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Whumpcember alt prompt: Hunger (Biggles)
This was set off by an exchange with ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rosanicus about how Erich's waifish look after Sakhalin instantly sets off all his neighbours' "feed the stray cat" instincts.
Alt Prompt 7. Hunger
Since Sakhalin, Erich had found himself struggling to find his appetite again. He knew from the way he shivered at any sort of chill, from his uncharacteristic lack of energy and the aches in his joints, that he ought to be eating more than he was.
But it was hard to see the point in it. He worked long hours at his translations, with a cooling cup of coffee in hand, and laid down his pen only when he was too tired, too cold and shaking to continue. In the small open kitchen, he ate bread and cheese standing up; there was no use in taking the time to make a nicer meal of it. He'd eaten far worse, in worse places. It was enough to survive on.
He did not intend to get to know his neighbours here. In fact, all his instincts screamed against it.
But Mrs Curtis in the flat below him struck up a conversation when he went down for one of his brief, furtive shopping trips, and the next thing he knew he was accepting half her daily bottle of milk ("too large for me, even with Tiddles helping, it'll surely go off") and picking up her post to drop off at her door on his way back upstairs. The other occupant who shared the top floor with him, Miss Harper, insisted that she had far too many leftovers whenever her nephews and nieces came to visit, and pressed baked goods on Erich any time she caught him outside his flat, soon taking to knocking on his door as well. She was quite short, and Erich found himself lifting things off high shelves for her and dusting the tops of picture frames, leaving with a plate of biscuits or a pie wrapped in a tea towel every time, unsure exactly what had happened.
Mr Adeoye on the ground floor, after they had said hello in passing a few times, invited him in for coffee, and after they had ended up talking for some time about books and other safe topics, asked if he wanted to come along to volunteer for a half-day at a nearby organisation that provided help with paperwork and everyday needs for newly arrived displaced persons. Erich went with great reluctance—there was all too much risk of being recognised in such a place—only to find that he was, in fact, very pleased to make himself useful with paperwork and translating as necessary. Their oversteeped tea and inexpensive biscuits were most likely not the best, but he found them unexpectedly appealing.
He was hungry for more than food, it seemed. It was strange how much more appetite he seemed to have, as the days went by, for Miss Harper's day-old pies or the spiced rice that Mr Adeoye's daughter brought by, along with an unexpected thanks for making her father's life in a new city a little less lonely.
Erich found himself yearning to talk to Bigglesworth about it. He was not quite sure what he would say—your countrymen are very welcoming was too banal, I like it here more than I thought I would too revealing. But when Bigglesworth's visits did gradually start to become more regular, Erich was pleased to have a slice of cake, a plate of biscuits, a tin of deep-fried sweet pastries from Mr Adeoye's daughter to share. And they finished it all, chatting quietly over tea or coffee; he was hardly aware of the passage of time.
rosanicus about how Erich's waifish look after Sakhalin instantly sets off all his neighbours' "feed the stray cat" instincts.Alt Prompt 7. Hunger
Since Sakhalin, Erich had found himself struggling to find his appetite again. He knew from the way he shivered at any sort of chill, from his uncharacteristic lack of energy and the aches in his joints, that he ought to be eating more than he was.
But it was hard to see the point in it. He worked long hours at his translations, with a cooling cup of coffee in hand, and laid down his pen only when he was too tired, too cold and shaking to continue. In the small open kitchen, he ate bread and cheese standing up; there was no use in taking the time to make a nicer meal of it. He'd eaten far worse, in worse places. It was enough to survive on.
He did not intend to get to know his neighbours here. In fact, all his instincts screamed against it.
But Mrs Curtis in the flat below him struck up a conversation when he went down for one of his brief, furtive shopping trips, and the next thing he knew he was accepting half her daily bottle of milk ("too large for me, even with Tiddles helping, it'll surely go off") and picking up her post to drop off at her door on his way back upstairs. The other occupant who shared the top floor with him, Miss Harper, insisted that she had far too many leftovers whenever her nephews and nieces came to visit, and pressed baked goods on Erich any time she caught him outside his flat, soon taking to knocking on his door as well. She was quite short, and Erich found himself lifting things off high shelves for her and dusting the tops of picture frames, leaving with a plate of biscuits or a pie wrapped in a tea towel every time, unsure exactly what had happened.
Mr Adeoye on the ground floor, after they had said hello in passing a few times, invited him in for coffee, and after they had ended up talking for some time about books and other safe topics, asked if he wanted to come along to volunteer for a half-day at a nearby organisation that provided help with paperwork and everyday needs for newly arrived displaced persons. Erich went with great reluctance—there was all too much risk of being recognised in such a place—only to find that he was, in fact, very pleased to make himself useful with paperwork and translating as necessary. Their oversteeped tea and inexpensive biscuits were most likely not the best, but he found them unexpectedly appealing.
He was hungry for more than food, it seemed. It was strange how much more appetite he seemed to have, as the days went by, for Miss Harper's day-old pies or the spiced rice that Mr Adeoye's daughter brought by, along with an unexpected thanks for making her father's life in a new city a little less lonely.
Erich found himself yearning to talk to Bigglesworth about it. He was not quite sure what he would say—your countrymen are very welcoming was too banal, I like it here more than I thought I would too revealing. But when Bigglesworth's visits did gradually start to become more regular, Erich was pleased to have a slice of cake, a plate of biscuits, a tin of deep-fried sweet pastries from Mr Adeoye's daughter to share. And they finished it all, chatting quietly over tea or coffee; he was hardly aware of the passage of time.
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But the combination of being given food and the unexpected opportunity to be useful in new ways starts to bring him back to life! Finding a network of other recent immigrants in London! Wanting to talk to Biggles about it!
Erich: sorry I'm late I was just repairing a window latch for old Mrs P downstairs and then she wanted to show me photos of all her grandchildren and I promised her I'd ask if you had any airplane pictures she could send to her Bobby who's eleven and obsessed with airplanes, and she gave me this cake, would anyone like some?
Algy: Does Not Compute
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Erich: sorry I'm late I was just repairing a window latch for old Mrs P downstairs and then she wanted to show me photos of all her grandchildren and I promised her I'd ask if you had any airplane pictures she could send to her Bobby who's eleven and obsessed with airplanes, and she gave me this cake, would anyone like some?
Algy: Does Not Compute
Entirely accurate.
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