[Rain Check] Blanche + Citronella

Blanche notes: When Citronella looks at the world, it is though they are seeing things for the first time. 

When he finds them today, they’re curled up in a chair at the entrance of Kuro’s burrow. The door is wide open and letting a breeze through. Blanche can picture the look on Kuro’s face now if he knew his heat was being let out and all sorts of things were being let in, from a few stray leaves, spring petals, sticks, and pebbles to the growing puddle on the wood floor from the rain outside. He decides to let her stay like that. 

The butler approaches Blanche from the back of her chair, places a hand on the back, and leans over to look down at his … person of interest. Citronella is curled up with her knees to her chest, likely to keep themselves warm. There’s a trail of muddy footprints that lead out from the burrow to Kuro’s front door and, looking closely, Blanche can see the scuffs of dirt and patches of green stains on the bare skin of their feet, as well as brown muddy wetness that stains the bottom ruffle of their gown. He sighs at the bleaching he’ll have to do tonight. Their tail twitches. They’ve noticed he’s there, even if they remain silent.

“Playing in the rain, were we?” Blanche asks.

“Mm…” Citronella responds, her voice faint as a whisper - as always. “Playing is an inapt term. I was exploring. That is all.” They bring their arms down from around their knees, toward their mud and grass stained feet, and use the side of their nail to clean a line of dirt out from under the ball joint connected to their biggest toe. Blanche notes, as they do, that her sleeve is transparent. It's soaked through to her skin from the downpour. 

That means, of course, the chair she is perched on is soaked and muddy as well. Kuro won't be happy about that either. 

“Exploring well enough to get mud up to your knees and grass between your joints? Quite a thorough exploration, Ms. Wyck. I'm sure you have your reasons.” 

“I wanted to know what it felt like,” she answers him, simply. 

“You don't remember what rain feels like?” he counters.

“The feeling. The smell. The sound. I can't recall any such details. Of anyone, I assumed you would understand best by now how little clings to the recesses of my mind. My name -” 

“And nothing more,” the two say in unison. 

Citronella finally lifts her head to look at Blanche above themself. Their eyes are both golden. The bundle they handed over to the church, too, was golden hued. She nods at him. Citronella always looks as forlorn as she does wonderstruck, like there is an ever oppressive sense of melancholy that simply… hangs. Many others would find the presence suffocating, but over the last several months Blanche finds himself more and more drawn into Citronella, her curiosities about the world she’s forgotten, and the mature - yet innocent - sector of the world she inhabits. Blanche brushes his fingers back along the top curve of her fluffy ear, tucking back a sodden trail of hair as he does. They turn back to look at the downpour outside but Blanche notes the subtle way they lean into the touch. 

The doll in black steps away, and returns a moment later carrying a washing basin full of warm, sudsy water, a rag, and his gloves tucked into the band of his pants (lest the leather become as water logged as the doll he is tending to). Blanche kneels down in front of Citronella’s chair, placing his knees in the puddle forming and his back toward the gentle plips of rain blowing through the front door. Citronella’s eyes tilt down and lock onto him with a quiet shock at his prostration before her. He lifts his hand up. Somehow, Citronella understands what he is asking of her. With an almost princess-like grace she unfolds one of her knees from her chest, straightens her leg down, and places her foot in the palm of his hand. He lowers it to the basin of water, takes his rag, and begins to scrub the dirt and grass from her skin. She makes an audible sound of relief at the warmth of the water flooding through her now, and settles in for his pampering.

“And how was your experience with the rain?” he asks, caressing his hand against her as he uses a point of the rag to clean out and around her doll joints. 

“Wet,” she answers succinctly. 

Much like his littermate, as a general rule, Blanche does not laugh. There is one exception to every rule, however. He pauses his cleaning to catch a sudden puff of air as it passes through his nose as a chuckle. “Just wet?” he asks. “Nothing more?”

They sigh, grab the hem of their gown, and worry the damp end between their fingers. They bend their joints in to catch the fabric between the pinch of the rolling ball, pluck the material, and release it. Blanche is busy enough cleaning them that he doesn’t notice, or he’d likely push their hands away to stop them from continuing the distressing of the fabric.

“It felt like I was doing something wrong… Like getting into the bath with my stockings on, if said stockings were all of my clothes. I thought I could remember someone scolding me, telling me not to tatter the pleats in my dress or to get mud on my petticoat. My heels kept sinking into the mud, so I abandoned them in the yard.” In the yard?? He’ll have to find and fetch those… “But it was refreshing as well. Being able to let my dress and my hair soak thin and feeling the grass against my bare skin serve as yet another reminder of the experiences I have yet to relive. Surely I was outside for more than half an hour before I realized just how wet I had become…”

“And you continued to play?” Blanche looks up, swapping hands to their other foot, which they offer the same as the first.

“Explore. Yes. Kuro’s burrow is on a long street. The water was gathering in gullies to either side of the road and making small streams down the hill. I thought if I followed them, I might find a small pond waiting for me at the bottom.” She responds.

“And did you?”

Citronella nods. She lifts the piece of fabric higher in her hands, and Blanche suddenly understands how the water could have gotten up so far. “Though, the grit and debris at the bottom of the pond was much less refreshing than allowing it to simply precipitate upon my skin. I exited the pond rather quickly. I came in when I realized just how cold it is to be wet…”

Ah. Blanche neglected to get her a towel in all of this. He settles her second clean foot down into the warm water and allows both of them to rest in there for a moment while he dries his hands on the thighs of his pants. The knees are now wet, along with his back. He doesn’t seem to mind. They look at him with a mixture of confusion and concern, like their admitting to their emotions caused him to wish to leave. “I should get you a towel, then,” he explains. Her expression softens back to neutrality.

“Why should you? Will I not simply get wet again when I return outside?” Citronella asks.

“Do you intend to return outside? Into the cold wet?” he counters. 

Citronella looks forward out of the open door again. They roll their lip in, pressing it between their teeth as they consider the possibility… and then shake their head in denial. “No. I much prefer looking at it than being in it.”

“Then I will fetch your towel,” Blanche nods and continues his path toward the bathroom.

“Ah, wait!” Citronella pulls her feet from the water basin and turns around in the chair such that her knees are in the damp cushion and her hands are perched on the back arch. “And… A cup of tea for us?”

Much like his littermate, as a general rule, Blanche does not smile much. There is one exception to every rule, however. His eyes close into small crescents and his mouth parts to reveal a small amused and affectionate smile. He nods. “And tea for us both.”