Paws in a lightest double-coat of long, golden fur followed alongside its owner's pink Chuck Taylors traveling along the sidewalk of the quiet, suburban neighborhood. Sniffing the concrete with its black nose as its heterochromia gaze of cocoa brown and periwinkle-blue searched the unfamiliar path in explorative curiosity. Crisp, blue denim traveled in hurried yet casual strides, layered with a pink letterman jacket sporting white sleeves over an ironed white tee. Focused eyes of baby-blue scanned the map in one hand with the handle of a leash in the other, chin dimpled and stubbed in brunette facial hair. Brunette taper shortened and slicked back, biceps as brawny as his pecs.
The Dimmsdale University Freshman slowed his pace when his eyes lifted from the map to check his progress, spotting the gold 1990 Ford Explorer parked on the short driveway of the one-story home. Observing the yellow-painted panels and brown-shingled roof trimmed in white and windows lined in the same dark wood that arched the front door, double checking that the house number corresponded with the destination circled on his map.
"Looks like this is it…" he breathed to himself. Verifying that this was indeed the right house, he gave a short tug on the leash connected to his dog's blue collar, veering his golden retriever off the trail they'd been traveling since they'd hopped off the city bus a few blocks back. "C'mon, Buddy."
Panting his tongue, Buddy obeyed and followed his owner along the rocky pathway towards the front porch paved in stone. The college freshman praised his good boy with positive affirmations as he traversed the small steps and approached the front door. With the unknown behind that single door, he inhaled a calming breath when a sudden wave of nerves surged. No matter how many times he'd imagined the interaction in his head on repeat, he knew nothing could ever prepare him for coming face-to-face with the biological family that he'd only read about from non-detailed descriptions.
He folded his map to tuck back into the pocket of his letterman jacket, and with another bracing breath, he pressed the doorbell that rang out behind the walls.
"I'll get it." Gary announced, having reentered the house from the backyard with his yellow retriever by his side. He was still on his feet and was just about to join his grandfather who was already seated at the kitchen table with his morning newspaper. Pausing mid-stir, his grandmother turned off the burner simmering the pot of buckwheat kasha, peering nosily at Gary unlocking the multiple bolts to the front door.
Once he pulled the door open, Gary laid goggling eyes on the teen towering over him in the doorway. Caught off guard by the immediate observance of the strange yet striking resemblance to his younger cousin, as well as the uncanny physical similarities to that of his late father…
"Hey there, little man." The teen spoke smoothly, friendly in his smile a contrast to the scolding glare Gary remembered of his father. "Is this still the residence of Vlad and Gladys Vladislapov?"
Disguised in his yellow retriever form, Alondro noticed his golden counterpart wag his vigorous tail with a panting tongue, as if to practice restraint from giving his own greeting in that of a slobbering tongue to the face. All the while, Gary stood stunned in silence, forgetting how to speak as a hitched breath caught in his throat.
"It is." Vlad scooted and used the edge of the table to support himself out of his chair, wanting to be courteous yet cautious of the unexpected stranger who suspiciously knew his and his wife's full names. "Who are you?"
The freshman gently patted Buddy on his backside, signaling the excited hound to settle down on his hind legs. "My name is Thomas T. Turner, but you can call me Tommy."
"Turner…?" Vlad repeated slowly, dumbfounded.
"Yessir." Tommy confirmed in the same moment that the backdoor swung open and the last resident of the home entered. The pink-hatted boy entering inside the home went unnoticed as his cousin and grandparents were too gobsmacked to notice anything outside that of the stranger and his dog.
"All Turners except one are dead." Gladys firmly remarked, now standing next to her husband in a resolute stance. "You are no Turner; it impossible!"
"It is possible, ma'am." Tommy kept his tone polite. In spite of the distrust he could sense from the elderly couple, it truly captivated him how much of himself he saw in them both. "Please, I can explain…may I come in?"
"…who the heck are you?"
