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Sanguine was an average man. Well, that’s what he pretended anyways. Actually, scrap that, being average was boring. Sanguine was Sanguine, and ain’t nobody else gonna tell him otherwise. Not that skeleton, nor that girl, nobody. But right now, as he walked through the asscrack of nowhere, maybe he could be a little average, just for a bit. It wouldn’t hurt to let go for once, he supposed.
He had walked most of the way to the farm, finding even the simple sound of the worn down gravel drive a soothing melody. His fingers traced the weather-beaten fence as he strode confidently. Even though it had been so long since he had walked this path, he could certainly do it with his eyes closed. Which is technically what he was doing, as his vision had long since abandoned him within miles of the farm. Sanguine didn’t mind, however, as his heightened senses allowed him to smell the dew-covered grass surrounding him and gifted songs from birds across the field straight to him. If he had to pick one place on earth to stay forever, part of his heart wanted it to be right here. Sanguine enjoyed the temporary quiet. As of late, it had been filled with the almost non-stop bickering between him and his pop. Even killing had stopped being enjoyable, instead his inner monologue was now sounding suspiciously like his dad and it was constantly criticising what he was doing. He wanted things to go back to the way it was, but even now he couldn’t really remember what that was like. It made him melancholic.
He was distracted by the smell of something sweet. Something almost mouthwateringly sweet. Sanguine couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face when he smelt it and was immediately reminded of his childhood, of sitting at a table eagerly awaiting for his dear Ma to dish up- “A pie!” Sanguine could’ve cheered. He had an extra spring in his step and despite his sureness, he almost tripped and fell, making him pause to recuperate with a grumble and a mental reminder that he’d probably need that white cane if he was going to be going so long without his vision. After having it back for such a time, having it stripped so suddenly, even if he was prepared, was disorientating. And maybe his mental map of the farm was a little warped by childlike nostalgia, shoot him.
The door still creaked a slow, near melodic tune and the doormat under his feet still sagged in what he knew were near perfect replicas of the mud encrusted boots his Mother wore. The doorframe still had a chip roughly level with Sanguine’s hips from when he had ran headfirst into the doorframe pretending to be a bull as a young child (“When I get that fixed you’ll be paying the bill!” His mother had chided as she whacked him over the head with that trusty wooden spoon she usually used to cook something that would stink the whole kitchen out for days afterwards, but even decades later Sanguine still hadn’t paid his mother a dime and still the chip remained). Sanguine shook his head to clear his thoughts, grumbling at the sappy nostalgic feeling in his chest and deciding to place the ache down to hunger, rather than open anything too complicated at this particular moment.
The sound of soft humming reached his ears and his fingertips ghosted along the warped wood of the walls until it met the smooth (well, slightly bumpy, but who’s actually caring) wallpaper of the kitchen. He cleared his throat and was met with the grating sound of a dropped ladle into a pot. There must have been soup too, the pie was probably dessert, probably still cooling. After a moment of what he supposed was stunned silence, a soft voice met his ears, “William?”
It was moments like these where Sanguine wished that they were surrounded by the hum of magic. His mother’s hands were at his face, cupping his cheeks, running her fingers over the many small scars he had gained from getting a bit too cocky with his beloved razor whilst shaving, and Sanguine almost felt emotional over the fact that he couldn’t see the way his dear ma’s eyes welled with tears and the tender, loving gaze she adorned him with. Almost. This was what the imagination was for, he reckoned. If he could focus just enough, he could picture her. Though, who is he kidding, the image he has imprinted in his mind is that from many decades ago. It’s her with her gold curls though he knows it’s all grey now, perhaps with a nice frilly apron tied around her waist, stained with flour and jam or soup. He can’t remember the colour her eyes were, so he instead focuses on trying to imagine the outfit she’s in. Maybe some plaid getup, stereotypical ‘farmer wear’ with the jeans and all. “William, what made you visit? After all this time?”
“Work ain’t fun no more, ma. Y’know dad got involved again and he’s just made it boring .” Okay, maybe he sounded a bit like a child at that moment, but come on ! It was justified, he felt. “Oh honey,” His mother cooed and she patted his face before stepping away, the smell of her flowery perfume lingering, “come sit at the table, you’re lucky I made spares. I’ll go grab your cane from upstairs, won’t be a minute.” and then the sound of her footsteps faded up the creaky old wooden stairs. Sanguine was sure glad he didn’t have to retrieve it himself. He was sure if he tried, he’d probably end up in whatever came after life. Sanguine felt around blindly, she had changed the layout of the room which was…annoying, until he gripped a chair firmly and, after a few moments of fumbling, he sat proudly at the wooden table. You’d think he’d be used to blindness after all these years, but you’d be surprised at just how much magic flowed through the cities these days. There was nothing except the sound of his own humming and the hissing of gas on the stove. He didn’t know how long it was until the sound of footsteps and creaking floorboards filled the house again, but he was soon greeted with the familiar wooden walking stick being rapped against his knuckles. He hissed as he grabbed the stick from in front of him, hearing his mother’s near-contagious laughter fill his ears, and couldn’t help but laugh as well.
“Now that you have this, I won’t feel guilty asking you to do some chores for me after you’ve eaten.”
Sanguine opened his mouth to protest but a quick ‘tut’ sound from his ma made his jaw snap shut again, “No pie until then, mister!”
“Aw ma, you know I adore your pie!”
“That’s exactly why you can’t get pie until you help out around here, young man.”
The sounds of a bowl being placed in front of him before the smell of a culmination of meat, vegetables and broth met his nostrils. His mouth watered and he shrugged, acting nonchalant with a cheeky grin on his face, “If you insist , ma.” he stretched with faux annoyance before he cried out as a hand swiftly met the back of his head, “MA!” he cried out indignantly but made no further comment, choosing to sulk and eat his soup in quiet resignation. His mother, finally seeming pleased with the silence and sight of her son having a nice meal, finally broke the silence after a few minutes, “The list is a simple shopping list, just some groceries and treats for the animals. Speaking of animals, if you could give me a hand later on I’d consider giving you a second slice of pie later on.” Now it was her turn to take on the teasing tone, needling Sanguine with the prospect of delicious pie for his manual labour. Treacherous. Sanguine let out a low groan and huffed, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had actually gone down to visit the animals and he wondered if Bessy (their most prized pig) had had any piglets yet. He continued to eat in quiet contemplation as his Ma moved away to start cleaning the kitchen, he reckoned, as he could hear her soft humming above the ruckus of pots and pans. He didn’t know how badly he had missed this until this very moment and he couldn’t prevent the smile from tugging at his lips.
He was home.