[Closed] To find everything I need in me

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Afternoon, 33 Bethas, 2710
Professor Madrigan's Fifth Year Chemistry Class

Professor Farrelton, Fifth Year Dean, sat behind his large, oakwood desk. He smiled, resting his wrists on the edge of it, hands clasped together. “If there is anything else you need, Ms. Palmifer, just let me know. Brunnhold intends to support its students in times of difficulties.”

“I’m all right, Professor,” Chrysanthe said, sitting straight backed in the leather chair, perched on the edge of it. Her chin was lifted, her eyes clear, and her hair hung in two long plaits down her back. “Thank you,” she added, politely.

“All right,” Professor Farrelton smiling; he took his spectacles off, folding them and setting them down on the desk.

There was a moment of silence between them; Chrsyanthe thought she could see him about to speak again. If she had to hear one more platitude, Chrysanthe thought, rather desperately, she might scream.

“I don’t want to late for class, sir,” Chrysanthe said, glancing over at the grandfather clock set between two neat bookshelves. She looked back at Professor Farrelton. “May I be excused?”

“Of course,” Professor Farrelton said after a moment.

“Thank you,” Chrysanthe rose, collecting her bag; she settled it over her shoulder, and made her way towards the door.

“Ms. Palmifer,” Professor Farrelton said.

“Yes, sir?” Chrysanthe glanced back from the door, one hand holding it.

“Nothing,” Farrelton said, after a moment. He smiled. “Have a good class.”

“Thank you, sir,” Chrysanthe went out the door into the hallway, and did not look back.

It really had been only just in time; the bell rang, chiming down the hallway. The doors opened, and students flooded out; Chrysanthe made her way deftly through the lot of them, and came into chemistry at just the last moment. The only seat left was in the first row – in front of Rogerford Grangerton, who was doodling what looked like something very inappropriate on his notebook. Chrysanthe sat in it, straightbacked, and had just enough time to get her pens out and tuck her braids forward over her shoulders before Professor Madrigan began class.

For the next hour, thankfully, there was only chemistry. Chrysanthe was utterly absorbed, taking careful notes as the professor lectured. She ignored Rogerford’s poking of what felt like a pencil into her back through the gaps in the chair, even the one which was so hard it made tears prickle in her eyes; she thought he must have sharpened in, but she didn’t turn. It worked well enough; he gave up after one more poke, although Chrysanthe doubted he did anything more productive with his time.

The bell rang at the end of class; Chrysanthe rose, gathering up her things and putting them in her bag.

“Ms. Palmifer, Mr. Morgenstern,” Professor Madrigan called.

Chrysanthe came to the front of the room, slinging her bookbag strap over her arm. She did not look sideways at Baz Morgenstern, even though he was quite tall and hard to avoid.

Professor Madrigan smiled, leaning on the front of his desk, looking at Chrysanthe, and then over at where she assumed Baz was. He looked back at her. “It’s good to have you back in class this week, Ms. Palmifer,” he said. “I just wanted to remind you that our first examination is at the end of the week. I hope you and Mr. Morgenstern have made good progress in reviewing?”

Chrysanthe took a deep breath in. “Thank you, Professor,” she said, firmly, “Actually, I’m quite fine reviewing on my own.”

Professor Madrigan’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m sure you’re very capable, Ms. Palmifer,” he said, “but there was material covered in class which simply isn’t in the books. I should strongly urge you to review with Mr. Morgenstern – unless,” he said, slowly, “there’s an issue?” He looked between the two of them, eyebrows lifted, a faint hint of a smile still on his face.

“No, sir,” Chrysanthe said, evenly, swallowing hard. “There's no issue.”

“Mr. Morgenstern?” Professor Madrigan turned to Baz once more, still smiling.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 33, 2710

Professor Madrigan's fifth year chemistry class, afternoon.

Sebastian had gone to his father’s office after that night at the library, mostly out of a want to not be alone. He would have liked to see Georgie, perhaps, more than his father, but it was late, and the matron in charge of Georgianna’s dorm did not like boys sniffing around, even if they were just older brothers. His father usually stayed late on twos, and today was no exception. His office window was still warmly illuminated, so Baz made his way inside. A knock on the door produced an invitation to enter. Sampson Morgenstern looked up from the papers he was grading as the door opened, his brows arching.

