Eloise folded the last of Jalou's shirts, placing it atop the stack, and setting the stack
atop the other laundry in the basket. She left the basket by Jalou's door. Walking back
down the hallway, she mentally checked everyone else off, eyeing the baskets of neatly
folded clothes, towels, and other linens. Check, check, check. Even hers was all done. SHE
was almost done with the week's laundry. Only one basket remained, but-
Eloise squeezed her eyes shut, standing in the doorway to her room. Just ONE basket, she
told herself. One measley basket, that wasn't so bad, right? She almost couldn't look at
it...She peeked out of one eye, barely open, and there it was-
Cup's basket.
How someone so small could have such a load of laundry, she was uncertain. It WAS just one basket, but this basket was filled. OVERFLOWING. Sleeves and pant legs splayed from it like the grasping limbs of ten octopi.....This was no mere basket of laundry. It was a monument. It dwarfed everyone else's, combined. It was the Yogg-Saron of dirty clothing.....
Eloise steeled herself. There was simply nothing for it, but to go at it, article by
article. She upended the basket with a very ladylike grunt, dumping the mass onto the
floor. Just, pick up a shirt. Start a pile. Pick up a sock, start a pile. Simple. In
theory, at least.
Stains. Stains were one thing. Even bloodstains. Vere often had bloodstains, but it didn't
make Eloise queasy when it was dried out. As much. But this... Blood, she was sure some of
it was blood, but she could pretend it was ketchup. Because there was ketchup. LOTS of
ketchup. And mustard. And probably custard. Gravy, curry, juice....a pie crust, stuck under
a collar....A sock that, for some reason, was filled with what appeared to be strawberry
jam....olives in a pant cuff.... And sweat. Ring around the collar? Ring around the SHIRT!
Sort, and pile. Divide and conquer. It was the only way to deal with an opponent so
numerous. Legion.... She emptied the dirtied water more times for half of Cup's laundry
than for two or three baskets of everyone else's, she was sure. Time somehow stood still, a
static thing of bacon grease and bread crumbs, floating, the soap, seeming to cry out to
her in anguish, unable to sud or bubble enough....
Yet, hours would have passed. Pinning a final small pair of pants to the clothesline,
watching them kick in the breeze....And the enormity of the rest of her task could set in.
She could see them, now, winking in the wind: the Holes.
Knees. Elbows. To be expected. Wear and tear. She'd tried stressing to Cup the importance
of letting her mend things at the first sign of fraying, but......The ocean breeze flapped
laughter through a hundred gaping mouths, a thousand, she was certain, and the socks,
gracious, the SOCKS....! She'd given up on the worst of them. They were practically just
ankle-warmers. Those, she would turn into cleaning rags. The salvageable ones, though,
would take some time. And the thread! As well-to-do as Eloise was, she might have to start
insisting that Cup provide some thread. It wouldn't be fair to everyone else, to use all of
the thread, now, would it? And regular, wear-and-tear holes were the easy ones....
There were also the burns. From the stove, or grease, or, she was sure this one was a
bullet hole.....The gnome was always fiddling with one machine or another, and there were
small explosions from time to time, or she's zap herself with current....And the fighting!
From the condition of some of the clothing, Eloise could only surmise that Cup had somehow
waded through a squadron of Kor'kron, somewhere....
Cut. Patch. Stitch. One at a time, one at a time, she told herself. The sun would fall, and
fall, and she's stitch, and stitch, and one by one the gaping maws were silenced and shut,
for a time, until Cup struck out again, to some ogre mound or pirate's cove or bandit
hideaway, where they would be loosed again, to jabber at Eloise from the clothesline, and
make her fingers ache from just the thought-
Eloise would look up, soon, in the lamplit room or on the dusky porch, hearing the ring-
ring-ringing of the dinner bell, her finger-aches forgotten as her stomach remembered
itself, and maybe gave a very ladylike growl, and she'd go to the table, and sit with her
friends, everyone looking crisp, and fresh, pressed and presentable. Cup's smiling face, as
she'd spoon out beans, or trundle up with a basket of fresh hot rolls. Food, and joking,
and stories, and kinship, and all the bullet holes and bacon grease were worth it, she
thought - she knew! Raising her glass, giving a clink, from the first fork clacking a plate
until the dishes sunk in the sink, she would smile.
