Post by Christine MacTaggart on Dec 15, 2010 22:31:44 GMT -4
Christine smiled as she quietly entered the orphanage she had taken to visiting during the weekends when she wasn't training or catching up on classwork. She scooped one of the littles up and held them against her hip, allowing the swarm of children to come and lead her to her little corner. She settled down, shifting the small one that she had been holding on her hip to her lap. She gently stroked his hair as she smiled at the orphans. "So, what shall it be this time?" she asked quietly, smiling.
The one curled up on her lap glanced up at her with sleep heavy eyes and chirped quietly, "Story." The word soon echoed from the other children and she laughed quietly, her blue eyes twinkling.
"A story, huh?" she repeated. "Well, since it is nearing Christmas, how about a story about Santa?" she asked, laughing at the exuberant responses of yes. "All right. How about I tell about the time Santa made the first toy?"
"Please, Miss Chris'ine," Ken chirped. He pretty much kept the others in line - a clear indicator that he'd make a fine leader someday.
"All right," she said, settling down. She shifted Jinpei, the small one she had been cuddling since she entered, so he wasn't putting her lap to sleep and began quietly. "One evening Claus, for he was not yet called Santa, no that would come much later on in his life, picked up a stick of wood and began to cut it with his sharp knife. He had no thought, at first, except to occupy his time, since it was winter and it was far too cold to be outside playing with the young children he made friends with, and he whistled and sang to the cat as he carved away portions of the stick. Blinkie, the black cat given to him by Peter the Knook, one of the masters in charge of the wild animals, sat up on her haunches and watched him, listening at the same time to her master's merry whistle, which she loved to hear even more than her own purring songs.
Claus glanced at the cat and then at the stick he was whittling, until presently the wood began to have a shape, and the shape was like the head of a cat, with two ears sticking upward.
Claus stopped whistling to laugh, and then both he and the cat looked at the wooden image in some surprise. Then he carved out the eyes and the nose, and rounded the lower part of the head so that it rested upon a neck.
Blinkie hardly knew what to make of it now, and sat up stiffly, as if watching with some suspicion what would come next.
Claus knew. The head gave him an idea. He plied his knife carefully and with skill, forming slowly the body of the cat, which he made to sit upon its haunches as the real cat did, with her tail wound around her two front legs.
The work cost him much time, but the evening was long and he had nothing better to do. Finally he gave a loud and delighted laugh at the result of his labors and placed the wooden cat, now completed, upon the hearth opposite the real one.
Blinkie thereupon glared at her image, raised her hair in anger, and uttered a defiant mew. The wooden cat paid no attention, and Claus, much amused, laughed again.
Then Blinkie advanced toward the wooden image to eye it closely and smell of it intelligently: Eyes and nose told her the creature was wood, in spite of its natural appearance; so Blinkie resumed her seat and her purring, but as she neatly washed her face with her padded paw she cast more than one admiring glance at her clever master. Perhaps she felt the same satisfaction we feel when we look upon good photographs of ourselves.
The cat's master was himself pleased with his handiwork, without knowing exactly why. Indeed, he had great cause to congratulate himself that night, and all the children throughout the world should have joined him rejoicing. For Claus had made his first toy," she said, yawning towards the end. She shifted slightly, scooping Jinpei back up into her arms and laying him in his crib.
She stretched and shooed some of the other children into their beds, settling them down for an afternoon nap. She yawned again and made her way over to where her favorite sat, having ignored the others in favor of coloring in his coloring book.
"Hey, Joe," she said, leaning over to ruffle his dark brown hair. "And just what are you up to?" she asked, peering at the picture. "That looks nice, Joe. You're a real artist."
Joe flushed a little, unused to such praise. "Thanks," he said, a little gruffly and a little embarrassedly. He frowned a little. "You didn't sing."
"Can't sing all the time. Otherwise it won't be a treat," she said, ruffling his hair again.
"'pose," he muttered.
Christine laughed and tapped his nose. "Okay, one song and no complaints when I tell another story," she said.
Joe's eyes lit up and he settled down, pushing away his crayons and coloring book to give her his full attention. He gave a small soft sigh when she pulled him into her arms and snuggled close.
"Baby mine, don't you cry Baby mine, dry your eyes Rest your head close to my heart Never to part, baby of mine Little one when you play Don't you mind what you say Let those eyes sparkle and shine Never a tear, baby of mine If they knew sweet little you They'd end up loving you too All those same people who scold you What they'd give just for The right to hold you From your head to your toes You're not much, goodness knows But you're so precious to me Cute as can be, baby of mine," she sang softly, comforting the young child. She always found herself mothering this particular orphan - there was just something about him that felt familiar.
She scooped him up and carried him to his bed after he fell asleep. A soft yawn escaped her lips and she settled down into the plush chair in the corner. Her blue eyes drifted shut and she slept quietly, peacefully - a small change from when she was at Xavier's.
