Women and Apples

Summer had been shifting beautifully into autumn, and Murcia had been having coffee with Glika almost every other day for months now. 

They still went to swim on warmer days when the line between summer and fall proved thin, but that wasn’t the case this time in Murcia’s house duly invaded by her friend.

“You wanna do something fun?” Glika asked early that day, carrying a bag of mysteries.

She was beautiful, Glika loved summer, though if anyone had asked Murcia, autumn matched her better. 

The colors didn't even have to be dull, olivine and copper, sweaters of cable knit excesses.

But this was just a friend's bias. 

"What do you mean?"

"Just something fun, like apple picking!" Glika grinned into it, as she set her bag down on the kitchen counter.

"Why that? It sounds tiresome."

“Only as tiresome as unlocking the fence. Besides, I want to eat fresh fruit.”

“Alright,” Murcia looked down at her night shirt, she was having a late start that day. “I should get dressed first.”

“That’s actually part of it, apple picking is always best in costume!”

“Really? Sounds inconvenient.”

“Not if you have help.” she said, before opening the bag and sharing her apparent haul. There were various tubes of makeup and pallets of facepaint, that went along with some rather cheap wigs, and some truly ugly jewelry.

“That’s a lot.”

“Not really, but it’s enough for the full experience!” she dug farther in before saying, “You should wash up if you want, I’ll set everything out.”

“Okay.” Murcia went up to the bathroom, to wash up, not worrying about getting an opulent smell for beneath the cheap costumery. Glika had her expectations but she was nowhere near as demanding as Raphael.

The thought slipped forward like the water on her hair, and she became transfixed by the drawn flow of it, as the soap and its suds disappeared.

She slipped a loose shirt dress on before scurrying down the stairs.

Glika had emptied the bag, and cleaned the coffee maker before Murcia thought to leave the water, she was just making some when her foot hit the ground floor.

“So, what am I supposed to wear?”

“Well, that depends. Your shoes should either be flats or exceedingly comfortable.” Glika made as if she were in deep thought, “and since we’ll be out for a while, we should pick out something that's fairly warm or full coverage.”

“Alright, that’s pretty basic.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to wear that, though?” Glika tugged at the skirt redistributing the gathers, “It's a pretty good base layer.”

“It’s alright, I’m not sure about the costumes this would fit.” she gestured to herself, “besides I’m not that interested.”

“Then just wear it, since you're out of ideas,” Glika almost sounded annoyed in that moment, “Besides, you could just go as a stepford wife if you don’t want to be a scarecrow.”

“What’ll you be? If I’m out as either of those.”

“Well, I could always be ‘the other woman’ but that would mean heels, it’d be odd to pick apples in heels,” Glika said, breaking her own rules stuck on the theme, Murcia stayed quiet to listen, drinking her coffee as she did so. 

“I could even be Dorothy if you have that dress in blue.” the thought splayed past her, Murcia didn’t own such an object but she could imagine it made delicate on her frame, especially so if it was bought in the same lot as the other.

“What a look.” she said on a breath. She set her coffee down, and went to look through the bag. She wanted a look at the paint she had procured, at least before she was struck by it on her face.

if only to make up for what she hadn’t seen before, Glika presented some of the cloth accessories in her bag, a few drop off party store monstrosities that she’d probably have to furrow away in Raphael’s side of the closet, a few hats and the sorriest wigs she’d ever seen.

On a role with her joke she went ahead and picked up the conical one.

“Oh, I know. I’ll be a witch, that’s classic enough to get across.” A fine option to be sure, though Glika seemed too bright that day for only that.

Out of all the things to find in her hands, novelty goggles, in a lucky size for either of them with an adjustable strap, “You could be a mad witch if that ain’t too derivative.” 

“Probably, but it’s better than something less convenient,” her brow furrowed, “I think you’re rubbing off on me. Stop that.”

“Nope.”

They went on to finish their coffee before starting back on their little escapade, Glika wasn’t in need of much, her current get up was functional for the outing, while Murcia still needed to hunt down some leg coverage and shoes.

Their makeup went on with little fanfare, however flamboyant it was, before Glika went out for her car. It was still Glika’s ‘party’ so she had the say, that and she didn’t trust Murcia behind the wheel of anything outside an arcade.

The Bursnatch Orchard wasn’t the only one in the state, but it was the only one within driving distance that suited Glika’s tastes, that being a smaller establishment that offered a hayride. They were lucky that day as they were offering them to and fro till ten o'clock, given the long drive out.

Still they had a good time, against the carefully pruned trees of the orchard. The fact that Glika opted for bright yellow rain boots likely contributed, at least to her own mood.

She hears the snap in the stem of an apple she picked, and to spite a bright red it was sour.

“What a face,” she says warmly, like cider and cinnamon. She asks to take the rest, Glika always seems prepared for strange things. Never wasteful,

Murcia looks around and away, to the tallest tree, a dummy hung in the mood for the seasons. How novel.

“Oh, what’s this?” she hears by her shoulder, Glika hands off her half. Murcia watches her friend march off to the display.

“It’s just a dummy, nothing strange,” she says, like this curiosity wasn’t infectious, she follows after lacking sense.

“Isn’t it strange anyway, this far out?” Glika asks with a severe logic in her tone. 

“Maybe not, a worker could be pulling a joke,” she looks down at the apple in her hands, “besides if it’s a body it could only turn your stomach.” she can’t tell what end is hers, and really that seems more important at the moment.

Murcia takes a bite to spite herself and it tastes sweet. She drops the apple.

“Well, that was dramatic.” Glika says, because true gluttony lacks vanity even enough for shame.