Freehold of Minuit

It was an odd thought. Jack was preparing to move into a new home. And, he had a current home to move out of. He had neither a few days ago, and hadn't since escaping Arcadia. Chantelle was responsible for that.

He entered the apartment, hoping she was there.

Chantelle was, indeed, back at her apartment, getting started on packing her things. She was still excited about the prospect of moving, and the dull activity was letting her think about what happened. Soft music was playing, gentle as the Spring Courtier's floral scent.

"I'm back." Jack called out. "Can I help you pack?"

"In de be'room, Mon Petite," she called back. "Don' you worry abou' packin' a ting, dere's no' much."

"More than I have." He found her after retrieving his tree branch. He smiled. "I'd like to help."

Smiling warmly, “dank you, T’Jack, you very kind.” The smile melted away as she spoke, dissolving into wintery sorrow and regret. It was true that there wasn’t a lot to pack: her dresses and underthings were all but committed to boxes. The linens in the spare room she’d given Jack would need boxing up. “Mais, come on into de kitchen, you ca’ ‘elp me wrap de plates an’ cups. If you don’ tink it be too much li’ den.” It occurred to Chantelle that wrapping the kitchenware in paper to protect them for their brief journey might remind him a little too strongly of his durance.

"I'd like that." he nodded. "Tools should be taken care of."

The task wouldn’t be overly arduous, the boxes wouldn’t be going far and only needed basic protection to keep things from scratching or chipping each other. Setting Jack up with the step stool, “mais, if you wrap an’ I pack, we shoul’ be done in no time.”

"No problem." he nodded and began wrapping. "I had pizza with Tiffani. It was pretty good."

Chantelle nodded solemnly, the sorrow wreathed around her once more, “dat’s goo’,” she offered tentatively.