[Closed] A Little Bird Told Me (Chrysanthe)

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 29, 2710

Morgenstern residence, midday

MMillicent nodded as Chrysanthe introduced herself, standing rather properly with her hands behind her back. Her face took on a confused expression as Chrysanthe asked what it was like to grow up on campus. She didn’t know what it was like to live anywhere else, of course. She was too young. The question seemed very silly to her. She was about to speak up when Baz answered for both of them.

“I imagine it’s roughly the same as any other city,” he said, “though it does get much quieter around the holidays, with so many people and students who don’t live here heading home to their families.”

“There aren’t as many people to play with in the winter,” Millie said, nodding.

Baz chuckled, leaning down to unlace his boots and set them by the door. “You can take off your shoes and hang your coat up if you want, Chrys,” he said absently, before turning to his sister again. “Who else is home?”

Millie’s brow furrowed. “Only me and Daddy,” she said, “Georgie went off with her friends, and Mummy had errands to run. Oh, and, I guess Bess is in the kitchen.”

Baz nodded. Bess Thatcher was the family’s fastidious human housekeeper. She had been employed by the family as long as Baz could remember, and did most of the cooking and cleaning. He and Georgie had made life hard for her as children, Georgie especially, but she had always been a kindly woman.

“Dad’ll be in his study, then,” Baz said, “Millie, can you go tell Bess there’ll be two more for lunch?”

Millie nodded and headed off further into the house, which was largely quite quiet, as was expected when there were only three people in it before Baz and Chrysanthe had arrived. Baz set his bag on a shelf by the door and took off his coat, hanging it on a nearby hook. Once he was finished, he turned to Chrysanthe again.

“While we’re waiting for lunch, would you like to meet my father?” he asked.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Midday, 29 Loshis, 2710
Baz’s House, Deventry

Chrysanthe had not the least idea how to engage with children before they approached person-age; in fact, she was not entirely sure what to do with them once they did. Millicent was rather staring up at her, and Chrysanthe had not the least idea if she should double back on what she’d said, or just wait for the girl to make her objections, or whatever else it was children of her age did. At her age, Chrysanthe supposed, she would have made an objection.

She did have younger cousins. They had one who was not quite related, but nearly Brunnhold age all the same, and another one quite a bit younger; Chrysanthe didn’t know much about either of them, really. She had a vague impression of a great deal of dark hair and a scowling face for the older, and rather pretty blonde hair for the younger; they had both been at the funeral, Chrysanthe supposed, but she didn’t really remember seeing them; it was all sort of a blur.

There were various boys she had never gotten along with, and a very spoiled redheaded girl whom Chrysanthe had once reduced to tears after being cooped up together for an entire house while their parents did – something. Regina was only about a year younger, of course, and extremely full of herself, and Chrysanthe had not regretted her actions nor the subsequent night without supper in the least.

Baz rescued her, and Chrysanthe glanced over at him, a bit relieved. She managed an uncertain smile back in Millicent’s direction.

“Thanks,” Chrysanthe said. She took her coat off, hanging it up, and awkwardly tried to manage removing her boots while standing; there was still really a lot of mud on them, and, of course, on the hem of her skirt. Chrysanthe grimaced down at it, and tried to sort of tuck the worst of it behind a fold.

At least her uniform shirt was still all right; she hadn’t gotten any mud on that or, so far as she could tell, in her hair. Chrysanthe ran her fingers through the ends of her braids, and she didn’t see any, at least.

Chrysanthe glanced back at Baz when he asked about his father. “Um,” Chrysanthe said, frowning a bit. She didn’t really want to, precisely, but she supposed it was the polite sort of thing to do. She wasn’t really sure if Baz was really asking, or if it was the sort of question which was really a suggestion. “Yes, sure.” Chrysanthe said.

She’d meet him regardless, she supposed, if he came down for lunch, and so it was better to meet him before? Chrysanthe couldn’t really imagine interrupting her father while was working, but she didn’t think Baz would have suggested it if it were going to be a problem. Lots of people, Chrysanthe understood now, had very different relationships with their parents than she had; she only had to think of his answer earlier to know that, though she’d known it even before she asked.