OOC: The story can be found here: www.gutenberg.org/catalog/world/readfile?fk_files=851918&pageno=20 and the song can be found here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=2oSdgIDyl6Q - the whole thing started because I'm in the Christmas-y mood XD
The one curled up on her lap glanced up at her with sleep heavy eyes and chirped quietly, "Story." The word soon echoed from the other children and she laughed quietly, her blue eyes twinkling.
"A story, huh?" she repeated. "Well, since it is nearing Christmas, how about a story about Santa?" she asked, laughing at the exuberant responses of yes. "All right. How about I tell about the time Santa made the first toy?"
"Please, Miss Chris'ine," Ken chirped. He pretty much kept the others in line - a clear indicator that he'd make a fine leader someday.
"All right," she said, settling down. She shifted Jinpei, the small one she had been cuddling since she entered, so he wasn't putting her lap to sleep and began quietly. "One evening Claus, for he was not yet called Santa, no that would come much later on in his life, picked up a stick of wood and began to cut it with his sharp knife. He had no thought, at first, except to occupy his time, since it was winter and it was far too cold to be outside playing with the young children he made friends with, and he whistled and sang to the cat as he carved away portions of the stick. Blinkie, the black cat given to him by Peter the Knook, one of the masters in charge of the wild animals, sat up on her haunches and watched him, listening at the same time to her master's merry whistle, which she loved to hear even more than her own purring songs.
Claus glanced at the cat and then at the stick he was whittling, until presently the wood began to have a shape, and the shape was like the head of a cat, with two ears sticking upward.
Claus stopped whistling to laugh, and then both he and the cat looked at the wooden image in some surprise. Then he carved out the eyes and the nose, and rounded the lower part of the head so that it rested upon a neck.
Blinkie hardly knew what to make of it now, and sat up stiffly, as if watching with some suspicion what would come next.
Claus knew. The head gave him an idea. He plied his knife carefully and with skill, forming slowly the body of the cat, which he made to sit upon its haunches as the real cat did, with her tail wound around her two front legs.
The work cost him much time, but the evening was long and he had nothing better to do. Finally he gave a loud and delighted laugh at the result of his labors and placed the wooden cat, now completed, upon the hearth opposite the real one.
Blinkie thereupon glared at her image, raised her hair in anger, and uttered a defiant mew. The wooden cat paid no attention, and Claus, much amused, laughed again.
Then Blinkie advanced toward the wooden image to eye it closely and smell of it intelligently: Eyes and nose told her the creature was wood, in spite of its natural appearance; so Blinkie resumed her seat and her purring, but as she neatly washed her face with her padded paw she cast more than one admiring glance at her clever master. Perhaps she felt the same satisfaction we feel when we look upon good photographs of ourselves.
The cat's master was himself pleased with his handiwork, without knowing exactly why. Indeed, he had great cause to congratulate himself that night, and all the children throughout the world should have joined him rejoicing. For Claus had made his first toy," she said, yawning towards the end. She shifted slightly, scooping Jinpei back up into her arms and laying him in his crib.
She stretched and shooed some of the other children into their beds, settling them down for an afternoon nap. She yawned again and made her way over to where her favorite sat, having ignored the others in favor of coloring in his coloring book.
"Hey, Joe," she said, leaning over to ruffle his dark brown hair. "And just what are you up to?" she asked, peering at the picture. "That looks nice, Joe. You're a real artist."
Joe flushed a little, unused to such praise. "Thanks," he said, a little gruffly and a little embarrassedly. He frowned a little. "You didn't sing."
"Can't sing all the time. Otherwise it won't be a treat," she said, ruffling his hair again.
"'pose," he muttered.
Christine laughed and tapped his nose. "Okay, one song and no complaints when I tell another story," she said.
Joe's eyes lit up and he settled down, pushing away his crayons and coloring book to give her his full attention. He gave a small soft sigh when she pulled him into her arms and snuggled close.
"Baby mine, don't you cry Baby mine, dry your eyes Rest your head close to my heart Never to part, baby of mine Little one when you play Don't you mind what you say Let those eyes sparkle and shine Never a tear, baby of mine If they knew sweet little you They'd end up loving you too All those same people who scold you What they'd give just for The right to hold you From your head to your toes You're not much, goodness knows But you're so precious to me Cute as can be, baby of mine," she sang softly, comforting the young child. She always found herself mothering this particular orphan - there was just something about him that felt familiar.
She scooped him up and carried him to his bed after he fell asleep. A soft yawn escaped her lips and she settled down into the plush chair in the corner. Her blue eyes drifted shut and she slept quietly, peacefully - a small change from when she was at Xavier's.
OOC: The story can be found here: www.gutenberg.org/catalog/world/readfile?fk_files=851918&pageno=20 and the song can be found here: www.youtube.com/watch?v=2oSdgIDyl6Q - the whole thing started because I'm in the Christmas-y mood XD