Chapter Text
“I’m sorry, your dad did what?” Orym asks.
“I know!” Imogen exclaims as she sets down her cup of coffee on Fearne’s table. “And what’s more is that he has me on babysittin’ duty too! Like I don’t have my own duties t’see to around the farm.”
Fearne nods sagely from her spot next to Imogen on the couch. “This sounds like a load of bullshit.”
“It is!” Imogen huffs as she leans back into the cushions. She’s glad her friends let her call this emergency meetup at the last moment. “And Laudna—”
“Laudna?”
“That’s the painter he hired. She—”
“Oooh, she?” Fearne interrupts with a new shine of interest in her eyes.
“Will y’all just let me get through my story?” Imogen pleads, exasperated. She loves her best friends, but sometimes talking to them is like trying to wade up stream: chaotic and not very practical.
“Yes, we will,” Orym says firmly, shooting Fearne a look from across the coffee table. Fearne closes her mouth and mimes zipping it.
Imogen gives him a grateful look before continuing. “Laudna is supposed to stop by tomorrow to sketch out some scenes from around the farm. Dad wants me to show her around, make sure she’s not gettin’ into any trouble.”
“Sounds kinda boring,” Fearne says as she leans her head into her hand.
Even having only met once briefly, the idea of lumping Laudna and ‘boring’ in the same sentence just doesn’t sit right with Imogen, and she’s speaking before her mind can even catch up, “I don’t think Laudna’s borin’.”
As soon as the words leave her mouth, she’s already regretting them as she watches Fearne’s attention snap to her.
“Hmm…I never said SHE was boring.” Feane says, casually. Almost too casually.
Imogen’s eyes narrow slightly, trying her best to ignore how hot her ears have suddenly become. “R-right, well…”
There’s a beat of silence as Fearne slowly drags a finger against the top of the couch, then—
“So…did you fuck her?” asks Fearne, her telltale mischievous smirk crossing her face.
“Wha—NO, Fearne, I just met her!” Imogen cries as her face turns beet red at the truly outrageous insinuation. Imogen’s not—and Laudna’s really nice but—Imogen isn’t going to just fu—
“Yeah, but like…met her? Or meeeet her?” Fearne cuts through Imogen’s thoughts as she lifts two fingers in the shape of a V to her mouth and waggles her eyebrows suggestively.
Imogen groans as she hides her red face in her hands, struggling to not blurt out how unbecoming Fearne is acting—that’d just leave the door wide open to her friend saying something even worse.
“Fearne, that’s enough. I don’t think Imogen’s going to be able to take much more teasing,” Orym chides gently, but his voice might as well be a beacon of light shining through the chaos that is Fearne Calloway. Her savior. A true friend. Imogen is so thankful that she could kiss his little twink ass.
“Oh, alright. I’m only joking,” Fearne acquiesces with a smile, a perfect picture of innocence.
“Going back to the deal with your dad…not that I don’t think it’s a nice gesture and all, but I am shocked that he would do something like this,” Orym comments, taking a sip of his coffee.
The comment does its job and has Imogen’s mind reeling back to the topic at hand. “I know, it’s just so weird. Like, how many years has it been since he’s so much as acknowledged my birthday? Much less got me a gift...” Imogen doesn’t need her friends to answer that question, she already knows the answer herself. It’s been fifteen years since her dad properly celebrated her birthday.
Her heart constricts as the reason for that bubbles up into her memory.
As if sensing the mood shift, Fearne wraps an arm around Imogen’s shoulders and Imogen lets herself be pulled into her friend’s side, sighing as she relishes the comfort of the embrace. Fearne may be a goblin at the best of times, but she’s Imogen’s goblin, and she loves her.
“Well, maybe he’s changed,” Fearne suggests after a moment of silence. “Maybe he realizes how stupid he was being and wants to do better?”
Imogen’s immediate thought is no. She knows her father. He’s not the sort of man to easily accept change. But then again…it has been fifteen years since…
“...Maybe.” Imogen settles after a long moment, still unconvinced but unwilling to challenge the thought any further.
The three of them lapse into a long silence before eventually Fearne pipes up. “So, this painter…is she cute?”
“Fearne.”
(Imogen definitely does not say yes. At least not out loud.)
