papertown | Once upon a time, in a strange, far away land....

Once upon a time, in a strange, far away land....

In the Unknown, strange things happened all the time.

And as a resident of the Unknown, Beatrice usually didn't question them (hence why she took it so relatively well when she and her family became bluebirds). So when her little brother and sister came running in, telling her that the dog had gotten loose chasing rabbits, she didn't think anything of it when it turned into her running for her life away from what looked like a stag with horns even bigger than she was. The dog had gotten away, disappearing through the bushes and out of sight, but the human girl was a much slower and bigger target, apparently.

So she went barreling through the trees, mud staining the hem of her dress and wayward branches scratching against her skin, her mind not really focusing on where but simply away. Not too far ahead of her was a wall, the brick overgrown with ivy but the rocks uneven enough for her to get her feet wedged into the cracks and climb. There was probably a house, or a farm, or maybe even a church on the other side, and she was willing to gamble on the fact that the stag couldn't climb or jump high enough to chase her over.

But there wasn't a building on the other side of the wall, and when her foot caught a patch of damp moss that sent her tumbling over, it was a lot further down than she was expecting. With a thump, she hit the ground, rolling several times before she hit something hard, like a rock, knocking the air out of her and probably bruising her back something fierce. Sore, scratched, and completely out of breath, she just lay there motionless for a moment, panting and waiting for her ears to stop ringing before she opened her eyes.

The sound of loud laughter jolted her into a seating position, because this far out in the forrest, she should have been alone. And it was then that she took a good look at what she'd rolled into; a...gravestone? This was a graveyard?

Getting shakily to her feet, she brushed the dirt and leaves from her dress, making her way over the uneven terrain towards the arched gate that seemed to have torches or candles of some sort brightening the way. Once there, she saw strange, metal contraptions sitting on the blackened roadways, and clusters of small, strangely-dressed people running about with bright orange pumpkins hanging from their arms. This...was not anywhere like her home! Where the heck was this?!

Approaching one of the clusters of children, she cleared her throat awkwardly to get their attention. "Where is this?" she asked, squinting suspiciously at the way they were dressed (one of them had a sheet draped over them, one of them looked...metallic? and one of them looked like a big green lizard). "And what on earth are you wearing?"

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"Oh wow, so you don't get, like, any privacy at all?" Wirt would go nuts, he really would. Sharing a room seemed like it would be fun sometimes--and Greg would occasionally crawl into his bed, too, when he had nightmares--but Wirt didn't know if he would be able to handle it being a permanent thing. He liked his space, he liked having room to lay on the carpet and write poetry or record himself playing the clarinet without being bothered. "It's just me and Greg, here, so--we don't really have to worry about that."

The second thing she mentioned had him turning to look at her with amused confusion. "A disgraceful spinster? Is that--actually something people in the Unknown worry about?" Wirt knew history, but he never really paid much attention to the social norms of times past. He liked learning about artists, musicians and inventors. He supposed people usually married young back in the day--his own mother had married just out of high school--but it seemed weird to actually worry about it.

"Oh, but--yeah, I know. I'm only eighteen, but I can remember when he was just a baby, so it makes me feel like--" He picked at the hem of his pants and shrugged. "I don't know, things are going by too fast?"

"Now that you mention it, I really don't," Beatrice mused, a slight frown wrinkling her features as she looked up at the ceiling. "I could go out in the fields or to the river or the woods to be alone, but when I left my family to find the golden scissors, that was the first time I'd really been alone for any significant amount of time." It had been alarming, to suddenly be alone in the world as a different species, but there'd been something freeing about it as well.

And when he answered her other offhanded comment with confusion, she couldn't help but laugh. "I don't know if I'd be considered a disgrace, but. Getting married is kind of the crux of a woman's life, in the Unknown. We can do other things, but we have to get married first, and obtain permission from our husbands," she shrugged, swirling the liquid inside her cup and focusing her gaze here. "Are things different, here?"