Tommy, as well as the Vladislapovs, all redirected their attention upon hearing another presence in the room, turning to Timmy's guarded stance in the archway of the kitchen. With blue eyes narrowed, Timmy grimaced at the stranger. Yet despite the subtle sneer in the boy's upper lip, Tommy's smile brightened towards the boy that he, judging just off looks alone, undoubtedly shared blood with.
"Hey, there." Tommy waved warmly, barely able to contain the smile that stretched ear to ear as he beamingly announced "I'm your big brother."
Utter confusion replaced skeptical contempt as Timmy's baffled eyes bulged.
. . . . . .
The atmosphere in the living room felt clouded in obscurity, to say the least. Obscure in that Tommy's revelation of his relation to Timmy sent boggled minds whirling with a flurry of questions. Was it true? Did Susanne have a secret child? How did she manage to hide this child, and why did she take this secret to her grave?
Nestled on all fours, the yellow retriever stayed near his godchild who occupied one side of the couch with legs hanging off the edge. Gary eyed his cousin beside him with folded lips, attempting to guess through Timmy's bunched brow what could be buzzing in his mind. It was easy to assume, however, that Timmy was just as lost as he was. And it was likely that, just as he did, Timmy questioned why there'd been no mention of this 'older brother' prior to now.
[Mom and Dad never said anything about Tommy, and I had no idea he ever existed.] Gary and Timmy heard Sophia speak in their minds simultaneously, well aware of their confusion. [It's like he just came out of nowhere…]
Both cousins exchanged skeptical glances. If Tommy came out of nowhere, then was 'Thomas T. Turner' even his real name?
Calm and collected, Tommy held his blue gaze on his maternal grandfather tense in his beige recliner as his maternal grandmother stood beside the armrest, their fixed stares studying every inch of him like an unknown specimen. In attempts to make an awkward situation less awkward, Tommy reached to scratch behind Buddy's ear, and Buddy expressed his gratitude with an excited panting tongue. No one has uttered a word nor had his grandparents stopped staring since inviting him inside. Though, given the circumstances, he couldn't necessarily fault them.
After minutes passed by like hours, Gladys had no idea where to start but to ask "…how old are you?"
"Eighteen." Tommy replied, using one palm to brush the top of Buddy's fur. "Born Summer of '84."
Doing the math in her head, Gladys then furrowed her brow to her husband. "Susanne not pregnant in college, was she?"
"That escapes me…" Vlad woefully shook his head. It could be his memories failing him in his old age, or it could simply be that he somehow hadn't paid that close of attention during the brief period Susanne returned home after graduating from university. But how in the world would he have not noticed that type of change in Susanne's appearance? Not even baggy clothes could conceal Susanne's pregnancy with the twins; then again, no one had known she was having twins until their birth.
Gladys then returned her studying gaze to Tommy. "Who is your father?"
Seeing as how he was right next to him, Timmy noticed Tommy twist his lips and squint his brow as if such a question stabbed him straight in the heart. But the unease in his expression came as a mere twitch before he exhaled the one name no one could've seen coming "…Sheldon Dinkleberg."
Timmy gaped in disbelief. No way…Sheldon Dinkleberg?! His old, religious freak of a neighbor!? But the Dinklebergs didn't have kids! He remembered that distinctly, because that was another grievance his father always harbored against him. The neighbors had all the money in the world because they didn't have a kid to suck them dry…
"Sheldon…" Gladys murmured to herself, her husband equally as stumped.
Sensing their confusion, Tommy filled in the blank with "Mom's ex-boyfriend."
"The only boyfriend I remember Susanne having is Daran." Vlad remarked, prompting Tommy to ease his nerves with another deep breath.
"Mom had rather Sheldon be but a distant memory…just for him to become her neighbor." Tommy muttered, his posture tense. The first expression of any negative emotions since his arrival. "He was horrible to her…verbally abusive unlike no other…" his chin bunched tightly. "And he would force himself on her…so much so that he never realized he'd gotten her pregnant before he'd joined those Jehovah Witnesses."
Listening intently, Gary slanted his brow as Timmy's squint eyed his 'brother' for any signs of fabrication.