“Hello, my son,” he said, “what in the world brings you here so late? Come and sit down. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, father,” Baz replied. He was now, mostly. He set his backpack beside one of the chairs opposite his father’s desk and draped his damp coat over the back of it before sitting down. “I was at the library. Professor Madrigan asked me to tutor someone who had been away, and I accepted.”

Sam nodded. “Oh? That’s nice of you,” he said, “made yourself a new friend, did you?”

Baz laughed. It came out a little hollower than he intended, and he felt bad as he noticed a ghost of concern cross his father’s face. He scrubbed his scalp with his fingers and shrugged. “I don’t think she likes me, no.”

The rest of the words came almost unbidden as he explained what had happened that evening, and how he had upset the girl, how she had gotten angry at him. He placed the blame squarely on his own shoulders. Sam listened as he marked his papers, nodding along. Once Baz had finished, Sam looked up.

“Who did you say it was you were tutoring?” he asked.

“Palmifer,” Baz replied. “Chrysanthe Palmifer.”

Sampson gave a solemn nod. “Ah, yes. Palmifer. Terrible what happened to those girls,” he said.

Baz’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? What happened?”

---

Baz was snapped back to reality as the bell rang and Professor Madrigan began the lesson. He saw that Chrysanthe had made it to class after all, seated board straight as always. He hadn’t spoken to her since that night. It actually seemed as though she had been deliberately avoiding him, which he didn’t suppose he blamed her for. He hadn’t made any more offers to tutor her since that night. She had been very clear that she did not want his help, after all. He focused mostly on the lesson, but had noticed Rogerford jabbing her with a pencil. In his opinion, the boy was an absolute tool. It didn’t surprise Baz to find that harassing girls in class was one of his hobbies. What an ersehole.

The bell rang again an hour later, and Baz got to his feet, preparing to leave, when Prof. Madrigan called his name. And Chrysanthe’s. He was surprised to find that the professor still thought he was the one tutoring Chrysanthe. He had thought for sure that she would have gone to him and told him that it hadn’t worked out. It was why he hadn’t done it himself. He looked over at her as she spoke. She didn’t look at him, or to the side at all. His attention snapped back to the professor as he was asked if there would be any issues continuing the arrangement on his end.

He glanced at Chrysanthe once more, remembering what his father had told him. He had thought Baz would already know, that either Professor Madrigan or Chrysanthe herself had told him about the fire. Baz had mulled it over for the last week. He felt that, perhaps, he held a better understanding of the way Chrysanthe had acted before. Professor Madrigan called on him again, and he shook his head, his cheeks colouring slightly as he realized he’d gotten distracted.

“No, Professor,” he said, “it’s not a problem. I’d be glad to.”

He addressed Chrysanthe now, for the first time in over a week. “Shall we meet at the library after dinner again? Or would you prefer somewhere else?”

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Afternoon, 33 Bethas, 2710
Professor Madrigan's Fifth Year Chemistry Class

Chrysanthe glanced over at Baz, slowly; he was looking slightly down at her, eyes wide in his freckled face, blotches of red on his cheeks. Chrysanthe was conscious, too – very conscious – of Professor Madrigan watching her from the edge of the desk, his gold eyes sharp.

“The library works well,” Chrysanthe said, after a moment. She swallowed, her jaw held tight, the line of her back perfectly straight, her uniform skirt lightly creased and her braids resting on her back once more.

There was a moment of silence between them all; Professor Madrigan shifted, slightly, coming off the edge of the desk to stand. “Excellent,” he said; he was smiling, but his eyes went back and forth between them. “Thank you, Mr. Morgenstern,” he said, smiling at Baz. “You can go. Ms. Palmifer – just a word.”

Chrysanthe waited, looking squarely ahead at the board once more, until the door had shut behind Baz.

