Erin dressed quickly. Lydia had come later than usual and then left later than usual and while it didn't ruin Erin's day, per-se, it certainly did change it's outlook. She zipped up the pencil skirt, and buttoned up her dress shirt, adjusting it all so that she looked polished. Feet slid into heels and she was ready to go.
Erin's peacoat was pulled on and buttoned. It wasn't really warm enough for the cold air of the weekend, but it looked better, and that was all she cared about. A small 1930s like hat was pulled over her styled hair and she had some pale blue cashmere mittens. Yes, Erin was dressed up. Gussied, if you will.
The front door is closed behind her, and she turns the key, locking up the house. Clicking of heels directs her down the path and away. Erin hurries through the streets of WestEnd. Sundays, even in this cold, are a time for gathering and neighborhood solidarity.
Erin had picked a house in what she liked to call "Little London." Many of her neighbors were also from Earth, the great majority England. It seemed there was a rift in the nexus there that caused the large and somewhat amiable population. Erin had gotten to know her neighbors quite well. She, unlike her husband, was cheerful and friendly, keeping herself involved in the community.
As children played, bundled up in snow suits and puffy coats, Erin watched, and giggled at their antics. They all knew and loved her(she was the one that would sometimes bring out overcooked baked goods--failed experiments and who always wanted to play tea party with the girls). Robby, from across the way, loved to toss foam balls at her to see if she'd catch them.
"Heads up!" He called as she turned the corner onto the main way. Erin giggled and put her hands up, grasping the ball between them.
"Going to have to try harder, Robby!" She tossed the ball back and continued on her way. Just as she got to the end of the neighborhood-- where Maggie's British Diner stood--Erin ran into Christina.
Christina was six years old and the only daughter of George, her driver and his friendly wife Rita. She was a surprise, a miracle, and the pride and joy of their family. Erin, her unofficial babysitter, loved the child more than any other. The girl had shoulder length banana curls of blond hair and icy blue eyes. Her skin was that lovely shade of British pale. She was wearing a pink snow suit, and her arms stuck out to either side as she ran/waddled towards Erin.
"Erin! Erin!" Little feet thumped through what was left of the snow before she slid on some ice and went tumbling to the ground. It was like she didn't even feel the fall(and with all that clothing on, she probably didn't) because Christina scrambled to her feet again and went back to her advance. Erin swooped in to grab her, holding her up in front of her.
"Well, what do we have here?" A bright smile up at the little girl, and then Erin brought her to her chest, an arm coming under her legs. "You're getting heavy little girl." Christina made a pouty face and wrapped her arms around Erin's neck.
"Am not." Erin laughed, and squeezed her a bit, continuing on her way.
"Wanna come pick out linens for a party with me?" Surprisingly, Christina jumped in Erin's arms. Things like choosing linens and planing parties excited the girl. They were foreign and interesting compared to her working class raising. Erin didn't mind sharing the skills of upper class life, even if they were things she had despised at Christina's age. In fact, she felt a little like a mother to the girl. Sitting her in front of pianos and explaining the importance of complimentary colors and the right embroidery.
The two made their way down the street, giggling and chatting nonsense as they went. It was a long walk to the Market, and Erin would put Christina down, and they would walk hand in hand over the bridge and into the shopping district. The giggles and horseplay stopped only to cross streets and when they stopped to pick up tea and cookies to ward off the cold morning.
Just outside the linen shop, Erin bent down to fix Christina's hair, brushing some dirt from her face. She stood, smoothing her skirt and took the girl's hand, leading her into the shop.
Erin's peacoat was pulled on and buttoned. It wasn't really warm enough for the cold air of the weekend, but it looked better, and that was all she cared about. A small 1930s like hat was pulled over her styled hair and she had some pale blue cashmere mittens. Yes, Erin was dressed up. Gussied, if you will.
The front door is closed behind her, and she turns the key, locking up the house. Clicking of heels directs her down the path and away. Erin hurries through the streets of WestEnd. Sundays, even in this cold, are a time for gathering and neighborhood solidarity.
Erin had picked a house in what she liked to call "Little London." Many of her neighbors were also from Earth, the great majority England. It seemed there was a rift in the nexus there that caused the large and somewhat amiable population. Erin had gotten to know her neighbors quite well. She, unlike her husband, was cheerful and friendly, keeping herself involved in the community.
As children played, bundled up in snow suits and puffy coats, Erin watched, and giggled at their antics. They all knew and loved her(she was the one that would sometimes bring out overcooked baked goods--failed experiments and who always wanted to play tea party with the girls). Robby, from across the way, loved to toss foam balls at her to see if she'd catch them.
"Heads up!" He called as she turned the corner onto the main way. Erin giggled and put her hands up, grasping the ball between them.
"Going to have to try harder, Robby!" She tossed the ball back and continued on her way. Just as she got to the end of the neighborhood-- where Maggie's British Diner stood--Erin ran into Christina.
Christina was six years old and the only daughter of George, her driver and his friendly wife Rita. She was a surprise, a miracle, and the pride and joy of their family. Erin, her unofficial babysitter, loved the child more than any other. The girl had shoulder length banana curls of blond hair and icy blue eyes. Her skin was that lovely shade of British pale. She was wearing a pink snow suit, and her arms stuck out to either side as she ran/waddled towards Erin.
"Erin! Erin!" Little feet thumped through what was left of the snow before she slid on some ice and went tumbling to the ground. It was like she didn't even feel the fall(and with all that clothing on, she probably didn't) because Christina scrambled to her feet again and went back to her advance. Erin swooped in to grab her, holding her up in front of her.
"Well, what do we have here?" A bright smile up at the little girl, and then Erin brought her to her chest, an arm coming under her legs. "You're getting heavy little girl." Christina made a pouty face and wrapped her arms around Erin's neck.
"Am not." Erin laughed, and squeezed her a bit, continuing on her way.
"Wanna come pick out linens for a party with me?" Surprisingly, Christina jumped in Erin's arms. Things like choosing linens and planing parties excited the girl. They were foreign and interesting compared to her working class raising. Erin didn't mind sharing the skills of upper class life, even if they were things she had despised at Christina's age. In fact, she felt a little like a mother to the girl. Sitting her in front of pianos and explaining the importance of complimentary colors and the right embroidery.
The two made their way down the street, giggling and chatting nonsense as they went. It was a long walk to the Market, and Erin would put Christina down, and they would walk hand in hand over the bridge and into the shopping district. The giggles and horseplay stopped only to cross streets and when they stopped to pick up tea and cookies to ward off the cold morning.
Just outside the linen shop, Erin bent down to fix Christina's hair, brushing some dirt from her face. She stood, smoothing her skirt and took the girl's hand, leading her into the shop.