She'd always assumed that it was the same no matter where you came from, and while she didn't necissarily think less of women who had no protest with this idea (her mother was happy keeping the house) and it certainly couldn't be said that no women could stand on their own (like the inn keeper or Margueritte Grey), but those women had been married first and inherited their positions when their husbands died. For a girl like her, who wanted to paint and travel be more than someone who tended the kitchen, well...

"Oh, you're actually a little older than me," Beatrice said, sounding surprised; for some reason, she'd always assumed that she was the older one of the two of them. "I just turned seventeen this summer. But I know what you mean. So many of my little brothers are almost taller than me now, and I remember what it was like to hold them when they were first born. It's crazy."

"You have to ask--permission? Seriously?" Something about that didn't really seem right, and Wirt was pretty baffled. Yeah, society still had a long way to go before that idea was completely out of the picture, and there were plenty of people who still committed to those social norms. But his mother was about as independent as they came. She just did what she wanted to, regardless of what his step-father thought. Most of the time, anyway, when it was stuff that mattered.

"I mean, I guess it used to be like that, but--I don't know, girls kind of do whatever they want." At least, the girls in high school did. Wirt had no idea how things worked outside of high school and his own family. He didn't spend enough time at other people's houses to really know for sure if his mom was the rule or the exception. He hoped she was the rule, honestly. People should be able to pursue what they want to pursue and do what they want with their lives. Doing anything else was like conforming to labels; kind of tacky and weird.

He was surprised that there was still a place out there that held those kinds of beliefs, and it made him wonder--and not for the first time--just what kind of place the unknown was, in relation to his own world. It was stuck in the past, and aside from some major differences, it didn't seem too out of line with Earth. Were was it, exactly? Was it a real place, or just somewhere you went when lost or on the verge of death?

"I am? Oh, I guess so." He had though the same, honestly. He laughed a little wistfully. "Yeah. It's definitely--weird."

"That sounds so nice," Beatrice said with a wistful sigh, draining her mug and setting it aside. There was something almost like hunger gnawing at her stomach, but she was warm and hydrated and incredibly comfortable, not to mention enjoying the company, so she was more than content to stay like this. "We get a certain amount of leeway since we're farmers, and my sisters and I help in the fields when we're needed, but. Being able to do whatever I wanted sounds great."

What would she do, if she had the freedom? It wasn't something she daydreamed about, because there wasn't much point in it, but now that the idea had been planted, she couldn't help but think of traveling to beautiful places with old buildings that smelled like old wood and dust, or painting until her fingertips were stained with oils and she could never really wash the turpentine smell out of her hair, or even having a small garden of her own, and pursuing her interests as hobbies while she raised her children.

It wasn't even the idea of getting married that she was opposed to; it was just about having the freedom to chose what she did with her life, and who she wanted to share it with.

And that was certainly something she didn't need to waste any more time thinking about right now, or else she'd start blushing again (for some reason).

"So speaking of little siblings, where is Greg, anyways?" she asked curiously.

"Why don't you just--do that?" He knew that it probably wasn't that simple. When things were set a certain way, going against that was nigh impossible. But he knew who Beatrice was at hear well enough to know that she wasn't the type to just do what other people wanted, not if she was against it. So knowing she was forced into something that was against her nature, well, it was a little disheartening.

"I--don't know. He's probably telling--" The door burst open without warning, then, as Greg ran into the room. Wirt thought the person on the other side was his mother or step-father, so he reacted in a panic and jumped to his feet, nearly knocked his hot chocolate over along the way. Not that Greg noticed, he was too busy grinning up at Wirt and rocking on his heels excitedly. As soon as Wirt looked down at him, he launched into a long-winded retelling of his evening. He didn't notice Beatrice at first, Wirt was standing mostly in front of her, and even if he hadn't been, Greg was too focused on what he was doing to to notice much else.

"--And wouldn't you know it, Wirt, Mrs. Daniels gave me more candy than she did last year! And--oh! I saw Eric and his friends and they said that you've got a girlfriend and that you hugged her and everything!"

