I stood by a quaint white picket fence; the chilly spring breeze whipping my chocolate brown locks up around my face. Small daisies were blooming on the small lush field that spread out before me. Cherry blossom buds dotted the braches of trees just springing back into life.
Spring. The season of life. I smirked at the aptness of the season. How cliché.
It'd been a week since I landed myself on Castanet Island. I'd negotiated a deal with that stout little thing of a mayor, Hamilton, where I would live on the farm, on the terms that I worked on it too.
Fair enough, I'd thought to myself. New life, new experiences. The thought that this life had a looming but inevitable expiration date didn't fail to niggle at the back of my mind.
The sun was making its quick descent into the vast glimmering ocean, making room for the moon to rise in all her glory. I pondered the relationship of the sun and moon; one had to die for the other to live. What a tragic love – an eternity spent apart. How ridiculous. I don't believe in that Hollywood-spun version of love. That's not love. That's pain. Self-inflicted torture.
The moon was making her painfully slow ascent; almost like she was trying to make the most of this one second of forbidden closeness with the sun. I inwardly scoffed. You'll never be together. The thought ran through my mind cruelly.
Leaning my weight on the picket fence, I silently lit a cigarette, and continued my scornful observation of the sun and moon's star-crossed romance.
I inhaled deeply, feeling that familiar burning in my lungs. A little ironic that I, who was insanely concerned about the tragic shortness of life, had managed to pick up the habit of smoking. But the way I see it, the last twenty years of your life are spent uselessly. So I figure either way I win: I get to indulge in my bad habit and I get to cut out those pathetic last twenty last years of my life. I smiled contentedly to myself as I rationed it out in my head once again.
"A little early to be smoking, isn't it?" A distant voice called out from behind me.
I didn't bother turning around. "Not at all," I retorted without skipping a beat, "I don't intend on denying myself the small pleasures of life based on society-assigned norms."
"You'll certainly regret that when you die at fifty," the cold voice countered.
I rolled my eyes behind closed eyelids. Slowly, reluctantly, I withdrew the cigarette from my lips, turning my body slowly to face the annoyingly holier-than-thou voice that wouldn't leave me to the self-inflicted quickening of my death.
Icy blue eyes glared coldly at me. White blonde hair. Gill.
I'd met him on several instances over my short week here. It's pretty funny. In some ways, I thought he was exactly like me. He wasn't convinced by the deluded smiles so many of the islanders wore. Just like me, he didn't care for people who wasted his time with their useless tales of false happiness. But he simultaneously repulsed me; he was the most blatantly boring man, person, I'd ever met. To be honest, I'd rather have wasted my time listening to someone spew rubbish about their 'happy' life than talk to Gill for a second. Every boring syllable he uttered made me want to dig my grave and dive headfirst into it, if just so that I wouldn't have to listen to him for a second longer.
I smiled snidely at him. "You ought to try one then," I remarked. I'd be doing a favor to the world, leading that dull pompous to his early death.
"No thanks," he replied, utterly appalled, "I value my life and lungs. And I should advise you to do the same."
I sucked on my cigarette to spite him, blowing long wisps of smoke out, while raising a cocky eyebrow at him.
He crossed his arms furiously. "A fragile twenty-one year old girl like you shouldn't be treating this so lightly! Furthermore, as a girl, you should listen to a man who…"
"Fuck off, Gill," a cool voice called out from behind the oh-so-mighty aforementioned.
Offended at the coarse language, Gill whipped his head to be met with deep violet eyes. A slightly annoyed Chase was leaning against a tree, sleeves of his mint green shirt rolled halfway to his elbows, well-built arms crossed over his chest. His strawberry blonde hair was a wild mess, courtesy of the relentless winds of that evening, save for his long fringe which was held down thanks to three bobby pins. A long white cigarette hung nonchalantly from his lips.
Gill's ice blue eyes widened in indignation, "as a chef at our only inn, I'd thank you not to poison my food with your disgustingly toxic habit."
"As a human being, I'd thank you to pull that evidently ten-foot long stick out of your ass," Chase retorted sarcastically. I smirked.