Professor Madrigan was leaning against the desk, watching her. “It’s difficult for us,” he said, lightly, “as professors, to intervene between students unless a complaint is made. Is there anything you’d like to mention to me, Ms. Palmifer?”

Chrysanthe shifted, adjusting the strap on her bag. “I’m not sure what you mean, Professor.” She said.

Professor Madrigan inclined his head, lightly. “Young Mr. Grangerton seems to have a variety of uses for his pencil other than note-taking.” He said, dryly.

Chrysanthe swallowed; she stepped back from the desk. “It’s fine, Professor. May I go? I don’t want to be late for Literature.”

“Of course,” Professor Madrigan said, smiling.

Chrysanthe turned and hurried out; she felt an odd, awful tightness in her chest. It didn’t help to make a fuss, she told herself; if Rogerford found out she’d snitched, even if Professor Madrigan already knew, there were plenty of other more unpleasant things he could do than poking her with a pencil. It wouldn’t help; she was fine on her own.

Evening, 33 Bethas, 2710
Grand Library

The entry hall to the library was busy and bustling, even through the dinner hour. Chrysanthe had claimed a table for herself and Amaryllis early enough, and she was bent studiously over her textbook now, a pile of blonde hair and a thin, straight back.

Amaryllis had several pages of scores in front of her, lightly annotated in pencil. One hand rested lightly on the page, fingertip hovering just above, and tracing her progress across it. She stopped, studying a series of notes rather intently. Her hands came off the table, and down to her lap, her fingers moving together in unison.

“Can you hear it?” Chrysanthe asked, glancing up at her. She looked back down at her textbook, and turned the page. “When you play like that?”

“Sometimes,” Amaryllis said. She smiled at Chrysanthe. “How’s your essay coming?”

“Fine,” Chrysanthe said, with a little shrug. “I’ve made my main point twice, and it’s already past the required length. But I think – there are a few more things I ought to say,” she frowned down at the pages; she shifted them, taking the top page out, and starting to read.

“Do you want me to look it over?” Amaryllis asked, her hands folded one over the other on the score.

“No,” Chrysanthe said, still looking down.

There was a beat of silence.

Chrysanthe glanced back up; she frowned. Amaryllis was smiling at her.

“I just mean,” Chrysanthe shifted, uncomfortably, on the edge of her suddenly hard chair. “You’ve got your own things to do. The essay’s fine; I’ll finish it up tomorrow. It isn’t due until the five anyway.” She shuffled the papers together, sitting stick straight upright still.

Amaryllis sighed, very softly; she smiled at Chrysanthe once more, and looked back down at the page of her score.

Chrysanthe shifted, feeling unaccountably guilty. She glanced down at the table, prodding at the edge of her papers with a pen; she stopped, and sat back, and glanced up again, then looked down at the paper once more. “Are you going to play it in the showcase?” Chrysanthe asked.

Amaryllis smiled, lightly; she looked up. “I’m not doing the showcase this year,” she said, quietly.

“What?” Chrysanthe’s eyes went wide; she sat forward. “But you – ” She swallowed, hard, and lowered her voice. “But you had so much fun with it. That’s not fair, Amaryllis; won’t they let you?”

“Oh,” Amaryllis shook her head. “No, of course it’s allowed, but it doesn’t seem appropriate, anymore,” she smiled at Chrysanthe. “It’s all right, Chrysanthe; I like playing music for the joy of it, really, not because of the crowds.”

Chrysanthe sat still, another moment, stunned. “Is it because of him?” She asked. “Is it that he doesn’t want you too?”

“Chrysanthe!” Amaryllis’s eyes went wide. “No – no, of course not,” she covered her left hand with her right, and then, as if thinking better of it, drew them apart. “It’s nothing like that, darling, honestly. It’s just that there’s so much to do, with the estate, and I just didn’t feel I had time, and… things have changed. That’s all.”

Chrysanthe’s nostrils flared; she glanced away, and nodded, slowly and tightly. She shuffled through her papers again, bending her head to the textbook once more.

“Chrysanthe,” Amaryllis said, softly.

Chrysanthe didn’t look up.

