The Living Room

Danica’s key turned in the lock. Hensley closed her book and swung her legs off the sofa. They exchanged a small secret smile, but didn’t say a word. One of the infrangible rules of the flat was that no one said a word until they were comfortably ensconced on the sofa with a glass of wine. Danica headed towards her bedroom to divest herself of her work clothes in favor of a pair of pajamas and Hensley headed towards the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine and two glasses.

In the outside world, Danica and Hensley were laconic to the point that most people deemed them either painfully shy or impossibly stuck up. Neither were true. Danica and Hensley said very little because they were too busy watching the world unfold around them. They followed the minor dramas of strangers in the street. They listened attentively to the joys and pains of their co-workers. They soaked up every bit of life they could and filed it away to share in the safety of the living room.

Hensley opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses, starting to feel a tinge of giddiness. Danica reappeared in the living room and curled up in her corner of the large comfy (commodious) sofa, scooping up her glass of wine.

“How was your day?” Hensley asked taking a sip of wine.

Danica grinned at the familiar phrase with its own meaning in their shared argot. “Oh you know nothing too exciting, but I did see the most amazing thing on the Tube this morning.”

“Really?” Hensley leaned forward, all attention on Danica. “Tell me everything and then I have the most incredible story for you.”

Words for 9/26 – 10/2

9/26 Argot – n: an often more or less secret vocabulary and idiom peculiar to a particular group

9/27 Divest – v 1: to deprive or dispossess especially of property, authority, or rights 2: to strip especially of clothing, ornament, or equipment

9/28 Mouthfeel – n: the sensation created by food or drink in the mouth

9/29 Laconic – adj: using or involving the use of a minimum of words: concise to the point of seeming rude or mysterious

9/30 Commodious – adj: comfortably or conveniently spacious: roomy

10/1 Infrangible – adj 1: not capable of being broken or separated into parts 2: not to be infringed or violated

10/2 Kittel – n: a white cotton or linen robe worn by Orthodox Jews on holiday such as Rosh Hashana and also used as a burial shroud

Books and Cheese

The little bat (chiropteran) living in the dusty attic above Monsieur Petit’s Librairie could not say how she’d come to be in the attic. It was the only home she’d ever known. She understood there were others like her, she had seen pictures in Monsieur’s natural history books, but she had no desire to fly out into the night to find her long lost kin.

Cut off (deracinate) from her wild (autochthonous) nature, the little bat instead adopted the ways of Monsieur Petit. As a commendable (palmary) bouquiniste and a turophile, Monsieur had inspired in her a love of books and cheese. From her earliest memories, she’d survived on whatever bits of cheese and the written word she could spirit away. Thankfully, Monsieur was generous and unguarded with both and the little bat never wanted for either.

The old book seller had no idea that the little bat lived in his attic or that she shared his passions, but they lived in a quiet companionship that suited them both.

Words for 9/19 – 9/25

9/19 Palmary – adj: outstanding, best

9/20 Turophile – n: a connoisseur of cheese: a cheese fancier

9/21 Deracinate – v 1: uproot 2: to remove or separate from a native environment or culture 3: to remove the racial or ethnic characteristics or influences from

9/22 Chiropteran – n: any of an order of night-flying mammals with forelimbs modified to form wings: bat

9/23 Autochthonous – adj 1: indigenous, native 2: formed or originating in the place where found

9/24 Bouquiniste – n: a dealer in secondhand books

9/25 Parthian – adj: relating to, being, or having the effect of a shot fired while in real or feigned retreat

Hateful Company

I exist in a penniless (impecunious) state. I’ve worked and slaved, plotted and schemed, scrimped and saved, but wealth and security continue to elude me.

This lack has made me querulous and caustic (splenetic). I’ve failed to accumulate (collimate) friends and even my family, those who are required to love me, have withdrawn from my company. They are not to blame for their neglect; I am an utterly unpleasant individual.

As poor and hateful as I am, I had given up finding one to complement my horrendous disposition; yet here you sit. A life full of hardships has reduced (decot) you into a bitter, rancorous specimen who the world avoids. In a word, you are my equal. I’m uncertain whether I should adore you or abhor you, but I’m grateful to have found you. We may be loathsome, but at least we’re no longer alone.

Words for 9/12 – 9/18

9/12 Splenetic – adj: marked by bad temper, malevolence, or spite

9/13 Collimate – v: to make (something, such as light rays) parallel

9/14 Impecunious – adj: having very little or no money, usually habitually: penniless

9/15 Nomenclator – n 1: a book containing collections or lists of words 2: one who gives names to or invents names for things

9/16 Decot – v 1: to extract the flavor of by boiling 2: boil down, concentrate

9/17 Querulous – adj 1: habitually complaining 2: fretful, whining

9/18 Hereditament – n: heritable property

The Replica

I select the key from my heavy key-ring and unlock the door. The playroom is a mess, toys thrown passim, yet there is no sign of my charge. Pulling the door closed behind me, I make my way towards her favorite hiding spot.

As I suspected, a pale paisley sheet has been suspended between a pair of chairs and a bookshelf to create a slapdash tent. I lift a corner of the sheet and peer in. “Hello, C33. Would you like to come out to play?”