Chrysanthe supposed she ought to be sorry, or jealous, or something, but mostly it was really hard to imagine. She wasn't sure if she'd have to swap Amaryllis for proper parents, and she wouldn't have made that trade for - well - anything.

Chrysanthe glanced around for a mirror; if she saw one, she’d do her best to neaten her braids a bit, but short of taking them down, brushing her hair out, and redoing them – at least a ten minute process – there was very little she could do. Either way, it wouldn’t be long before she turned to Baz, ready to follow him towards the study.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 29, 2710

Morgenstern residence, midday.

Baz smiled, and was more than happy to lead the way through the house once Chrysanthe was ready. It was warm inside, which was nice after being out in the woods for so long. It was a lovely home, really. Cozy and welcoming. Baz led her up the stairs, and past a few closed rooms.

"It's too bad Georgie's out," Baz said as they walked, "I'm sure she would have loved to show you what she's been working on."

He continued to lead on, before stopping in front of another door. He raised his hand to knock, and shortly after a voice from inside bid them to come in. Baz pushed the door open, revealing a well-organized study. The wall on one side was lined with bookcases burgeoning with all sorts of tomes. Against another was a cabinet with a few model ships behind glass, and roughly in the middle was a sitting area with a small couch and a few chairs. Against the back wall, in front of the windows which were shaded partially by the ivy growth outside, was a heavy wooden desk where a man who looked rather a lot like Baz, but obviously older, was seated, with what appeared to be a disassembled pocket watch laid out carefully on a cloth in front of him. His hair and beard were scattered with grey, and he had the same abundance of freckles as his two oldest children. He looked up from the watch and gave them a warm smile before getting to his feet.

“Hello, Baz. Back from your romp in the woods, are you?” At this point his attention turned to Chrysanthe, and his smile grew. “Who is your friend?”

Baz stood aside, allowing Chrysanthe to follow him into the office. “This is Chrysanthe Palmifer,” he answered, “I’ve mentioned her before. We have Chemistry together with Prof. Madrigan.”

“Ah yes, I remember. Lovely to meet you, Miss Palmifer,” Baz’s father said, giving her a slight bow and a caprise. His field was a ramscott, mostly static with a mix of physical, and was warm and bastly. “I’m sure you’re already aware, but I’m Professor Sam Morgenstern.”

He looked between the two of them, smiling still. “How was your birdwatching? Did you see anything interesting?” he asked, his tone giving the impression that he did, genuinely, want to know.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Midday, 29 Loshis, 2710
Baz’s House, Deventry

Chrysanthe didn’t quite know what to make of Baz’s home. It was, of course, smaller than she was used to, and quite warm. The manor had always been very drafty; her bedroom was quite far from the stove, and the fireplace had been boarded up after they found the bird’s nest. Chrysanthe remembered overhearing what it would cost to fix, and remembered, too, her father going to Scarmoge that weekend.

Amaryllis had showed her how to make hot bricks for the foot of her bed when she came home during winter break; before then Chrysanthe had slept under both their blankets most nights, and still sometimes woken up shivering.

She felt a tight hard ache in her chest at the memories and she didn’t know what to do with it, or whether it had a place at all.

Chrysanthe followed Baz into a rather nice study. This, she felt, was a very good sort of room; she liked it better than her father’s study, which had been filled with uncut books, liquor bottles, and a shelf of horrid little artifacts. She liked the model ships, and she found herself quite curious about what he was doing with his watch.

If she ever had an study, Chrysanthe decided, it should be like this. Except she didn’t think she should want model ships. She would have to think about what she did want; she felt that was a very important sort of decision, even if she didn’t think she was likely to have a study for many years, and perhaps not even after that.

She would, Chrysanthe thought, leave space on her shelves for novels too. Or ought she to have a separate library?

