that novel thing i always talk about

False Hope

I opened my eyes and tried to sit up but pain stirred down my spine and down my legs. I was lying on the old, dust-ridden couch that served as a bed for Demitry and I—top and tailing. His moth bitten blanket was thrown carelessly over my feet and my, equally moth bitten, one was rolled up under my head.

Groggily, I pulled my body into the kitchen to find sir still at the table, as though he hadn't moved a muscle from last night, still unshaven, his black hair unwashed and unbrushed, and his dark blue eyes still methodically flicking over the maps and papers strewn across the table.

Demitry was trying to make something edible. He's a terrible cook.

"You should not have gotten up, Lilac." Sir said, scratching his five o’clock shadow.

           I didn't reply.

           "Well, now you are here: there’s a meeting at The Head House this afternoon. I’m expected to be there and, naturally, you two are most likely desperate to reenact the events of last night out to Kycee? Although, I don’t doubt Kylon was up at dawn break telling her like a little girl who found out something she shouldn't have."

           Demitry snorted, "No doubt at all, sir."

           I smiled slightly while walking over to him and taking the bowl he was mixing a batter in.

           "Miss, are you trying to say I cannot cook?" Demitry acted hurt.

           "Mister, you know full well you cannot cook." I added milk to the eggs and flour he was methodically mixing.

           Demitry stuck his thumb into the bowl and then his mouth before saying, "Will we get to know why those papers are so essential, sir?"

           "Are you allowed into The Meetings, Demitry?" Sir barked.

           "No."

           "I would say you've found your answer."

           Demitry bit the inside of his cheek awkwardly, looking downwards, "Sorry, sir."

           I grabbed the matches from the work surface and struck one against the box. It lit, but it felt cold. Our fires were never truly able to burn.

           After lighting the stove, I placed our only pan over it and poured in the mixture. Demitry hovered over me like a begging puppy. I moved out of the way so he could flip the stupid thing, it being the only thing he could do when it came to cooking.

           I watched in awe as he finished the last pancake. I couldn't eat that much at breakfast.

           "Demitry, Lilac, although you two look delightful," sir said sarcastically, "I don't think turning up at The Head House with Red Coat hair would be very fitting."   

The orange water was now brown as Demitry passed me the damp towel he had used to dry his hair. The towel didn't really absorb much of the water around my hair so I gave up and rung my hair over the bucket.

Demitry was at the mirror, tying his navy bandanna around his head to keep his floppy black hair from falling into his eyes.

"It's good to be back to normal, isn't it?" He asked.

I nodded although some of the dye still clung to my almost white hair, making it look dirty. It would have to do.

Demitry was already dressed in his off-white shirt, fading jeans—that, in Kylon's opinion, were too tight for practicality—grey waistcoat and grey boots.