and clapped her hands delightedly. Before Mary could blink, they were in front of the store she had in mind. A smile crept across her face before she could stop it- it had been so long since she had given such little regard to her talents.
They spent their final minutes together choosing yards and yards of fabric, Maia dancing down the aisles with fabric trailing after her like a technicolor bridal train. The sisters helped her get the bundles of fabric back home and promised to have their measurements for her by the next morning, promising to visit to help with the dresses any chance they got.
They all trooped up to the rooftops, just as the sun set over the city and a fog rolled in. Mary went down the line, hugging her sisters close. Electra's hands trembled as they closed around her elder sister, and tears sparkled like diamonds down Maia's cheeks. Little Merope, the baby, asked the question that hurt Mary the most about their brief visit.
"Mary, when are you coming home?" Merope whispered into Mary's ear, as the older woman knelt to put her arms around her youngest sister.
"I-" Mary hesitated, unsure if she could answer, her practically perfect human self clashing hard with her indigo-skinned magical star self, tearing her in two.
"Merope! We have to go!" Electra called, the rest of her sisters already floating, darting upward into the sky, shooting stars. Merope released her grasp, pressed a kiss to Mary Poppins's cheek, and ran up into the sky without a backwards glance.
Seven dresses to be made in two weeks was a challenge to even the best seamstress, and Mary Poppins was worked to the bone trying to keep up. A quiet message to Uncle Albert earned her a bottle of his best cider, which was enough to keep her awake on the longest nights. Nearly every evening was spent stitching furiously on one dress or another, surrounded by fabric and needles and ribbons and everything imaginable. Even the strongest cider couldn't keep her awake indefinitely- she found herself awakening several times to find her head buried in mounds and mounds of fabric, oftentimes scarcely avoiding stabbing herself with the needle.
Mary had set up shop in her carpetbag, of all places. It turned out that the bag was nearly limitless in its capabilities, given the proper instruction. She would often disappear into the bag for moments at a time, stitching furiously at one of the dresses while the children tidied the playroom, reappearing when the eldest twins called her name. Often she found at least one of her sisters tucked into a corner of the little room, checking the measurements and fixing the things she had missed, before working hard on their own dress.
The seven dresses slowly took shape, going from petty bits of fabric to things of beauty. It wasn't quickly enough. The solstice was four days away, and only four of the dresses were finished. The days were long enough and the preparations for the celebration large enough that the girls scarcely had time to help, and Mary was exhausted, to the point that her practically perfect facade was beginning to slip.
It was Bert who noticed it first, of course. She was at the park, leaning up against the statue of Peter Pan that she could nearly always be found talking to. Her eyes were closed against the summer sun, not looking up even as Bert moved to sit beside her.
"Mary?" He asked after a moment or two of silence. She opened her eyes and tilted her head toward Bert. Something about her was different, but for a moment he couldn't quite place her finger on what.
"Yes, Bert?"
"What's wrong?" She shot him a look that told him to leave it alone, and he returned her gaze evenly. She sighed in defeat, and looked away, watching the children for a moment before starting to speak.
"I never explain anything, Bert. You know that." Bert barked out a laugh.
"If you'll excuse m' saying, Mary, you don' look like yourself. Seems t' me that explainin' might do the trick." She sighed tiredly, weighing his words carefully.
"I made a promise," she started, choosing her words carefully," to some dear friends. Time has almost run out, and I don't know if I will be able to fulfill my promise."
"'Ow can I 'elp?" It was the most obvious answer to him. She turned to him, almost hopefully, and Bert realized what had changed. The stars had been missing from her eyes.
"Bert- do you- do you know how to sew?"
Mary met Bert on the rooftops at nightfall, carpetbag in hand. "Thank you for this, Bert. I'm nearly at my wit's end- it's so close to the Solstice and I can't-" she cut herself off, shocked at how close she was to explaining, but Bert finished for her anyway.
"'S not any trouble, Mary. Just let me know what you want me t' do." She nodded once, and opened the lip of her carpetbag. He shot her a dubious look, and she rolled her eyes impatiently. Setting the bag on the ground, she climbed in, and after a stunned moment of silence, Bert followed her.
A low whistle escaped from Bert as he examined the cluttered room. Fabric was draped from every available surface, and the finished dresses hung from a rack on the side, safely away from the mess. Bert glanced at the dresses, running his finger over the fabric appreciatively, and smiled at Mary.