"Greg, no, that's not"

"Oh, and mom-" Greg caught sight of Beatrice sitting on Wirt's bed, then, and lost his train of thought. He didn't recognize her, but based on what his friends had been joking about, he immediately assumed this was the girlfriend in question, and grinned, giving Wirt a thumbs up. "Well look at that, brother o' mine. You really did find a girlfriend at that party! I told you. I said; you should go to that party, wirt. Good things will happen! And they did!"

And then, completely disregarding personal space, Greg meandered on over and plopped on the bed, holding his hand out for a handshake, leaving Wirt looking lost and confused as he stuttered over half completed words.

"I guess I feel like I owe it to them to not bring any more trouble than I already have," Beatrice said after a moment of silent consideration, her voice soft. It definitely wasn't like her, to just go along with whatever everyone expected of her no matter how she may feel about it. But after the whole "bluebird" incident, she didn't feel like she had the right to dig her heels in and run away to try and live independent of her family's wishes.

She wanted to be a good daughter. One who was better than the surly, sulking, angsting teenager who'd gotten them all cursed.

But thankfully, Greg burst into the room before she could give that train of thought any more of her time, and even though he was much bigger than she remembered, the enthusiasm hadn't waned even a bit. She tried to hide her smile behind her hand, and it didn't fade even when he kept calling her Wirt's girlfriend and brought a blush to her cheeks as well. When Greg joined her on the bed, she turned to to face him, taking his offered hand solemnly.

"Sorry I'm not the girlfriend you told him he'd find, but how about an old bluebird friend instead?" she said.

Wirt wanted to say something about that, about how that wasn't fair to her, and that everyone makes mistakes, so she shouldn't worry. She shouldn't let it get her down. But Greg's entrance got in the way of it, so Wirt wasn't able to do anything other than give her a somewhat sad look.

Greg, on the other hand, was really gung-ho about it all. All his friend's older siblings had boyfriends or girlfriends by now, and gosh darnit he wanted in. Sure, his buddies mostly just complained about how they kissed and cuddled a lot in their living rooms, but that seemed fun in and of itself. Greg could see it perfectly. He would go right up to Eric and say; 'Blech. That Wirt, always kissin' his girl.' Yeah, it would be great! The best!

All that got thrown out the window when Beatrice spoke. He didn't get it, at first. His memories of the Unknown were hazy and disjointed, and it wasn't something he really thought about much at all anymore. Not because he didn't care. It was just that his life was so full of stuff, that it got pushed to the side and forgotten. But the second it clicked, Greg's face lit up like the stars at night, and he threw his hands in the air. "Beatrice!" He turned to Wirt and slapped his arm to get his attention. "Wirt, look, it's Beatrice!"

"I know it's Beatrice, Greg, she's been here for a while."

But Greg wasn't paying attention anymore. He was busy staring at her intently, his head tilted to the side. "Buut, hey there. You're not a bluebird anymore. What happened?" He never found out that she was supposed to be human, so he always assumed she had always been, and would always be a bluebird.

There was a moment, brief but seeming go stretch on forever, where Greg didn't recognize her. And Wirt was older, and less prone to flights of fancy than someone his brother's age, making it easier to let the experiences slip away under the scrutiny of adults. But Greg had always been so sure of everything, and that probably included his experiences in the Unknown. So when his face lit up in pure, childlike joy, she found herself smiling in giddy relief in return.

"Well, I wasn't always a bluebird," she admitted, a bit meekly, because even know she didn't like to admit to what had transpired. "I was stupid and threw a rock at a bluebird when I was mad about something, and the bird cursed me and my family as revenge. Wirt took a pair of scissors from Adelaide's house that I was able to use to turn us back after I found the two of you again."

She patted her cheeks and wiggled her fingers in Greg's direction. "This is what I look like most of the time!. Although I do still kind of like eating worms..."

A lie, but one she figured Greg would take gleeful, grossed-out pleasure in.