It was all, Chrysanthe thought with a sudden sharp bitterness, silliness. She would never have a house; if she did, it should be her husband’s and the study would be his, too. Milton would never want a scientific sort of study - but that didn’t matter, because she wouldn’t marry him, no matter what.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Chrysanthe bowed deeply after Baz introduced her. She met his father’s caprise about as strongly as she dared, her field all static mona. It was more hot than warm, though not flexed or sigiled, and neatly indectal. “Thank you for having me in your home.”

Chrysanthe glanced at Baz when the question was asked, not in the least sure how to proceed. She would rather he answer, really, and only when he had or he had signaled to her would she go ahead. She couldn’t imagine Professor Morgenstern really cared, but she thought it was awfully nice of him to ask.

“It was very good, Professor,” Chrysanthe said, as clearly and evenly as if she were reporting aloud on a homework problem in class. “We saw two goldfinches and their nest, and an Anaxi blue tit, which I don’t think had ever properly seen before. Baz is a very good guide.” She didn’t go on from there, her hands clasped together behind her back, which she held very straight.

Chrysanthe wanted to ask what he was working on; her gaze strayed down to the watch pieces once more. She thought about it, but she thought it would be best not to bother him, at least not more than they already had.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 29, 2710

Morgenstern residence, midday.

Baz had given Chrysanthe the opportunity to talk first, mostly to see if she’d relax a bit. She didn’t, of course, but he almost expected that. She spoke like she was giving a report in a class, which was understandable given that his father was a professor, and also a stranger. Stick straight and stiff as a board, as usual. He smiled when she called him a good guide. That was nice of her. He really was glad that she had enjoyed herself. Given what he had walked in on earlier, it was a relief to have seen her having fun. Sam, for his part, seemed slightly amused by her demeanor, but not surprised.

“We saw a turtle dove, as well,” Baz added, “and what we thought might have been an oriole, but it stayed too high in the trees and we couldn’t get a good enough look at it to be sure.”

“It sounds like you had a good time,” Sam said. He smiled at Chrysanthe. “I’m glad to hear Baz has made friends with someone who appreciates his hobby.”

Baz noticed as Chrysanthe’s gaze seemed to fix on the watch parts on his father’s desk. Baz recognized the watch. It was the one his father always carried, one that had been a gift from his grandfather. It was in several pieces now, or course, but he knew it by the case. It looked like his father had been in the process of carefully disassembling the mechanism when they arrived, judging by the state of it and the tools that were laid out. Baz walked closer to the desk, leaning down to look over the parts.

“What’s wrong with your watch?” he asked, for his own curiosity as well as Chrysanthe’s.

Sam looked down at it, and smiled. “It wasn’t winding correctly,” he replied, “I accidentally knocked it off my desk the other day and I believe something might have broken or come loose, so I’m taking it apart to see what the problem is.”

He looked up at Chrysanthe. “Do you know much about pocket watches, Miss Palmifer?” he asked, “You can come closer and have a look, if you like.”

The watch was laid out very precisely on a white cotton cloth, with each part arranged in the order it had been taken out and thus needed to be placed back inside. It looked old, but was clearly very well taken care of. The case was gold, and opened so that an inscription on the inside of the cover was visible. A matching chain was set off to one side. Several tools were laid out as well, each as carefully as the watch parts. Everything seemed to have it’s dedicated place, which made sense when dealing with something as delicate as a clockwork. One misplaced screw or tiny gear could mean the watch would be rendered useless.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Midday, 29 Loshis, 2710
Baz’s House, Deventry

Chrysanthe’s eyes went a little wide when Professor Morgenstern smiled at her. She smiled back, somewhat reflexively, standing very straight still. She didn’t quite know what to do; saying yes, sir, or yes, professor seemed a bit odd in context, but saying nothing at all seemed a bit rude also.

Luckily, Baz interrupted to ask about the watch, making his way over to the desk. Chrysanthe stayed by the door, her hands still behind her back, though she watched, intent and curious.

“Not very much, Professor,” Chrysanthe said, politely. All the same, she came closer from the doorway, looking curiously down at the desk.