"Where do y' want me t' start?"
It had to be well past midnight by the time the pair started to show the strain. "Mary?"
"Mmm?" Mary mumbled through a mouth full of pins.
"Why can't you just do your lil' trick- the snapping thing?" He snapped his fingers together with his free hand as if to demonstrate.
"I can't," she mumbled around the pins in her mouth, as she removed a few to stick two pieces of fabric together as Bert followed with the needle.
"Why not? Y' do it for everything else," he persisted, nearly pricking his finger, for his eyes were watching the woman crouching next to him instead of where he was guiding the needle. Her temper flared, and she stood, tossing the pins on the table beside her in frustration.
"I just can't, Bert! Don't you think if I could, I would? I can't just snap my fingers and have everything work for me- it doesn't work like that, no matter how much I wish it could!"
Bert stood up slowly, placing his hands in front of him, as if to calm a frightened animal. "'M sorry, Mary. I just though' since y' can do it fer some of our clothes-" it was common knowledge among the sweeps that if a shirt had torn or been otherwise destroyed beyond their ability to fix, Mary would repair the article in question with a quick snap of her fingers.
"Yes, but this isn't the same, Bert! These dresses have to be perfect, and they won't be perfect if I do-" she snapped, unable to find the words in the midst of her rant. "I have to do it...they have to be perfect! Or else I'll have failed them...I can't fail again..." she sagged, and Bert could have sworn that he saw tears in the corners of her eyes.
"Mary-" he started, even as she shook her head, the first tears leaking from her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks.
"Please. Please don't- just go." She turned abruptly, as Bert stood frozen in the center of the room. "Please go," Mary whispered, voice muffled by her hands. Bert took a step or two towards the door, before shaking his head and crossing the room back towards Mary. He knelt on the floor next to her, a comforting arm round her shoulders, keeping her steady even as her shoulders shook.
Eventually her breaths evened out, and Bert made her as comfortable as he could, before turning to the half-finished dress once more.
Mary Poppins woke up at sunrise with tearstains on her cheeks, along with five completed dresses and the feeling that Bert had only just disappeared.
She didn't see him at the park that day, though they lingered nearly until closing time. Their small group found him just outside the gates as the constable locked the entrance, hat placed on the ground beside him as he sprawled out across the pavement, chalk in hand.
Mary dropped a pair of coins into his hat, and the clink of change brought Bert's attention to them. He straightened, dusting chalk off his clothes and offering a hand to each one of her charges cheerfully. They shook eagerly, the saying about sweeper's luck well ingrained in their memories by now. Bert showed them his drawings, pointing out details as the children argued over which one would be best to visit. As they discussed with voices that were slowly gaining volume, Mary touched Bert's hand softly.
"I'd like to apologize for my behavior last night. I- I lost my temper. These dresses- they're for my- my-" she couldn't bring herself to say it, to explain herself, to bring back that sharp sting that reminded her that her sisters were not like her, could not be like her, because she was down here and they were up there.
"They're fer your family, aren't they?" He asked her, putting a hand on each of the children's heads to quiet them. She blinked at him in utter shock, and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I figure tha's what it's got t' be, t' put you in such a twist."
"I-" Fortunately, he cut her off, for she hadn't the faintest clue what she was about to say.
"It doesn't matter, Mary. Do you still need 'elp wit' the last two?" She nodded dumbly, and nodded, patting the children's heads once. "I'll meet you at the same place, then. Oy, y' both can go tomorrow, if Miss Poppins says it's alrigh'. But isn't it time fer lil' ones t' be in bed?" The obligatory protests that they weren't tired brought Mary out of her daze, and with a few sharp words, the group parted, leaving Bert standing under the streetlight with his pictures, marveling at the mysterious creature that was Mary Poppins.
Late that night, two figures met on the rooftops. They split a bottle of cider, and then disappeared into the carpetbag until morning.
Mary had only one night left until the Solstice, and needed every moment she could to finish up. She sent another quiet message up to the stars, and baby Merope paid a visit once more. She stayed in the carpetbag as Bert and Mary brought the children into the picture the two eldest had managed to agree on. Bert kept a watchful eye on the children and the carpetbag, as Mary worked desperately, with Merope's help, to put the finishing touches on the dresses.