Greg have a sagely nod. Them bluebirds really knew how to curse people! He should be more careful around them, and maybe see if they liked waffles or some such thing. "Wow, so you really we're magical. You were holding out on me the whole time!" That was the way he saw it. Sure, becoming a bluebird hadn't been her choice, but a curse is still magic. "But it's okay! Because now you're you and really real like I told Wirt all the time, but he just got all old and wrote lots of gross poetry."

"Greg." Ugh, whatever. Wirt sat down to watch Greg and Beatrice catch up quietly.

"Now we can tell mom and dad that they were wrong, and--" Greg laughed at the worm bit, and shook his head " well, we won't eat worms, those aren't the good kind of dinner. Maybe we can have some waffles, though."

Edited 2014-12-05 19:24 (UTC)

"Ugh, I told you already, I'm not magical," Beatrice said, rolling her eyes, although there was something decidedly fond about the way she smiled. "Curses don't require magic where I'm from. They can be just...divine retribution, if you did something wrong to something that especially didn't deserve it. Like an innocent, passing bluebird."

That wasn't to say that her world was completely devoid of magic, but she just happened to be an ordinary, non-magical girl from an ordinary, non-magical family on an ordinary, non-magical farm. Greg would probably find it horribly disappointing.

She laughed, grinning at Wirt when Greg mentioned him getting "old" and writing "gross poetry", because it was good to know that some things never changed. But at the mention of Wirt's parents, her expression sobered. "Well, for one thing, the waffles hurting my stomach wasn't just a bird thing. They still don't sit well with me when I'm a human, either. And as for your parents..." she looked at Wirt for help. "Maybe we should keep this our little secret for now."

"Oh." Well that was extremely disappointing. Greg wanted to brag about having magical friends (Which he would probably still do regardless, but it was the principle of the matter.) He got over it pretty quickly, though, and moved right on to the next topic. He wasn't one to stay on track for very long anyway, and really, divine retribution didn't seem all that interesting, especially if it wasn't magical.

Yes, he would be incredibly, mind numbingly disappointed to find out she lived an ordinary, non-magical life.

"Maybe you just haven't had the right waffles." Greg scooted to the edge of the bed and tapped Wirt's head lightly. "Go make waffles, Wirt! Yours are the best waffles ever."

"I'm not making waffles if Beatrice doesn't like them." Wirt rolled his eyes and shook his head. Really.

"Oh. Well, you should make me some anyway." And then Greg was right back to where he was, facing Beatrice and practically wriggling around in excitement. Beatrice! He was so happy to see her, to know she was real. It had been a real bummer, when people stopped entertaining his stories and started trying to make him "See reality". What a bunch of bums. What Beatrice says had him looking a little confused, though. Why would anyone want to keep this secret? "Our secret? But why?"

Wirt took the queue from Beatrice and nodded. He wished they didn't have to lie, life would be so much easier that way. But in their world strange things just didn't happen, and you were loony to think otherwise. "You remember when we got back home from the Unknown, right? They wouldn't believe us now, either, and would send Beatrice away before we could help her."

Greg just frowned for a long time. He didn't like it, not one bit. Now was the perfect time to show everyone how wrong they had been about Beatrice, the Unknown, and everything that had happened there. But--he also knew that adults could be unfair, and that they were big sticks in the mud most of the time, so after a while he nodded reluctantly. "Okay. I'll keep it secret." He didn't sound very happy about it, though.

Beatrice let out a sigh of relief when Greg agreed to keep things a secret. Depending on how long she was stuck here, she would undoubtedly meet other people, like the parents they were trying to avoid and maybe more of Greg's friends. After all, she couldn't very well just live in Wirt's room and never leave. They would just introduce her as a visiting friend, probably, and so long as Greg didn't actually tell anyone that she was living in their house, it would be fine.

She wondered if she'd get to meet Sarah.

"Thanks, Greg," she said, smiling and reaching over to ruffle his hair affectionately. "And well...I'll admit, my mom isn't very good at making waffles. If Wirt actually makes really good waffles, maybe I'd like these better."