Everything was very neatly arranged; Chrysanthe quite approved. She was more interested in mechanical processes with chemical aspects to them – as a general rule, of course – but the design and layout of machinery was interesting as well, and a watch was essentially just a very small, precise machine.

During a particularly dull carriage ride from Scarmoge to Reedlyn a year ago, Chrysanthe had borrowed a book on watch repair from a gentleman who had been sharing their carriage. He had loaned it to her, she thought, in the hope of distracting her so he might talk with Amaryllis. Amaryllis was, naturally, quite capable of handling herself, and if he had thought Chrysanthe stupid enough that diagrams of watches should prevent her from paying proper attention, he had learned he was incorrect.

All the same, something of it had stuck with her.

“Isn’t this the mainspring?” Chrysanthe asked. Slim fingers came forward and pointed to the large gear. “I think it might be broken, sir.”

Two things occurred to Chrysanthe when she glanced up again. First, Professor Morgenstern was, of course, a professor of mechanical engineering, and probably had already sorted what the problem was with his watch. Her cheeks pinked a little at her own audacity, and she rather regretted saying anything. Second, even if he’d asked, he’d probably meant to ask Baz, really; she wasn’t anyone, just a random friend of his son’s, and anyway a pretty recent friend at that.

A little red flush crept over her cheeks and the back of her neck, but Chrysanthe stood up very straight through it anyway, her face a little tight, and fixed her gaze firmly on the watch. Whether she ought to have or not, she had made her suggestion, and she didn’t see that taking it back would do her any good; if she had been right, it should make her look very foolish, and if she had been wrong, then she would be no less wrong even if she tried to pretend she hadn’t said anything.

Chrysanthe felt a sort of gratitude that she’d never had such conversations with her father, and then something else crept up beneath it, and she held her gaze very firmly on the watch, not in the least sure what to do with these sorts of feelings.

Dice Rolls

Chrysanthe looks at the watch: Sidekick BOTToday at 7:26 PM
@moralhazard: 1d6 = (6) = 6[/spttle]

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 29, 2710

Morgenstern residence, midday

Sam watched as Chrysanthe moved closer and studied the parts laid out on the desk. He hadn’t expected her to offer any sort of suggestion as to what the problem might have been. He had already figured it out himself before they had arrived, and had been about to fetch a replacement mainspring from his collection of parts just as Baz had knocked on the door. She did make a suggestion, though, and despite her claiming not to know much about watches, she had found the problem with little more than a glance. He smiled wide, and though it was mostly hidden by his beard and mustache, there was a clear crinkling to the corners of his eyes and a touch of pride in his voice.

“You’re exactly right.” he said, “You have a very good eye, Miss Palmifer. I’m impressed.”

He picked up the part, holding it delicately between two fingers. “The mainspring holds tension and slowly feeds that energy into the mechanism to power it," he explained, "A broken mainspring means the watch can’t be wound.” He set it back down again and looked back at her, still smiling. “Luckily it’s a simple thing to fix. They do wear out on their own over time, so I already have spares. I’ll have it ticking again before long.”

Baz’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t even notice that,” he said, “you really do have a good eye, Chrys.”

Her eye for detail had been something Baz had been most thankful for as they were prepping for their chemistry test. He wasn’t sure if she knew it, but she’d helped him almost as much as he had helped her. Having to go through his notes and explain them had helped him to reorganize them in ways that made more sense and had made it easier to study on his own. There were footsteps in the hall outside, and Millie shortly appeared in the doorway.

“Here you all are,” she said, “Bess sent me to tell you that lunch is ready.”

“Ah, wonderful. Thank you, darling,” Sam said, stepping around his desk and gesturing for Baz and Chrysanthe to lead the way out door. “Shall we go eat, then? You two must be hungry after all that running around.”

