Dreaming of Sunsets
Let it be known that Mera never intended to become good friends with Phoenica - Feenie, now.
She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened.
Maybe the biggest reason was because she needed coffee nearly hourly to keep her crappy sleep schedule on track and make sure she didn’t snap at anyone and everyone. Not that she was exactly the kindest person if she did get coffee, but still. She was better, at least.
And Domum Cafe was the only place that sold decent coffee in a sixty mile radius.
Feenie, apparently, thought being acquaintances meant that every time they saw each other they needed to talk. Not that she was wrong, of course, but talking with Feenie was never a ‘oh, hey, how are you’ affair.
Instead, it would start like that - and then Feenie would say something stupid or ridiculous or, more rarely, genuinely interesting, and it would start a conversation.
Eventually, Mera just gave up and invited Feenie to sit with her every time the blonde served her coffee. And Feenie apparently got a employee discount and was a big tea fan.
So they ended up sitting down roughly six times a day, with a cup of steaming black coffee and/or tea in front of them, and just talking for ten minutes at the very least.
It hindsight, Mera shouldn’t have been surprised when Feenie ended up being her best friend after just a bit of time.
Mera didn’t really have friends, either. It wasn’t that she couldn’t force herself to be likable - she could, and she had been pushed into doing so multiple times. No, it was just that Mera didn’t like people.
At all.
But somehow, she managed to hate Feenie almost as much as she liked her.
The girl rarely talked about herself, which was refreshing in and of itself. She seemed far more interested in discussions of hypotheticals and ideals then any talk of reality.
Mera was inclined to agree with her on that front, even if she thought hiding in your imaginary world to escape the real one was a fantasy not worth trying to make work.
But she soon learned that Feenie wasn’t interested in hiding away in an imaginary world, though what she wanted instead was far more crazy.
Instead, she wanted to make the real world into something just as enjoyable to be in.
She sought to do this only on a small scale - by making sure the people in her life were only those who would fit into her dream world. She said that Mera didn’t quite fit cleanly, but;
“You are fascinating, so I suppose you could occupy the museum - show what this world was like before it was made perfect.”
Mera had thanked her. From Feenie, that was quite a compliment, though the thanks had been mostly sarcastic.
That was another thing - Feenie didn’t seem to understand sarcasm. Or subtlety. Or much of anything that wasn’t explicit, really. The girl would simply blink, and respond in some mind-numbing fashion or other.
Mera had asked, once, if there was anyone else she had fit into her little world.
“Two people have managed to make the cut.” The blonde had responded serenely, staring at her with those baby-blue eyes of her’s. “Not including you, of course.”
“Of course.” She had said, with only the slightest sarcastic lilt in her voice.
For some reason, though, she found herself utterly fascinated by Feenie’s dream world.
“There would never be any clouds.” The girl had said once, at a completely random moment and without a segway of any kind. “Not one. The sky would be perfectly clear, and me and you would watch every sunset together.”
The girl had looked away from the window, condensation forming on its surface, and locked eyes with her then.
“You wouldn’t watch the sunrise with me, though. Dawn is the time for threes - dusk is the time for twos.”
Feenie made statements like that sometimes. Ridiculous ones, that seemed to have nothing to do with anything.
“We would watch the sunset together, and there wouldn’t be a cloud in the sky. Neither of us would talk. There would be a statue in the distance - polished limestone. It would be of the goddess Venus, portrayed with the body of a venus flytrap. We would both have a cup of hot chocolate, with marshmallows on the surface. Floating.”
Mera wanted to know more about Feenie’s world, but the girl, for some reason, didn’t talk about it much. She would just occasionally burst out with some detail about it or other. Questions never led anywhere.
But still, she tried to ask.
“Would there be music?”
And Feenie’s eyes, which had drifted to the window again, suddenly locked onto her. Sharp.
“...Yes.”
Mera had blinked, not expecting the girl to actually answer.
“Yes, there would be. Beethoven’s symphonies would be played in the theater every night, and you and Molly and I would all go see them played together.”
“Molly?” She whispered, voice wavering slightly as she was finally offered more information. The chance to ask questions.
Feenie glanced down at her cup of tea, and swirled her spoon in it.
“...What is your favorite of Beethoven’s symphonies?”
And Mera knew the topic had just been closed.
“...All the buildings would have blue roofs.”
Mera glanced up from her book at Feenie, who was staring off into nothing. She leaned in slightly, knowing that the blonde would elaborate, and folded her hands on the table.
“They would shine in the afternoon, the same colour as the sky. And the walls would never be a clashing colour. They would be purple, or white, or orange. Every surface would be perfectly polished on those walls, but the insides wouldn’t quite be clean. A little messy, a little lived in. To show that the place wasn’t a wasteland. To make it feel like home.”
“Mugs would litter the tables,” the girl went on, eyes covered by a fog and a hand reaching up gingerly - as if beckoning to the image before her, trying to get it to manifest. “Some of them empty, some of them full. But nobody would ever leave something undrunk - they would always empty their cup by the end of the day. It is only polite. And there would be a block of knives in every kitchen, made of unblemished damascus steel.”
The girl trailed off, staring into nothing. Slowly, her hand fell.
“...Do you know what your Zodiac is, Mera?”
And Feenie’s world had vanished into the background again, to resurface only when it was called upon.
Mera thought, sometimes, that Feenie didn’t like to talk about her world. She wasn’t sure why that could be, but the way the girl acted made it seem that way - made it seem like she just sometimes needed to say something about it, needed to talk about her unrealized vision for the future.
Feenie, sometimes, would just begin to ask about her. She seemed intensely curious about all things, so it was no wonder she sometimes just asked about details in her life.
But it was never anything normal, of course.
“What is your favorite body of water?”
“Do you prefer drinks that are cold, or hot?”
“Do you think film is a more or less valid art medium than literature?”
“What is your opinion on dark chocolate?”
“Can you play an instrument?”
She rarely had to think very long before giving an answer.
“The Red Sea.”
“Cold, but coffee is my favorite despite that.”
“All forms of art are equally valid.” That answer in particular had clearly pleased Feenie.
“Love it.”
“Yes.”
“What instrument or instruments can you play?” Feenie had asked, peering across at her with those unapproachable eyes.
“Just piano. I’m not a savant or anything, but I like to think I do okay.”
And the girl always responded the same way - a simple, firm nod, as if she was storing the information for later.
Maybe she was.
Mera thought it was fair to say that Feenie wasn’t perfectly sane - but she also would hit someone for saying that in front of her.
That was probably the best summary of her feelings on the blonde.
And besides - who out there is really perfectly sane anyway?