Sunday, 4th of Umbralis
You wake up a bit before your alarm, but since you fed the cats last night, they decide not to wake you at the crack of dawn. You’re feeling well rested, and have time for a good long shower and breakfast before you have to head out and meet Cole.
The senior center is nice in a homey, faded way, and the weekend activity director seems really happy to see you. There’s no nurses in sight, this seems more like a retirement home than a nursing home. You’re shown to a large sun room, windows overlooking the small walled garden, with a long table down the center of it.
Cole’s already there, and very happy to see you.
You help him set things up as people wander in. Everyone seems to know him, and are pretty curious about you. You end up saying maybe five or six times that you’re not his girlfriend, much to the disappointment of a few of the women. Some of them just seem to think that means you need to hear about their grandchildren who need a partner.
It’s funny, but some of them seem -really- serious about it. Eventually, though, they turn to gossiping, which is even more entertaining. Who knew old people got up to so much trouble!
You all settle in to play, or in your case, completely annihilated. They sure aren’t holding back on you any.
The competition is vicious.
You play for a couple of hours, and then chat for a bit longer. It’s actually nice, you’re having a pretty good time. It’s nice to spend time with Cole, and it feels like this is a bit more relaxing for him than it would have been if you’d invited him to that noisy, busy party last night.
When you finish, it’s about four, already getting dark outside. At least the sky is clear, you don’t think it’s going to snow tonight.
Invite Cole over for dinner and to hang out.
Cole seems quite happy to come with you, though he’s driven himself. He does need to make a stop first, so you follow him there. He’s going to the nearest Chantry, it seems, a building easy enough to spot by the large parking lot (rare in the city) and the iconography. It’s a pretty dull-looking building, utilitarian orange brick with a brown roof, but they’ve spruced it up a bit with some Satinalia decorations.
You only gave him the flyer the other day, but it seems that Cole took the clothing drive pretty seriously. You park in the Chantry lot next to him, and he’s already pulling bags out of the back seat of his car.
“Wow, this is…” You say, slamming your door and pacing over to join him, “Wow, a lot.”
“On Sunday mornings the shop by the bus depot sells things for only ninety nine cents.” Cole tells you, letting you take one of the bags for him, “If you go right away, you can get a lot of things.”
“I haven’t had time to pick up anything myself.” You confess, a little awkwardly.
“You did help!” Cole points out, pulling out another bag and hefting it up, “You showed other people how they can help. I don’t always know how…to help, but I want to. You showed me how.”
That’s true! Thank you, Cole.
“You’re welcome.” Cole says firmly.
You both approach the door, and you move quickly to get it for him. He’s carrying a lot more than you. Luckily, the drop off bin is just inside the door, with one of the flyers plastered to the front. There’s a couple things inside it, but not a lot…then again, you don’t know how often they empty it.
But, with Cole’s bags, it’s nicely filled up. That’s a good feeling, even if you did just pass out the flyers and help carry.
Errand done, it’s not too long of a drive to your building. Thankfully it’s still warm enough that the roads aren’t icy, even though the snow from last night is melting. It doesn’t make for a very pretty scene- dingy slushy snow instead of white and fluffy, but it’s safe.
“I plan to make a ton of food.” You tell Cole, as you both head up the sidewalk for the building, “I’m trying to prep food for work for the week, to save money. It’ll save time if I just make a whole lot of dinner, and then pack up the leftovers.”
“I can help.” Cole offers.
“Thanks. I don’t have recipes or anything, just…you know, basic things.” You say, and then shrug. “Rice, vegetables and meat…”
“I like to cook, too.” He tells you.
It seems like he might have something else to say, but he falls silent as you open your front door, and are immediately greeted by an escapee. Fen darts past your feet, a little orange blur, and you’re too shocked to immediately go after him.
Luckily Cole’s faster than you- surprisingly fast, and while you’re still blinking, he’s after the kitten and scooping him up.
“He’s quick!” Cole tells you, as Fen pops his head out of his grip and starts trying to climb his arm, “I think he wants to explore.”
“I think he wants to give me a heart attack.” You tell Cole, opening the door for him and following him in. “Living up to his namesake, my little Fen’harel. Trouble.”