Dice Rolls

Does Baz see the problem
Sidekick: @Mochi: 1d6 = (1) = 1
(Baz doesn't even see his own nose, apparently)

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Midday, 29 Loshis, 2710
Deventry

Chrysanthe glanced up at Professor Morgenstern to find him smiling down at her. He complimented her as well, and said he was impressed. Chrysanthe, her eyes very wide, stifled a tiny little proud smile. Her shoulders, already square, squared a bit more, and she relaxed her hands a bit, where they had tightened a little into themselves when she had gotten nervous about it.

Chrysanthe listened, curious and intent, as he explained the mechanism. She found it succinct and easy to follow, and very logically done, and nodded her head in understanding.

Chrysanthe tried to think of the last thing her father had explained to her. She couldn’t really think of any explanations over the break that had passed - before. She had been very angry with him, and still was, in fact, about Amaryllis.

The summer before, perhaps? The school breaks sort of blurred together, and she didn’t know what she remembered in particular then. It didn’t really matter; he had never talked to her about anything of importance. Chrysanthe felt quite sure he had thought of her as a child up until the end. The only thing she could ever really remembering him explaining was one of his systems of betting.

The way Baz and his sister both talked to their father was, Chrysanthe felt, very strange and casual. She felt that way at lunch also, eating an enormous plate of salad and a sandwich with slices of chicken and vegetables on homemade bread. It was all very good, and she hadn’t realized just how hungry she was until she saw the food spread out before her and could properly eat.

Chrysanthe didn’t really talk much at lunch. Professor Morgenstern asked her a few questions about classes and all and she answered. Mostly the three of them talked; it was about as strange as before. Chrysanthe didn’t know what to make of all of it.

It was with equal parts relief and something else which she couldn’t quite put her finger on that lunch ended. Baz had offered to walk her home, and Professor Morgenstern came to see them off, which Chrysanthe didn’t much understand.

“Thank you for lunch, Professor,” Chrysanthe said very politely as she went to get her coat. “And for your hospitality.”

Chrysanthe shivered a bit as they went back out into the cold. It wasn’t really that cold, of course; it was just the contrast, she supposed. She put her hands in her pocket, walking next to Baz, not quite sure what to say. There was a part of her which wanted to ask about it - about whether they were always like that - but she was rather sure he wouldn’t understand what she meant. It was nice with his sister, of course; that seemed fine. It was his father that she couldn’t quite understand, and she found she did not want to tell him that, in the end.

Except - perhaps she did, or at least, she wanted to say something. They were friends, weren’t they? He had said so, and he had said too that she could tell him what she liked.

“My parents died,” Chrysanthe said, suddenly, into the silence between them. She glanced sideways at Baz, her lips twisting a little, and then looked back forward at the path. “In Intas,” Chrysanthe added, very practical.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Loshis 29, 2710

Deventry, midday.

Lunch had been lovely, really, at least from Baz’s perspective. He felt that it might have been a bit awkward for Chrysanthe, as she had been really quite quiet through the meal, speaking only when his dad addressed her directly. Baz had spent most of it chatting with his family. When they were finished, he offered to walk Chrysanthe back to her room, an offer which she had accepted. She thanked his father as they left, and Sam had told her she was welcome back any time. Baz knew he meant it, and he hoped Chrysanthe did as well. It seemed to Baz that she had endeared herself to him with her quick assessment of the broken watch.

Chrysanthe was quiet still as they walked, which Baz didn’t mind all too much. The silence wasn’t heavy, or awkward. There just wasn’t much to say. He wanted to ask her several questions, but none of them felt pressing enough to bring up. They were just little things that could go unanswered, like if she had enjoyed lunch or if she liked his father’s study or the man himself.

It was her who broke the silence, and she did so with an admission that was entirely unexpected. My parents died, she said. It was sudden and unprompted. Baz knew, of course. He’d known for months, since the night they had met, when his father had let slip that something terrible had happened to Chrysanthe and her sister. He hadn’t told her that yet. It hadn’t come up before this very moment, and at this very moment he found himself deeply conflicted on what to say in response. Playing dumb would likely be fine, really. She had no reason to expect that he would know about the fire. But that saying that he didn’t know would be a lie, and one he would have to keep up reliably for Circle only knew how long. Honesty was another course of action, but he found himself deeply worried that she would assume that he had become her friend and been so nice to her all this time out of pity, which wasn’t the case at all. He did, genuinely, enjoy her company. He was struck with another realization, and that was that his silence at this moment had gone on perhaps a beat too long. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, and made his choice.