By nightfall, Mary was worn out, the effects of the cider long gone. She was running on sheer willpower and whatever magic she could scrounge up to keep her going, and she couldn't imagine how Bert was still awake and cheerful. He shrugged when she asked tiredly, and gestured for her to try on the next dress.
It was a complete mystery to Bert how seven dresses of dramatically different sizes and styles managed to fit Mary, but it wasn't something he'd question, not about Mary and not at this late hour. He tied the ribbon in the back tightly and tried to keep his tired brain from focusing on how beautiful Mary was, even when she was pushed to her very limits. He succeeded only when he pricked his finger and nearly bled all over the brand new dress.
Even though they were both worn out, they both still managed to keep up an easy sort of conversation. Bert could feel his accent coming out worse as the exhaustion took its toll on him, and Mary slipped into a strange sort of accent he was unable to place, soft and lilting.
"So- why doesn't th' magic work on these dresses?" He asked as he sewed a small rip in the fabric with quick fingers.
"It's something about the magic- they're too powerful, too full of magic for it to work. The clothes would fall apart at the seams," was her easy reply. It was interesting to note that the longer Mary went without her practically perfect attitude, the more open she was about her magic and her past and who she actually was. "It's one of the reasons I can't make most of my own clothes. The other is that I don't have the time-" she yawned tiredly. "Excuse me. " He smiled up at her, and she smiled back sleepily.
"Well- I think tha's it. Unless there's anythin' else?" He asked, standing up and examining the last dress. She looked down curiously, as if surprised that they had gotten through all the dresses in time.
"No," she said slowly. "I'll just- there's something I have to put on the littlest dress, but other than that-"
"I'll go an' get it, go ahead and change," he said, going off in the direction she had pointed to as she disappeared behind the curtain.
When a few long moments had passed without a sound from Mary, he called her name softly, with no response.
When he peered around the curtain, staring fixatedly at the wall until he was sure she was decent- propriety demanded nothing less- he found Mary asleep, back in her everyday dress, the miniature dress folded neatly in the corner. He picked it up gently, placed it on the table, and returned for her, setting her on the bed that had appeared sometime in the past two days. She was impossibly light, and she had unconsciously curled closer into him as he crossed the short distance, two facts that made it difficult for him to let her go.
He sewed on the last bit of the dress, and spread the seven dresses onto the bed next to Mary, studying the sight for only a moment or two before he placed a kiss on her forehead and disappearing out onto the rooftops.
Mary's eyes flitted open for a moment as she was placed onto the bed. She watched through half closed eyelids as Bert sewed quietly, humming to himself under his breath. He placed the dresses beside her, and as she slipped back into sleep, she dreamed that his lips brushed her forehead for an instant, and then he was gone. The next time she opened her eyes, it was sunrise, and the seven dresses were gone. In their place was only one, along with a note addressed to her.
She sat up, taking the note in her hands and reading it slowly.
Mary-
Thank you so much for making the dresses for us. We know how difficult it was for you- we're sorry about all the trouble.
But the dresses are so beautiful! We love them- we'll be the stars of the celebration (no pun intended). Thank you thank you THANK YOU.
In return for your troubles, we made you a dress as well. We think you'll like the color. You shouldn't have the trouble with this dress that you have with some of your other clothes. Take it as a token of our appreciation.
We miss you Mary. We wish you could be here with us. When are you coming back? Please come home soon.
With love,
Electra
Maia
Taygete
Alcyone
Celano
Sterope, and
Merope.
The dress fit perfectly, as she expected it to. She kept it on as she woke up the children and set them about their day.
They saw Bert in passing as evening fell, under his streetlight once more. "'ello, Mary, children. New dresses?" He asked, for both she and the little girl were wearing new outfits. The girl nodded solemnly and twirled for him to see, and Mary resisted the urge to do so herself.
"Wha' color would you call that?" He asked Mary, studying her dress carefully, no doubt trying to match it to one of his chalks.
"It's indigo," she told him. "The color of the sky at night." She tilted her head up, and in the sky, far off in the distance, she could have sworn one of the stars winked.
Next up is A and L: Alfred and Looooooove. (Herbert Alfred, anyone? C'mon, I HAD to devote a chapter to Bert somehow!)
Cocoa =D