[Closed] A Little Bird Told Me (Chrysanthe)

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 29, 2710

Chrysanthe's dorm room, late morning.

It had been a week since the library, both the first and second times, although Baz preferred to think more on the latter. They had both done exceptionally well on their exams. Tutoring Chrysanthe on material she had missed had given him an excuse to refresh his own memory and revise his own notes, which in the end had helped them both. They chatted often now, usually before or after class. Baz had gotten in the habit of saving her the seat in front of him. Spending one class watching someone jam a pencil into her back was enough motivation to take a quiet stand and make sure it wouldn’t happen anymore. At least, in Chemistry.

The weather had finally started to take a turn towards warmer days, which meant that, at last, it was perfect weather to tromp through the campus woods in search of various returning bird species. Baz had invited Chrysanthe to join him weeks ago, but rainy weather had so far kept them indoors. The weather forecast had finally promised a stretch of rain free days near the end of Loshis, and they had made solid plans to go out together so that he could teach her how to identify some of the various birds that called the campus home. He had already pointed out the blue tits to her, the ones he often saw foraging near the science halls. He was excited to show her more and, hopefully, be able to share his hobby with someone else who might actually enjoy it.

He made his way to the dorm building that Chrysanthe had told him she was in. The halls were largely empty, which made sense, as it was the weekend and there were better things to do on nice days than loiter in hallways. It also meant he didn’t need to stop and explain himself to any one as he made his way through the building. He found Chrysanthe’s room easily enough, raised his hand, and knocked on the door. After a moment he heard her tell him to come in, which he did.

“Are you ready?” he asked as he entered. His expression was one of excitement as he continued, “There should be lots to see. I heard a turtle dove this morning!”

"I hope we can—" His eyes fell on Chrysanthe, and he stopped in his tracks, his face immediately falling. “Chrys? Are you alright?”

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Late Morning, 29 Loshis, 2710
Chrysanthe’s Room

The box of chocolates was sitting on her desk still. Chrysanthe hadn’t especially liked them to start; they had indistinguishable exteriors, and while some were filled with perfectly nice strawberry or lemon cream or a sort of pleasant nutty mix in buttercream, others had a dreadfully unpleasant caramel which clung to ones teeth for hours on end, even after brushing.

But it had been sort of a pleasant surprise when Amaryllis told her, smiling, that Mr. Montrefort had sent a box of chocolates for her. She remembered him sort of vaguely as a friend of their father’s and a neighbor; his son Milton was an odious little brat between the two of them in age, and they’d spent various unpleasant hours together in childhood. Now, of course, he was the executor of the estate, such as it was; at the funeral he had been terribly condescending, especially towards Amaryllis who was after all nineteen, but towards Chrysanthe too; she was fourteen, not nine.

But chocolates were chocolates, and Chrysanthe had offered Amaryllis some, as was polite, and then had taken the box back to her room and done her best to sort out before taking a bite which ones were nice and which ones were caramel.

It hadn’t bothered her then, and she really hadn’t thought anything of it. Then last night she had been studying in Amaryllis’s room - they had both been studying - and Amaryllis’s time in the practice hall had come. She had left Chrysanthe to finish her chapter.

She hadn’t meant to snoop, really. But her pencil had snapped, and so she’d been looking on Amaryllis’s desk for a sharpener and she’d seen her name in the letter. It wasn’t quite sitting there - it was sort of beneath another paper - but she’d seen the first few letters, and there weren’t a lot of other things that started with Chry.

Crying didn’t help of course. She knew that; she didn’t believe in crying, as a general rule. It was for babies and maidens trapped in towers, and Chrysanthe was neither. She had done a very good job not crying last night, even while trying to fall asleep and when she’d woken up in the middle of the night (both times) and then this morning she had rather lost it, somewhere after brushing and braiding her hair and getting dressed and before putting her shoes on.

The knock on the door came as a surprise. The crying had sort of petered out, and left Chrysanthe sitting on the bed, feeling rather like a wet dishcloth that had been wrung out. The door wasn’t locked - she didn’t think - and she had rather thought it would be Amaryllis.