Why was Greg so obsessed with waffles? Who knew. Either way, it was fun to indulge him a bit.

Edited 2014-12-06 19:36 (UTC)

Wirt was glad, too. He didn't want to have to worry about Beatrice ending up on the street or worse. Once everything was settled, he would definitely take her around and claim she was a friend visiting from the country, but for now it was best to keep things under wraps, while they patched together a game plan.

"You heard the lady, make waffles!" Greg flopped onto Wirt's shoulders from his place on the bed and nearly bowled him right over. Wirt shoved Greg off and sighed very dramatically. It was obviously an exaggeration, he didn't really mind. He just liked to make it look like he did.

"Fine, fine. I'll make you waffles. Just don't--do that ever again. You almost broke my back." Wirt got up to leave, but then stopped. "Oh, before I do. Greg, Come here." He guided Greg over to the door and bent down to whisper something in his ear. Whatever it was, Greg seemed to agree. He nodded and gave his brother a thumbs up. Satisfied, Wirt gave Beatrice a little wave, said "Be back in a little while. This kid needs waffles," and slipped out again.

As soon as Greg heard Wirt on the steps he turned to Beatrice, threw his arms in the air, and laughed. "Wirt said I need to burgle your tape!"

He also said to be sneaky, but like Greg even knew how to do that.

It made her feel content, to see the two brothers talking and all but rolling around in the floor. From what she'd seen, Wirt undoubtedly loved his little brother, but there was tension there. And there was always quarreling and fighting amongst siblings, but it looked like Wirt was more comfortable with him now. Almost losing someone you care about can really make you reconsider how you treat them, and she was just glad to see the rift between them repaired.

But of course Wirt would try and convince Greg to steal the tape back!

She grabbed the tape, giving Greg a suspicious look. "Why are you going to burgle my tape? It has my name on it, so clearly Wirt made it for me."

Edited 2014-12-06 20:23 (UTC)

Greg shrugged and crawled back onto the bed. He wasn't about to try and take it by force. He had actually hoped Beatrice would just hand it right over, but ah well. Back to the drawing board. "I dunno. He just said it was probably embarrassing, and would be Sara's tape all over again, so 'get it back, ok'." Greg honestly didn't care one way or the other. He made an attempt, and whatever weird stuff Wirt put on tapes was his business.

"But if it's got your name on it, then I guess it's okay. I'm sure that good 'ol Wirt'll understand." He was the one that made it for her, so obviously he had wanted her to listen to it at the time. He just had a way of worrying himself silly, the goof.

Beatrice released a sigh of relief when Greg made no move to take the tape from her, but she wished there were pockets in these pants to hide it in. It was starting to seem like holding onto this tape was going to be a near-constant battle. But now that Greg was here, and they were already on the subject of the tape...

"Do you know how to work that?" she asked, pointing to the black tape player on the desk. "I figured out how to get the tape inside, but I don't know how to make it play."

"Yeah, of course I know how!" Greg hopped off the bed and went right on over to the tape player. He reached the across the tablet to point, and turned to see if Beatrice was coming over to see. "You just gotta press this button right here." He tapped the button with the little triangle on it with each word, nodding as he did so, like he was an expert on tape players and all their functions.

Truth was, he only knew how to play the tapes. He could never remember how to record them, and always had to bother Wirt, to get him to do it so that Greg could make Christmas tapes and fun song tapes that he could share with his friends.

Beatrice slid off the bed, following Greg and looking over his shoulder as he explained. It was a lot simpler than she'd thought it would be. Maybe it was just because the machines in this place were intimidating, but she'd been expecting to have to push down a bunch of the buttons, and maybe in a certain order or something. But no, you just had to put the tape in and press one little button to make it go.

And cooking wasn't exactly a fast activity.

"Thanks, Greg," she said, smiling at him. "You should go see if Wirt needs any help with those waffles. You gotta make sure that they're absolutely perfect, since I don't usually like them."

