it's one banana. how much could it cost?

.. vivienne lai astor .. age 61 ..

[vivienneastor]

What’s the best part of your day?

Morning. I enjoy standing on the front porch of the Ranch House surveying all that Catherine and I have accomplished, with a cup of tea.

[vivienneastor]

If you could do one thing differently on your life, what would it have been?

I suppose I would have acted differently in my marriage. Zack and I were shackled together and I took out most of my anger and bitterness on him because I felt cheated out of what I deserved. But he did not deserve to be abused as the fallout of that.

[vivienneastor]

[ sexy photoshoot time ]

[zackastor]

starter for: @vivienneastor

location: ranch

"Hey." Zack couldn't quite pinpoint what'd made this day different enough to bring him out to the ranch and go see Vivy. Not like he'd done anything other than what he normally he did. And it wasn't like Vivienne had only just moved out here. But still, it could've been seeing the green-roofed house near the supermarket entirely empty, windows dark whenever he made his way past it.

And now here he was. Standing in the doorway to the ranch house, running a hand through his hair to tug back loose strands, and taking a moment to regard her. She looked good. And from what he'd heard, she was doing well out on the ranch. Not that much had changed about either of them, once you got older, the years only really left marks after a bunch of them had passed. The fact that they hadn't talked in a long while made it feel longer.

"I was looking for you." Zack said, pushing his hands loosely into the pocket of his jeans, because the Givenchy shirt didn't have any. "My hair. Can you cut it?"

[vivienneastor]

Vivienne had been poking the pot she had over the main fire, because cooking over the fire made good sense to her and Catherine; it was going anyhow, so why not use it rather than firing up the electric stove? Their generator had plenty of other tasks on its line. They were nothing if not frugal with their ranch's resources, being entrusted with its caretaking.

Hand pressed to her hip, Vivienne straightened, leaving the wooden spoon in the pot (Orion whittled a steady supply of kitchen utensils so she had no worry about it being ruined). "Zack," she said, looking him up and down. She'd never admit it aloud, but he looked ... relaxed. Sleek, handsome, with less of the constant guarded suspicion that had hardened his features.

He looked content.

Which was why Zack's request for a haircut didn't garner any mockery from Vivienne. She reached for one of the straightbacked chairs sat in front of the fire, and turned it to face Zack at the doorway. "Come. Sit. Tell me how short you'd like it." She was about to move to fetch scissors and a sheet, but paused, with a slight smile. "Or ... how short Fleet would like it?"

[catherine-bisset]

Cat never voiced disagreement with such statements. Not from Isaac, or therapists or holy men roaming the prison in benevolent predation. Certainly not to this stranger, however commanding. Small musings aside, she spoke in certainties, as Cat did, and how that came to pass interested her.

Hands released, Cat watched the older woman's return to her laundry. "Yes." What would be the appropriate course of action - the normal carrying on of conversation? Haltingly, Cat returned to the source of their conversation; editing the quote to suit their subject. "Sometimes, being a monster is all we have to hold onto."

Slowly, Cat extended a hand toward the laundry. "I can help. Protect your hands."

[vivienneastor]

"Is that what a monster would do?" Vivienne didn't look over at the younger woman, not right away; it was a question she posed to the room at large, the town at large, the world at large. What were monstrous actions anymore, in this new reality where horror walked outside their fence? She turned her gaze to Cat. "Would a monster help protect my hands, which have caused harm and brought comfort? Would a monster care which of those things they bring now."

Vivienne stepped back, leaving room for Cat to move in closer. "Very well," she said. "Help. Protect."

[vivienneastor]

Does your house feel empty? Do you think you might want to have someone move into your house?

I would accept Ares or Catherine.

[vivienneastor]

Would you call yourself divorced?

Zack is not Fleet's husband; he is my husband.

[vivienneastor]

Do you think you'll get used to living in Fleet's house?

It is not Fleet's house; it is my house.

[vivienneastor]

You're locking yourself into place and refuse to get better by clinging onto the past. You should start moving on. Everybody else has.