———
A warm morning sunbeam catches hold of Imogen and follows her as she bounds down the steps of her dad’s front porch to wait by their old fence at the driveway. Laudna’s meant to be here soon for their first real session and though Imogen detests the idea of having to babysit (she still has to feed the horses, for god’s sake), she does not want to be late to greet her. She’s nothing if not dependable.
(It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that she hasn’t stopped thinking about Laudna since they first met two days ago. And it absolutely has nothing to do with the way her stomach flips at the mere thought of seeing her again.)
Get it together, Temult.
It’s not long before a yellow cab comes into view, dust and rocks flinging behind the wheels as it screams up the driveway.
Imogen rolls her eyes. City folk. They’re always tearing up the dirt roads like it’s the same as paved streets, and then they have the nerve to complain when they get a flat tire.
The cab skids to a halt in front of Imogen, dust following close enough behind that she has to use her handkerchief to cover her nose. She doesn’t even have to look to know who the driver is. There’s only one person who’d take the long drive out to the Temult Farm and be a dick about it.
Nevertheless, the driver’s side window is rolled down to reveal Chetney Pock O’Pea all but glaring at her under the brim of his hat.
“Well look, if it isn’t Genny Temult.” Chetney drawls in that almost tinny voice of his.
Imogen raises an eyebrow at the nickname. “Chet.”
“How’s that old man of yours doin’?”
“Just fine, thanks for askin’.”
“Sure looks like that wood is in poor shape.” Chetney’s eyes flicker briefly over her shoulder before locking back onto her own. Imogen doesn’t have to turn around to know he’s talking about their rickety fence that’s seen better days. “What’s old Relvin doin’, sittin’ on his ass?”
Unbidden, a small twitch forms under her right eye at the comment. “Workin’, obviously. Shouldn’t that be somethin’ you should be doin’ too, or are you gonna keep my friend stuck in that death trap all day?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just call me when you need that wood replaced, why don’t ya?”
“I didn’t know you were in the lumber business now. What’s next, cabaret performing?”
“Hey! Don’t knock it, these legs are fantaaastic.” Chetney grins in a way that makes Imogen want to throw up or find a wall to pound her head on. Maybe both.
Imogen rubs a hand on her forehead. “I really need you to stop talkin’ now.”
“Listen, C-Pop Industries dabbles in a lot of business ventures. Taxi services, lumber working….thinkin’ about makin’ toys next. It’s called being multifaceted. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
Imogen definitely does not want to think about what sorts of toys Chetney could possibly be talking about. She almost lets out another snarky comment about his unhealthy obsession with wood and being a thorn in her Daddy’s side when the cab door finally opens. All thoughts of irritation promptly defenestrate themselves when Laudna steps out dressed in a shoulderless black lace top and a flowing skirt and— wow , she’s even prettier than what Imogen remembers, even with the comically huge bruise Laudna’s sporting on her nose.
With Laudna out of the cab, Chetney abruptly turns the taxi around and speeds down the road, kicking up dust and gravel on his way, probably mumbling something about the state of disrepair the farm is in (and she knows , but it’s not like she can do anything about it, not yet), but Imogen pays him no further mind because Laudna is here and now she’s quirking her eyebrows at Imogen.
“Hi…” Imogen greets, but her breath catches when Laudna says it in unison.
“So…Genny, huh?” Laudna asks, waving the dust from her face.
“Ugh, gods no,” Imogen groans. “I hate that nickname, it’s just somethin’ old Chet does when he wants to get under my skin.”
Laudna laughs. “He does seem a bit…crotchety, but I’ll keep that in mind. Guess I’ll stick to just Imogen.”
A small flare of heat licks at Imogen’s ears as she hears Laudna say her name. She’s not totally sure she can place Laudna’s accent—she makes a mental note to ask her later—but the sound is almost musical to her ears.
“Yeah, he’s been like that since I can remember. Probably born with a stick up his—uh…” Imogen cuts herself off, not wanting to be impolite, but Laudna just chuckles.
“You can say ass, you know. I don’t mind.” Laudna jokes, smirking. Maybe it’s the swearing, maybe it’s the downright devilish smile, maybe it’s the giant lesbian that she is, but Imogen thinks her heart is about to give out.
“Ah, noted,” Imogen all but sputters out, tugging on the bandana around her neck that suddenly feels a bit too tight before she tries to lead the conversation back into safer (less gay) territory. “How’s your nose doin’, by the way?”
“My nose?” Laudna quirks an eyebrow.
“Yeah, ya know, after the whole…uh, Harold incident.” Imogen winces as she recalls their first meeting.