"Aye Aye, Captain Beatrice!" He saluted her and turned to go, but he stopped at the door to shoot her a mischievous grin. He wasn't dumb, he figured she was gonna go right along and give the tape a listen. It was like they were secret agents, listening to secret Intel. Only he wasn't going to listen to it. Which was kind of sad, but it had her name on it, not his, so he supposed that was fair. "Have fun listening to your tape."

And then after a second;

"And don't laugh at him if it's really embarrassing, okay? He gets really embarrassed and might never share tapes with anyone ever again." Which would be sad, because Greg liked listening to Wirt's tapes, even if Wirt was self-conscious about sharing them. They were nice, especially when they had clarinet on them.

But with that, Greg was gone, leaving Beatrice alone with the tape player.

"I promise I won't laugh at him," Beatrice reassured, because while she probably would have done exactly that two years ago, she'd...sort of grown up, since then. The responsibilities she was given by her family certainly had a lot to do with that, but she'd also felt the need to be someone who wasn't so angry and petulant all the time. Sure, she was still prone to fits of anger and childishness, but in general, she was calmer and more mature now.

And the more time she was away from them, the more fondly she looked back at the time she spent with the brothers (Wirt in particular).

So once Greg was gone and had shut the door behind him, she approached the tape player with a bit of trepidation. Even though she knew how it worked, she was almost...nervous, about finding out what was on the tape. Was it something angry-sounding, or something talking about her betrayal? But sitting around like this wouldn't help anything, so with her stomach in knots, she loaded the tape into the player like she'd learned, and with only a moment of hesitation, hit "play".

The player whined to life, the little spools spinning as the black ribbon moved from one side to the other. For a little while, there was nothing but a humming quiet as the player worked, until finally the sound of Wirt clearing his throat came through the speakers, distorted ever so slightly be the warble of the tape.

"Hey, Beatrice, Uh--Wait, why did I start it like that? It's not like she can hear me, and." Embarrassed by himself, Wirt laughed a little and cleared his throat again. His fingers tapped on the desk as he thought. "R-Right, well, it's been a while. A few months, I guess? It's almost Christmas now, and I was thinking about, well, everything. There's so much I didn't get to say, you know? It all happened so fast, and we never really talked about our journey, or Adelaide, or you saving me--At least I think it was you?

Not that it really matters now. It's just that sometimes, I still--"

A door slammed in the background as someone barged right on in.

"Greg, get out of here, I'm trying to-"

"Wirt! Wirt, it's snowing! let's g-"

There was silence again as the sound abruptly cut out. It was shorter than the first silence, and was broken once again by Wirt's voice.

"Okay, let's--let's try this again. Hey! It's--Wirt, even though you already know that. Or don't, since--whatever. It's almost Halloween again. Greg wants us to wear what we wore last year, but I told him I didn't want to dress up. Uh--" He hesitated. "I wrote you something. N-Not a poem, I haven't--"

Silence.

"Okay, so I've written you a bunch of poems, but that's not what I'm putting on here. This is, uh. Clarinet solo #1! 'Through the woods with you'"

There was rustling and other jumbled noises that were, presumably, Wirt grabbing his Clarinet and getting ready to play. The song started with a very familiar, very childlike tune. Beatrice could have sung the words along with the reedy pitch of the clarinet if she wanted to. (Adelaide! Oh, Adelaide! Come on and join the Adelaide parade--) but at the end of the first line there was a loud squeak--as though the clarinet itself were surprised--and then the melody spiraled deeper. It was sad and low and mournful, and then jumped and swung into something fast and frenzied that eventually evened out to a lovely, albeit wistful end that seemed to hang in the air, unfinished.

Once he was done playing, there was some shuffling as he turned off the player again. The silence was almost non-existent this time. Immediately after the end of the second recording, a third one started up.

