day old bakery

anonymous asked:

What were your childhood memories with Queb like?

“Frenchie…? Well, assuming you only want the ones that kept us best friends-” Aislynn smiled fondly, recalling the old days. “There was bakery we both loved- they’d set food out on the windowsill to cool. Queb would go up and take them while they were still hot, I’d leave some money where they’d been, and we’d go have a picnic on a hill beside the St Laurent. Then we’d go swimming, or play tag, or climb trees - which he taught me how to do, or we’d just sit and watch the clouds. Sometimes he turned out to be my steed, giving me piggyback rides though it. We called it the Province of Two Canadas…it was our special place where political troubles weren’t allowed to infiltrate.

On colder nights we’d sit by a fire, in a blanket, drinking any hot drink we could get our hands on. Sometimes we’d fall asleep there, wake up in the morning tangled together and under those sometimes scratchy blankets. Sometimes we’d be able to stay awake long enough to make it into bed.”

She giggled. “I don’t think any of our cities realized exactly how close we were, even though we were always together. I think they focused more on the nonstop bickering that kept happening than the friendship that unveiled all those possible snippy little comebacks. It was sorta exciting with them not knowing, too… Our own little secret.”

the second hand bread store - september, 2011

the day old bakery is an institution in this town. especially for us poor folks. and although ownership has changed hands quite a few times in the span of my memory, the sign stays consistent. and Jim Day’s picture hangs behind the counter inside. wandering into this place as a wide eyed, chubby cheeked kid with a lust for King-Dongs…heaven. you never know what kinda’ out-of-date, name-brand goodies you might find at generic prices. 

hold on to me as we go, as we roll down this unfamiliar road

a continuation of the “hijacked a car with someone sleeping in the backseat” prompt. 


some legends are told, they turn to dust or to gold, but you will remember me, remember me for centuries

In retrospect, stealing a bright red sports car wasn’t the best idea.

But in retrospect, going on the run from her ex-not-really-sometimes-a-criminal-boyfriend and consequently having the merciless chief of police come after her wasn’t a great life plan either.  Neither was essentially leaving her family in the lurch, but Cosette had promised to take care of Gavroche and Azelma and that was the best Éponine could hope for.

So she stole the car and lit out, with nothing but the open road ahead.

Éponine has always been a fan of stupid plans. They’re practically a tradition in her family.

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