Amaryllis reached beneath the table, her hand resting on Chrysanthe’s; Chrysanthe shifted, and then curled her fingers through her sister’s. Amaryllis squeezed her hand, lightly, smiling. “It’s going to be all right,” she said, softly.

Chrysanthe glanced over at her, again, her lips pressed together.

Amaryllis smiled at her. “Can I look at your essay?”

Chrysanthe huffed, and neatened the stack of papers, setting them in front of her sister.

Amaryllis grinned back at her, and settled to read. “You know,” she said, lightly, a few minutes later, “this is quite good.”

Chrysanthe made a face, and then – unbidden – she giggled.

Amaryllis smiled over at her, and Chrysanthe smiled too, and pulled her textbook closer to keep reading.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 33, 2710

The Grand Library, evening.

"No, I don't think you can get away with it," Baz said.

He was talking, of course, to his sister, Georgianna, who was walking at his side. There was no questioning that the two of them were related. They shared the same ginger hair, the same cleft chin, and the same myriad of freckles. Georgie’s hair was somewhat wilder, though, barely restrained in a braid down her back. She had told him at dinner that she needed to go to the library, and since that was where Baz was to be headed as well, they had decided to go together.

Georgianna rolled her eyes dramatically. “It’s a still-life, Bash,” she said, “two tomatoes and an artfully placed courgette count as a still-life! There are more still-lifes of fruit baskets than anyone can shake a stick at! I could absolutely get away with it.”

Baz gave her a look, a look she knew well. A sibling look, one that conveyed a vast and complex series of emotions depending on context. In this case, it said ‘I love you and adore you but there is no way that your art teacher is not going to notice that your artfully placed courgette is a stand-in for a phallus’. Georgie crossed her arms over her chest and turned up her chin.

“You’re no fun,” she said, before she shoved open the doors of the library. She lowered her voice, and continued. “It would be so satisfying to make that old bat judge my work and know exactly what it was she was really staring at.”

“Georgie, you can do whatever you like,” Baz replied, stopping in the foyer to look out over the sea of tables. Chrysanthe was easy enough to spot, and it appeared she had company. “Over this way,” he said, taking Georgianna’s arm and directing her to the table. “As I was saying, you can do whatever you like but I absolutely reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ when she tells father what you’ve done and makes you do the assignment over again.”

It was at this point that they arrived at the table where Chrysanthe and her companion were seated. Baz gave a short bow, mostly intended for Amaryllis.

“Good evening,” Baz said to them both before addressing Amaryllis, “I’m Baz Morgenstern. I’m Chrysanthe’s chemistry tutor. This is my sister, Georgianna.”

Georgie gave a little bow of her own. “Evening! It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she said, cheerily, turning her attention to Chrysanthe, “So you’re the one my little brother is helping? I think I’ve seen you around before, but I don’t know that we’ve had any classes together.”

As she said “little brother”, a twinge of annoyance crossed Baz’s face. She was only taller than him by a hair, but was intent on making sure he never, ever forgot it. In actuality, he was the older one. It was only by a frame of about fifteen minutes, but he was still older. He set his backpack on the table.

“Your older brother is helping her, yes,” he said.

Georgianna only grinned.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 33 Bethas, 2710
Grand Library

Conclusions are the worst part,” Chrysanthe said, bent over the essay with Amaryllis. “It's really hard to sort out where to – ”

At the sound of a familiar voice, Chrysanthe went quiet; she sat back, glancing over her shoulder at Baz. There was a girl who looked exactly like him, practically, in a sort of girlish way.

“Good evening,” Chrysanthe rose, her papers spread out; next to her, she heard a rustle of uniformed skirts suggested Amaryllis was doing the same. She bowed, directed mostly towards Georgianna.

“Good evening,” Amaryllis said with a warm, friendly smile. She bowed as well, a few loose locks of hair tumbling over her face, and brushed them back with her hand as she rose back up. The static mona in her field were comfortably entwined with Chrysanthe’s already; for all that it was not an especially strong field, there was a friendly sort of warm feeling to her caprise.