"She refused to join that group with him, so he broke up with her…" Tommy could feel his mouth drying from the bitter taste he couldn't swallow. "He just…cut her off like she meant nothing to him..."
As the gears in Vlad's mind struggled to process this information, Gladys remained unconvinced as she asked "…how we trust you not making this up?"
Taking a pause from brushing Buddy's fur, Tommy dug into his pocket to retrieve a crinkled letter stained with age, holding it unrhetorically towards Gladys. "This is the very letter handwritten by your daughter almost nineteen years ago."
"Chto…?" Almost taken aback, Gladys pushed through her apprehension to approach and take the letter for herself, to see if Tommy's story checks out with her own eyes. She unfolded the piece of paper, and it only took reading the very first To whom may find this in the top left corner for her to bring a hand to the tiny yet prominent quiver in her lips as a small sob escaped.
"V chem delo?" Vlad questioned his wife's glossing eyes, catching the almost immediate switch in her demeanor.
Inhaling a shaky breath, Gladys turned and leaned for them to read the letter together, and as Vlad reached inside the pocket of his overalls to takeout his reading glasses, a breath of disbelief murmured "O, Bozhe moy…"
From the smooth, consistent spacing of the letters to the rounded, feminine touch to the cursive print, the content of the letter was in fact written by none other than Susanne Turner. And in the content of the letter, everything Tommy had revealed about Sheldon, about his verbal abuse and having his toxic way with Susanne resulting in an unplanned pregnancy…was not weaved in falsehood.
Half of his attention on the unraveling mysteries of Tommy, the other half of Alondro's attention was on the locked, trancelike stare of brown and periwinkle-blue. Unblinking and unwavering, as if Buddy knew more about him than he knew about Buddy. The fur in his nose crinkled at the surge of chills in his spine, raising his fur. Unnerved from the bizarre yet almost otherworldly aura radiating from Buddy's otherwise gentle core. An aura seemingly invisible to nonmagical beings.
Gary happened to glance in Alondro's direction, noticing yellow paws take tentative steps backwards as he whispered "What is it, Londro?"
Alondro failed to respond, bending his head with drooping ears as Buddy's black nose' began to sniff with eyes locked solely on the fairy godparent. Then, in a finger's snap, Buddy shot to all fours as woofs boomed like gunshots from his throat.
The younger boys jerked and the elderly couple shuddered as Buddy's barks bellowed in close secession, planted back paws barely preventing front paws from jumping up and down. Though Buddy's fluffy tag flailed boisterously with comradely intentions, Alondro's unsettled reflexes warned Buddy to keep his distance with a snarling growl.
"Buddy! Sit, boy!" Tommy was stern in his instruction, circling arms around Buddy's body in attempts of restraint. Buddy kept barking as Alondro continued to growl, leading Gary to act and deescalate.
"Londro, it's okay…" Gary tried, pressing gentle palms beneath Alondro's chin and behind his crown. This seemed to work when Alondro ceased growling, though the deep slits between his brows remained fixed on the fellow canine.
Confused as to what had made his godfather so tense out of nowhere, Gary shot a glance at the golden retriever subdued by his owner's arms, loud barks gradually beginning to quiet into playful whines. There was this spirited yet soulful sparkle in those pathetic eyes that felt…familiar.
"Good boy…" Tommy praised when Buddy finally calmed, combing fingers through his fur in appreciation of his obedience. That aside, he found Buddy's behavior peculiar; rarely did he bark at other dogs so vigorously.
"How you find us?" Gladys chose to pivot back to the circumstance at hand, returning the handwritten letter to Tommy who accepted it with one hand. He kept hold of Buddy with the other just to avoid another rowdy outburst.
"On my seventh birthday, Mom wrote me another letter that included your address." he informed. "In that letter, not only was she now married…but pregnant again. And she told me that if anything were to happen to her or her husband, she wanted me to come find her parents so I can meet my baby sister…" he tilted his head towards the distrusting frown of his younger brother, chuckling sheepishly. "You're definitely not a sister."