"I shan't subject myself to your vile language any longer," Gill huffed, ten-foot long stick unmistakably still up his ass. I watched him walk away in visibly livid defeat.
"Those little boy shorts of his are ridiculous," I commented, shooting a smile in Chase's direction.
He grinned smugly in reply. He didn't move from his spot under the tree.
"Aren't you going to come smoke with me?" he asked, drawing on his cigarette slowly.
I watched the smoke rise up to frame his delicately pretty face. Like death slowly caressing her victim. Raising an eyebrow, I returned, "why can't you come over here and smoke with me?"
He raised his eyebrows right back at me. "Because I'm stubborn."
"So am I."
We both stared at one another for a moment, aforementioned stubbornness evident.
"I guess we'll both just stay where we are then," I challenged.
To my surprise, he acceptingly left his spot by the tree and slowly made his way over, choosing to lean his back against the fence. I smirked at his victory in defeat; even though he'd left his spot, his same stance decided that he had won this battle.
"Since I gave in, my next cigarette is on you," he drawled triumphantly.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Pulling a cigarette out of my pack, I planted it in between his lips, one hand going up to light it with my own lighter, the other going up to shield the flame from the increasingly strong night winds.
His larger hands covered my small one; building on the poorly constructed shield I'd made for the flame. One of his hands cupped over mine; I could feel his pulse. My amber eyes met his strange violet ones.
Now there's an enigma if I've ever seen one.
I pulled my hands away upon the successful ignition of his, my, cigarette, and resumed my own slow death, carelessly tossing the ashes of my poison over the picket fence, where the wind swept them to their own demise in the melancholic ocean. I exhaled, admiring the tendrils of smoke that floated out of my mouth, up into the air.
"You look good when you smoke," Chase stated simply.
It was strange. Just when I thought I had him figured out, he completely changed tactic, taking me by surprise. An enigma.
I recognised myself in Chase. He felt familiar, but he could simultaneously burn you to ashes in the same millisecond. Unpredictable. I stared at the tip of the cigarette that hung from his lips. One moment it was completely relaxed, white and serene; the next, it had turned red-hot, rearing to scorch whatever dared to touch it. Like a cigarette.
I smiled lightly at his semi-compliment. "I like you," I said bluntly.
He looked taken aback, but smirked ever so slightly.
"You're interesting," I continued.
"Lucky me," he drawled sarcastically, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"That's not a compliment," I laughed airily, "it's a statement."
I saw his smile spread slightly across his face.
"I'm not interested in girls who fall all over me."
"Well then, you're in luck," I retorted swiftly, "I'm not easy to get."
A light laugh escaped his pink lips.
"You're strange."
"At least I had the courtesy to substitute the word interesting for strange," I scoffed, mock-hurt, at him, referring to my previous statement about him.
A larger laugh.
"You want to go drinking?" I asked as the whim struck me.
He seemed caught by surprise, but nodded in agreement. I tossed my newly lit cigarette behind me. His violet eyes widened.
"You just lit that."
I started off in the direction of the Brass Bar, not really caring whether Chase followed suit or not. I stretched my arms out behind me, turning my gaze to the moon who now sat alone in the night sky; lonely but lovely. I smiled at the resonance with how I sometimes saw myself.
"Life's too short to waste finishing half hearted cigarettes," I called out to him, "or for doing anything half hearted, really."
Chase appeared by my side. "I don't understand you," he confessed, "first you say you're hard to get, then you ask me to go drinking with you."
I threw my head back, inhaling the fresh smell of dewy spring blossoms mixed with the sickly saccharine one of smoke clinging to our clothes. Closing my eyes, I replied with a laugh.
"Like I said, I'm not easy to get."
Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon.
Author's Note: I know Molly is completely out of character from the typical sweet, girlish persona she's usually portrayed to have, but that's what I'm aiming for here. As a matter of fact, I think most of the characters will be slightly out of character to some extent, but I will try to keep the vital components of their personalities in to the best of my ability. Also, I have nothing against Gill - please don't flame me for my portrayal of him! I'd love if you'd leave me some reviews if you enjoyed!