“Oh!” Laudna gasps as she lifts a slender finger to her face. “It’s totally fine now, just a bit bruised. The only thing that truly hurt was my pride when my sibling found out I’d let myself get pummeled by a screen door.”
“Hey, to be fair, most people don’t know what hit them when it comes to Harold.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement. I had no idea pigs could be so… fast. It’s a bit unnerving.”
“Yeah, still sorry about that. He’s a right menace. Daddy’s been trying to get rid of ‘im for years now.”
“It’s quite alright, really. Now I just have an interesting little blurb for my art blog.”
“You have a blog?” Imogen asks as she begins the trek back to the house. She’s not sure where they’ll start, but they might as well talk about it in the comfort of shade instead of standing around in this heat.
Laudna breathes out a chuckle as she follows. “Of course I do. It houses my art portfolio, but I’ve been known to write posts about my art process. Apparently sometimes that art process involves pigs named Harold.”
Imogen shakes her head, amused. “I’ll have to check it out sometime. I didn’t realize you had one.”
Laudna gives her a polite smile. “How else do you think your father found me?”
“Oh.” Imogen hadn’t really thought about that, but now that she is, it just stirs up a whole host of questions. Before she can voice any, Laudna promptly trips on a piece of gravel.
“Whoa there!” Imogen throws out her hands, ready to take action, but Laudna rights herself just in time. A breath of relief rushes from Imogen’s lungs once she sees Laudna is remaining upright.
“Sorry, I might actually be a little accident prone.” Laudna mumbles out, cheeks darkening.
It’s then that her dad’s words about accidents echo in her head as she looks down at Laudna’s choice of shoes. Mismatched Chucks—one black and one purple—and, though oddly befitting of the other woman, they’re not very suitable for where they’ll be going.
“No it’s fine, but uh…” Imogen chews on her bottom lip for a moment before pointing down at Laudna’s shoes. “You’re not gonna be wearin’ those, are you?”
Laudna follows her finger, frowning when she finds it pointing at her Chucks. “Is there something wrong with my shoes?”
“N-nothing’s wrong with ‘em!” Imogen backtracks hastily. “It’s just maybe not the most…practical? For bein’ on a farm, I mean. There are a lot of ways you could get hurt if you’re not careful.”
Laudna’s quiet for a moment before she speaks. “Oh. I hadn’t really thought about that.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, they’re nice shoes! Your feet look nice.” Fuck. She shouldn’t have said that. That’s weird. Stop being so fucking weird. “I mean, they look nice on your feet.”
Fuck.
Mortification curls and hardens in her stomach, a dark and sticky feeling that she wishes would just eat her whole so she could stop having this conversation and die already. She chances a look at Laudna, ready to meet her certain doom, but is surprised to find the other woman practically beaming at her.
“Thank you! I got them at this really nice estate sale actually. They were… half off.” Laudna waggles her eyebrows and Imogen can’t help the laughter that bursts from her at the pun. Laudna herself seems pleased at the reaction as she continues, “But I didn’t bring a change of pair. Should I…do I need to leave?”
“No, don’t leave!” Imogen brings her hands up as if to stop the other woman before thinking better of it and dropping them lamely to her side. “I mean…what size do you wear? We might have an extra pair of work boots sittin’ around here that you can borrow.”
———
In the end, the only pair of boots they had that would fit Laudna were from Imogen’s own personal collection. Clutching a pair, she bounds down the stairs from her room and makes to rush out the front door before she remembers what happened the last time she did that.
Gingerly, she pushes open the screen door, almost sighing in relief when she finds no sign of strewn art supplies, squealing pig, or Laudna knocked bodily to the floor. In fact, she finds Laudna waiting almost expectantly on one of the many rocking chairs that line their large deck.
“I couldn’t find any proper work boots, but these should do in a pinch,” Imogen says as she hands them over.
“Oh, these are beautiful, Imogen,” Laudna says with comically wide eyes. “Are you sure I can wear these? I don’t want to mess them up.”
And Laudna’s right, they are beautiful. Imogen bought them two summers ago from a quaint little stall at the country fair, but she’d rather they get a bit scuffed than Laudna get hurt from not wearing the proper attire.
“Yeah, ‘course I am. Can’t have you buildin’ up another case of worker’s comp now can we?” Imogen asks with a wink as she recalls the joke Laudna had said the first day they met.