It was Baz, instead. Chrysanthe blinked at him, and then looked down at the handkerchief in her hand. Bird-watching, she remembered. She sniffled audibly; she wiped the handkerchief over her face.

“Nothing,” Chrysanthe said. Tears overflowed her eyes once more, as if on command, and she buried her face in her hands, the handkerchief pressed firmly to her eyes as if she could sop all of them up. She sobbed, quietly, sitting and shaking on the edge of her bed.

She thought she ought to tell Baz to go away - to come back later - to stop calling her Chrys - but she couldn’t seem to draw enough breath for any of it, and every attempt became a sob, as if of its own accord. She didn’t look up at him; she didn’t think she could have. A faint blue haze swirled through her field, the color shifting subtle but unmistakable.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 29, 2710

Chrysanthe's dorm room, late morning.

Baz was concerned when he walked in to find Chrysanthe red-eyed and sniffling on the edge of her bed, but that concern quickly morphed into alarm as she began sobbing.The only other time he had seen her cry, he had been the cause of it. He hoped he wasn't the cause of it now. He realized he was still standing there with the door open, and he turned and shut it again. He doubted that she would want to deal with a possible audience, and frankly neither did he. Girls were gossipy. He had two sisters, he knew that for a fact.

He turned to look at her again. 'Nothing', she'd said. Well, this certainly didn't look like 'nothing'. He watched as her field shifted blue. Definitely not nothing. He hesitated near the door for a moment before walking over to her and holding out a dry handkerchief from his pocket. By the looks of the one in her hand, all crumpled and damp, she could use a fresh one. The chocolates on her desk caught his attention, but he didn't ask after them.

"May I sit?" was all he asked, gesturing to a spot beside her. He didn't ask her what was wrong, or why she was crying. Just if he could sit with her, for now.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Late Morning, 29 Loshis, 2710
Chrysanthe’s Room

A handkerchief hovered before her. Chrysanthe blinked a few tears from her eyes, sniffling awfully, and looked down at the damp, crumpled mess in her hand. Another sob burst out of her rather unwittingly, and she took it, leaving her own in a heap on the bed covers, and burying her face in the rather cleaner one that Baz had offered.

She was still crying, rather fiercely, but she thought it was starting to leave off. Baz asked if he could sit, and Chrysanthe glanced up at him, her face tear-stained, eyes red and swollen.

“All right,” she sniffled; she rubbed her face with his handkerchief, wiping at the tears. There was a quiet creaking of the bed as he sat, a little sort of shifting of the covers.

Chrysanthe really had thought she’d start crying again as soon as she said anything. It wasn’t so bad as that, really, but she hadn’t stopped either. She took a deep breath which sort of punctuated itself with a little sniffle, and wiped her face off once more, catching a few tears which trickled down her cheeks.

She had thought Baz would ask. She rather thought that was what you did, when someone cried. She had been ready to snap at him and tell him it was none of his business and he wouldn’t even understand if she told him probably. The words waited in her chest and burned and he didn’t ask.

Chrysanthe sniffled; she dabbed at her face once more. This was a rather awful part of the crying, she thought, when she wasn’t really sobbing anymore but there kept on being tears. It wasn’t quite as bad as the sobbing - at least she could breathe - but she really wasn’t enjoying it.

Chrysanthe’s eyes fluttered closed. She took a deep breath, and tried to sit up straight. It was harder than she expected, but manageable. She opened her eyes again, and they were a bit blurry, but not so bad.

Chrysanthe got up; she went to the pitcher and basin across her room, pouring a little water into her hands and splashing it in her face. She did that a few times, and then wiped her face clean with a towel. She didn’t sit on the bed again, but in her desk chair, and only then did she look back up at Baz, still holding on to his handkerchief.

“Do you still want to go bird watching?” Chrysanthe said. There was the tiniest sort of hopefulness to her voice; she didn’t really want it there but she didn’t know what to do about it either. She didn’t really think he wouldn’t want to go just because she’d cried - surely his sisters cried sometimes; Amaryllis did - but she’d asked anyway.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 29, 2710

Chrysanthe's dorm room, late morning.

