Living Or Otherwise - More Blueish Than That

PREV | NEXT | ALL

"Do not touch that."

Henri's hand freezes halfway towards a spray of silk roses. Isabeau's mother barely looks up from the bonnet in her lap.

"...I was not going to."

"You were."

"You do not know that."

Isabeau bites back a laugh from where she sits beside a tower of ribbon boxes, watching her mother thread a narrow strip of lilac silk through the brim with quick, practised fingers.

The boutique is warmer than she expected, crowded with feathers, bundles of lace, flowers fashioned from cloth, and lengths of colourful ribbons spilling from half-opened drawers. Two women mutter softly under their extravagant hats about the shade of some trimming near the front, while somewhere behind them a pair of shears snaps steadily through fabric.

Isabeau had never seen her mother at work before. She had seen her dress for it, of course -- seen pins disappear between her lips and ribbons vanish into little boxes beneath her arm -- but she had never seen what happened once she left the house.

"Hey. Look," Henri murmurs, and she turns her head to find him flashing a sharp smile, a blue flower picked from the spray tucked behind his ear, a stark contrast to his red hair. "Do I not look pretty?"

"You--" This time she cannot help herself, bursting into giggles. The two women at the front glance over briefly, before going back to their quietly heated discussion.

Her mother looks up, smiling softly despite her concentration. "Oui, oui, beautiful. Henri, go and fetch me that crate I have in the back. You know, ah... the one with the purple ribbon."

He groans, slumping over before standing up, cracking his back with a sigh. "I have to do all the work around here. Isabeau can sit there like a princess all she wants, but I must toil and toil and toil and..."

His grumbles fade as he disappears into the back room, leaving the two of them behind the counter. Isabeau kicks her legs under the chair a little, watching her mother's fingers expertly handle the bonnet.

Finally she ventures, her voice tentative. "Is it... supposed to look like that?"

"Mm?" She frowns lightly, lifting the bonnet up to the oil lamp. "How do you mean?"

"Well... I think you should add a frill here. And here," she points to the crown of the hat. "I think it would look nice."

Her mother stares, blinking. "Ma puce... you have a horrible sense of fashion."

Isabeau bristles, sitting up and huffing. "What? I got it from you."

"Ah, clearly something must have gone wrong along the way, then." At Isabeau's look, she laughs and ruffles the girl's hair. "Oh, do not look that way. I was joking, chouchou."

Something pushes lightly against Isabeau's shoulder and Henri reappears, dumping the crate onto the floor. "Here."

"Ah, merci," her mother beams, leaning down to rummage in the box. She pulls out a long strip of purple ribbon, matching it against the fabric of the bonnet, before rummaging for another colour.

Henri drops himself back into his chair and leans forward, before snatching up a slip of... more purple ribbon. "Why not this one?"

Her mother hums and takes it from him, furrowing her brow in contemplation. "...Hm. This is nice."

"What? That was the same colour," Isabeau interrupts, frowning.

"Non, non. This one works quite well, I think." The woman sits back, rethreading her needle as she prepares to stitch the ribbon in.

"It is the same thing," she insists, pouting. "This is silly."

"It is not," Henri says, placing the ribbons side-by-side on the box. "Look, this is more blueish than that. See?"

"No. I do not." Isabeau sulks, sitting back.

"Maybe you should get new glasses, then. All that reading you do," he sneers. Isabeau huffs, turning her head away.

"...Now, now. Do not be like that, chérie. Here." With a soft sigh, her mother relinquishes her hold on the bonnet and takes the apparently less-blue ribbon. She leans forward, starting to tie it into Isabeau's ponytail.

"...M-Maman," she complains, all too aware of Henri snickering beside her. Her cheeks burn in embarrassment, and she mumbles under her breath once she finally pulls away.

"There. Oh, adorable." Her hands cup Isabeau's cheeks, stroking gently. "My little princess."

