Chapter Text
Lore had no internet.
Guess that was one way to encourage sleep.
But no. Rather than encourage sleep, it just ticked them off. They were of the 'night owl' profession, which meant sleep was not going to come just because it was dark out and they couldn't even search up some comforting porn.
Or search the growing period of a fucking parsnip.
It just reminded them that they needed to read up on farming techniques. Botany major or no, actually getting a plant to survive took more than knowing its genus. They weren't even sure if farming was a viable job for them, but a few extra veggies would be nice. They needed to find something to do with all this land if they weren't going to farm it.
There was a library in this town, thank goodness. They'd probably have some decent books on growing crops, given the surrounding area. Maybe give them some ideas for other work they could do.
Maybe they could build a cabin on the property and rent it out to rich yuppies looking for some rural tourism.
There was a TV show on the public broadcast channel that helped out with growing tips. But it was- let's say- not made for accelerated learners. It took an entire half hour program for the man to fully explain putting a damn seed in the ground.
Informative? Sure.
But if that was the only way Lore was to inject knowledge in their head, they'd off themself tonight, just to avoid the slow, crushing death that would surely come from such mind-numbing boredom.
The night freaked them out, honestly, but they would never admit that to another soul.
There was just something so black about the nights here. So still. So quiet.
Sure, the city had it's share of horrors, but at least they made noises.
They stood on their porch, breath making little clouds of condensation, staring into the abyss. Fucking daring it to move.
And then it did.
A shape darted past their head, shrieking all the way.
Bats.
Once they had dived back inside, gaining several splinters in unspeakable places, and calmed down, they giggled, "Son of a bitch," perhaps from the shock, but it was funny.
They were such a city-kid. A tiny flying rodent scared them. Back in the city, they had nonchalantly scooted along rats with the toe of their boot, so they could step on the train. Rats were everywhere. It was normal.
But, in the city's defense, their rodents didn't fly.
After that fiasco, they tried to sleep. It was only one in the morning, but there was nothing more to do. They picked their way around the stacks of boxes their life had been packed into and crawled into the dilapidated bed. Not great, but they'd slept on worse. The smell was distracting, so they shoved their face into their own pillow, taking some comfort with at least one familiar thing.
The fire died down to glowing embers, and still, they could not sleep. The darkness out the window drew their eyes to it, watching it. Daring it to try moving on the cabin.
Or, rather, terrified of it moving in on the cabin.
The place was falling apart. A bat would have a shot at knocking the door in.
They waited for sleep.
Anxious.
Damn, I need to buy curtains.
Hour after hour.
Just go to sleep.
Trembling.
Was it a mistake to come here?
They waited until morning.
With the sunlight beginning to shine in through the window, and the robins started chirping their morning tunes, a weight lifted from their exhausted mind, and finally allowed them to sleep.
☆☆☆
It was noon by the time they woke up, sunlight streaming in through the one window that wasn't boarded up.
They stretched, the pain of a crap mattress and nightmare physical labor wrecking her back in a demented tag team. Still, better than the pain of sitting at a desk for years on end. They weren't going to be much use today. Overdid it with the cleaning yesterday.
They got the fire going again, not too much, but enough to heat up a little saucepan of oatmeal.
She meditated on their bland raisin oatmeal, eating straight from the pan, turning on the TV for noise but ignoring the horoscope reader. How'd this broad get such a large chunk of air-time, anyway?
Wonder how Jeff's doing... Will he remember to pay rent today without me? Will he remember to take out the trash tomorrow?
She snapped to the moment again as a loud commercial began advertising a nearby casino. They turned the TV off.
It's not my problem anymore.
The fire took wood, wood they had been stacking fiercely last night, but she'd already used up so much. They would have to either keep the fire low, or get some thicker pieces of wood. Logs. They'd have to clear away some of these trees soon enough, anyway.
I have to cancel my phone plan if it doesn't work out here. Where will I do laundry? Ah, shit, I have to call my GP and find the nearest pharmacy.
Their back yelled at them in protest, demanded a union, higher wages.
Not today. Today, they would water their meager vegetable garden (putting 'sprinklers' and 'hose' on that to-buy list), and hike to the library. Maybe clean out the cupboards a little more, unpack, ask around for internet providers. Then cloister herself away with a stack of books and read until the sun came up again.