This, was Happiness, and Living.
atop the other laundry in the basket. She left the basket by Jalou's door. Walking back
down the hallway, she mentally checked everyone else off, eyeing the baskets of neatly
folded clothes, towels, and other linens. Check, check, check. Even hers was all done. SHE
was almost done with the week's laundry. Only one basket remained, but-
Eloise squeezed her eyes shut, standing in the doorway to her room. Just ONE basket, she
told herself. One measley basket, that wasn't so bad, right? She almost couldn't look at
it...She peeked out of one eye, barely open, and there it was-
Cup's basket.
How someone so small could have such a load of laundry, she was uncertain. It WAS just one basket, but this basket was filled. OVERFLOWING. Sleeves and pant legs splayed from it like the grasping limbs of ten octopi.....This was no mere basket of laundry. It was a monument. It dwarfed everyone else's, combined. It was the Yogg-Saron of dirty clothing.....
Eloise steeled herself. There was simply nothing for it, but to go at it, article by
article. She upended the basket with a very ladylike grunt, dumping the mass onto the
floor. Just, pick up a shirt. Start a pile. Pick up a sock, start a pile. Simple. In
theory, at least.
Stains. Stains were one thing. Even bloodstains. Vere often had bloodstains, but it didn't
make Eloise queasy when it was dried out. As much. But this... Blood, she was sure some of
it was blood, but she could pretend it was ketchup. Because there was ketchup. LOTS of
ketchup. And mustard. And probably custard. Gravy, curry, juice....a pie crust, stuck under
a collar....A sock that, for some reason, was filled with what appeared to be strawberry
jam....olives in a pant cuff.... And sweat. Ring around the collar? Ring around the SHIRT!
Sort, and pile. Divide and conquer. It was the only way to deal with an opponent so
numerous. Legion.... She emptied the dirtied water more times for half of Cup's laundry
than for two or three baskets of everyone else's, she was sure. Time somehow stood still, a
static thing of bacon grease and bread crumbs, floating, the soap, seeming to cry out to
her in anguish, unable to sud or bubble enough....
Yet, hours would have passed. Pinning a final small pair of pants to the clothesline,
watching them kick in the breeze....And the enormity of the rest of her task could set in.
She could see them, now, winking in the wind: the Holes.
Knees. Elbows. To be expected. Wear and tear. She'd tried stressing to Cup the importance
of letting her mend things at the first sign of fraying, but......The ocean breeze flapped
laughter through a hundred gaping mouths, a thousand, she was certain, and the socks,
gracious, the SOCKS....! She'd given up on the worst of them. They were practically just
ankle-warmers. Those, she would turn into cleaning rags. The salvageable ones, though,
would take some time. And the thread! As well-to-do as Eloise was, she might have to start
insisting that Cup provide some thread. It wouldn't be fair to everyone else, to use all of
the thread, now, would it? And regular, wear-and-tear holes were the easy ones....
There were also the burns. From the stove, or grease, or, she was sure this one was a
bullet hole.....The gnome was always fiddling with one machine or another, and there were
small explosions from time to time, or she's zap herself with current....And the fighting!
From the condition of some of the clothing, Eloise could only surmise that Cup had somehow
waded through a squadron of Kor'kron, somewhere....
Cut. Patch. Stitch. One at a time, one at a time, she told herself. The sun would fall, and
fall, and she's stitch, and stitch, and one by one the gaping maws were silenced and shut,
for a time, until Cup struck out again, to some ogre mound or pirate's cove or bandit
hideaway, where they would be loosed again, to jabber at Eloise from the clothesline, and
make her fingers ache from just the thought-
Eloise would look up, soon, in the lamplit room or on the dusky porch, hearing the ring-
ring-ringing of the dinner bell, her finger-aches forgotten as her stomach remembered
itself, and maybe gave a very ladylike growl, and she'd go to the table, and sit with her
friends, everyone looking crisp, and fresh, pressed and presentable. Cup's smiling face, as
she'd spoon out beans, or trundle up with a basket of fresh hot rolls. Food, and joking,
and stories, and kinship, and all the bullet holes and bacon grease were worth it, she
thought - she knew! Raising her glass, giving a clink, from the first fork clacking a plate
until the dishes sunk in the sink, she would smile.
This, was Happiness, and Living.
Edited by Eloise on 5/30/2012 2:12 PM PDT