"Hey, uh. I think this is the last time I'm going to do this. It's been a long time. I went over the cemetery wall again, past the train tracks and to the river. I dangled my feet in the cool spring water, and--well, there was nothing there this time, either. I didn't think it would bother me so much, we only traveled together for a short while. But--sometimes I sit and think; Are our wayward threads never to cross again? Are we doomed to remain separated by space and time, our only meeting one trapped betwixt life and death, on a single ill-fated evening? But then I realize that's kind of dumb, so, I don't know."

He sighed and shuffled uncomfortably.

"I miss you, Beatrice. Even--Even if you're not real."

The tape cut out, then. Not all of the tape had been used, so it kept on rolling, but no more sound came from it.

For a moment, Beatrice was convinced that Greg had lied to her. The spools in the player turned and moved, but no sound came out, and Wirt had said that it was used to record and play things like music. But soon, the silence was replaced with Wirt's voice, and it startled her to hear the higher-pitched tone that hadn't quite finished changing due to puberty at that point. It carried with it a hint of nostalgia, and it made her smile to hear Greg just suddenly come barging in to the room and interrupting Wirt's musings.

There was more silence, but shorter than the first, and she couldn't help but learn towards the tape player eagerly when he said that he had a song to play. It didn't escape her notice that he apparently had written poems for her (how hard would they be to find? surely they were around here somewhere), but she was too focused on the sounds of him fumbling with his instrument and the first clear notes that rang from the player.

It was beautiful. Probably a bit rough in places, but she was no music critic; to her, it just sounded perfect. There were familiar notes, like the ones at the beginning that sounded like a song she'd heard so many times during their journey but had forgotten the words to, and unfamiliar ones that still managed to remind her of what it felt like to fly through the woods after them, to finally find Greg, and their inevitable return to their home, someplace she'd never be able to reach them.

When the final note tapered off, her heart felt full to bursting. It wasn't just a song he'd selected; it was a song he'd written for her. Her cheeks felt hot, hotter than they'd even felt earlier, but it was a distant feeling, one she didn't acknowledge through her intense focus on the player.

And truly, she'd expected that to be the end of things.

But there was more, and it was just his voice this time, sounding less like the squeaky teenage boy and more like the young man who was downstairs making her waffles. The words he spoke started out stilted, and perhaps a bit awkward, but as he spoke, he gained confidence, and even though it wasn't exactly poetry, the words were thoughtful and lovely. It made her feel more determined than ever to find the poetry he'd written for her, despite knowing that it wouldn't sound as nice in her own voice as it did in his.

He'd missed her. Missed her enough to write a song, record a tape, write poetry.

She'd missed him too.

But she'd never allowed herself to linger on it. Any blossoming feelings had been stamped down, unmercifully, because she was a traitor, and he already liked another girl, and she was a bird. A stupid, angry bluebird who'd done her best to atone for what she'd done, but who'd never been sure that she was forgiven. And why think wistfully of a boy with messy hair and a stupid red cap when all signs pointed to them never meeting again.

Swallowing and resting her cool fingertips against her hot cheeks, she took a moment to collect herself before carefully removing the tape from the player. She had absolutely not been prepared.

Wirt, of course, was oblivious to all that. He was busy doing what he could to make the greatest waffles he had ever made--with Greg's careful instruction, of course. It was instruction he didn't really listen to, because most of what Greg wanted was silly. The waffles didn't need chocolate chips, or to be cooked with the candy he had gotten from Mrs. Daniels, and really, why wasn't he upstairs keeping an eye on Beatrice? He was supposed to get the tape back, ect ect.

All in all, it was a fun excursion, and the waffles looked pretty good when he got done with them. So good that Wirt took the time to make himself one, too, and balanced his and Beatrice's plates in on hand as he grabbed the syrup with the other. When he and Greg made their grand re-entrance upstairs, Greg's plate was so full of syrup it looked about ready to spill over the sides of the plate, and Wirt was looking mostly pleased with himself.