Grimacing, Timmy snarked "That's cuz I'm not, genius."
"Bite your rude tongue!" Gladys chided, merciless in her bark. Instinctively, Timmy slouched further into the couch, hugging himself as if to make himself as small as possible.
"So…" Awkward eyes slowly looked back to his grandparents "…at the time Mom wrote that letter…I assume she just thought she was having a girl?"
"At first…" Vlad spoke as his eyes closed, trying to drag emotion back under where he didn't need nor want to feel it. "Susanne had twins, Sophia and Timmy... " he opened his downcast gaze, and his voice dropped lamentably "…Sophia died years ago."
"Oh, no…" Tommy knitted his brow, empathic in his condolences "…I'm so sorry for your loss."
"All because that boy killed her!" Gladys pointed a bitter finger in Timmy's direction, unapologetic of her damning revelation.
"What?!" Tommy shot Timmy a puzzled glance, struggling to process the unspeakable horror that a little boy no older than eleven had just been alleged of. "I-Is that true?!"
A guttural twinge clenched Timmy's stomach in the tightest grip. Buckteeth bit down on his bottom lip, tense nails digging into his arm deep enough to sting his skin red.
"Accidentally." Gary, of all people, spoke up, soft fingers continuing to stroke along yellow fur. "He never meant Sophia harm…"
Timmy snapped Gary a pointed glare. He chooses now to say something. Huffing, he faced the fireplace, sinking his posture further. Whatever. Guess it's better than never…
Buddy's paws grew eager when his attention switched from the other dog in the room to the tween, and Tommy calmed him by brushing the back of his fur with his free hand. Perhaps Buddy's behavior was merited, for his interest also peaked for the boy who looked identical to Timmy with black hair instead of brown. "I'm sorry…are you another half-brother?"
Gary met Tommy's inquiring gaze with a distrusting brow "…cousin."
"Cousin…?" Everything Tommy had known up to this point swirled in a chaotic whirlwind. "But none of Mom's letters ever mentioned she had a sibling let alone a nephew."
"Susanne had a twin brother named Marsden…they were not close." Vlad admitted somberly. "Me and my wife were forced to kick him out at sixteen because he was very dangerous to Susanne…"
Tommy tilted his head to the side, taking this into curious consideration. "I see…"
"Have you ever met Susanne?" Gladys probed. Even with a handwritten letter, that wasn't enough proof. How was she supposed to believe that this kid who she's never met a day in her life was, in fact, her eldest grandson?
Gary and Timmy watched as Tommy drooped his chin, blue eyes haunted with regret.
"Not in person, unfortunately…" he confessed, every word he spoke weighted in distant longing. "I only knew Mom from the letters she'd write every year on my birthday…up until her last letter to me last August. She wished me a Happy Eighteenth, hoping I had the best life possible…" he swallowed when his voice grew hoarse "…a life she could never give me herself."
Timmy's nose wrinkled distastefully. It's not that Mom couldn't have given Tommy a good life, it's that she wouldn't have. It wouldn't matter how Tommy was conceived…if he was a girl. She'd have made sure her daughter knew who her mother was, and she would've stepped up and raised her child with all the love and care in the whole world…no doubt about it.
"How did you get these letters every year?" Vlad thought to ask.
"After she gave birth to me, she'd put me in a basket along with a letter…and left me on the front porch to a group home for foster kids…" Tommy explained. "The couple who runs the home basically raised me as their own, and I grew up there until I started University last fall."
Perplexed, Gladys and Vlad shared blank stares. How could Susanne keep all of this from them? Her own parents? This also begged the question of whether Daran was ever in the know, and if he was…did he just…accept it and move on like it never happened?! How…why!?
"Hey, Timmy…" Gary whispered, and Timmy shot him a look "…does something about that dog seem familiar to you?"