“This is my sister,” Chrysanthe said, glancing back at Amaryllis. “Amaryllis Palmifer.”

“Nice to meet you, Baz, and you, Georgianna,” Amaryllis said, smiling. “Let me just pack up my things, and I’ll be out of your way.”

Chrysanthe smiled politely at Georgianna, reaching out with a tentative caprise. “Um, yes, that’s right,” she said, her fingertips resting lightly on the table. She glanced down at her static conversation essay, gathering the pages up. She didn’t particularly look at Baz, still standing. “I’ve seen you too,” she said, and smiled. “Tall girls stand out, I guess.”

Amaryllis took the sheet music she’d been reading, sliding it careful into a folder and closing it over the delicate pages. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “Here, Chrysanthe – I thought you might get hungry studying.” She settled her bag onto the table, and took out a napkin wrapped package, setting it carefully down on the table. Food was allowed in the library, though perhaps not encouraged – although only in the outermost tables, and never amidst the actual books.

“What’s in it?” Chrysanthe asked, hopefully, looking down at the table. She glanced over at Baz, and shifted, settling the papers into their proper place and putting the notebook away.

“Scones,” Amaryllis said with a smile, unwrapping the edge of the cloth; a bit of lemon rind gleamed at a rounded edge, with a scattering of pale blue poppyseeds throughout as well. “Both of you,” she said to the Morgensterns, “please feel free as well; there’s plenty to share.”

Chrysanthe’s stomach made an awful sort of sound, and she grimaced; she hadn’t exactly meant to skip dinner. She rarely did; she seemed to be hungry all the time, these days. She supposed she was still growing; she quite hoped so. “Thanks awfully, Amaryllis,” she smiled at her sister. Her hands were on the back of her chair now, holding it a bit tightly.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 33, 2710

The Grand Library, evening.

Baz looked between the two girls. He did see the family resemblance, now that it was pointed out. So this was the nice sister, the one that Chrysanthe had said he reminded her of. He supposed it was a compliment, she did seem very nice. He caught sight of the sheet music as she tucked it away. A musician, then. He took another look at her, and thought he might remember seeing her play piano in the showcase the year before.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amaryllis,” Baz said, returning her smile, and her caprise, static meeting static. He liked her field, the warm and friendly nature of it suited her demeanor.

Georgie returned the Palmifers’ caprises in kind. Like theirs, and her brothers, her field was mostly static. It was a bit rougher than Baz’s, though, and not as strong. She was more a painter than a sculptor, and painting had little use for magic and more use for a good eye and a steady hand.

“We do!” she said, nodding to Chrysanthe. “I haven’t quite figured out yet if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but it’s fun to be taller than the boys.”

She leaned a little closer and raised a hand to her mouth in a stage whisper. “Baz thinks he’ll catch up to me, but I’m hoping I’ll keep ahead of him. Even if it’s only a little.”

Baz’s cheeks reddened slightly. “It’s barely a quarter of an inch,” he muttered.

Georgie giggled, and Baz busied himself with getting his things out of his bag as the girls talked. He looked up as Amaryllis produced her bundle of scones and invited them to share. If either of the Morgensterns heard the sound Chrysanthe’s stomach had made, they both politely ignored it. Georgie’s eyes lit up at the mention of baked goods, and she slid into the chair beside where Baz was setting up. She reached out and delicately moved the rest of the napkin out of the way, exposing the little pile of baked treasures.

“Oh, they look lovely!” she remarked.

“Thank you,” Baz said, smiling, “that’s very kind of you.”

“Yes, thank you!” Georgie echoed. “Did you make them?”

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 33 Bethas, 2710
Grand Library

Chrysanthe’s smile opened up a little more as Georgianna went on; she relaxed, slightly, her hand softening on the back of the chair. “I like it,” she said, staunchly. “I hope I keep growing,” she grinned at Georgianna, just a little. She wasn’t taller than Baz, but she was taller than most of the other girls in their class already, and she really felt as if she would grow more; she was sure of it.

Amaryllis’s gaze flicked over to her; she smiled, softly, looking at the two girls.