"And here we are, with--waffles!" At, what, nine o'clock in the evening? He felt a little silly feeding her breakfast foods so late, but Greg wouldn't have let him hear the end of it if he had cooked something else. He carried her plate over to her and set it on the end stand with the syrup bottle, and before Greg could take a spot, Wirt took a seat on the bed, opposite Beatrice. Greg would have taken it otherwise, and Wirt really didn't want syrup all over his covers. Especially since Beatrice would be the one sleeping under them.

Greg gave a disappointed groan, but plopped on the ground by the bed and started eating anyway.

"You--don't have to eat them if you don't like them, okay?" Wirt said, though part of him really hoped she did like them, that his cooking--however limited it was--was able to overcome a long-standing dislike of this specific food. Even if it was something as silly as waffles.

Something seemed a little off with her, though. She definitely didn't look as flushed as she would have while listening to the tape, but things still seemed...different. He couldn't put his finger on it, it was such a subtle thing, but--"Is--everything okay? If this is about you being here...d-don't worry, you know? We'll find a way to get you home."

And yet his heart felt kind of heavy at that thought, but he pushed the feeling away. It was selfish. She didn't belong in his world, and it was silly to hope she would stay, even if just for a little while.

Beatrice was thankful to have a moment to collect herself, and turned her attention to the various books on Wirt's shelf. There were lots of titles, none of which she recognized, but some of them sounded interesting. If nothing else, she could occupy herself during the day with reading, searching for her poems, and drawing. Speaking of which, she really ought to ask him where he kept his paper before she forgot.

When she heard the two coming up the stairs, she went back to sit on the bed, cringing at the way Greg's plate was practically overflowing with syrup. One of her biggest objections to waffles was that her mother made them far too sweet; the syrup was sweet enough! But hopefully Wirt was a better cook than that, so she kept her fingers crossed as she accepted the waffles.

They smelled amazing, and her stomach chose that moment to remind her of just how famished she was. "Thanks," she said, taking the syrup and drizzling it lightly over the perfectly golden brown waffles. "And don't worry, have you ever known me to do something if I didn't like it? That applies to eating food."

Wirt settled on the bed next to her, and while the surface was big enough for them to not be terribly close, it still didn't escape her notice. Hopefully it didn't show on her face, but as she was cutting a corner off her waffle, he spoke up and asked if she was okay. "I'm fine," she reassured. "Just...tired, I think. It's been a long day." And to be honest, she was in no great hurry to return home, especially now. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll figure something out eventually."

With that, she popped the bite of waffle into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before she nodded her approval. "They're good," she complimented. Still not her most favorite food in the world, but way better than what she was used to.

"True enough." He shot her a smile and moved to grab the syrup for himself. Luckily, Wirt felt the same way about waffles. He liked them well enough, but the waffles themselves couldn't have too much sugar, or it was overwhelming. It was probably why Greg thought his were 'The best ever', because while Greg definitely loaded his up with syrup and other things, the waffles themselves weren't so sweet it was sickening.

He was glad to know that she liked them alright, and he trusted her words wholeheartedly. She wasn't one to praise for nothing. If his food was horrible, she would no doubt wrinkle her nose and berate him--a mental image that made him feel a bit nostalgic. She had always used to berate him for one thing or another. What made him even happier, though, was her answer to his question. She had said eventually. Not 'tomorrow' or 'soon', but eventually. It was such an absurd joy, but at the same time it felt like maybe it meant she would stay a while, and that he wouldn't have to rush to find a solution for her.

Because he wanted to get to know her more. He wanted her to stick around, even if he knew she would probably have to leave someday. But when she did, he wanted to know her completely, so that he would never forget or doubt her existence ever again.

"Oh. Yeah, I--yeah, that makes sense." Content, he popped a bite of waffle into his mouth, and fell silent for a while. It wasn't the awkward, uncomfortable silence from earlier, when he hadn't had a clue what to say or do, when he didn't know how to act. He was just enjoying her presence, and enjoying a good meal, and that was alright in his books.

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My phones internet is abysmal rn omg

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this ended up enormous ahaha

GROSS SOBBING writes an enormous reply

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