Whoo. I went out all Friday night, so that's why this is so late. My friend broke his ankle climbing over a wall. He had to go to hospital in an ambulance, it was quite exciting xD
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Chapter 2;
It had been a long time since she’d been home. Two whole years – it was a long time to Frankie, anyway. Strangely enough, nothing had changed. Compared to the sights she had seen, and the obstacles she had conquered, the sleepy village of Titherby was sleep-inducing.
Frankie had forgotten what a long walk it was home.
Oliver gambled by her side, leaping and bounding cheerfully. The girl smirked; did he even remember this place? She had caught him near here, after her mother had refused to get her a charmander.
It had been a day rather like this; sunny, but cold, with a nip to the air. Autumn was well on its way. She had spotted a sentret Oliver padding along with his siblings, scurrying in front like sergeant major. He was by far the smallest, but had been bossing everyone around in sucha bustling, busy-body manner Frankie had adored him at once. And-
Stop daydreaming, Frankie scolded herself crossly,
I’ve had enough of the past, thank-you-very-much.
She settled her eyes on the horizon instead. The path curved upwards, and at the very top of the hill, she could see her village; a scattering of houses with sprawling gardens, a corner shop, and acres upon acres of farmland. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but smile. She had rose-tinted memories of playing in the long grass, in the days when her world was filled with a peace only true contentment can create. She smiled absently as her house came into view. As if guessing what she had seen, Oliver gave a happy squeak.
{Are we nearly there?} he asked, his voice suddenly bright with excitement. Frankie had told him many times about her home; how her Mum would run out to greet her, how her Grandma would laugh at how she was still training that ‘silly ol’ furret’, and how her stepfather would loiter in the hallway, finally excluded. Of course, in those stories, she was returning home a champion.
“Nearly,” Frankie told him grudgingly. For a moment, she was quiet, then; “It’ll be nice to be back.”
Her furret stared at her doubtingly, but chose not to answer. They were nearly there, after all, and Frankie was such a worry-wart; if asked any more, she’d clam up completely. And that was no fun.
As she neared the porch, Frankie felt her stomach turn. Who knew returning home would be this nerve-wracking? The house looked the same as always; wide bay windows, edged by curtains, weathered red brick and a wood door painted white. The garden was an outburst of riotous colour; reds, orange, yellows, all clamouring for space amongst the michealmas daisies and the ornamental bird bath. Fixing a smile on to her face, Frankie rapped on the door knocker.
No answer was the reply.
For a moment, Frankie just stared at the doorbell expectantly. Then she peered through the letterbox. Finally, she tried the front window. There was a new plasma screen television in one corner.
“Nobody’s home…” she mumbled. Then; “nobody’s home!” she repeated, slightly louder, her voice indignant. She couldn’t help feeling slightly hurt – then angry. After all, her Mum knew she was getting off the 2 o’ clock train today! They had agreed it over the phone over a week ago. For lack of something better to do, Frankie stamped her foot. It was a silly, childish thing to do, but the gesture made her feel better.
She wheeled round to face her furret.
“Can you believe it, Oli? They’re not in!” Her furret said nothing. The girl’s brow furrowed into a frown, annoyed at his lack of sympathy. She planted both hands on her hips haughtily. “Oli? Oh-“ she broke off, as Oliver swivelled on the spot.
{Look, Frankie!} he urged his trainer, pointing a chocolate paw down the garden. Frankie did as she was told, and sure enough, there was a furret perched on the garden gate.
It was a female, that much was obvious. Tied around its neck was a large, oversized bow, made out of some sort of luxurious, shimmering silk. A small silver soothe bell dangled from it, and it tinkled when she moved. She was a strangely pale shade, the beige part of her closer to white, and had big, button eyes.
Oliver was enchanted. He watched her adoringly, while Frankie’s frown got deeper and deeper.
“We don’t have time for this,” the girl began, gesturing wildly, “I mean, where’s my Mum? Oliver? Are you listening?”
{…No…} The furret replied dreamily, and took a few steps forward.
“Oliver!” Frankie exclaimed, her voice rising as Oliver continued to ignore her, “leave that bloody furret alone and-“
“-Is my furret causing a problem?”
The girl’s eyes widened. A boy had appeared behind the female furret, and was watching Frankie with suspicion. She felt herself blush, and began to stutter an apology.
“Oh, n-no, it’s… fine, fine!”
Frankie cursed herself inwardly. If there was one thing she hated, it was being found telling her furret off. She loved Oliver to death, and normally he was your standard obedient, devoted starting pokemon. He was quite content to ride around on her shoulder all day, and battled furiously when the need arose. The only times he didn’t listen was around water – god knows how she ended up with a water-loving furret – and… around other female furrets. Thankfully they weren’t found in the wild, and it was even rarer to train one up to competing levels. Still… who knew what it made her look like as a trainer? Probably absolutely terrible, a lightweight n00b that couldn’t even get a furret to obey.
What made the situation even worse was that wasn’t one of Frankie’s friends that had seen this display, who would shrug it off after seeing so many of her triumphs, but a complete stranger. A very
hot stranger.
He was strikingly tall and thin, and dressed rather plainly in a navy blue rugby shirt with a white collar, and stone-washed, baggy jeans. His face was angular, his chin jutting, but at the same time he was strangely attractive. There was a certain mildness about his mouth that Frankie couldn’t quite put her finger on, but liked it all her same. His eyes were a stormy grey colour, but ever so expressionless. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow at Frankie’s stuttering.
So much for maturity, Frankie thought to herself irritably.
“Okay, then,” he began, and thrust his arm out for his furret, “come on then, Spindrift. Let’s go.”
At hearing her name, the female furret climbed – no,
flowed, there was no other way to describe such an elegant movement – up his arm and curled herself around his shoulders where she lay a living scarf. Here she lay, blinking her innocent eyes at Oliver in confusion, as if she couldn’t quite grasp the idea of being even
slightly disobedient to her boy.
Then he turned and left, leaving Frankie standing looking lost on her own on the garden path. She watched him for a bit, as he walked off towards the rest of the village, before turning around and sitting back down on the house’s porch.
They’ll be home soon, she assured herself,
probably popped out to get me a…celebratory cake, and lost track of time.
So she waited.
And waited.
Oliver came and clambered clumsily onto her lap, curling himself into a tight ball.
Still she waited, hoping to see a car’s headlights coming down the road any minute, or hear laughing voices as her mother got off the train, full of joy at the thought of her daughter’s homecoming.
There was nothing; only silence, broken by Oliver’s soft sighing breaths and the hoots of a noctowl somewhere far away.
It got dark. Still, Frankie waited.
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Thanks, Katiekitten! I'm glad you like. I'm sorry this chapter's short as well, there is a reason for it |D
Other than laziness, I mean.