There was a nice little heap of rounded scones; they weren’t steaming warm, but they looked as if they had been baked earlier that day at the latest. Chrysanthe sat down again, back in the same chair as before; she pulled out her chemistry notebook, and the handful of pens and colored pencils she liked for that class.

“She did,” Chrysanthe sad, answering for her sister. She raised her eyebrows up at Amaryllis. “She’s brilliant at baking.” Chrysanthe took out a handkerchief of her own, spreading it on the table; she took one of the scones, and broke a little piece off. It was flaky and soft, very fresh, and smelled even lovelier than it looked.

Amaryllis’s cheeks colored lightly. “We’ve a shared oven in my dorm,” Amaryllis explained, smiling. “I find it relaxing.”

It was silly, Chrysanthe thought, not to want to admit to baking. Amaryllis was really good at it, and she liked it too, and they were sitting here enjoying the scones she’d made. She knew Amaryllis didn’t like to brag about herself, but she didn’t think it was about that, not really. She was all right at admitting when she was good at something – like playing the piano – even if she didn’t like to talk about that either. It didn’t matter; Georgianna had asked, properly and directly, and Chrysanthe had answered.

Chrysanthe popped the bite of scone into her mouth. She relaxed a little against the back of the chair, although she still sat very straight and even. It really was delicious.

“I wouldn’t like to get in your way,” Amaryllis said. “Good luck studying; I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow, Chrysanthe?”

Chrysanthe nodded. “Thanks again,” she said, a bit quietly.

Amaryllis took her papers, holding them lightly; she made her way across the library, towards a table at the other end of the room with a handful of other upper year students. She sat down next to two, a girl with Bastian looks and sharp green eyes, who was gesturing vividly as she spoke, and another girl with tight red ringlets who was giggling behind her hand; both turned to her with a smile.

Chrysanthe watched her get settled, and turned back to the Morgensterns. She looked at each of them, Baz first and then Georgianna; she broke off another bite of the scone, and ate it as well, dusting her fingers off against the handkerchief. “Are you taking chemistry too?” She asked Georgianna after a moment, her field exploring the other girl’s. Chrysanthe’s field was strong at least for their age, warm, with burgeoning depth to it. Her caprise wasn’t quite as gentle as Amaryllis’s, but it wasn’t forceful or rough either.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 33, 2710

The Grand Library, evening.

Georgie was the first of the two Morgensterns to help herself to the scones, though she was a bit less delicate about it than Chrysanthe was. Baz finally sat down, taking a moment to undo his cuffs and roll up his sleeves before helping himself to the scones as well, pulling out a handkerchief and setting it to the side for now. He didn’t care for pastries as much as his sister did, but it would be rude to refuse, and they did look very inviting. Georgianna shook her head as she was asked if she was also taking chemistry. She answered Chrysanthe’s probing with a gentle poke of her own. Her field was still a bit of a dasher, but it was starting to take on a prominent static lean.

“No, I never really cared much for the sciences. That’s entirely Baz’s line of expertise — science and machines. He’s always tinkering away with something,” she said, “Just like our father. I’m more interested in art and history. Mostly art, though.”

Baz opened his notebook, searching for where they had left off last time. “Georgie is quite talented,” he said, “last year she drew a family portrait for our mother, it really was impressive. Mother had it framed, it's hanging over the mantle in the parlour at home.”

Georgianna looked quite pleased with herself. “It was a surprise,” she explained, “I had to try to draw mother without her noticing for weeks to get enough references to put everything together. Millie — that’s our baby sister — was the hardest though, she doesn’t like sitting still.”

Baz leaned over to try and get a look at Chrysanthe’s notes. “How far did you get on your own? We can pick up from there.”

Georgie helped herself to another scone, before she got to her feet again. “I should let the two of you study,” she said, “I need to go find some art books and see if I can come up with another idea for a still-life. Someone doesn’t think my current idea is very good.”

Baz’s cheeks coloured. “I never said it wasn’t a good idea, I just don’t think you’ll get away with it.”

