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 A Letter to Mockingbird

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Join date : 2014-07-19

A Letter to Mockingbird Empty
PostSubject: A Letter to Mockingbird   A Letter to Mockingbird I_icon_minitimeFri Mar 20, 2015 12:04 am

It was late. Really he should be sleeping but Kingfisher couldn’t even close his eyes. Ever time he tried to get comfortable there was just something there, something niggling him that made him have to shift around to try again, to try and find the right spot that would allow him to finally drift off. It never came, there was always that little thing that drove off the calm embrace of darkness and dreams.

He sat up with a low growl of frustration and threw off the covers from his silk clad body and stormed out of his bedroom of blissfully bare feet. Slipped into the kitchen of the modest apartment he shared with his lover and picked up the coffee pot and a single cup, placing them carefully on the counter before snatching up the grinder and a bag of beans.

You would think that working in a coffee house would have made him sick to the smell and the taste of the stuff, but no. Lysander like his coffee and it's bitter taste far more than the mellow delicacies of tea, and it didn't hurt that you could add a fair glug of gin to coffee without ruining the flavour. He had noticed Lysander slipping back onto the booze but he hadn't said anything about it. Just kept an eye on him.

Coffee made he set the cup and the pot on the table and poured himself a serving. As he waited for it to cool he looked at the third bedroom in the apartment. There was a little paper still sticking out between the door frame and the door was a little indicator as to weather the door had been opened, Seeing as the paper was still there innocently sticking out a little, he saw that Mockingbird was -still- vacant from the had been months now.

Soon though there would probably be no home. This would be someone else's home, another persons pride and joy or even just empty, waiting for Masters that might never come back to it and Mockingbird would have no idea where on earth she could find them.  Then again surly that was just stupidity talking. She had vanished months ago and if she had not come back yet then there was a very high almost certainty that she was never coming back.

The niggle started up again and he sighed, that itch he could never seem to alleviate and now he know what had been bugging him so much for so long now. There was a door that needed to be closed...figuratively speaking of course. His feelings toward Mockingbird seemingly leaving them had been left mentally and emotionally on hold while they lived here and just worked as barista's at the coffee house but now things where moving on and...there was apart of him that was refusing to. The part of him that was waiting for his friend to come home.

Standing he walked to the library and grabbed a pen and paper, along with an envelope and returned to the table, talking a sip of coffee, swift to kick in he started to write.

Dear M,

It is hard to say where I will actually be when, if, you ever read this. I might be down the hall in my bedroom, I could be at the coffee house making espresso’s with H, or I might be somewhere else entirely. H has a plan to save Swan from the auction that will be going down to sell the birds off in a night club, I can't say it's the best plan I have ever heard , and just in case this letter should fall into the wrong hands I won't divulge it here.

I want to say that I understand where you have gone, that I know why you left without a word or a warning of any kind but I cannot...because I don't know. However you are your own woman and I respect that you never really had a reason to stay with me and H for as long as you did. I would like to believe that whatever your reason for leaving, it is a good one. Though I have a feeling that it might be my choice of company.

I miss you. More than I thought I would if I am being completely honest, something I am not always even with H. It is going to be hard without you around to talk to when he is in one of his moods, or he has had a bad day or he's just being his normal self, even though I have gotten used to that now and I know how to handle it. I love him. It's not an infatuation or anything else used to describe these feelings...I really do love him.

Anyway I am getting off topic. This letter is one thing and one thing only. A goodbye. Goodbye my friend, I don't really know if that's how you thought of me but it is how I thought of you. Thank you for those times in the Chapel where you helped me threw the lonesomeness and the loss of my faith, I truly am thankful to you for that. But this doesn't stop this from being the last time we will probably ever make contact.

I don't know if you will ever find this letter...I don’t know if it will even be here after we leave...but even if it never reaches you I had to write this. I had to let go and say goodbye...I really am...sick of loosing people M. Be safe, travel carefully and most of all...try to connect, being alone all the time is hard, I know because I tried it.


With a last flourish of his elegant handwriting, Kingfisher took a deep breath and looked over the letter. There where no mistakes that he could spot. The code about the names was hardly uncrackable but it was something at least. He neatly, almost to the point of Heron's neatness, folded the letter and slid it inside the envelope. Sealed it and turned it over adding simply “Odette” to the front.

Standing once again he walked over to the front door, there was a wooden cabinet there with a glass bowl currently contain two of the three sets of portal keys and a few ornaments that he himself had insisted they bought “because the place looks so bare”. He placed the letter between two of them, standing it up so that anyone placing their keys into the bow would see it and then turned and went back to bed. The pot and the cup could stay there until he got up for work. Finally he was feeling tired, sleep was begging him to lay in it's arms and be claimed.

The last door had been closed.
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