“I know,” he said quietly, “and I’m truly sorry.”

She was being honest with him, and he felt he owed her that much in return. He stopped walking and shoved his hands tight in his pockets. His gaze was fixed firmly on the sidewalk in front of him. He found he couldn’t look up at her. He braced himself for the worst, and continued speaking.

“I’ve known for… a while,” he explained, “Dad told me. He didn’t mean to, he thought I already knew.”

He forced himself to look up at her now. “I didn’t want to tell you,” he said, “but I don’t want to lie to you, either. I didn’t… I don't want you to think that the reason I spend time with you is because I feel sorry for you. That’s not true. I promise you that.”

He looked away again, his cheeks colouring slightly. “I like spending time with you. I like you. You’re smart, and clever, and I’m genuinely happy that I got to know you. That you’re my friend.”

His face fell slightly at the thought that she might not be, now that everything was out in the open. He could only hope that she would believe him.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Midday, 29 Loshis, 2710
Deventry

There was a very long pause after Chrysanthe spoke.

Baz kept walking for a few steps. Chrysanthe kept walking too. She frowned, looking at him; she didn’t know what she saw on his face. She didn’t know either what she had thought he would say or why she had thought to tell him. Stupid, Chrysanthe thought, to even -

I know, Baz said.

Chrysanthe stopped abruptly.

Baz stopped too, a moment later; his hands were jammed deep into his pockets, and his gaze was fixed on the tip of his boots.

“You know?” Chrysanthe didn’t know what was in her voice; it didn’t sound like hers. Surely that was someone else’s high, shaky words, someone else who sounded as if they might cry at any moment; surely it couldn’t be her.

Chrysanthe’s jaw clenched a little when Baz went on. She had caught up with him without meaning to, and she stood, a few feet away. She couldn’t name the things rushing through her and she couldn’t keep them from her field either; they spilled out, blue and red and yellow, rare colorshifts which washed the air around her wavering pale. Her cheeks were flushed red and her lips, pressed together, were trembling.

Baz went on.

Stop, Chrysanthe wanted to shout at him. Stop, just stop - stop! She needed time to think about it. She had scarcely gotten there - we’re not friends, he only feels sorry for me - when he was there too, insisting that it wasn’t true.

Chrysanthe huffed. She pressed her palm to her eyes; they were throbbing and she did not think she could bear crying again today. She certainly didn’t want to waste a single tear on Baz Morgenstern, the condescending -

I like you, Baz was saying. She could see him watching her.

Chrysanthe looked back up at him. She was breathing unsteadily; her nostrils flared. She rubbed at her eyes again, ground the heel of her palm against them, as if she could grind out the tears.

“You knew?” Her voice cracked awfully, and Chrsyanthe bit back more tears. “Chimes,” she swore, closing her eyes. Her breath was coming out all strange and hitched, and she really was going to cry if she didn’t think of something else.

“I don’t want any pity,” Chrysanthe said, finally, looking up at him. “I don’t need it and - I don’t - I only told you because -“ she trailed off. She felt robbed of her righteous indignation; she ought to have been able to be properly mad at him, but he hadn’t given her any time for it.

Chrysanthe took another deep breath. “You’re my friend too, you -“ Chrysanthe’s nostrils flared and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, rubbing them vigorously. “I really ought to be mad at you,” she told Baz, her lower lip quivering.

Chrysanthe sniffled again. “I hate crying!” She burst out. “I hate it,” Chrysanthe said, furiously. Tears trickled from the bottoms of her eyes, as much angry as they were sad; blue and red warred in her field, swirling deep. She took a deep breath; she pressed her palms to her eyes again, tilting her head back, and wiped at them, shaking, breathing hard.