She shakes her head. “No thank you, Miss Teacher. I do not feel like playing today.”

Adjusting my skirts, I kneel in the opening of the tent. “And why is that, C33?”

“I’m lonely.”

My heart breaks for the little anomaly. Out of six batches of practically identical replicas, Subject C33 is the sole survivor.

I force a smile and pat her on the shoulder. “I know you are my dear, but you will have a bumper crop (foison) of new playmates very soon.”

I follow C33’s gaze at it sweeps over the lorn playroom. For months now, the little anomaly has been forced to witness mirror images of herself, healthy and hearty, wither and die in a matter of days. My employer continues to reassure the exoteric investors that this is a minor setback caused by a tainted sample, but everyone intimately connected with the project knows better. In truth, all the boffins working on the Replica Venture have studied and scrutinized every aspect of the the failing replicas and are still no closer to an answer. As the lead on Replica Instruction and Domestication, I continue to cadge for more and more resources, financial and human, to try to solve the conundrum.

My superiors applaud my diligence and unwavering loyalty to the project and while I desire to see the Replica Venture succeed, I also longed to give C33 a sustainable playfellow. She lacks a human understanding of death, but she still mourns their loss, misses their presence in the dorms and the playroom.

“Will they last longer than the others, Miss Teacher?” C33 asks in a pained whisper, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

Unable to ignore her sorrow, I violate my own dictum and gather my charge into my lap. She clings to me as I rock her and murmur over and over again, “I certainly hope so, my dear. I certainly hope so.”

Words for 9/5 – 9/11

9/5 Foison – n 1 archaic: rich harvest 2 chiefly Scottish: physical energy or strength 3 plural, obsolete: resources

9/6 Passim – adv: here and there

9/7 Cadge – v: beg, sponge

9/8 Boffin – n: a scientific expert; especially: one involved with technological research

9/9 Lorn – adj: desolate, forsaken

9/10 Exoteric – adj 1: suitable to be imparted in the public 2: belonging to the outer or less intimate circle 3: external

9/11 Probity – n: adherence to the highest principles and ideals: uprightness

Safe

Steve woke with a start, alert and wary. He searched the room for signs of intrusion, but it was all clear. Collapsing back on his pillow, he glanced at the clock – 3:47 a.m. He stared up at the ceiling and took a couple of deep breaths, but he couldn’t shake the worry that had settled in the pit of his stomach. After years on the battlefield, he’d learned not to ignore his gut. Steve pulled back the covers and climbed out of bed. Even if it was nothing, doing a quick check couldn’t hurt.

He stepped into the hallway, listening for any disruption in the usual nighttime sounds of the apartment. Everything appeared normal. He ducked into the dark unoccupied bathroom before making his way down the hallway towards Bucky’s room. Enclosed spaces still unnerved the ex-assassin, so he usually kept the door ajar, but tonight the door was flung open and the bed was empty. Steve’s heart raced. Between the nightmares, the lapses in memory, and the periodic triggers, Bucky out of bed was never a good sign.

Steve tip toed towards the living room and kitchen, praying that Bucky was still in the apartment. He slipped into the living room and let out the breath he’d been holding. Bucky sat at the table, his forehead resting against the heels of hands. Not wanting to startle him, Steve took a heavy step into the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Bucky jumped at the sound and sat up, poised to attack.

Seeing his panic, Steve held out a hand. “It’s alright. You’re safe, I promise.”

He stared up at Steve, calculating whether or not he was a threat. His look was hard, but his eyes weren’t the raw, furious eyes of the Winter Soldier. Steve longed to say something, anything, to reassure Bucky that he was safe, that he would never do anything to hurt him, but he had to let Bucky come to that conclusion for himself. He’d pushed too hard on other nights like this and it always ended in cuts, bruises, and broken furniture.

After two or three tense, silent minutes, Bucky slumped back into the chair, all the fight going out of him. He stared down at his hands, flesh and metal. “I can’t remember anything,” he admitted, in a rough whisper. He looked up at Steve again, dazed and distressed. “Who am I?”

Steve took a deep breath to calm the rising fury. Even now, when Hydra no longer had control over him, the damage they’d caused continue to strip (burgle) him of his mind and dissolve (abrogate) his memories. No matter how many Hydra bases he destroyed or how many of their goons he killed or imprisoned, they would still need to pay for what they’d done to Bucky.

Moving slowly so he didn’t spook him, Steve pulled out the chair next to Bucky and sat down. “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, but everyone calls you Bucky. You’ve had a hard life, which I can tell you all about if you want.” Tentatively, he reached out and put a gentle hand on Bucky’s knee. “But, all that matters right now is that you’re safe and I’m here to take care of you.”

Bucky nodded.“I have lots of questions,” he managed to give Steve a hint of a smile, “but let’s start with your name.”

It broke Steve’s heart, but he would willingly (lief) take on the Sisyphean task of reminding Bucky who he was if it meant keeping him at his side. “Steve Rogers, but you have an annoying habit of calling me Stevie.”

Note: Marvel owns the characters Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. They are the creation of  Joe Simon and Jack Kirby.