Clap! reverberated the sound of a hardcover copy of Old Roses and English Roses which Shimmer tried reading for all of ten minutes to no avail. Alas, each finished sentence saw her pausing and her attention wandering to thoughts of Sunset and the Canterlot company. Despite a few sent messages, the only replies she'd gotten in the passed day were from Applejack or Pinkie Pie, and they were mostly offhanded -- saying there was a project they were very busy with.
Friday morning was cold and cloudy; no sunlight would succeed in warming Earth -- according to a quick consultation of any weather application interconnected to the internet. Of course, things would only have been worse in Canterlot. Shimmer wondered how anyone could dare muster enough courage to brave temperatures of negative ten centigrade. Aerick's land was covered in a light frost and Shimmer (alone) stared into a resplendent, hand-laid-clay fireplace centered in a vast, rich library -- considering that she found their exterior environment (-6 C) abysmal.
A bright flame spewing three decimeters into a brick flue captivated her eyes while she pondered sometimes many things and sometimes nothing. Tending it for no other reason than that it was something to do, she watched dense cinders glow and explode as she poked at them with a thin fire iron.
Fire was an interesting phenomenon she'd only come to appreciate in recent months; if one gave it a few rough stabs, it would hiss at first, but it would also break down much slower and burn with less vigor if one didn't. Of course, one also needs let fires breathe -- leave them alone after construction with pathways for oxygen to travel. Otherwise, the fuel would collapse and smother the very thing attempted for attainment.
Hmm, balance between helping it along and giving it space. I should apply that to more in life. Speaking of ...
Shimmer took two large steps away from the fireplace after leaning the fire iron against it and fell into a long, green sofa which offered anyone resting a resplendent view of any fire or the many books surrounding. 8:11 was the time her phone portrayed. They're not in class yet; maybe I should try asking again?
With a scroll through her conversations, she noticed that she sent each of the Canterlot girls -- only two had replied -- a message save one. Sunset ... It'd be ironic if you were the one to explain this radio silence.
She saw no reason to lie to herself. She scares me. How would she react if I poked too much? A memory of the (so she hoped) last time she accidentally touched a stove top flashed through her mind; it burned and left a stinging mark for days. Of course, speaking to someone via text made things easier regarding not messing up, but Shimmer still worried that she would say something wrong and tick her counterpart off -- a thing she was ardent to avoid. Just one simple, kind-hearted text showing that you're concerned.
'Hey, did something happen? A couple of the girls seem to have just sort of ... disappeared. Are they okay?'
Despite her heart, which beat faster for some stupid reason almost every time she tried having even the simplest conversations (didn't help that she was talking to Sunset), she sent the message, tossed her phone on the couch, and stood to begin pacing around the large, hexagon-shaped library.
There, by one of the walls, she stopped before one of three wide, bay windows and stared unto a frosted landscape. Outside one could see withered apple, plum, and ... some trees Shimmer didn't remember the names of. Trying to occupy her mind, she pondered a couple of them -- certain that she was identifying the flora incorrectly; Pear? No ... Oh, cherry -- I think that one's a cherr- Wait a minute! Glancing up -- from just the right angle -- at the cloud-ridden sky revealed small, white particles lilting down. First snowfall of the season? Talk about a cold wave; I don't even think our low last night was below zero.
A low buzzing noise interrupted her observation of the outside world and she jumped, for some silly, nervous reason, barely off the ground. Guess Sunset's bored? I could imagine. Upon taking a deep breath, she stalked back to the couch to retrieve her device whilst trying to steady somewhat shaky hands. Just give me a clear, simple answer, Sunset. Nothing vague, don't write me off ... just explain what you know.
She got her wish.
'Hi, I think it will all turn out okay, but Rainbow and them are pretty much bed ridden so we probably have to postpone our next get together since they need rest. We can talk later. I have to turn off my phone to conserve power, I forgot to charge it.'