Timmy looked to brown and periwinkle-blue staring in his and Gary's direction. Intent in his watchful gaze as if he recognized them from somewhere. "Yeah…"
The Prelude to Bach's notorious Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major was professionally hand-scribed in black across the white accent wall of the pastel-pink bedroom, the last fermata chord painted inches above the upholstered bedframe of black talc linen. A musical border framed the quilted white backdrop with a print of a basswood cello as the centerpiece, centered in front of a black bass cleft swirled with sheet music staffs of random eighth notes, triplets, flats, and sharps. The same musical design of the duvet was printed on the cases of fluffed pillows in which one of the pillows cradled an albino ferret collared in a neckband of pink, serenaded in a tranquil slumber.
Robert Schumann's Cello Concerto in A Minor Op 129 (the only concerto he'd ever written for cello) sang through the four-stringed instrument with every dramatic yet harmonious stroke of the carbon fiber bow, the hand-carved bridge enhancing its rich, deep resonance. A curvaceous sculpture polished in the finest maple tonewood from the top of the elegantly carved scroll down to the carbon-fiber tailpiece. F-holes meticulously refined in a soft finish, its back length of 26 inches suitable for the eleven-year-old musician currently perfecting all the accidentals coupled with complex bowings.
Upright at the front half of her chair with hunter-green eyes lasered on the sheet music, strands of strawberry blonde were tied back with a rosy-pink bow and two sideburns curled from small bangs, straightened in a length that reached behind her light-blue dress. Puffed with white short sleeves and white doll collar, a pink button centered the dress tied with a matching ribbon around the waist. Her skirt flared past her knees embroidered in threads of dark-blue designs, white socks layered pink knee-high stockings footed in ultramarine Mary Janes.
Technically, she didn't need the sheet music (she'd already memorized all twenty-plus minutes of the concerto.) She simply needed the physical notes in front of her so that she may not only practice the right notes, but that she may practice them as her favorite composer intended. In less than twelve hours, Missy Phirman and her pianist father were to perform at the fanciest country club in all of Dimmsdale. She had to get this right.
So engrossed in her music, the young musician didn't notice her father lean against the open doorway, strawberry blonde trimmed with short sides and a longer top neatly combed back. Chiseled jaw bearded along the chin with a floating moustache, his slender figure sported casual clothes of a white button-up layered with a navy blazer and dark denim jeans belted in the brown leather matching his wingtip Oxfords.
Mike Phirman couldn't help the subtle curl in his lips, warmed by the rich tones of songlike vibratos as her fingers traveled and leaped along the fretboard with effortless grace. He almost regretted knocking with his knuckles on her wooden door, disrupting her in a short jolt through her shoulders, and closed taffy-pink eyes snapped open from the pillow with its cone nose pointed in the visitor's direction.
"Sounds great, Missy." Mike greeted with a genuine compliment, entering the bedroom in casual strides.
Missy greeted him with a warm smile of her own, leaning back in her chair as the neck of her cello rested against her left shoulder. "I just have to work out this one section and it'll sound perfect."
"Perfection lacks in-the-moment passion plus humanity." Mike inserted one of his daily fatherly quotes. "Trying to fix something too much can break it."
"I know, dad…" Missy groaned, watchful in setting her bow along its back in the rack of her music stand. "I'm just nervous."
"Nervous, why?"
"Because we're performing for the richest family in Dimmsdale!"
Mike lightly chuckled. "The Apollo Theatres and Carnegie Halls of it all, and you're nervous about some fancy country club in your hometown?"
"I know it's silly, but this is our first performance since vacation…" Missy fussed before she sighed "I just feel rusty, that's all…"
"Because you took one week off?" Mike arched a brow, and Missy frowned.
"One week is like one month in the music world."
"Missy Dannah Phirman…" Mike set a tender hand on Missy's tense shoulder, massaging it softly. "You and I have been preparing all week working out all the kinks. We are more than ready for this performance, and the audience will love it." He ended his fatherly spiel with a comforting smile "You'll see."
With no real argument, Missy huffed "I guess you're right…"
"I know I'm right." After lighthearted pats to her shoulder, Mike then poked thumbs into his jean pockets as he turned towards the door to return to his morning errands. "By the way," he spoke casually over his shoulder "there are piling cans of trash with your name on them."