Laudna laughs at that, and a small bubble of warmth forms in Imogen’s chest at the sound.
“Fair enough,” Laudna concedes with a grin. After putting the boots on and fiddling with the laces for a moment too long, Laudna looks up with a face of pure exasperation. “Not that I don’t think these boots are lovely because they are—it’s very fine craftsmanship I must say—but how am I supposed to tie them?” Laudna holds up the extra long laces to Imogen as if to show her confusion.
The scene is adorable, and Imogen has to hide a smile at the blatant bewilderment on Laudna’s face.
“Here, let me help,” Imogen offers as she kneels and grasps the laces. “You’ve just gotta wrap ‘em around the top once and tie ‘em off.” She tightens the laces around the top of one boot and then the next in a practiced motion.
“There, you should be right as rain now.” Imogen looks up with a smile but her breath catches in her throat when she finds Laudna staring down at her. And her eyes, oh her eyes are so dark and vivid in color. What she first thought was an inky black gives way to a rich hue of brown in the patch of sunlight beaming overhead.
She’s pretty, Imogen thinks before her brain chooses that moment to power on, almost stuttering with the amount of blood rushing to her head when she realizes with dawning horror the position she’s in: kneeling in front of Laudna. Laudna, who’d also apparently had leaned forward at some point to assumedly watch Imogen tie those stupidly long laces. Laudna, whose knees are so close to Imogen’s face. Her brain short circuits once more when she sees that those knees are bare, her skirt having ridden up to reveal an expanse of pale skin.
Oh fuck.
A swirl of something curls in the bottom of Imogen’s stomach as she scrambles to her feet, desperate to get away from those types of thoughts. Those very loud and very gay types of thoughts.
“R-right, that should do it,” Imogen stutters out as she rubs her gloved hands together, her right thumb pressing hard into worn leather.
Lame. You’re a lame lesbian, Temult.
As if released from a daze, Laudna blinks, once, then twice more before she leans back a little and clears her throat. “Thank you!” She stands, shuffling her feet as if to test the feel of the boots. “I really do appreciate this. I’m sorry you’ve had to take care of me twice now. I feel like such a nuisance when I’m here to help you!”
“Nonsense.” Imogen waves her off with a shrug. “It’s my pleasure.” And it truly is, she thinks as she eyes Laudna’s warm smile. Even with her bruised nose, Laudna’s smile is endearing and so achingly genuine that it makes Imogen feel a little giddy at the sight of it.
“Well then, shall we get started?”
“Oh, I’ve just thought of the perfect place actually.”
———
“This is so big,” Laudna says, transfixed as they come to a stop before a large blue building.
She’s not wrong, it is big, Imogen thinks, and it’s pretty too with its newly renovated roof and side paneling. She can’t remember how long she spent begging her Daddy to get the damn thing fixed up, and suddenly after years of her complaints falling on deaf ears, he finally went and got it done this past fall.
“Yeah, this is our machine shed. It’s where we keep a lot of our important machinery on the farm when it’s not in use. Keeps it all safe from the elements.” Imogen explains as she casually leans against the wall because she’s cool (and definitely not trying to impress Laudna, that’s totally not what’s happening here). Or she would have if she hadn’t carelessly misjudged the distance. “Oof!” She coughs as her back slams into the wall a little too hard.
Laudna quirks an eyebrow at her but thankfully doesn’t call her on it. Instead she fixes her gaze onto the shed. A small mercy, but Imogen’s willing to take anything at this point.
“So…” Imogen fiddles with the handkerchief around her neck after a beat or two of silence. “What do you think? Pretty neat, right?”
“I think this is a very nice building, yes.” Laudna turns to face Imogen. “What makes it your favorite?”
“My, uh, favorite?”
“Yes, your favorite. I’m supposed to paint your favorite places, remember?” Laudna adjusts the straps of her satchel as if to emphasize herself. “What makes this place special?”
“Well, it’s renovated.” Imogen supplies automatically.
“Right,” Laudna agrees, not unkindly. “But what makes it special to you?”
The question stumps Imogen, has her brain reeling as it searches for an answer. She picked this place because it’s one of the nicer spots on the farm. With its newly renovated walls, it looks bright and shining, almost like a beacon with how big and tall it is. It’d be a wonderful scene to paint, she thinks.
…But is it her favorite?
“I…don’t know,” Imogen admits after a long moment. “Guess ‘cause it looks nice?”