Baz sat next to her without another word. He left a few inches of space between them. He didn't think they were quite at the "shoulders touching" stage of friendship yet, but he was close enough to be there should she decide she wanted someone to lean on. He sat quietly, not asking any questions or pressuring her to tell him what was wrong. Just silent companionship.

He wanted to ask questions. He wanted to know what was wrong, and if he could help. He wanted to know what had upset her so, but kept it quietly to himself. If she wanted him to know, he figured that she would tell him. So he sat with her, his field soft and warm and kind next to hers, as her sobs quieted and she slowly gathered herself up again. He watched as she got up and went to wash her face, leaning forward slightly. She came back and sat down at her desk, and asked him with a hopeful note in her voice if he still wanted to go birdwatching.

"Of course," he said, with a sound nod and not an ounce of hesitation. He'd been looking forward to it all week, since they had made the plans. "If you're still up for it, absolutely."

He was quiet again, for a moment, weighing something in his mind. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and gentle, as though he was worried what he was saying would set her off again.

"I hope I'm not overstepping by saying this, but… if you need to talk, I want to listen," he said, "I might not understand what you're going through, but I can listen. I won't bring it up again, I promise, I just wanted you to know."

He got up, straightening out his jacket, and smiled again. "If you're ready, we can go," he said, "I'd recommend boots if you have them. It's dry today, but there will probably still be muddy spots. I have a spare pair of binoculars for you in my bag, too."

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Late Morning, 29 Loshis, 2710
Chrysanthe’s Room

It wasn’t exactly comfortable to sit on the desk chair facing the bed, but it wasn’t really that bad. Chrysanthe was perched sort of sideways on it. Baz’s handkerchief was in her hands, and she scrunched it up, and then glanced down at it, as if remembering it wasn’t hers, and set it on the desk and sort of tried to smoot it out. It didn’t help much; it would, of course, need to be cleaned and properly ironed, since she really had sobbed in to this one.

Of course, Baz said. Chrysanthe glanced back up at him, and smiled, her shoulders relaxing a little. She didn’t say anything, though, mostly as she wasn’t sure what quite to say.

Baz said he wanted to listen, and for a moment Chrysanthe’s jaw went tight. She glanced firmly away, as if there were something deeply fascinating on the opposite wall of the room. Actually it wasn’t too awful, she supposed; it wasn’t like he knew anything about it, really, but… Chrysanthe felt tired only thinking about the weight of all the things she’d have to explain. She squirmed a little in her chair, and then remembered herself.

Baz got up, and Chrysanthe exhaled very softly in relief. “Yes, let’s,” she sniffled, a last time. She glanced down at the handkerchief. “I’ll have it washed for you,” she said after a moment.

Chrysanthe went and fetched out her uniform boots; she sat down once more and drew on a pair of thick, sturdy woolen socks, followed by the boots, and laced them up quite competently. She stood, then, adjusting her long braids, and took her coat from where it hung near the door, pulling it on.

There was a moment, where Chrysanthe stood by the door, looking thoughtful. She looked down, and then squarely back up at Baz, who’d rather nicely kept out of her way as she’d gotten ready.

“Thanks,” Chrysanthe said, quietly, after a moment. Then, her cheeks blushing faintly pink, she turned to the door, opened it, and went out into the hallway, leaving him to follow behind. Luckily no one was around; it wasn’t like he wasn’t allowed in the girls’ dorm in the middle of the day, but Chrysanthe was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to be in her room. Not that she really cared; it was Baz, after all. He wasn’t really like the other boys; she scarcely thought of him that way anymore.

It was cold outside, although it was Loshis sort of cold, which meant it wasn’t so awful; there’d been some nasty cold rain at the beginning of the month, but in Hamis the rain would be practically warm here in Brunnhold. Chrysanthe wasn’t sure how but she found herself explaining that she sort of liked winter.

“I grew up in the Northern Tors,” she was telling Baz. “It’s really much colder there; it snows for ages and ages. It’s not really like the snow in Vienda or here, which is always sort of… I mean it’s nice for a day or so, and then it goes all dark and slushy. There it stays sort of crisp white.”

