Mirroring the Endless Night | Elliott x Female Farmer |

1. Early Spring

The basket, still empty, swung back and forth as she stepped out onto the shoreline with a happy sway in her step. Absentmindedly, the hummed tune of an old favorite song slipped past her lips, and Maria assumed there was no one around to listen in on the way she stumbled over certain lyrics or wavered in pitch occasionally.

The sight of the shimmering blue sea brought a wide smile to her face. The view reminded her of home- her childhood home before having to move to Zuzu City as a teenager. Before she knew it, her senses were overtaken by what could only be described as marine.

The scent of salt in the air was practically tangible, and as she walked closer towards the shore she could feel the mist of the waves dancing over her skin.

Before she knew it she'd reached the sandbank, and waves pushed far up enough to just barely touch the soles of her sandals. Curiously, she gazed around, but was unable to see anyone on the shoreline nor the docks. She was able to spy a wooden cabin a little ways away, but the aged wood and overgrown foliage led her to believe it was abandoned, similar to how her own home had been before she reclaimed her grandfather's land.

Not to say her small house wasn't practically decrepit, because it was, but she had some major plans in the works to rebuild and redecorate the property to make it her own.

Since this so-called Willy wasn't anywhere to be seen, she set her basket down on the warm sand and reached up, grabbing her curly hair and tying it back into a lopsided knot which sat on her shoulders. Brushing a few fly-away strands away from her face, she takes a step forward into the oncoming wave, cool ocean water washing over her feet and sending a shiver down her spine.

"Oh that's wonderful," she whispered to herself, her body easing into the cooling water with ease. After days of tinkering with rusted pipes and taking showers that lasted barely longer than five minutes with freezing water, this was her own personal heaven. She had half the mind to strip off her blouse and just dive into the water, but would hold back from doing so since she knew she'd have company any minute now.

For just a moment she was lost in her own peaceful world, staring off into the horizon as distant, wispy clouds high up in the sky formed over the sea.

"Enjoying the water, lass?"

The surprised shriek that spilled out of Maria's mouth could likely be heard for miles as the woman practically jumped out of her skin.

There was a chortle as she quickly spun on her heels, looking towards the wooden docks to see a much older man standing there with two fishing rods in hand and a bucket of bait at his feet. A ragged hat shadowed most of his face, but she was able to see his bushy, unkempt beard easily, as well as what appeared to be blue eyes glittering with amusement.

"Didn't mean to startle ye!" he apologized through his wheezing laughter, "Just like your grandpap, ye are. Easy to scare."

As Maria's pounding heartbeat slowed, she quirked an eyebrow at the mention of her grandfather. "You knew my abuelo?"

"Sure did, lass. Santi and I go way back, I was the one who taught him how to fish when he and Angel moved in about... fifty years ago," the man nodded.

The mention of her grandparents, Santiago and Angelina, brought a smile to Maria's face. "So you must be Willy then?" she asked with a grin.

"Yes ma'am, and I must say that you're quite the sight for sore eyes. Last time I saw ye, ye were barely bigger than an ankle biter, running around and causing chaos on the farmland," Willy replies, chuckling softly.

"How sweet," she smiled, "Now um, I don't mean to sound pushy or impatient, but was there a specific reason you invited me to the beach? Aside from just nostalgic purposes."

"Ah yes, since ye'd be taking over the farm I thought ye might like to learn how to fish just like your grandpap," Willy answers, lifting one of the fishing rods and offering it towards her with a barely visible grin peeking through beneath his mustache.

Maria couldn't help the excited smile that stretched across her face as she quickly nodded her head, grabbing her wicker basket and walking towards the dock for her lesson.

...

The idle chatter and music of the saloon faded into the background as Elliott absentmindedly tapped his pen on his notebook, thoughts and ideas swimming in the forefront of his mind.

"Y'know I don't think drinking while brainstorming is going to help your cause," a voice beside him mumbled, and the auburn haired man furrowed his brow and tilted his head to look over at his friend.

"Leah, as much as I appreciate the concern for my creative abilities I can assure you that half a glass of wine is not enough to inebriate me," Elliott replies, causing her to roll her eyes and smile.

He turned his gaze back to his notebook, only for a pale hand to grab it and tug it away from him. "Why'd you even bring your work with you today? I thought Fridays and Sundays were just for taking it easy in the saloon," Leah questioned, narrowing her eyes at the writer.

Elliott sighed, leaning back in his chair and grabbing his glass before lifting it to his lips and taking a small slip. "... I received yet another letter of rejection today," he admitted, frowning at the dejected look which immediately settled on the sculptor's face.

"Oh Elliott, I'm so sorry... I wish I could stay to cheer you up, but the deadline for my current commission is tomorrow and there's some finishing details I wanted to carve into it," Leah sighed sadly, pushing her chair away.

"No worries, I would hate for you to be burdened with my own problems, my friend," he quickly reassured her, setting the wine glass down, "go and work on your project, I will be just fine."

Leah pursed her lips as she stood, crossing her arms and giving Elliott a curious look. "Well alright. But Sunday we're coming back, and there will be no notebooks or papers- nothing. You're going to relax on Sunday, and I'll be footing the bill."

Before he had a chance to disagree or argue Leah was quickly walking out of the saloon, shouting a goodbye over her shoulder and leaving the writer disgruntled.

With a silent huff slipping past his lips, Elliott pulled his notepad closer to him and clicked the end of his pen, scratching it's tip on the edge of the paper to get the ink flowing. Aside from those few scribbles though, the paper was completely empty. He'd brought it along in the hopes that the liveliness of the saloon could offer inspiration, yet all his brainstorming had been nothing more than a few dull ideas bouncing around in his mind.

He let himself get lost in his thoughts, never noticing the door of the saloon opening to let a new patron inside, nor noticing the sudden clamor and cheering as a new face entered the building and the bustle of conversation increasing.

"Hi there! I don't think we've met yet."

...

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