fandomhighdorms | 4th floor common room, Saturday morning

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4th floor common room, Saturday morning

Ichabod had woken up early and had decided to spend the morning enjoying a long breakfast, possibly while mocking whatever strange things was on the television. Unfortunately, as he soon discovered, he had little food left, which was why breakfast ended up being tea with several strange flavours of ice cream. Well, he also stole some bread and jam from someone else, hoping they wouldn't notice.

He had come across television programs aimed at children before, of course, but this morning they were everywhere, it seemed. They were also somewhat disturbing in Ichabod's opinion; loud, with bright colours and lacking in content. He ended up watching one which made his eyes hurt but even more oddly, he found himself talking back to the characters, as that was clearly what one was supposed to do. What strange thing to teach innocent children!

[Open CR. Ichabod doesn't know it yet, but he will babysit any weetiny students showing up. Not because he enjoys it, but because it is the proper thing to do. He'd feel guilty if anyone got hurt.]

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A very small girl with a lopsided bow in her hair and a pinafore poked her head into the common room, curious but quiet. Celia was very pleased with herself for getting dressed without her mother's help (which was good, since Mama didn't seem to be here -- but she wasn't especially worried about that, yet.) But she hadn't quite managed all the steps, and she had wandered the halls trying to find someone who could help her tie the laces on her boots -- -she'd tried to do it herself, but at almost-five, the task was still a little beyond her skills.

For now, though, her untied boots were forgotten, because there was something exciting and loud happening in here, and she actually let out a little squeak of delight when the purple monkey began to talk. Monkeys didn't talk!

It took a moment for Ichabod to notice that there was a little girl there, because the television was quite distracting. Eventually he did, though, and gave her a surprised look.

"Are you lost, miss?" he asked, confused.

Celia balked a little when the man spoke to her, but she shook her head immediately. She was lost, or at least didn't know where she was, but that wasn't too much of a worry at the moment. She was supposed to be polite to adults when the asked her questions, she knew, but she also had to be mindful of strangers.

She wrestled with her little dilemma for a moment before walking over to Ichabod and very softly informing him, "I can't tie my shoes."

Ichabod looked at her shoes, noting that the girl was wearing clothes that wasn't fashionable in this era, but unsure what to make of this. His gaze shifted to her face.

"Do you need help?"

Because letting a child trip over her shoe laces seemed like a bad idea,

Celia nodded firmly. "Yes, please," she said quietly. "What is that?" She pointed at the television, then immediately drew her hand back to drop by her side. Mama said that pointing wasn't polite. "It's loud."

He bent down to tie them neatly, and having done that Ichabod replied:

"It's called a television. And I know, it is horribly loud, and the bright colours might give you a headache." He frowned, concerned. "Where is your mother, child? Do you need help finding her?"

She must have arrived here quite recently if she wasn't yet acquainted with modern technology.

"Maybe," Celia hedged thoughtfully, though she was still staring at the bright thing in wonder.

With her shoes tied, she offered a soft, "Thank you," to Ichabod, before worriedly balling the fabric of a sleeve in one small fist. "I couldn't find any other grown-ups," she informed him, a little bit fretfully.

"Most of them are still asleep," he said, still frowning, as it definitely was odd that she should be here all by herself.

"If you are hungry I have ice cream enough for both of us," he offered. "And then we can find your Mama. And I think we should introduce ourselves. I am mr Crane, what is your name?"

She was going to peer curiously at that ice cream before offering her name, yes. And while she knew it was very adult and grown up to give someone her whole name, she wasn't used to being a miss -- her mother wasn't the kind of person who associated with people who'd call a child by her surname, anyway.

"Celia," she told him, the syllables running together a bit -- her teenage counterpart had mastered the delicate pronunciation of her own name a bit after the age of four.

Isabelle was wearing a cape with a hood, and had a plastic sword with runes on it.

"I demand breakfast!"

She also had no manners, and a loud voice.

The third small girl to come into the common room had dressed herself in an oversized slip as a dress (wings poking out in the back, of course), plenty of jewelry, and a scarf on her head for a veil. If there were no adults telling her to dress sensibly, Alana believed in making the most of it.

She skidded into the common room for some breakfast, and had already hoisted herself onto the counter to check what they had before she realized she had a very serious problem.

"There's not any cereal up here," she announced poutily.

Edited 2014-11-22 16:21 (UTC)

Celia? Ichabod was by now familiar enough with Fandom to make a connection, and there was a definite similarity.

"So, miss Celia, what is your mother's name? And your father's?" he asked, while scooping up ice cream into a bowl and offering it to her.

"I like your sword," Alana -- who had dressed herself with similar, if girlier, fashion sense -- announced. "Wanna play princess and soldier?"

"Her name is Mama," she told him helpfully, wandering over to climb up onto the couch, a little less hesitant now. "I don't know my father. Mama says he went away."

And Celia had never thought to ask beyond that. Mama seemed angry, whenever the question came up.

Another child? Ichabod told himself that perhaps he shouldn't be surprise.

"Now, miss, what has happened to your manners? Would your Mama let you have breakfast when behaving so rudely?"

He certainly wouldn't let children behave badly.

"You should say please," Celia admonished her, her own voice very soft in contrast.

She did wish she had a sword, too, even if the other girl seemed rude.

Those wings were a give-away.

"Miss Alana," Ichabod said. "I would offer you ice cream to compensate, but only if you ask politely. Surely your parents have taught you that."

"Are you a fairy?" Celia asked her softly, her voice a bit awed. Though if she was a fairy, how come she hadn't flown up to look for cereal?

Maybe fairies had special rules.

Okay, Isabelle was intrigued by that. Also, flattered by the first part, as evident from the slight preening.

"... What's that? Is that a game?"

That wasn't very helpful. "And can you by any chance do magic?"

It was an odd thing to ask, but at least he would know she was Celia, then.

Isabelle stopped to consider this.

But not for very long. "Yes!" she decided, nodding firmly.

Story of Isabelle's life, really.

"Why?" she asked, brandishing the sword.

"No," Alana said, sounding puzzled by the question. "I'm a princess,see?"

She adjusted the mass on her head to be more obviously crown-like.

"Not really," Alana said. Her parents had other priorities; they hadn't worried themselves much with their only daughter's manners.

Still, she knew what he meant -- and she wanted ice cream. She slid off the counter and smiled at him. "Please can I have some ice cream?"

"It's a making-things-up game," Alana explained. "I'm a princess and you're a soldier and, um ... something cool happens."

She'd figure out what it might be in a second.

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4th floor common room, Saturday morning

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