It had snowed the afternoon they went to look at the house, or what was left of it. Chrysanthe found herself remembering that, the bits of burned house – no longer smoldering, as they had been in her imagination – and the coldness of the crisp white snow tumbling down. She gave her head a little shake, and adjusted her braids; there wasn’t any sense in thinking about that, and she hadn’t the least idea why she was doing so now.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 29, 2710

En route to the woods, late morning.

Baz had not really expected her to take him up on his offer, so it was no great loss to him when she didn’t. He had only wanted her to know that the offer stood, should she need him, and he had accomplished that. Whether or not she took him up on it was ultimately up to her. He stood back as she got her things and got ready to go out, putting on her boots and getting her coat. He nodded as she mentioned the handkerchief.

“There’s no rush,” he said, nodding.

He followed her as she moved to the door. She stopped for a moment, and looked to him… and thanked him. He smiled warmly, and nodded.

“You’re welcome,”

He followed her out of the girls dorms and into the cool Loshis day. It really was a nice day, not too cold and not too wet. Perfect for birdwatching. He could already hear several as they made their way out onto the street, and he looked around to see if he could spot any of them. As they walked, Chrysanthe began to talk about where she grew up and the winters there.

“I like snow,” he said, “Georgie and I like to take Millie sledding when there’s enough of it."

He thought for a moment, and then kept going. "I’ve never really been anywhere except here, and Vienda, and Muffey a few times to visit my aunt Matilda. Father being a teacher keeps us here most of the year. Mother says that she wants to take us all to Bastia to visit her side of the family, though, so I suppose that will probably happen at some point. I’ve been told I have ‘a veritable army of cousins’. Her words.”

He realized that he hadn’t actually disclosed where they were going, which now seemed like a fairly important detail. “I was thinking we could try the woods over near Deventry. It’s the largest patch in the city, so there’s more ground to cover, but it’s the one I know best. It’s quite close to my family home.”

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Late Morning, 29 Loshis, 2710
Chrysanthe’s Room

It really was a nice sort of day – cold, but not too cold, and wet, but not too wet. Normally she'd have spent it curled up with a book, but Chrysanthe - for once - wasn't sure if she felt like reading. She was glad to be spending it outdoors.

“I’ve really only been to Brunnhold and Reedlyn,” Chrysanthe said, agreeably. “That is – I mean, we’d go through Vienda and Scarmoge, sometimes for a day or two, but I’m not sure it quite counts if you’re only passing through, even if you spend a night.” She tried to think of what Vienda was like.

It had come up before that Baz’s father was a teacher. Chrysanthe didn’t see that it mattered much; she imagined that if her mother and father had lived here in Brunnhold, she’d have seen them about as often as she had anyway, before. Even when they’d all lived in Reedlyn, most nights she and Amaryllis – or just her, later on – had taken dinner separately, in the nursery. She’d gone whole days, sometimes, without seeing either of her parents; she didn’t think they’d minded. She hadn’t, certainly.

Except, sometimes, the way Baz spoke about his mother and father, Chrysanthe had the strangest feeling that he rather liked them. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, and nor how to ask. She’d read of it, of course, and she had a couple friends who seemed to look forward to going home. She did like Amaryllis, of course.

With a queer little pinch, Chrysanthe tried to think of where Amaryllis would be next year. She knew, of course, that Amaryllis was graduating. She supposed she’d be in Vienda, with him. The thought of it made something wedge up in her chest, burning and aching. She put it aside, very firmly, even though it was hard to stop thinking about things like that once you’d started. She wished she had a better way of putting them away; there seemed to be too many things not to think about, and more every day.

“Deventry sounds good. We’ve lots of cousins as well,” Chrysanthe said, keen for a distraction. “One of them married an Incumbent a few years ago. Amaryllis likes her a lot, but I don’t know her very well. She’s better at that sort of thing than I am, anyway.”

Chrysanthe didn’t quite know how to look at Baz after that; she hadn’t really meant to say it. Only it was true, and it wasn’t like he didn’t already know that she wasn’t good at that sort of thing. She couldn’t remember exactly when it had gotten so easy to speak to him. It wasn’t what he’d said in the room – it wasn’t – because she’d already been talking to him, before and after class, for a while now.

