[D5, EE] Coming Home (Chantelle's Apartment)

[Jack Doyle]

"Whatever her past was like, must have been very traumatic for Tiffani to react the way she did." Jack said as he continued wrapping. "I think she understands now. She knows her story sounded odd and understands how it could make us wonder about the details. She just wants to feel certain that she's wanted here, that we care about her."

[Chantelle Rossette]

Frustrated, there was nothing Chantelle could say. There was no value in pointing out they’d all been through trauma. There was no value in pointing out they all wanted to be accepted. She could feel reality peeling at the edges all over again, the gnawing doubt that this life was not entirely real; after Tiffani’s departure earlier, the facade had almost cracked, and the egret grasped the cardboard box in front of her to keep her hands from shaking.

She felt no closer to an answer. No closer to understanding what had sent to young woman into such a violent rage. Perhaps there was no answer, and that sent a chill through her. She had seen Marcus’ anger, after the Apple King, that had not held a candle to vitriol of Tiffani’s haranguing, she had not feared him. A shudder went through her body and she forced herself to let go of the box on the bench, pushing it to one side to make room for the next.

[Jack Doyle]

"We all handle such situations differently, of course." he added. "We react to things in our own way, with our own reasoning, which can be unfathomable to others. Much like my compulsion to see the Apple King."

[Chantelle Rossette]

Chantelle nodded, her anxiety, her trepidation, her fear over their next encounter was nearly suffocating. “Of course,” she murmured in agreement.

[Jack Doyle]

Jack paused in his wrapping. He turned and hugged Chantelle. "I'll be at your side, no matter what happens."

[Chantelle Rossette]

Wrapping a wing around the wooden boy, “dank you, Mon Petite.” The cloying fear grew, however, “I’ll always be ‘ere fo’ you, T’Jack, wha’eva you nee’, wha’eva ‘appens,” even if dis en’s up dividin’ us, even if you go wit ‘er, Chantelle silently promised.

[Jack Doyle]

He didn't let her go for some time. When he did, he smiled up at her. "What colors would you like for your next pair of shoes?"

[Chantelle Rossette]

Chantelle smiled and ruffled his hair, "mais, I daresay dat black woul' be a goo' colour. Go wit so many tings." She thought for a moment, "I don' suppose you wan' my old shoes, den? I canno' wear dem, so maybe you ca' salvage someting of dem to ma' new tings?"

[Jack Doyle]

"That could work." he nodded. "Yeah, I should be able to salvage enough of the material to work with."

[Chantelle Rossette]

"I don' tink dey be suit to give to charity," she admitted, they were all excessively high or overly fancy, to go with the numerous cocktail dresses she owned. "Betta you use dem, den dey go in de bin."