My fic: Miss Marple: Daily Rituals: Gen
Nov. 11th, 2021 11:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stonepicnicking_okapiTitle: Daily Rituals
Fandom: Miss Marple - Agatha Christie
Length: 550
Rating: Gen
For: my gen prompt bingo G-5: Daily Rituals (Morning Routines / Nightly Prayers / Meal Times)
Summary: Miss Marple quickly settles into the routine of a coach tour.
One bright autumn morning, Miss Jane Marple, elderly spinster, slowly descended the main staircase of the travelers’ lodge, clinging to the banister with what those who knew her would describe as characteristic self-preservation.
When Miss Marple reached the foot of the stairs, she silently acknowledged the mingled aromas of a well-cooked English breakfast for many with approbation. As she made her way to the dining room, she reflected with humble self-awareness how quickly a daily routine was adopted.
After all, this was only the fourth day of the coach tour, and she already considered herself an old hand. She was already established in her rituals, such as they were.
First, she rose early, as was her custom even in her home of Saint Mary Meade. She made herself presentable, washing her face and brushing and arranging her hair in much the same manner as her mother had taught her many, many years ago. Once she was presentable, she joined the rest of the members of the coach tour for breakfast, then made a brief sojourn back to her room before being loaded up and ferried off to the day’s destination.
The morning was spent walking, looking at churches, walking, looking at gardens, walking.
The meals were at set times, and she and Dolly Bantry, her companion on this tour, made the most of them.
The exertion of a morning was sufficient for Miss Marple, and in the afternoon, she found a quiet, picturesque spot to knit until tea. Dolly did not join her in the afternoons. She launched herself on a quest for a bulb or a cutting that she had spied earlier in the day.
The day wore on.
Eventually, Miss Marple washed and changed for dinner.
The evening meal was spent at whatever accommodation was designated for that night. Miss Marple did not enjoy eating heavily so late, so she had soup and bread and a glass of whatever local cordial was on offer. She and Dolly would reflect on the day’s events and wonder aloud about their fellow diners and travelers.
In retiring for the night, Miss Marple performed her rites as she always did. She read a passage from her well-worn Bible and said her prayers, seated in bed, propped up on pillows, with a white cap on her head and a warm shawl at hand in case of draught.
Every day pleasant, but Miss Marple acknowledged on that fourth morning, every day the same. It was a fortnight’s tour. Miss Marple sighed when she contemplated the days ahead.
She sighed again when she boarded the coach, taking the same seat beside Dolly and, once again, listening to Dolly holding forth on the information provided in the pamphlet supplied by the tour company.
Kidwally Castle did prove most interesting. The views of the River Gwendraeth were very fine, indeed, even from the shorter, safter vantage points that Miss Marple, and her elderly spinster knees, preferred.
But Miss Marple was most heartened—ashamedly and ghoulishly heartened, to be certain—when an unknown personage tipped chatty Mrs. Harrigan over the edge of the tallest tower, then vanished from the three flights of very narrow stairs afterwards.
Perhaps the day would not be so routine at all, Miss Marple thought, as she and Dolly exchanged conspiratorial and sleuth-ready glances.
Fandom: Miss Marple - Agatha Christie
Length: 550
Rating: Gen
For: my gen prompt bingo G-5: Daily Rituals (Morning Routines / Nightly Prayers / Meal Times)
Summary: Miss Marple quickly settles into the routine of a coach tour.
One bright autumn morning, Miss Jane Marple, elderly spinster, slowly descended the main staircase of the travelers’ lodge, clinging to the banister with what those who knew her would describe as characteristic self-preservation.
When Miss Marple reached the foot of the stairs, she silently acknowledged the mingled aromas of a well-cooked English breakfast for many with approbation. As she made her way to the dining room, she reflected with humble self-awareness how quickly a daily routine was adopted.
After all, this was only the fourth day of the coach tour, and she already considered herself an old hand. She was already established in her rituals, such as they were.
First, she rose early, as was her custom even in her home of Saint Mary Meade. She made herself presentable, washing her face and brushing and arranging her hair in much the same manner as her mother had taught her many, many years ago. Once she was presentable, she joined the rest of the members of the coach tour for breakfast, then made a brief sojourn back to her room before being loaded up and ferried off to the day’s destination.
The morning was spent walking, looking at churches, walking, looking at gardens, walking.
The meals were at set times, and she and Dolly Bantry, her companion on this tour, made the most of them.
The exertion of a morning was sufficient for Miss Marple, and in the afternoon, she found a quiet, picturesque spot to knit until tea. Dolly did not join her in the afternoons. She launched herself on a quest for a bulb or a cutting that she had spied earlier in the day.
The day wore on.
Eventually, Miss Marple washed and changed for dinner.
The evening meal was spent at whatever accommodation was designated for that night. Miss Marple did not enjoy eating heavily so late, so she had soup and bread and a glass of whatever local cordial was on offer. She and Dolly would reflect on the day’s events and wonder aloud about their fellow diners and travelers.
In retiring for the night, Miss Marple performed her rites as she always did. She read a passage from her well-worn Bible and said her prayers, seated in bed, propped up on pillows, with a white cap on her head and a warm shawl at hand in case of draught.
Every day pleasant, but Miss Marple acknowledged on that fourth morning, every day the same. It was a fortnight’s tour. Miss Marple sighed when she contemplated the days ahead.
She sighed again when she boarded the coach, taking the same seat beside Dolly and, once again, listening to Dolly holding forth on the information provided in the pamphlet supplied by the tour company.
Kidwally Castle did prove most interesting. The views of the River Gwendraeth were very fine, indeed, even from the shorter, safter vantage points that Miss Marple, and her elderly spinster knees, preferred.
But Miss Marple was most heartened—ashamedly and ghoulishly heartened, to be certain—when an unknown personage tipped chatty Mrs. Harrigan over the edge of the tallest tower, then vanished from the three flights of very narrow stairs afterwards.
Perhaps the day would not be so routine at all, Miss Marple thought, as she and Dolly exchanged conspiratorial and sleuth-ready glances.