Maribelle huddled up on the sofa, peering across the table between her and her father's... friend? Xander doesn't deserve to have Otto as a friend, but whatever, we'll just go with that for now. Through the large, half-curtained window at the side of the parlor, just above where they both sat, freshly-fallen snow glistening on the ground, on the rose bushes, on the forest beyond. Now and then, the girl glanced at the scenery. She hadn't ever been out in the snow before, not ever, but the two main father figures in her life just told her that she wasn't missing out on much. She believed them.
On the table were placed a kettle of hot, sweetened tea. Tea so sweet that someone is going to get a cavity by the end of this. There were also lemon cakes and strawberry muffins, but alas, none of those "locust cookies" were in sight. Not that she seemed to mind. Nor did she seem to mind that her father was, once again, nowhere to be seen. Maybe that was a good thing, though. A weight lifted at long last, though perhaps for only thirty minutes, she chattered on -- softly, but still, she was talking... a lot...
"My papa said you're a singer." she blathered, "I only ever sang for the choir, which is good, because everyone else's voice hides mine, because I'm not a good singer." Ah. Put her down early. "You must be good at it, though, if you got knighted for your singing. I didn't even know that could happen. He only ever knights holy men, my papa does. I do like musicals, though, and also plays, but I only go to theaters when he lets me, and he has to go with me. I'm not attending the choir this year, though. I can only give the offerings, and then I have to read the books a lot--"
Suddenly, the girl fell silent when the door from the kitchen swung open, looking up to see a maid -- one who didn't slow down to speak to either of them, pushing a small cart through the parlor.
The sight was enough to get Maribelle shut up, though, as brief as it was.
She resigned herself to the chaise, leaning forward only to sip at her tea, and then a muffin from the platter.
"You said I had a bright future, I think. Right? I don't remember. No one ever really talks about that stuff with me." she added, "I want to be a writer. Or I wanna -- want to work with flowers, but not like a gardener."
Another pause. She thumbed more awkwardly at the muffin, before inquiring, "Did you always want to be a singer? Only a singer?" Her brain cells were very slowly firing up again. "What's your favorite color? What's your favorite book? Do you ever think that -- oh, no, that's a rude question, I think. I was going to ask about your eyes."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
To cope with such a situation like being locked in a room with a murderer, Maribelle glanced now and then at Tabby, wide-eyed. Maybe if she was alone with the animal, she would smile, but for now she seemed more blank than anything. She especially wasn't about to smile in the presence of said murderer, and to be so alone, her father nowhere to be seen...
She jolted when Brown spoke -- or, more so when she cursed. After a short silence, she soon murmured in reply, "He'll get mad if you say that word around me." Which was true! Otto was going to be so, so pissed, as if he weren't already pissed at Brown. Why did he leave his young daughter alone with her again?
She looked down at the tray of muffins, but remained uncertain. It seemed that chocolate chip muffins weren't going to convince her otherwise. Were they tempting? Sure. She still didn't touch them, which might have been smart on her part, even if she was incapable of intelligence, but alas, she responded, "No thank you. Harrison -- he works in the kitchens -- said he was going to make apple hand pies for me." Yeah. And where was he with that? Anxiously, she glanced over at the door, waiting.
It wasn't going to be any time soon, she supposed. She reached out towards the table, grabbing onto her cup of tea. She was quiet again as she sipped from it. Gods, this was awkward.
"I take good care of my teeth." If she ate as many sweets as what was implied, though, then probably not. However, any tooth pain she felt was generally due to baby teeth falling out, and for that, she was told to speak softly. She was told to speak softly for multiple reasons, but she assumed most people found missing teeth to be ugly, and she didn't want to be ugly. "I go to a dentist, though, miss. They bring one in from-- from the city to look at me, sometimes. Like, he comes three times a year, I think."
And then there were doctor visits. That fat old man probably didn't help ease the dentist's pain, considering he always gave Maribelle jelly-filled donuts and sweet tea in exchange for her compliance. Holding her mug in her lap, looking down at the drink, she wished he was here. Because she wanted some donuts now.
"You can't die from too much sugar." You can! "I don't want to die, anyway. Dying hurts."
And she spoke from experience! Cradle cough hits Yene children all the time.