"Oh, right!" Missy just remembered one of the chores she'd promised to do last night but had gotten herself so wrapped up in her practice that it accidentally slipped her mind. "Sorry, I'll do that now!"
As Mike gave her one last grin and exited her bedroom, Missy slid the end pin back into her cello before she took her time lowering it onto its side on the other side of her chair, closest to the warm, yellow hues pouring through her window, glistening in the cream carpet.
With her cello secure, Missy turned in her chair to the beady taffy-pink beaming at her, its weasel-like tail wagging joyously. "Hey, Schumann, wanna come with?"
The albino ferret perked in a jubilant leap off the bed, scurrying the short distance to Missy's feet. He proceeded to pace in an aimless circle around her legs as if she were his own orbit, enthusing her in a small giggle.
"I'll take that as a 'yes.'"
And so, Missy and her furry little friend ventured through all the rooms noted to have trashcans; her bedroom, her father's bedroom, all the bathrooms, the kitchen, and the downstairs music studio. As she went through each room gathering and tying each trash bag, if Schumann wasn't following close to her side between rooms, he would either spring onto jumpable surfaces and sniff her, crawl up the trash bag as she tied them, or simply jump up and down in front of her path, whatever cheeky way to purposefully get her to laugh.
With all the trash bags accumulated, Schumann was the first of the pair to leap from the front porch of the red gabled roof, rosy-lavender concrete walls, lilac-stained windows lined in white panel shutters, mirrored evergreen hedges, and clean-cut lawn of the two-story home. He waited on patient paws for his owner to shut the front door with a free hand before Missy grabbed trash bags two at a time and carried them towards the green trash bin stationed on the left sidewall.
Schumann followed her with each trip, watching as she'd lift the lid and hurl each bag into the bin in clinking thuds. While the gated community was protected by heavily armed security, Schumann was not a ferret that would run away unprompted, so as long as someone went outside with him, he'd always been trusted to leave the home unrestrained…
Until today.
Noting how full the bin was, Missy shut the lid overflowing with trash, grunting as she tugged on the weighted bin by the handle. Propping the bin with her foot on its wheels, she maneuvered the bin and began dragging it through the grass towards the curb when she noticed that her furry companion had disappeared from her side. Puzzled, she stopped and scanned the green lawn for snowy fur. Of course, it wasn't long before she spotted him standing out on the edge of the driveway…but something was different.
His tail, motionless, faced her, mustelid body unnaturally still. Paws and legs readied in a rigid stance as if contemplating whether or not to pounce. "Schumann…?" Missy called cautiously, uncertain what could have him so antsy.
Then, without warning, he sprinted across the street in a short-legged bolt.
"Schumann!"
Trash spilled out from the bin as it crashed to the ground. Abandoning her chore, Missy rushed after her ferret who'd already made it to the other sidewalk unharmed. Reaching the edge of the lawn, she paused for a short second, darting eyes back and forth across the quiet road to ensure it was safe to cross. Her heart thundered as she barreled onto the sidewalk, and upon hearing a sudden squeaky gasp that screeched her Mary Janes to a halt, she gawked in panting breaths at what she saw next.
About three yards from her, Schumann had tackled a little girl to the sidewalk, causing piles of mail to fly in a scatter from her grasp. He fondled and brushed his fur all over her ebony face, her curly black hair bounced wildly as she screeched. Eyes clamped shut with each whip of her cheeks as her defensive palms tried and failed to shove the animated ferret off her.
"Schumann, stop!" Missy yelled, hurrying to rescue the little girl from her ferret's unwarranted and unwanted affection. Once within range, Missy wrestled Schumann off his victim, doing her best to clamp her grip to his squirming body attempting to wiggle himself free. She laced her arms around him, restraining his kicking legs against her huffing chest, and she squeezed him tight enough to hold him still without suffocating him.
Schumann managed to cease his writhing once he realized he was trapped, beady eyes locked on the little girl who had scooted backwards on terrified palms. Her chest hitched labored breaths through flared nostrils, brown eyes widened in alarm.