You close the door and turn back, to meet Cole’s very intensely searching gaze. He actually seems a little bit surprised, or taken-aback.
What did I say this time?
“His name is Fen’harel?” Cole asks in response to your question, glancing down at the cat.
“Yeah. Are you a fan of his art?” You say, scooping up Atisha when she comes to greet you, scratching her ears. “Sera’s had me looking up all this stuff, so I guess the name stuck in my head.”
As always, she tries to flop on her back in your arm and get her belly petted while she’s carried like a baby. You oblige, but become slightly concerned that your cat doesn’t know how to cat.
“It’s important. Art is.” Cole says, pulling claws out of his sleeve, “Even if he doesn’t think his is.”
That’s kind of an odd thing to say. Which, you know Cole just thinks a little differently than most people, that’s part of why you like him. His perspective is interesting, but even for his usually different point of view, that’s a curious thing to say.
“How…would you know that?” You ask Cole curiously, putting down Atisha when she bites the crap out of your fingers.
You might be starting to become immune to kitten teeth.
“Because he puts it on things that will be ruined. Tries to make other people care.” Cole continues, finally managing to get Fen to stop attacking him. He scratches the kitten behind his ears, and then sets him down on the ground. “He takes things that are already important and paints them, and hopes that will save them, but it doesn’t. Not always, and not the right way. It’s not the art people should be sad about.
“I don’t think I’ve heard that point of view before.” You say, mulling it over, “Seems kind of like a roundabout way to protest progress.”
“Progress means forward. Future. Can’t be stopped, it’s always happening. Does it have to mean destroying the past?”
Progress should also mean better, but I guess it doesn’t, necessarily. You’re right, it shouldn’t be that way. People lose their homes, neighborhoods, their jobs.
“There are buildings no one lives in, and people who need homes can’t live in them. There is food and clothes no one want, but we can’t give them to them.” Cole says, giving you a smile that you can’t help but return. “You understand.”
“I guess in that way it’s kind of sad.” You say, heading for the kitchen, “That he put his art up, put his soul into it, knowing it would probably be destroyed.”
“Yes.” Cole agrees, and then frowns slightly, “But it still matters, even though it’s gone.”
“I guess so. Maybe it matters more because it’s gone.” You say, and then blink and shake your head, “You got me thinking too much. I’m being a horrible host. Do you want something to drink? There’s wine, and some beers, and a couple of sodas…and water, of course.”
“I would like some water, thank you.” Cole says, rather happily.
You get him a glass of water, and then start digging through your fridge and freezer, figuring out what you’re going to make for the week. Cole seems more curious than interested in putting in his two cents, but when you figure out what you’re going to make, he proves to be really good with a knife.
The conversation tends to meander, and get oddly vague at times, but he’s actually quite comforting company. He’s also a really good listener. It’s been a busy few weeks, and it’s nice to have some time to relax and just chat with a friend while you get things done around the house and have dinner. He’s not the sort of guest that really needs much, and he’s, unsurprisingly, happy to help.
It’s a nice evening, but by eight or so, he has to get going. You say your goodbyes, and send him home with some leftovers.
Although, knowing him, he’ll find someone who needs them more than he does. You’re more than okay with that.
Once you clean up the kitchen and get your food all parceled up and packed away into the fridge (you’re set for the week for lunches! go you!), it’s about eight thirty. You work the morning shift tomorrow, should probably leave the house about nine. Which means you’ve got plenty of time.
Laundry! It’s Sunday, which everyone knows is adulting day. Don’t want to get stuck without underwear. And we should text Dorian.
You get your laundry going, texting Dorian as you work. He’s a bit slow responding, though what you know from his courseload, it’s probably because he’s studying. You can’t even imagine taking all that complex math, but he claims he enjoys it.
Well, better him than you.
He confirms, and at that point you let him be to do his work. Once you get all your laundry folded and put away, there’s just enough time to put on something to watch and hang out in bed with the cats. Having gotten everything done you needed to, you feel pretty good and are able to relax comfortably.
You do not, however, drink an entire bottle of wine and read salacious literature, though it is tempting. It depends on how salacious the literature is, really. Eventually you fall asleep at a pretty good hour, alarm set for another day of work ahead.