Laudna’s eyes are warm and deep, an ocean of brown, when she smiles at her. “Show me a favorite.”
Imogen’s mind grinds to a halt as she tries to think of what would qualify as one. She’s spent so long working around the farm, trying to get different spots fixed up here and there that she hasn’t really given herself a chance to really think about the farm in her own terms.
She must be silent for too long because then Laudna’s saying, “Okay, how about this…close your eyes for a moment.”
Imogen raises an eyebrow at Laudna who just smiles back, cheeks darkening just a touch as she tucks a piece of raven hair behind her ear.
“Oh come on, humor me here,” Laudna implores.
Imogen gives her a good natured roll of her eyes, but does as she’s told.
“Thank you,” Laudna says, and Imogen can hear a smile in her voice. “In terms of the farm, what comes to mind when you think…relaxation? What’s a place that makes you feel calm?”
Calm? Relaxed? Clearly Laudna doesn’t know who she’s talking to, though through no fault of her own having only just met after all. Imogen doesn’t even remember the last time she just…sat down and relaxed. There’s always something that needs doing around the farm…but if she had to guess, well maybe—
Suddenly, a brilliant flash of gold races across her mind followed by the memory of the smell of sweet grass and the sound of delighted laughter. It’s an old memory, but it’s a fond one, and it’s somewhere that might actually fit what they’re looking for.
She opens her eyes to find Laudna staring expectantly at her. “I think I know just the place —for real this time.”
“Oh, good!” Laudna blows out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t know if that’d work.”
“Wait, you didn’t?”
“Of course not, I was just pulling that out my ass,” Laudna admits with a triumphant smile. “Now come on, let’s go!” She turns and starts marching off in the opposite direction.
Imogen laughs at the absurdity that is Laudna Greymoore before, “Hey wait, you’re goin’ the wrong way!”
———
Imogen knows the way by heart, but it does take them around fifteen minutes to get to where she has in mind. On the way, she even managed to muster up enough courage to ask Laudna about that website of hers and even scored a link to it (she’s definitely going to be checking that out later) and her cell number (for work purposes only, obviously).
Maybe it’s because she’s admittedly a little too in her head about getting Laudna’s phone number that she doesn’t even realize they’ve made it to their destination until she hears a soft gasp.
She looks up just in time for Laudna to whisper, “Imogen, is this what you were talking about? This is beautiful.”
Imogen follows her gaze, eyes catching on the vivid gold of the wheat field before her. Although the sun is still high in the sky beaming with heat, there’s a soft breeze that cascades over the land making the golden stalks sway in a slow roll. The scene is beautiful, and it pains Imogen that it’s taken her so long to really look at it again.
A soft warmth pulses in her chest as she breathes in the sweet smell of wheat, so achingly nostalgic for a time long since passed.
The words come tumbling out of her mouth before she can even think about it. “Used to come out here to play in this field as a kid a lot. I really loved laying in it, but my Daddy would always get miffed when I did.” She takes on a gruff tone. “Messin’ up my wheat flowers. Get up outta there, ‘Gen!” She laughs, both at the memory and her interpretation of her dad.
Laudna laughs with her, a bright sound that makes Imogen smile. “When’s the last time you actually did that? Laid in the field, I mean?”
“Oh…” Imogen trails off, thinking. “…It’s been a good while, honestly. Several years, at least.”
“Why don’t you do it now?” Laudna asks, tilting her head in a way so adorable that it should honestly be illegal.
“Well, my Daddy—”
“—Isn’t here.” Laudna interjects with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “What’s the saying…what he doesn't know won’t hurt him, will it?”
Imogen barks out a laugh, putting a hand on her hip. “Well, you are a downright fiend, aren’t you, Laudna?”
Laudna flushes a pretty pink. “My sibling says I should learn to be a little more adventurous. I am perfectly fine with sticking to my books and my art, but I would be remiss not to urge others to indulge in an afternoon delight.”
And the implication doesn’t hit Imogen right away. No, it doesn’t, because Imogen is too busy staring into Laudna’s big brown eyes full of such aching sincerity to truly realize what the other woman has said…until it hits her all at once, and then all she can do is gape. Gape and practically combust with a blush so fierce she’s sure her face will melt right off.