So, then, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, and it was a bit quiet walking through campus – everyone must have been sleeping still, or something – she asked what she’d really been thinking. “Do you like your parents?” Chrysanthe glanced over at Baz once more, just out of the corner of her eye, past the brush of her hair.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 29, 2710

En route to the woods, late morning.

A little smile tugged at Baz's lips as Chrysanthe admitted that her sister was better at talking to people and making friends than she was. He could imagine that was true. He didn't know Amaryllis that well. They had talked on a few occasions, but almost always in passing. Still, he felt confident in his assessment of her as a friendly person who seemed easy to get along with. He would never say it, but in comparison, befriending Chrysanthe had been like befriending an ornery osta. One moment she was fine, the next he feared she'd bite his hand off.

Obviously things had gotten better as they had actually gotten to know one another. He quite liked her now. There had been some stumbling, but they got on well. He listened as she talked about her cousin that had married an incumbent, nodding along, and then she asked him something that made him pause.

Did he like his parents? It seemed like an odd question to him, though he knew it wasn't uncommon among his peers for the answer to be "no". He thought for a moment, before he answered.

"I suppose I do, yes," he said, "We get along. My father and I have a lot in common."

He thought a bit more, sliding his hands in his pockets and kicking a stone on the path as they walked. "Sometimes they can be a bit harsh. Father especially." he explained, "Mother says that's because he wants us to be able to make our own way in the world. But If I ever get really stuck, or something is bothering me, he’ll listen, and he’ll help. Mother, too.”

He craned his head back to look up at the sky. “I know that some of my friends hate their parents, but I don’t think I could ever hate mine. They might not say it all the time, but I can tell they love Georgie, Millie and I.”

“Millie especially,” he added, smiling faintly, “she’s the baby, and she can do no wrong. ...Yet. I can’t wait until she gets in trouble at school for the first time, it’ll be grand.”

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Late Morning, 29 Loshis, 2710
Walking towards Deventry

Baz didn’t answer right away, and Chrysanthe wondered if she shouldn’t have asked. One didn’t, usually; she couldn’t remember ever asking, hearing or reading such a question. Even the friends of hers who disparaged their parents, Chrysanthe supposed, loved them. She had loved hers, she supposed; she wasn’t really sure how to tell.

But liking seemed much more complicated.

Baz didn’t tell her it was a strange question, or fob it off, or come back with another question of his own, which was the outcome Chrysanthe had most feared. He answered instead, thoughtfully but straightforward.

They tramped on through campus; there were lots of different sorts of paths, big and small, narrow and wide, some overgrown and some clear cut. Chrysanthe let Baz choose their way; there were lots of parts of Deventry, after all, and it seemed like he knew what he was about.

They love us, Baz said, rather firmly, as if he really was sure.

Chrysanthe glanced down, and then away, just a bit, watching the sparkle of late morning dew in a patch of shade. Had they loved her? Had they liked her? They had felt a responsibility, Chrysanthe supposed. The will made that clear enough, unless of course they just hadn’t thought of anything better to do with their money.

For a moment she felt a strange choking, strangling sort of anger which crept up and grabbed a hold of her by the throat. She didn’t know what to make of it; she didn’t know how to think through it. Chrysanthe shivered, like she might have through a gust of wins, and blinked rapidly. No more tears came, though, which was a relief.

Chrysanthe tried to think of Amaryllis being amused about her getting in trouble; her imagination failed her entirely. But Baz sounded so cheerful and so loving, even as he spoke about finding his sister annoying. That, at least, Chrysanthe thought she could understand.

Chrysanthe nodded a little; she glanced back at Baz and tried a smile. She didn’t say anything; she wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t ask anymore; she didn’t say anymore either. She wasn’t sure what to ask, and she wasn’t sure either that she wanted to know anymore about what it was like to know your parents loved you.

She couldn’t bring herself to change the subject, either; it was entirely to telling, or so she thought a novelist might have written. She supposed silence was telling, too; she supposed there was no way around telling, really. She let her silence do it for her, at least. She’d lost the smile, Chrysanthe thought with a mental sort of sigh, the tiniest edge of which crept out on her breath; she didn’t know how Amaryllis kept hers all the time. She glanced away again, looking ahead at the path, so she could only see Baz out of the corner of her eye once more.