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, 33 Bethas, 2710
Grand Library

Chrysanthe was still nibbling at the scone she’d taken. She watched the siblings, listening attentively. She looked at Baz when Georgianna said his name, and then back to Georgianna when Baz mentioned her. They seemed to be comfortable talking to one another; for all that Chrysanthe nodded when Georgianna explained the details of her portrait, she didn’t ask any follow ups or say anything about it; she wasn’t quite sure what to say.

Chrysanthe opened her notebook, taking a deep breath; she turned the pages, carefully, then, thinking better of it, turned them back. “I had the syllabus,” she explained to Baz, glancing up at him and meeting his gaze again. She didn’t hold it very long before she looked back down at her notebook, her hand resting on it. “So I went through all the chapters of the textbook we’d covered – my notes are here – and the supplemental reading for each unit, also.” She flipped forward, carefully, to the notes she’d taken on the supplements for the first unit, and, after a moment of hesitation, turned the notebook around and slid it to Baz.

It had taken all weekend; Chrysanthe had scarcely done a thing except study and attend class since getting back. She didn’t mind; it was good to keep busy. Anyway, she had to catch up in all her classes, at least as far as she could before the break for the Feast of St. Grumble’s. In some classes, she’d had deadlines postponed, so work was due over the break or after they returned. She hadn’t wanted them for chemistry or static conversation; they were her favorite classes, and Chrysanthe had thought it best to be fully caught up as soon as possible, rather than to linger behind the other students even longer, not fully understanding what was covered in class.

“I’ve done the problem sets I missed as well,” Chrysanthe went on; she flipped ahead in her notebook, showing Baz the problems she’d worked out. “Professor Madrigan said I shan’t need to turn them in but I thought – it would be a good way to review.”

It was around then that Georgianna had stood up, taking the scone. Chrysanthe smiled slightly up at her, watching her go, and looked back at Baz, who was blushing now. She took a deep breath, looking down at the notebook, and plunged on, fear churning tightly in her stomach.

“I had a bit of trouble with this one,” Chrysanthe turned another page, and offered Baz the notebook. It was an assignment from two weeks ago, one which had focused more on the material in lecture and rather less on the textbook. Her face was a little pale beneath her freckles, but she went on, rather staunchly. It was in the service of learning, Chrysanthe told herself. All the same, if Baz might fun of her she should take her things, run off, and never return.

“Maybe we could start there?” Chrysanthe asked, her gaze fixed solidly on the page; she didn’t quite dare to look at him.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 33, 2710

The Grand Library, evening.

Now that Georgianna had gone off to find what she needed and left them alone, Baz listened intently as Chrysanthe explained all she had done on her own. Save a few things that he knew had been discussed only in class and not in the text, her own notes were exhaustive. She likely would have been mostly fine if she had been left to her own devices, but Professor Madrigan had been right. There were a few key things that she was missing. Baz shared his notebook, flipping through along with her and pointing out observations or other things that he had made, having been present for the class, that she had not. He didn't really notice anything odd about her demeanor or behavior, mostly focused on the task at hand. When she brought up a particular problem, he reached out and carefully took her notebook in order to get a closer look.

“Ah, yeah,” he said, nodding. “That’s as good a place as any.”

He set Chrysanthe’s book back down and flipped through his own until he found his notes on the subject. He slid them closer to her. His handwriting was clear and easy enough to read, though his bullet points and notes were a bit all over the place, and didn’t seem to have much organizational sense. There were doodles in the margins — some of gears, one of an airship, and one of a bird that seemed to have the most effort put into it. They weren’t very good, but they were, at least, inoffensive. It seemed the elder Morgenstern, unlike his sister, was not exactly an artist.

“This is what I wrote down,” he explained, “Sorry for the, uh, mess. I have to admit I struggle with paying attention to long lectures. Hopefully there’s enough there to help clear up what had you confused. I can try and explain it as well, if you like”

He shifted and picked a bit off the scone that had so far sat untouched, popping it in his mouth. His eyes lit up a bit, and he gestured to it. “This really is good, you’ll have to give my compliments to your sister. She really is a wonderful baker.”