For her part, it doesn’t seem like Laudna really understands what she just said. To make matters worse (because why wouldn’t they get worse, Imogen thinks), it’s then that Imogen comes to the startling realization of just how close they are to each other. Again. In fact, they’re so close that Imogen gets a front row seat to the exact moment when Laudna makes her own realization that she basically just told Imogen that she should get laid.
Imogen’s mind flashes back to Fearne asking if she and Laudna had—if they had fu—and Laudna looks so—and Imogen is—
It takes a moment of just staring at each other in abject horror—what Imogen considers one of the longest fucking moments of her life—before Laudna sputters out, “I certainly didn’t mean to imply that you should—that you—”
“Miss Temult!”
At the sound of her name, Imogen whips around to see Sam sprinting towards them. He comes skidding to a halt in front of her, panting slightly.
(She doesn’t miss the quiet thank fuck Laudna breathes out from behind her.)
“Miss…Temult….” Sam says between large gulps of air. “Do you—oh…I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
A fresh wave of heat strikes her face even though it’s not like Sam caught them doing anything…inappropriate, at least not physically. (Though that whole way of thinking causes her heart rate to spike almost painfully in her chest.)
Imogen crosses her arms, suddenly determined to put any and all thoughts of Laudna and an afternoon delight out of her head. “No, ‘course not. What’s going on?”
Instead of answering, Sam tilts his head to look past her and waves his hand in greeting. “I remember you! You were here the other day, weren’t ya? I’m Sam!”
“Oh, hello!” Laudna clears her throat as she gives a small wave back. “Laudna Greymoore. Charmed.”
Biting back a little annoyance at being blatantly ignored, Imogen asks again, “Sam, what’s going on?”
“Oh yeah!” Sam shoots her a couple of finger guns. “Harold’s gotten outta the pen again, and I think Mr. Temult knows.”
“What—why didn’t you fuckin’ start with that? Let’s go!” Imogen exclaims as she moves to rush in the direction Sam came from only to stop abruptly when she remembers that Laudna’s still there.
“I, uh, are you gonna be okay here by yourself?” Imogen asks, fighting the urge to both stay and leave in tandem.
Laudna gives a reassuring smile, though the blush is still present on her face. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back. I’ve got plenty of work to keep me busy.”
“Right. Okay, I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
And then Imogen’s speeding off with Sam to catch that damn pig again.
———
Thirty minutes, two leaps of faith, and one bodyslam later, Harold is safely tucked away in his pen—for now.
Imogen breathes heavily as she leans back against the gate to his pen, wiping sweat and dust off her brow. “Fuck, buddy. You have got to quit it with this escape artist shit.”
Harold gives a low snort as if to respond.
“Don’t give me that crap,” Imogen gripes as she turns around to look at him over the gate. “You’re startin’ to really piss Daddy off.”
Another snort.
“Okay fine, you’ve been pissin’ him off, but I think he might actually do somethin’ about it. He’s been…actin’ real weird lately.”
Harold just flops onto the ground like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Fine, don’t listen! And don’t come cryin’ to me when he sells you off.”
Harold shoots her a withering stare from where he lays.
“Yeah, whatever. You’re lucky you’re cute.”
That does get a snort of approval.
———
By the time Imogen makes it back to Laudna (after feeding the horses, sorting some hay bales, and bitching more to Harold about him being a little bitch), the other woman is packing up for the day, a shifting shadow amongst the wheat. It’s not long afterwards that Imogen watches as Chetney’s dingy yellow cab speeds off down the road with Laudna in tow.
Dutifully, she goes back to work tending to things around the farm, and by the time she’s finished, it’s late enough into the day that the sun’s cresting just over the horizon.
Normally she’d be well into eating her supper by now, but for some reason, she ends up back in that same wheat field from before. With the sun setting, the heat isn’t as overbearing, and the breeze that picks up sends a little chill up her spine. Even the wheat seems to be affected by the lack of light as the usually vibrant yellow seems to have dimmed to a darker hue.
It feels…peaceful out here, almost like she’s a world away.
Laudna’s words from earlier echo in her head.
When’s the last time you actually did that? Laid in the field, I mean?
Maybe it’s because Laudna asked her that with such gentle kindness. Maybe it's because she wants to do a small little fuck you to her dad. Maybe it’s because the memory of laughter and lavender hair not unlike her own is still so fresh in her mind. Maybe it’s a combination of all three, but Imogen soon finds herself stepping into a field of gold and laying down on her back.
The wheat sways gently around her, almost acting like a cocoon shielding her from the world.
