December 22, 2005, 8 PM, Asher's Childhood Home
The house was built from weathered gray stone. In its original life, when first built in the 1750s, the stone gleamed white, but the centuries and the natural effects had taken their toll, turning the stones to gray, allowing the house to appear its age. But still it stood. And, as the small two door rental car pulled into the long winding driveway, from the driver's seat, Asher beamed, face giddy with smiles, eyes slits of happiness Richie had never before seen in her, at least not so deep.
"So, this is home for you?" he asked. He leaned against the hood of the car, arms crossed thoughtfully against his chest. The expression he wore was equally thoughtful.
"This is home," she responded. She stood next to him, her hip touching his thigh. "I lived here for nine years. It was here I first learned to ride a bike; it was here I first learned to swordfight, to turn a kata to dance, to dance. It was here, I learned to live."
"You miss it."
"Mostly in dreams. I would say Paris is as much as home to me now as here was. But Paris is my home now, this was where I first met my childhood dreams. You never forget your childhood dreams, Richie."
"No, I don't suppose you do."
Each had brought two suitcases, and they carried them in now, pausing on the front porch, while Asher unlocked the door, stepping inside, only to be greeted by the smell of mustiness, of a house not lived in for years.
"How long since you were last here?" asked Richie.
Mentally, Asher calculated the time in her head. "Nine years. We left when I was fourteen. We both know what happened as a result."
"So, we do," commented Richie dryly, placing a kiss on her forehead. She had fallen into a life of rebellion, of trouble, only to lose it all, when she had finally gained everything back. "I say, we find our bedroom, only to unpack later, and to cook, and eat, some dinner now."
"The groceries we bought in town are still in the car. You do the luggage, and I'll retrieve the food."
It was a question, to which Richie nodded his answer. She smiled then, a softer smile then he normally saw on her, and he wondered, if this was the smile a little girl living here had once flashed. He returned the smile, chose two suitcases, found the stairs. In the far reaches of his hearing, he heard the front door close, heard Asher hum under her breath. It was not a tune he recognized.
The house was built from weathered gray stone. In its original life, when first built in the 1750s, the stone gleamed white, but the centuries and the natural effects had taken their toll, turning the stones to gray, allowing the house to appear its age. But still it stood. And, as the small two door rental car pulled into the long winding driveway, from the driver's seat, Asher beamed, face giddy with smiles, eyes slits of happiness Richie had never before seen in her, at least not so deep.
"So, this is home for you?" he asked. He leaned against the hood of the car, arms crossed thoughtfully against his chest. The expression he wore was equally thoughtful.
"This is home," she responded. She stood next to him, her hip touching his thigh. "I lived here for nine years. It was here I first learned to ride a bike; it was here I first learned to swordfight, to turn a kata to dance, to dance. It was here, I learned to live."
"You miss it."
"Mostly in dreams. I would say Paris is as much as home to me now as here was. But Paris is my home now, this was where I first met my childhood dreams. You never forget your childhood dreams, Richie."
"No, I don't suppose you do."
Each had brought two suitcases, and they carried them in now, pausing on the front porch, while Asher unlocked the door, stepping inside, only to be greeted by the smell of mustiness, of a house not lived in for years.
"How long since you were last here?" asked Richie.
Mentally, Asher calculated the time in her head. "Nine years. We left when I was fourteen. We both know what happened as a result."
"So, we do," commented Richie dryly, placing a kiss on her forehead. She had fallen into a life of rebellion, of trouble, only to lose it all, when she had finally gained everything back. "I say, we find our bedroom, only to unpack later, and to cook, and eat, some dinner now."
"The groceries we bought in town are still in the car. You do the luggage, and I'll retrieve the food."
It was a question, to which Richie nodded his answer. She smiled then, a softer smile then he normally saw on her, and he wondered, if this was the smile a little girl living here had once flashed. He returned the smile, chose two suitcases, found the stairs. In the far reaches of his hearing, he heard the front door close, heard Asher hum under her breath. It was not a tune he recognized.