( Being forced to wear the wings even though she was blind always felt like some cruel, twisted joke, but the uniform kept the Handmaids from seeing and being seen. For her, they are a hindrance, keeping her from hearing as well as she can, but she supposes it works similarly by impeding a different sense.
Noticing the change in tone, her chest's subtle rise and fall momentarily pauses as her eyebrows push together in confusion. This catches her off guard, just like his casual greeting had. It leaves her wondering, questioning herself and her situation, but before she has a chance to dwell on it too much, the tone from before returns.
When he comes to stand beside her, Prairie stiffens slightly as her head cocks to the side, trying to perceive sounds better now that he isn't directly in front of her. )
I do, ( she replies before reaching into her cloak to pull the folded cane from around her opposite arm and extends it, letting it tap against the ground as she adjusts her grip. )
It shouldn't take me too long to familiarize myself with my room and the other places I can be, so I won't need it much.
[ The other places she can be. He's looking to finding out what those are, too. He's made preparations for her. Tidied the walking space, so there's nothing for her to stumble over and more room for them to maneuver around each other if necessary. Purchased assistive devices such as liquid level indicators and a speaking alarm clock. Printed braille labels and applied tactile dots to the objects and surfaces he expects her to interact with the most. It borders on reading, but the Aunts confirmed it's an acceptable allowance. Screen readers, pen scanners and electronic books are not. ]
You can take those off, the, ah, the wings. Leave them with your luggage. [ Horse blinders. They do the trick, he supposes. Concealing her impairment might stave off some opportunistic harassment. She won't have to worry about that here.
With a bit of self-deprecation, ] The doorways are narrow, don't want you bumping into anything.
[ Once she's ready, he touches a guiding hand to her elbow, where the Guardian had held her. Gently, where the young man's grip had looked firm. ] Come on.
[ It's a small dwelling for a commander. In each space, he allows her to walk it herself, learn it at her own pace, then return to him to move on. First the living room, right next to where she entered, followed by the kitchen. The dining room, he's converted into his office, which is the first space to be marked as off limits. Down the hallway, he introduces her to the bathroom, all hers, her bedroom, and then his.
It's a cursory tour. He doesn't touch on any of her duties in these rooms or the accommodations he's made. Strictly laying out the skeleton of her new home, and when it's done, ] And that's it. If you manage to find a way to get lost, I'll be impressed.
( Again, her breath catches as she battles against the year-long strict and structured re-education process she went through at the Rachel and Leah Center and what her Commander tells her — which is law, but not above the new laws of Gilead.
Just a strange, grey middle ground that ( like everything else ) will take some getting used to.
With a hesitant hand, she reaches up to remove the wings, revealing the white cap beneath and, despite her best efforts, a few loose strands of blonde. Holding it in one hand and tucking the cane under the same arm, she reaches out with her free hand, searching for her suitcase, and when she finds it, she places the wings upon the hardened leather. When she straightens, Prairie smooths her hand down her red dress and over her face, tucking in a few rogue strands before taking the cane in hand once more and following his lead when he takes her arm. )
Thank you for the warning.
( As they pass the doorway, she lets her fingers and the length of her arm brush against it as she begins familiarizing herself with the home she will be staying at until her posting concludes and she is sent to the next Commander.
With the freedom he grants her to explore, Prairie eagerly does so. Allowing the tips of her fingers to travel over the strange and unfamiliar surfaces and textures. Her touch lingers on the blanket draped over the back of the couch before she returns to him — happy with her inspection.
The look of surprise crosses her fair features when her fingers cross over a familiar, and what she thought was now forbidden, feeling — braille. Her heart pounds and her fingers tremble as she mouths the words. A smile spreads over her lips, and she hesitates to leave the kitchen, but she goes with him to the next areas: the off-limits dining room, the bathroom, her bedroom ... then his. She almost questioned his wife's bedroom, where the ceremony was to take place, but then she remembered what he said earlier about her being downstairs. )
Thank you, ( she says again as she turns to him, that smile still lingering from earlier, but it falters a bit as she bites at the inside of her lip. He sounds kind, and so far, it is all that he's shown her. From what she's heard from the other Handmaiden who found themselves back at the Red Center, that is rare. ) I appreciate all you've done to accommodate me.
It isn't my place, as I'm sure you have a Martha, but I can cook and clean, so I am happy to help wherever you need me.
[ A blind Handmaid, is what he heard. It was all he cared to hear. Gossip bandied about the nearest Jezebel's was how he became aware of her. One of his trips to retrieve contraband required for his work, vital components he has to keep off-record if he's to retain any singular value to his superiors. There were other details raised, questioned, commented on between sips of liquor, over which he was definitively incurious. The usual shallow drivel, Commanders enjoying the privilege to dictate women's desirability.
He didn't care what she looked like. That gave him something of an edge with the Aunts, he's fairly certain. They sent photos with her file once the posting was confirmed, regardless. A criminal posed and catalogued. And admittedly pretty, in an objective sense. Like a very old painting, acknowledged long after the artist's death. Preserved with inadequate haste and attention, all original splendour cracked and faded.
The girl under the wings doesn't look like the girl in the pictures, once she starts to breathe in his home. Her beauty isn't a matter of study. Something about the way she takes her surroundings into her — to witness it, it's interpretive. After the kitchen, he has enough of a mind not to stare. Novelty, is all it is. His routine hasn't been shaken in some time. While he's prepared for her, he can't have anticipated every nuance of her presence and methods. He'll get used to her. She'll fade into the background, as planned.
The tour is a chance to ground himself again; the banality of his descriptions helps significantly. He's well equipped to accept her gratitude when she offers it, and return her smile without undue fascination. ]
I don't — have a Martha. You'd be doing me an incredible service, handling those duties. Why don't I put your things in your room while you make us some tea? You can get familiar with the kitchen. You'll find everything you need.