In the field beyond sits a tiny blue shed on a hill.
Imogen gazes across the horizon and, for what feels like the first time in too long, breathes.
———
———
“Ow!” Laudna bites out.
“Hold fucking still,” Ashton grunts.
“I would if you’d stop poking me!”
“I’m not poking you, I’m putting aloe on your burnt-ass shoulders!”
Laudna rolls her eyes. Fair point. “You could at least be a little more gentle.”
“And when have I ever been gentle about anything?” Ashton asks, and, as if to punctuate this statement, forcibly rubs more aloe onto her shoulders.
“Well—ouch, fuck—you did cry when that dog died in that one movie. What was it called—”
“Who doesn’t cry when the dog dies? Piss babies and edge lords, that’s who.”
Another fair point. Ashton was making too many of those in quick succession for her liking.
“How’d you get this burnt anyways? What were you doing, trying to tan your pale ass?” Ashton asks as they cap the bottle of aloe. “Gods, you look like a fuckin’ roast chicken.”
“No, I was working, actually,” Laudna grits out, thankful the ordeal is over.
“This job sounds like it sucks,” Ashton says bluntly. “First you get smacked in the face by a fucking door, now you’re baking yourself for it? And not in the good way, either.”
“This job is actually paying me quite a bit of money,” Laudna says. “Our rent payment is thanking me for it. You could probably stand to learn from it.”
“Yeah, whatever. Just stop coming home all fucked up, okay?”
“And you said you weren’t gentle.” Laudna smirks at the unusual show of affection.
Ashton just gives her a glare and sticks their tongue out before walking out of her room and leaving her to her thoughts.
Naturally (she’s only so strong), those thoughts turn to Imogen, and before she knows it, she’s pulling out her sketchbook from her satchel. She flips to the latest page where a picture of a rolling field of wheat sits. It’s a messy sketch, but it’s as good a start as any, she supposes. Next time, she’ll bring some paints to figure out the correct swatches for the scene.
She turns to another page, flushing when she finds Imogen’s number tucked into the top corner written in a tight scrawl. She forgot she’d gotten her number earlier—surprised herself, even, when she’d actually let Imogen write it into her sketchbook. Normally Laudna never let anyone touch her sketchbook with it being a matter of privacy (and maybe a matter of it being hers ), but with Imogen, she just as easily handed it over as if it were nothing.
She chances a glance to her still open door, making certain Ashton is really gone before bringing out her phone to plug in Imogen’s number and typing out a quick text.
Chewing on her bottom lip, she deliberates on whether it’d be too weird to send a text after having just seen Imogen that morning.
After a moment, she decides to be a little adventurous (though the thought almost derails her entirely when it reminds her of the unfortunate Afternoon Delight Incident that she’s been trying to keep out of her head) and presses send.
Laudna: Did you know that pigs can reach speeds upwards of 11 miles per hour?
She thinks it’s clever for all of two seconds before she immediately starts to regret it because…pig facts, really? Fuck being adventurous! And why hasn’t there been a delete function created for texts yet?
A beat passes.
This is stupid. She shouldn’t have done this. She really shouldn’t have done this.
Then another.
Why pig facts?
Then another—she throws her phone face down on the bed as if the distance will stop herself from thinking about how utterly stupid her text is.
And it works surprisingly well.
Her phone is over there on the bed, and that means that she is standing next to the bed away from her ridiculous text, which also means she is definitely not thinking about pigs or gorgeous women who have lavender hair and really cute freckles and strikingly well-toned arms that—
Okay. Maybe it doesn’t work at all. Maybe she should just leave the room so she’ll stop just staring at the damn thi—her cell suddenly beeps, and Laudna all but flings herself stomach-first onto the bed to grab it.
Imogen: lol i had no idea. think harold could get up to that speed?
She smiles, one that threatens to split her face in two, before hastily typing out a reply.
Laudna: I truly think you might have a world record breaker on your hand. Might do to get a judge out to the farm ASAP.
There’s a long pause as Laudna watches the text bubble that shows Imogen’s typing appear and disappear three separate times. Laudna almost thinks she’s said something wrong (again) before she finally receives a reply.
Imogen: maybe next time you come over we can do lunch together and think about ways to get him in the guinness book of world records ;)
Unbidden, Laudna’s feet start to kick in the air as a rush of warmth curls in her chest.
Laudna: Sounds fun, looking forward to it! :)