A sunny start, OTA

[stepfordbot]

Routines are important. Establishing them, maintaining them- a lifetime spent with a house full of children that required minding and strict standards to follow as to their care filled Grace's days and gave her purpose. As the family waxed and waned, as the children grew and lives became infinitely more complicated the routine changed. But one thing remains the same no matter how old or young, no matter how full or empty the house has become. The most important meal of the day.



Nutrition dictates a certain variation now and then, but a single dish tends to surface over and over. Be it the dietary value or the aesthetic- or that it was one of the few ways she could, when they were young, offer the children a moment that was close to normal. Normal children aren't raised with an unloving and distant father, Normal families don't run drills with knives and violence instead of nursery rhymes and storybooks. Normal families and normal children had eggs sunny side up with smiling faces made with bacon.

Which is on the menu today alongside a stack of pancakes and a few prepared, wrapped and warmed sandwiches of egg, sausage, cheese, and english muffins for those that need to eat and run. Sliced fruit and glasses of fresh squeezed orange juice.

She's singing under her breath, something simple and lilting as the smell of bacon fat and frying eggs fills the air. No matter what happens, she's been able to feed and provide. As soon as the first set of eggs are finished she calls out- "Children! Eggs are ready."

Comments

[bestfuneralever]

Some things had been pretty shaken up around this house in the last handful of weeks. But some things stayed essentially exactly the same. Minus Dad. And Klaus can't say that he hates it. Added weirdness of seeing doubles of himself and a smattering of his siblings walking around aside, these have been arguably some of the best weeks of his life. He supposes that's a bit sad and pathetic, but he'd rather just take the wins where they're for the taking. Not to say there's no suffering left to be done because, hoo boy, is there ever. Sleep has never been his best friend, but since bunking with his other selves, it seems like it's even harder to come by. And it isn't for not trying-- they all try to sleep, but some nights it seems like they feed off of each other's distress. Those nights are spent playing cards, dominoes, or board games until they pass out. The tiniest version of him didn't sleep at all last night, and Klaus might have managed a handful of hours himself. One of the others had eventually wandered out of the room altogether. It was an unfortunately rather eventful night in the Klauses room. Which is probably why this Klaus feels half-dead on his feet as he drags himself downstairs, one of Allison's robes draped around himself, a sloppy bow tied around the front to keep it together. "Nngh." is the best greeting he could manage as he nodded at Mom on his way to pour a cup of coffee. He knew she'd understand-- she was awesome that way.

[stepfordbot]

A double helping of pancakes is on the way, in shapes like stars and flowers and rabbits- easy, harmless things that have no real connection to ghosts or the dead. Grace sets the plate in front of Klaus and smooths his hair back, lips brushing against his forehead. A subtle way of checking his temperature among other things- fatigue is easy enough to gauge, anything more? Difficult without knowing how well he'd rested. But it goes without asking that- he likely didn't sleep terribly well.

"Were they loud last night?" The unspoken, unnamed they, the ghosts she's never been able to see that torment her boys.

[bestfuneralever]

He sips at his coffee, and takes a seat at the table. He doesn't fuss or flinch when Mom oh-so-obviously in that so-very-Mom kind of way checks him for a temperature. Honestly, it's kind of nice. She was always good at the little things that showed she cared.

"No... I kept having this one, recurring nightmare all night." he explains, popping a grape from the pile of fruit he'd put on a plate into his mouth.

[stepfordbot]

"Do you want to talk about it?" Before- when she'd ask it was like many thins meant to serve a twofold purpose. For Reginald to monitor the boy's sanity. For herself? To see if she couldn't help him work through the nightmares. Help him adjust and sleep better, live better.

[bestfuneralever]

He hesitates at that question, so familiar, but with this new sort of twist to it that is more genuine than she was allowed to be. Before. "It-- just..." A wave of his hand with a fork clutched between his fingers. "memories of the mausoleum, it's all." He pops a bite of pancake in his mouth to give him an excuse to not need to continue beyond that one statement, stated like a brush-off, like it was nothing, like it was minor and never mattered. But it did, didn't it? It was part of a plethora of things Dad had done that had ruined him.

[stepfordbot]

"I told him not to do that to you." A rare, early moment of rebellion. It'd been phrased as a hypothetical in the planning stages and that had been enough for her to offer her opinion, such as it was. Carefully she combs her hand through Klaus' hair, lips pressed thin, a pinch to her eyebrows as she breathes through the memory. "I told him it was cruel." Reginald didn't listen. He never listened.

[bestfuneralever]

"You always tried to look out for us, Mom. It wasn't your fault." He says quietly, leaning into the fingers sliding through his hair. Klaus has always been arguably the most tactile of the bunch, wanting the contact of other people as often as possible.