[ It will take little more than a minute for him to rejoin her, tucking himself out of her way while remaining available to offer help, if asked. The afternoon is a write-off for work, he accepted that at the time he was scheduling her arrival.
He makes conversation, so as to not hover in silence, and, more importantly, because they have more to discuss, ] My household is a bit unorthodox, as I'm sure you can tell.
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( Being forced to wear the wings even though she was blind always felt like some cruel, twisted joke, but the uniform kept the Handmaids from seeing and being seen. For her, they are a hindrance, keeping her from hearing as well as she can, but she supposes it works similarly by impeding a different sense.
Noticing the change in tone, her chest's subtle rise and fall momentarily pauses as her eyebrows push together in confusion. This catches her off guard, just like his casual greeting had. It leaves her wondering, questioning herself and her situation, but before she has a chance to dwell on it too much, the tone from before returns.
When he comes to stand beside her, Prairie stiffens slightly as her head cocks to the side, trying to perceive sounds better now that he isn't directly in front of her. )
I do, ( she replies before reaching into her cloak to pull the folded cane from around her opposite arm and extends it, letting it tap against the ground as she adjusts her grip. )
It shouldn't take me too long to familiarize myself with my room and the other places I can be, so I won't need it much.
no subject
You can take those off, the, ah, the wings. Leave them with your luggage. [ Horse blinders. They do the trick, he supposes. Concealing her impairment might stave off some opportunistic harassment. She won't have to worry about that here.
With a bit of self-deprecation, ] The doorways are narrow, don't want you bumping into anything.
[ Once she's ready, he touches a guiding hand to her elbow, where the Guardian had held her. Gently, where the young man's grip had looked firm. ] Come on.
[ It's a small dwelling for a commander. In each space, he allows her to walk it herself, learn it at her own pace, then return to him to move on. First the living room, right next to where she entered, followed by the kitchen. The dining room, he's converted into his office, which is the first space to be marked as off limits. Down the hallway, he introduces her to the bathroom, all hers, her bedroom, and then his.
It's a cursory tour. He doesn't touch on any of her duties in these rooms or the accommodations he's made. Strictly laying out the skeleton of her new home, and when it's done, ] And that's it. If you manage to find a way to get lost, I'll be impressed.
no subject
( Again, her breath catches as she battles against the year-long strict and structured re-education process she went through at the Rachel and Leah Center and what her Commander tells her — which is law, but not above the new laws of Gilead.
Just a strange, grey middle ground that ( like everything else ) will take some getting used to.
With a hesitant hand, she reaches up to remove the wings, revealing the white cap beneath and, despite her best efforts, a few loose strands of blonde. Holding it in one hand and tucking the cane under the same arm, she reaches out with her free hand, searching for her suitcase, and when she finds it, she places the wings upon the hardened leather. When she straightens, Prairie smooths her hand down her red dress and over her face, tucking in a few rogue strands before taking the cane in hand once more and following his lead when he takes her arm. )
Thank you for the warning.
( As they pass the doorway, she lets her fingers and the length of her arm brush against it as she begins familiarizing herself with the home she will be staying at until her posting concludes and she is sent to the next Commander.
With the freedom he grants her to explore, Prairie eagerly does so. Allowing the tips of her fingers to travel over the strange and unfamiliar surfaces and textures. Her touch lingers on the blanket draped over the back of the couch before she returns to him — happy with her inspection.
The look of surprise crosses her fair features when her fingers cross over a familiar, and what she thought was now forbidden, feeling — braille. Her heart pounds and her fingers tremble as she mouths the words. A smile spreads over her lips, and she hesitates to leave the kitchen, but she goes with him to the next areas: the off-limits dining room, the bathroom, her bedroom ... then his. She almost questioned his wife's bedroom, where the ceremony was to take place, but then she remembered what he said earlier about her being downstairs. )
Thank you, ( she says again as she turns to him, that smile still lingering from earlier, but it falters a bit as she bites at the inside of her lip. He sounds kind, and so far, it is all that he's shown her. From what she's heard from the other Handmaiden who found themselves back at the Red Center, that is rare. ) I appreciate all you've done to accommodate me.
It isn't my place, as I'm sure you have a Martha, but I can cook and clean, so I am happy to help wherever you need me.
no subject
He didn't care what she looked like. That gave him something of an edge with the Aunts, he's fairly certain. They sent photos with her file once the posting was confirmed, regardless. A criminal posed and catalogued. And admittedly pretty, in an objective sense. Like a very old painting, acknowledged long after the artist's death. Preserved with inadequate haste and attention, all original splendour cracked and faded.
The girl under the wings doesn't look like the girl in the pictures, once she starts to breathe in his home. Her beauty isn't a matter of study. Something about the way she takes her surroundings into her — to witness it, it's interpretive. After the kitchen, he has enough of a mind not to stare. Novelty, is all it is. His routine hasn't been shaken in some time. While he's prepared for her, he can't have anticipated every nuance of her presence and methods. He'll get used to her. She'll fade into the background, as planned.
The tour is a chance to ground himself again; the banality of his descriptions helps significantly. He's well equipped to accept her gratitude when she offers it, and return her smile without undue fascination. ]
I don't — have a Martha. You'd be doing me an incredible service, handling those duties. Why don't I put your things in your room while you make us some tea? You can get familiar with the kitchen. You'll find everything you need.
[ It will take little more than a minute for him to rejoin her, tucking himself out of her way while remaining available to offer help, if asked. The afternoon is a write-off for work, he accepted that at the time he was scheduling her arrival.
He makes conversation, so as to not hover in silence, and, more importantly, because they have more to discuss, ] My household is a bit unorthodox, as I'm sure you can tell.