Title: traces of flour.
Fandom: Original .
Warnings / Spoilers: None .
Characters: Hans DëVöer and family.
Summary: "No Hans, the cake is for after dinner" were the words of his mother. But the craving was greater than the fear of his mother. _________
Hans
"No, not yet" the pot of reply was immediate. However, even though wrinkled lips again and again, was useless, Hans's mother would not budge. So the child that he had no tiptoe until she burned the toes, trying in vain to gain some of the contents of that crock.
was still too small to reach the center of the table, where his mother is mixing the ingredients, making them a yellowish mass that later mutate into a cake. Hans loved to eat the dough without baking, almost as much as he liked to watch the slowly inflating cake in the oven. On one occasion his mother found him too close to the oven window, from the time Hans visits were restricted to the kitchen.
- You're ready, Mom? - in their quest to reach the bowl of dough, was balancing on one foot but the gesture disapproving of his mother made him give up the body juggling.
"You will not try, Hans, this is the dessert, remember that your grandparents are coming for dinner, when his mother leaned over to him, Hans knew he was examining her dress, then you have to change that shirt ...-
-Mother, grandparents are here Zeit walked into the kitchen unannounced, Hans smiled before looking at his mother. She made a face of doubt before wiping his hands on her apron, leaving him in the back of a chair.
-Pon cake in the oven and take your brother into the room, make him change clothes ...- were his last words before disappearing behind the door of the kitchen.
Hans looked at her sister, she was silent, his hands touching the edge of the table. He could almost touch his elbow, but Zeit had no time for any movement. She turned to him, bending both knees to be nearly the same height. The brown curls falling from her shoulders and her lips widened into a smile. Hans smiled, troubled by the scent of violets that flowed from it.
"Come here, sweet boy ...- Zeit lifted him in her arms, dropped Hans chuckled triumphantly, raising his hands to the ceiling, imagining that he could touch the tip of his fingers the candle that lit the kitchen-come before mom returns, Hans-pretending exasperated, she spent the huge bucket that was used to scramble cake mix. Hans
took him in her hands, bringing it to his lips and eagerly devouring the remains of the mass. Reviewed the tongue on the palate, pushing slowly swallowing his dessert in advance. He bit and licked around the bucket, even where there were remnants of unmixed flour. Then, put his fingers to his mouth, two by two, clearing any trace of mass would have been on the knuckles, the folds or nails.
would put his hand into the bowl, but Zeit tapped him on the neck, as if he guessed the thought. He smiled, still chewing on the right thumb and forefinger. His sister pressed her lips encompassed her cheeks, he knew the gesture was when Zeit was holding a laugh.
"My Hans, Hans my greedy, leave something for dinner ...- whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead.
Many years later, in the prison cell, Hans remember the many occasions when her sister held her in his arms, to help you achieve the remaining cake batter. Evoke the scent of violets and Zeit knitted brows of his mother and desperate in a fit of madness, inserted two fingers in his mouth, pretending at times that dirt and sweat could be remnants of flour and egg yolks.
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