I'm not clinging to the past. I have a healthy respect for the past. The present and the future are coming for me regardless.

[vivienneastor]

Why do you have to “put your two cents in” when it is really only a “penny for your thoughts”? Where’s that extra penny going to?

Pretend this is England and the extra penny goes towards you entering a public toilet to place your thoughts in their proper receptacle.

[vivienneastor]

Does it feel good moving to Fleet's house?

Nothing feels very good, but it is some small comfort to think that I ousted him in at least one way.

Are you saying it would make me feel better if I did go spit on him at this kissing booth? I require very little encouragement in this area.

[vivienneastor]

What is your favorite scent ? ( created or existing)

The first time I sent Zack off on a tour with the Marines I shaved his hair for him. The way that he smelled right at the back of his skull is etched into my sense memory. I don't know why. Perhaps it was because he knew he might not come back. Perhaps he welcomed the possibility. It was the way that boys smell when they are on a very thin edge: like damp laundry and petrichor and wood ash.

The less complicated answer is jasmine.

[vivienneastor]

Do you plan on visiting the kissing booth, or do you have no interest in that at all?

I don't see why I should. I hardly know those two girls, what could they offer? And I don't think it's fitting behaviour to spit on the boy.

[vivienneastor]

Left in the laundromat in a basket is a beeswax candle, a jar of beeswax and orange hand cream, and a little tub of beeswax and vanilla lip balm. Taped to the basket is a note that says, I hope you enjoy your pot of gold.

Vivienne inspected the offering, turning the basket around and around and tutting at its condition under her exacting eye, inspecting each item inside it. Sniffing at each product, tapping the lip balm with her fingertip and then tapping her fingers together. Then she sighed, reminding herself, "They've made do with what's available. This is the new reality," and carried her basket of goods off home, deserting the task she'd gone to the laundry to do.

[redwoodmedia]

credit to player andy for this graphic!!

[vivienneastor]

. . . your animal personality

SWAN

The swan's noble reputation is its greatest asset and it takes care to cultivate this image by always appearing calm in public. Things are very different just below the surface; fueling the swan's elegant glide is a high-energy paddling of emotional volatility.

Appearance is important to the swan who enjoys the finer things in life and it spares no expense in pampering itself. It would be a mistake to simply dismiss it as a fragile beauty though; for it is a well-traveled, worldly bird who has seen the best and worst of the human condition. 

Swans covet their privacy and will take flight when provoked. They insist on maintaining some private space within their relationship, and interference in their personal affairs is the surest way to ruffle their feathers.

[catherine-bisset]

Uncertain if her company would even want to return the evaluation, Cat held still through the exam.

Her answer came simply, without shame or entreaty for pity. "Some people aren't built for sweet and kind."

The idea of the lady wearing gloves reminded Cat of princesses and elegant ladies; snapshots of finery and a world so far from hers it may as well have been a different planet. "Never?" Her eyes lifted, and found the eyes looking back striking. Even the arch of her brow seemed considered, planned. She decided she believed it. "People called me monster for how I survived. But I'll never apologize for it." It seemed an equal trade.

[vivienneastor]

Vivienne kept her gaze firm on Cat, not entirely surprised by the girl's rejection of such things as sweet and kind for herself, noting the condition as endemic. Not singular, however, which made it more interesting than the typical narcissistic nihilism that these end-of-days survivors seemed to enjoy. Each and every single one of them the only one who truly understood suffering and loneliness and hardship.

It was tiresome. At least this girl acknowledged it as a shared state of being. "It doesn't have to stay that way. It's not too late to figure it out," Vivienne said abruptly, voice snapping like a dry-baked biscuit. "Someone told me that, recently. Who has no reason to offer me succor. So perhaps he's right."

The girl's declaration of never apologizing got a slow nod from Vivienne, who unjoined their hands and returned to her laundry. Zack's laundry. "It's appallingly easy to be a monster," she said. "To be called one. After a while all you're concerned about is what variety of monster you are."