Up upon the lady butterflys’ finger, the little monarch sister sat herself. A clear view of the two travelers before her and her sizable sibling. The standoff between the two only founded by a mutual confusion of ones’ appearance. As if caught off guard the butterfly woman fumbled over her words, baffled,
‘Why, you are not my Abilene!’
‘You are not my Darcy!’
‘And,’ Clawfoot followed, ‘you happen to be in our way!’
‘In your way?’ The lady scoffed at the audacity of his words, ‘You are in front of my home!’
Shuffling towards the front of the bathtub, Bucky intervened in hopes of keeping Clawfoot from frustrating another poor soul to tears- the butterfly womans’ upset was as clear as glass.
‘Who are you, if I may?’ he asked her.
She began bouncing her pipe up and down in a jig, as if she were conducting a band, ‘Marvelous question, dear,’ -she took a draw- ‘how about you go first?’
But before Bucky could say his own name, Clawfoot butted in, ‘I am Clawfoot! And this little thing is my friend, Bucky.’
Said child gritted his teeth at the remark as he watched the lady butterfly peer at them, chin up, with her faceted eyes making it much harder to tell where exactly she was looking. Finally she spoke,
‘Well, Bucky and Clawfoot,’ she sniffed, ‘Off you go! Ta-ta! You are of no use to me, so hurry off then!’
Clawfoot moved naut an inch, disregarding the lady butterflys’ shoo. Rather, he sat himself right down in defiance with his usual grin slightly grimaced, as such a large bug was quite off-putting for him.
‘I do not think so.’ he snipped,’ It was your doing that we strayed from our path, and I will make sure it is your doing that we head right back on track!’
‘Or, perhaps,’ Bucky chimed in, ‘you may be kind enough to spare us some directions? We are now oh, so terribly lost.’
Why, it was the silent words whispered by her monarch sibling, still attached to her finger, that took her by surprise the most. Words neither boy nor blackwell would ever be able to hear were spoken between them, as the Lady Butterfly heaved a sigh of sufferance when she returned her attention back to the two travelers.
‘You are quite lucky, you know,’ she started, ‘that my sisters’ wishes outweigh my own. If they say you are to be their guests, I have no choice but to be your host.
‘But I do ask,’ she continued, pointing the end of her pipe at the blackwell before tipping the ash over into the nearby, untrimmed brush, ‘the bathtub stays outside.’
‘But-!’
‘I said the bathtub, silly boy, unless you think it will fit through the doorway.’
As Bucky sat embarrassed, Clawfoot began to separate from his shell underneath him, giggling all the way. Slithering from the porcelain tub was what Bucky could only refer to as ‘The Beast.’ He had all but forgotten who with which he was trailed along by, however such a blunt reminder nevertheless unsettled him. The fair child clung to the dorsal fin of the fake blackfish that carried him up the porch and through the doorway- though still having to squeeze past.
A cozy warmth radiated from the small fire within the hearth of the stove eating away at dried sticks, twigs, and pinecones. It was beginning to dwindle into nothing but embers, but the heat remained encircling the tiny home. The hugging walls were decorated in various paintings and tapestries and knick knacks of all kinds. And, of course, the stained windows that tinted the room a blurred rainbow. Across the floor were rugs of odd shapes and sizes, overlapping over one another as the designs weaved into them were dainty, but with a mesmerizing pattern in their look. The strong smell of smoke was the final touch to make the curious cottage a welcoming embrace.
The small hovel was much larger than it had looked on the outside, but nonetheless it was still rather small, as there were no rooms besides what seemed to be the living room and the awfully tiny kitchen near the back of the home. There were two different chairs sat across from each other between a solid wooden table perched on stubby little legs to stand on- a lounge in the most royal of purple hues though frayed and pilled fabric lined it, and a quaint loveseat patched with loose squares of cloth to cover open tears puffed with feathers.
‘Do try to make yourselves at home, as this place was never made for more than one.’ The Lady Butterfly waved ungraciously.
Upon the little loveseat the two sat, though with how big Clawfoot was, it was difficult for poor Bucky to find space. In between the tail of the blackwell and the armrest he had to sit, rather squished against the two.
‘You have still not told us that name of yours,’ the beast reminded their reluctant host, ‘I am beginning to think you do not have one!’
‘On the contrary, boy,’ she corrected him, ‘as I have been given so many that I cannot seem to settle on which to give you.’
‘What about Abilene?’
She cocked her head towards the child that spoke such a name, ‘Pardon?’
‘What about Abilene? What name did they call you?’ Bucky repeated himself, rather sheepishly this time.
Solemnly she looked away, recalling the name she had heard so little times from her one love. Pursing her lip she responded, ‘Ceridwen. Ceridwen is what she had named me herself…Oh! How I wish to hear her voice once more calling my name!’ she lowered her words into a rather loud whisper, voice cracking just slightly.
‘Did she die?’ Clawfoot asked bluntly.
‘Absolutely not! I made a terrible judgment, I did! Oh, and left her alone to live out my immortal days in longing. My sisters have been searching for her, to reunite us together- but no luck has come of it.'
'I think your sisters are simply bad at looking, or else we would not be here.'
'And what of you two? I do not see any ‘Darcy’ you speak of here with us.' Ceridwen snipped back at the blackwell.
‘That is fair enough.’ He responded.
The fair child shifted in his seat at the mere mention of his beloved friend, ‘Oh me, what am I doing?’ he thought to himself, ‘I am wasting my time sitting here, when I could be out looking for him right now!’
‘Why, speaking of such, I suppose we should continue our searching, is that not right Clawfoot?’ Bucky addressed his companion, who glanced back at the boy with a puzzled frown.
‘What? But we have just sat down! I would rather like to rest my limbs for the time being- it is not you who has been carrying us along.’
‘But- But it is such a time sensitive matter! What if something has found him first?’
‘Or someone.’
‘Yes, and I am quite worried about who that might be!’ The boy fussed.
Clawfoot tapped his claws in a wave, nonchalantly he spoke, ‘Whoever it may be, I hope they know where they are going.’