Reading the message over more than once, Shimmer found something off about it. Huh, it's almost like Octavia wrote this. I don't think Sunset's ever been so ... clear. I mean, she takes lingual shortcuts from time to time. Maybe she just likes to make things really clear when she texts? Shrugging, Shimmer ignored the scrutiny and typed out a quick acknowledgement.
'Ah, well, stay warm and healthy, yourself, and give them my best!'
'Thanks. I will.'
With that, the conversation was no more, and Shimmer stewed, I wonder if she's just making that last part up to avoid talking with me. I wouldn't be surprised. Before leaving the library via a grand, oak opening, she set up a tight-metal mesh designed to catch any wayward sparks from the fire so ... so the house wouldn't burn down. Three minutes later, she returned with a soot-blackened kettle and a label-less, white packet no larger than her palm. Soft, underlying crackling reached her ears after she removed the mesh and placed the kettle directly atop the coals; it was a crisp sound she found she rather liked.
There were other stoves and cooking surfaces in the home, but why use one of them when a labor-imparted, fuel-consuming inferno was a perfect fit for the simple task of boiling water? No reason, Shimmer decided whilst she retrieved her book about roses, returned to the sofa, and found herself able to focus on reading after the assurance Sunset gave.
Hiss! came the kettle's inevitable sound while she glossed over a particularly dull passage discussing the history of Asian-bred roses being imported to the west, and she tossed a crude (folded) notebook page into the book, threw it onto the sofa while standing, and removed her boiled water from its heat source.
Next, she wandered out of the library once more -- packet in hand -- into their dining room where little more than decorations and a dining table resided; the room was a mirror of the library, but there were fine-threaded, Victorian tapestries upon the walls rather than bookshelves. Left (for one exiting the library) was the descending staircase which led to the house's exit and Shimmer made a choice when she saw it. Hot chocolate outside? While it's terrible out there? What better way is there to have a hot drink?
At least that's what she thought, and she was right; once she'd torn open the packet, dumped its contents into a mug, and poured the kettle's hot water over it with a quick replacement of the fireplace's mesh, she tossed on her jacket to discover ... outside was awful -- at first, anyway.
During the initial two minutes, she flitted between going in and sticking to her choice, but she soon found herself adjusting to the drastic temperature change and enjoying the sensation of a hot cup between bare fingers -- warming her inside and out. Alas, it didn't last for very long; every sip of the hot, chocolatey deliciousness meant the drink was being drained, and -- when it was empty -- a bitter wind replaced its warmth.
Of course, watching snow fall and withered -- save evergreens -- trees swaying in that wind was relaxing, yet Shimmer didn't have anything to do outside and hence wasn't about to stand there and freeze.
Little solace, though, was found inside, for all that was to be accomplished there was returning the kettle, her mug, and book to their designated locations. Passing the library and a pair of stairs leading to the house's third story, Shimmer banked right -- down to the end of a vapid hall.
Its final door on the left was her's, and she stepped inside with a sigh.
This wasn't the first time she'd felt an ostentatious sensation of boredom; more or less her entire life was wrought with it, so she'd always been looking for new hobbies -- anything to catch that feeling of immersion and excitement in what one was doing. Despite her incessant seeking, she never found that feeling for long.
Not even nine ... she groaned to herself, rolled into her bed -- under red-and-purple covers -- and squeezed her eyes closed. Sleep came for all of half an hour before restlessness returned.
"Ugh," she exhaled and bolted up to note nothing of interest. Her room was plain and dull. Very reflective of how I feel ninety percent of the time ... One window, with its curtains drawn, sat between her bed and a bare, wood desk, there was a vanity (with a mirror way taller than she needed) beyond it in the corner, a closet door was situated to its left, and ... That was it. There was nothing else but a vent for hot air. Sure, she had boxes of many crafts she'd indulged over the years, but they were elsewhere -- collecting dust as if they didn't really matter to her (they didn't) -- and a question she hated thinking popped into her head.
What do I do? Standing, she scanned the walls and dropped her gaze to her desk. Hmm, she sat before the surface and began throwing open drawers to find binders, loose papers, and notebooks of all sizes. Taking a pencil in hand, she started doodling.