"Hazel, are you okay?!" Missy worried as Hazel audibly gaped, frozen in stunned bewilderment.
"H-How…d-do you know my n-name?" her stutter strained, cracking her voice.
"Your brother was Anthony Wells, right? People in the community were gossiping about him for like a week after it happened." Missy clarified before she solemnly added "I'm really sorry for your loss, by the way."
Hazel blinked rapidly, eyebrows shooting up in an arch of astonishment "…you…l-live here?"
"Uh-huh." Cradling Schumann to her chest, Missy turned to her left to point across the street at the carbon-copy house two houses down from where they were. "See my house over there? Number 913?"
As Hazel stared at the proof in the pudding, her mouth fell open. That simply can't be; the last known occupants of house 913 moved out over a year ago, and it was impossible for any newcomers to slip through the cracks of Dimmsdale Acres' insufferable welcome wagon…
Startled by a flash in her peripheral, brown eyes shot to the outstretched hand offering assistance. Blinking slowly, Hazel's gaze lifted to the amiable gleam in Missy's smile. While otherwise submissive in Missy's arms, it felt as if Schumann's beady eyes pierced straight into her soul, chilling Hazel's nerves. As much as lingering suspicions wanted to swat her hand away, Hazel couldn't bring herself to do so. What was the good in being rude to the rare politeness of a stranger?
Bracing herself, Hazel lowered her guard just enough to accept the help, groaning as Missy pulled her to steady feet. Soon after, her guard bricked itself to higher heights as she draped tight arms around herself, hunching her shoulders with puckered brows.
"How come I've never seen you around here before…?" Hazel quizzed, a notable shake in her voice deceptively composed.
"Dad and I are hardly home enough to be seen; we travel cross-country as classical musicians." Missy explained. "Ever heard of Phirman Philharmonics?"
Furrowed eyes stared.
"Well, anyway…" Clearing her throat, Missy chose to pivot the awkward silence towards proper introductions. "My name's Missy. And this is Schumann." she gave delicate strokes to the albino ferret who seemed to have taken quite the liking to Hazel, his neck stretched out in enquiring sniffs. Hazel recoiled, backing away slowly. In response to Hazel's apprehension, Missy merely grinned. "I know he just attacked your face, but would you like to pet him?"
Cowering, Hazel's eyes darted towards the front door of her home, fearful of a certain patriarchal tyrant spying on her from the shadows. It never took her this long to fetch the mail, she always made certain not to. His non-existent patience was thin enough as is…
Looking back to taffy-pink eyes beaming to her, Hazel started to wonder how an ordinary ferret could have oddly colored eyes without a gold crown. Would Missy have said something if Schumann was a fairy? Seeing as how Nyekundu was still inside the house, perhaps not. Without her red ring or her red ferret, Hazel looked like an ordinary kid.
Swallowing dryly, Hazel's hesitation reached with a timid hand. Fingers trembling faintly as the tips grazed the softness in Schumann's nose, soon retracting with a swiftness as if his fur was scorching hot.
"Don't be scared, Hazel. It's okay." Missy giggled to relieve the girl's unease as Schumann inched his welcoming nose towards Hazel. Though apprehensive in her second approach, Hazel bit her lip as dithery fingers extended again, this time reaching behind Schumann's right ear with tentative scratches.
Schumann's forehead nuzzled happily into her palm, and a nudge of warmth surfaced beneath the cold darkness keeping her spirits captive. She felt her lips twitch as unsettled instincts wanted to retreat, undeserving of such luxury; Marcus could catch her out here slacking off at any moment, and it would not end well. But the way Schumann melted in her show of affection, the way his overflow of gratitude seemed to chip away the grime of dread and despair crusted over her heart. It was nice…and oddly familiar.
As her coy gaze peered to Missy's warm grin, curiosity prodded the back of her mind. Why was this girl, a random stranger…so nice to her?
AN: At first, I wasn't gonna include Tommy from Oh, Brother!, but then I changed my mind, so here we are.