Camille will sit with him peaceably in a pew, and that's when a vision overtakes them both.
It's a decent apartment. Humble, she's never been much for decor. The theme is little things she kind of liked, accumulated over the years, nothing too flashy. Any bright and bold additions must come from the pair seated at the table. Two empty bowls of cornflakes have been pushed to the side and the young girl is drawing long stripes of glittery indigo over the boy's nails. The boy, Mathis, waits patiently for the work to finish, but he leans over to eagerly watch the process one time too many.
"Fuck's sake, Matty, your stupid hair is gonna get stuck in it."
"A-ah! Sorry! Sorry, Amma."
"Hey," Camille says, striding confidently into the scene. Though modestly dressed as usual her clothes have shifted up a class, button up blouse instead of a loose fitting sweater, slacks in lieu of jeans. "Language. It's not even 8:30 yet."
"Look at our nails, 'Mille!" Amma finishes the final stroke and doesn't even screw the cap back on. She's dragging Mathis' wrist over for inspection and flashing her own nails, wiggling the coral sheen her way. "Who do you think did a better job, Mathis or me?"
Camille looks over perfunctorily. "Oh, they're both very pretty."
"But whose is better?" Amma insists. Mathis blushes and withdraws his hand. "Or at least say which colour you like best."
"I think they're both cute."
"That's such a cop-out answer."
"I think you're still better at painting them, Amma," admits Mathis, shyly examining the light playing off the purple. Camille smiles to herself and sets to prepping a sparse breakfast for herself, pushing buttons on the coffee maker. "I keep going over the cuticles, I'm sorry. You'll have to clean it up later."
"I don't know why you're doing each other's nails now," Camille notes idly. "Your Auntie Marian's gonna pick you up any minute now and you'll both smear them putting your backpacks on."
"My old nails were chipping! What do you want me to do?"
"Tough it out?"
"And she's not my Auntie."
"Big sister then."
There's a buzz. Amma cusses, leaping out of the table to grab her bags and snare Camille with a hug and a kiss. "Love you mostest!" she says, looking slyly to Mathis. Then she's first out the door.
The boy lags behind, moving carefully with splayed hands lest he muss the job. Camille takes pity on him and pulls his backpack on for him, unzipping it and dropping in a lunch.
"You know she waited to the last second on purpose."
"I know. But, I mean, Auntie Amma always does it really well, and I like when we're getting along."
Camille pulls around to the front, beaming. She tucks his hair behind his ear. "I know. Just don't let her boss you around too hard. She can pull the Aunt card all she wants, she's still four years younger than you."
"Feels like the opposite sometimes."
Camille chuckles, and kisses him on the cheek. "Tell her to piss off, sometimes. Okay? Now have a great day at school. Better run, Marian's got the car running."
"Right. Bye, Mom!"
"See ya."
And he's out the door on gangling legs, white hair whipping behind.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[She considers it.]
Why don't we take a seat for a second, then? Might be more peaceful to rest here than our usual church.
[Less MURDER HAPPENING IN HERE FOR ONE]
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[because he doesn't know about what's under the church yet!! but for now... yeah, it's better than goat hell church people KEEP MURDERING IN.]
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Camille will sit with him peaceably in a pew, and that's when a vision overtakes them both.
It's a decent apartment. Humble, she's never been much for decor. The theme is little things she kind of liked, accumulated over the years, nothing too flashy. Any bright and bold additions must come from the pair seated at the table. Two empty bowls of cornflakes have been pushed to the side and the young girl is drawing long stripes of glittery indigo over the boy's nails. The boy, Mathis, waits patiently for the work to finish, but he leans over to eagerly watch the process one time too many.
"Fuck's sake, Matty, your stupid hair is gonna get stuck in it."
"A-ah! Sorry! Sorry, Amma."
"Hey," Camille says, striding confidently into the scene. Though modestly dressed as usual her clothes have shifted up a class, button up blouse instead of a loose fitting sweater, slacks in lieu of jeans. "Language. It's not even 8:30 yet."
"Look at our nails, 'Mille!" Amma finishes the final stroke and doesn't even screw the cap back on. She's dragging Mathis' wrist over for inspection and flashing her own nails, wiggling the coral sheen her way. "Who do you think did a better job, Mathis or me?"
Camille looks over perfunctorily. "Oh, they're both very pretty."
"But whose is better?" Amma insists. Mathis blushes and withdraws his hand. "Or at least say which colour you like best."
"I think they're both cute."
"That's such a cop-out answer."
"I think you're still better at painting them, Amma," admits Mathis, shyly examining the light playing off the purple. Camille smiles to herself and sets to prepping a sparse breakfast for herself, pushing buttons on the coffee maker. "I keep going over the cuticles, I'm sorry. You'll have to clean it up later."
"I don't know why you're doing each other's nails now," Camille notes idly. "Your Auntie Marian's gonna pick you up any minute now and you'll both smear them putting your backpacks on."
"My old nails were chipping! What do you want me to do?"
"Tough it out?"
"And she's not my Auntie."
"Big sister then."
There's a buzz. Amma cusses, leaping out of the table to grab her bags and snare Camille with a hug and a kiss. "Love you mostest!" she says, looking slyly to Mathis. Then she's first out the door.
The boy lags behind, moving carefully with splayed hands lest he muss the job. Camille takes pity on him and pulls his backpack on for him, unzipping it and dropping in a lunch.
"You know she waited to the last second on purpose."
"I know. But, I mean, Auntie Amma always does it really well, and I like when we're getting along."
Camille pulls around to the front, beaming. She tucks his hair behind his ear. "I know. Just don't let her boss you around too hard. She can pull the Aunt card all she wants, she's still four years younger than you."
"Feels like the opposite sometimes."
Camille chuckles, and kisses him on the cheek. "Tell her to piss off, sometimes. Okay? Now have a great day at school. Better run, Marian's got the car running."
"Right. Bye, Mom!"
"See ya."
And he's out the door on gangling legs, white hair whipping behind.]