Hence, after finishing a convoluted series of squiggles and figure eights, she glanced to her walls.
Inspiration struck. Aha! Each wall was of bland, uncolored wood and, while the thought of painting them had daunted her for weeks, she smiled and decided, What else would I be doing with my time? Thenceforth she began a series of small tasks; abandoning her room to seek painting supplies which were oddly located in a closet on the bottom floor rather than Aerick's workshop, choosing colors, and sketching designs wherever she could find space ... It proved to be work but it was something.
Later, her room dripped different hues of pink, purple, orange, red, and yellow in an intense display of expression. Her floor was covered in scraps of paper which would stick to each other -- possibly spots on the floor or walls where she got sloppy -- and her furniture was all hauled closer to the chamber's center.
Every now and again she had taken breaks but, upon slumping onto her bed with a myriad of colors dotting her hands and points on her clothes, she ultimately looked around to see not a segment of the old, plain wood's natural hue. Fatigue of a strange strain -- like she was tired but still felt restless -- overtook while she admired her work and found herself pleased as punch.
Now it just has to dry and I can move everything back where it belongs! Shimmer smiled to herself before sprawling over her bed, stretching, and reaching for her phone. Having not checked it in some time, she expected surprise.
She got her expectation; it was just not how she wanted to be surprised.
11:42! You have to be kidding! No way that only took me, like, three hours ... Augh! Now what? Fortunately, her stomach answered her with a growl, and she held back from stomping in frustration as she made her way to their humble kitchen.
Well, 'humble' wasn't a good description. Sure, it had basic amenities; a few stoves, pots, pans, a large sink, and plenty of space to work. Hell, it had enough space and counter real estate for three or four chefs to work at a break-neck pace and never run into each other, but it still had a modest atmosphere about it. Aerick certainly liked it; though, one might imagine, anybody who practically built the whole thing would.
Running her finger over a polished countertop which snaked around the room in a near-horseshoe shape, Shimmer wondered, Did that guy cut this granite himself? I'll have to ask him sometime. God he's a workaholic.
Any sane person would've loved having such a cooking environment.
Shimmer guessed she, considering that, wasn't sane, for each time she entered the kitchen ... there was this over-bearing sense of grandeur -- beautiful, practical, and the embodiment of godliness entwined with cleanliness. However, even so, she always felt so lonely in it. Still wonder why.
Gurr, rumbled her stomach -- thus commanding she file away the curiosity -- and she prepared a simple lunch which mocked the kitchen's immaculate cutlery, appliances, and general, professional feel: eggs, beans, and a side of lacto-fermented greens. Salt and pepper were added, Shimmer ate slowly to make time pass, dishes were cleaned, and she wandered back into her room to sit again and stare at her still-wet walls.
Seconds became a minute, a minute became ten ... Shimmer realized, I am literally watching paint dry right now, and started pacing to consider that same, trying-to-be-omnipresent question: What do I do?
Ultimately she decided to move things from and paint her desk. Not that it was bland or ugly (lacquered, polyurethane-shining maple. If that was ugly to her, then she definitely had a screw loose upstairs), but the task of painting had been enjoyable and the squiggly designs felt fun under her wrist.
... When she finished, she moved everything from her vanity (including what she moved from her desk on to the vanity) onto her bed and started re-painting it ...
All this time to think about how I want things, next to no obligations ... tools and resources all around-
Suddenly, she interrupted her own thought with another one which finally let her put two and two together.
Now I get why Aerick's always thinking about or working on some project or another ... 20 years of this ... It's no wonder he built so much! He just spends his time thinking about things that interest him and then he does a little bit at a time! Those bits, no matter how small they seem, like every paint stroke, definitely add up. For as boring as things have been, guess I can't say I don't enjoy the freedom to explore ... myself?
"Hmpf!" she dropped her paintbrush on a red-and-orange spiral. Dammit! Now I'm thinking about Sunset again ...