"Oh, yes, princess. Take all the ribbons in the shop, at this point." Henri crosses one leg over the other, rubbing his ankle. "It was a lot of effort finding them back there, you know. I hurt my foot. Maman, why is it such a mess here? I--"

"Ah." The two ladies at the front are looking over again, one of them with her delicate hand waving to catch her attention, and Isabeau's mother quickly stands up. She pauses, the bonnet slipping from her fingers and onto the crate of ribbons, and a moment passes before she hastily turns and leaves the two of them behind the counter.

Henri watches after her, something strange in his dark eyes.

"What?" Isabeau stares at him, adjusting her glasses as she looks over to where her mother is helping the women. She is leading them to another part of the shop, gesturing animatedly as she speaks.

"Well... Nothing." He mutters, looking back down.

His fingers tap along his knee, before he stands suddenly and stretches his arms, moving the box out of the way. Isabeau lifts her feet off the floor as a length of lace sweeps under her shoes, before Henri folds it and stuffs it into a shelf.

"Are you tidying?" At his lack of reply, Isabeau huffs. "You do not put this kind of effort in at home."

"Of course I do. More than you, anyway." His nails scrape against a sheet of silk as he folds that away too, and he runs his fingertips along it before moving to the next disordered shelf.

Isabeau watches quietly, before a sense of obligation washes over her and she gets up to tidy the cluttered table. They organise the area in a comfortable silence.

"...It was just... more tidied last time I was here, is all," Henri eventually mutters, hands focused on untangling a pair of ribbon lengths.

Isabeau looks at him in mild surprise, a stray pin in her hand. "You have been here before?"

"What, have you not?" He glances at her with a smirk. "I suppose it means she likes me better than you, then."

"Oh, shush. Just because I have better things to do than compare ribbon colours all day."

"You really are annoyed about that."

"I could not care less."

"Isabeau does not know her colours. You know the sky? It is bleu. Did you--"

"Whatever! You can tell me about colours once you learn how to read a book. It is a wonder to me how your tutor let you out of--"

A small pincushion flies through the air and bounces off her head, and Henri snickers as Isabeau turns to glare at him. It takes a lot of strength for her to keep the pin safe in her hand and not lodged somewhere in his thin arm, but she just about manages.

Isabeau's mother chooses that moment to return, a satisfied smile on her lips as she reaches for her chatelaine belt. She glances at the shelf and counter, stopping in surprise. "...You tidied?"

Henri clears his throat, standing up straight. "I started first. Isabeau did barely anything."

"What? I was doing the table!" She scowls lightly. "Ignore him, Maman."

She simply laughs, ruffling Henri's bright red hair and leaning down to press a kiss to Isabeau's forehead. "How thoughtful of both of you. Thank you very much, mes chéris. Now come on, take your things."

"Are we going already?" Despite her eagerness to go home before, Isabeau feels a slight tinge of disappointment. It was rather exciting, seeing what her mother did for a living.

She hums, tying on the belt. "We must, chouchou. Your father will be waiting."

"Exactly, Isabeau. Are you not excited to tell him of how you cannot name a single colour?" Henri grins. "He will be so proud to know you are so full of-- Ow, Maman!"

"Be nice to your sister, cher," her mother reprimands, rubbing her hand where she lightly smacked his head. She fixes the lid onto the oil lamp, snuffing it out.

"Oh, whatever," he grouses, lifting the bag of unfinished garments they were to bring home for the night. "Sacrebleu, this is heavy. Are you bringing the whole shop home?"

"You complain too much. Be grateful you do not have to carry me too, what with how much my feet ache..." She takes a deep breath of the cold air as they file out of the shop, locking it behind them. "But no. That will be Isabeau's job."

"What?!" Her eyes are wide as she stares up at her mother, trying to look at her through the snow collecting on her glasses.

She laughs, a light, tinkling noise in the wintry night. "Joking, Isabeau. Come on, hold my hand. We cannot have you getting lost in this weather."

She relents, her fingers curling around her mother's as the three of them traipse down the icy street.

PREV | NEXT | ALL