would you like some dessert? ( hi gert please eat the potluck leftovers they were made with love 😌 )
gert wasn't used to hospitality — such a thing was an almost foreign concept in the city of iron and glass. be it a product of selfish desires, unwilling to share that which one possessed on account that it was their's and their's alone. or because some simply could not afford it; barely able to scrape by themselves, let alone help those less fortunate. trapped in the same sinking ship as everyone else, barely able to cling on in an attempt to keep themselves from drowning.
it was strange to be extended an invitation for a hot meal that wasn't hazardously thrown together in a market stall by another poor soul just trying to make a living. even more so considering the state she'd been in; bloodied knuckles, grime laden clothes, bruises already darkening equally dirty skin from rolling around on sodden, cobbled streets. yet still, when zeri insisted, gert couldn't refuse.
fingers drum, rhythmless, while eyes remain trained on the now - empty dish still placed before her. it hadn't been long — barely pushing the half hour mark — yet gert still felt as though she had well overstayed her welcome. appreciation rang clear in muttered 'please's and 'thankyou's, the offer to kick muddied boots off at the door, careful to touch as little as possible to avoid transferring her filth.
she had never been one to feel anxious, but when faced with an unfamiliar kindness gert couldn't stop the thudding of her heart. the almost skittish way her gaze flickers around the room, as though searching for a way out. the atmosphere, warm and harboring an air of welcoming safety, was far from what she was used to. something she hadn't felt since the last of her family died.
" hm? " zeri's voice tugs them from the edge they were teetering on, throat clearing in an attempt to hide her discomfort. not with anything that had transpired over the duration of her visit — in fact, she's unable to recall the last time she'd been so comfortable. that was the problem. years of fending for herself, dragging herself through the weary motions of day to day life, had the stillness unnerving her. tragedy always seemed to follow even the slightest ounce of good, she'd had to learn.
" oh, no. i'm all good, thank you. i should probably head out. " there's a nagging voice in her head. a part of her that wants to remain, if only for a little longer: reminding her of the sweet tooth she'd had ever since she was young. a desire to fall into mindless conversation, no worry weighing down aching shoulders. an empty apartment, dark and devoid of life, left her hesitating before there's a quiet screech, chair scraping across the floor as she stands. " can i help with the dishes? " it's the least she could do in gratitude for their hospitality, and to ease the guilt of taking with nothing to give in return.
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romaincrisis
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