paradisa | Sixth toothmark

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sunny baudelaire

Sixth toothmark

[Waking up this morning Sunny first thought that the room had shrank and was quite confused. Didn't the castle just send them to that island with the dinosaurs? Why would it do something else to them quite so soon?

Then it dawns on her: It wasn't that the room had shrank. She had grown. She had grown a lot. Not only had she grown in size but she had apparently aged as well. She had been aged up once before when everyone was at that nursing home but this... this was different. She moves to a mirror and touches her face, looking over her new features. Different but still unmistakably her. This is certainly an unexpected development, though not entirely unwelcome. It will be nice to actually speak with her friends... a few in particular come immediately to mind.

She moves to the closet, thankfully finding that she had been provided with clothes to fit her new stature. She quickly gets dressed before picking up her journal. She bites her lip, thinking for a moment before speaking]

Is the castle usually in the habit of changing one's age so suddenly? I feel rather akin to that girl in the story who ate the cake and suddenly found herself as large as the room.

[Mr. Snicket]

Mr. Snicket... do you have a moment?

[/filter]

[Leonard Church]

Church? This is Sunny. I've unexpectedly found myself older and thought we might take this opportunity to speak.

[/filter]

[Chell]

Hello, Chell. This is Sunny. The castle has unexpectedly made me older and I'd very much like to see you if you're free.

[/Chell]

[She thinks for a moment before putting out one final filter]

[Violet]

The castle has made me older. I'm going to go out to visit some friends to take advantage of this while I am able. I didn't want you to worry. I would like to make dinner for us tonight, if you haven't made other arrangements.

[/Violet]

((OOC: Loss start!))

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I should hope not, at least. [She laughs] If I had to approximate I would say that I may have aged to sometime within my early twenties.

That certainly is quite a difference in age - though, as I recall, not nearly as much of a difference as the last. ... [he's conflicted, for a moment. twenty-two. that's not far off from how old Beatrice was, the last time he saw her alive, and ... if she looks just as much like her mother as Violet, he's not sure he could bear it. but it would be horrible of him to not still visit, especially since she must be confused ...

the only hope he has is that she takes more after Bertrand.]

Would you like me to come and see you?

[She chuckles] No, it seems to be a fine age to be thus far.

I would like to see you, if you're free. We could meet somewhere if you would like.

Hmm. Would you care to come up to my room? [he knows it's usually a trek too far for her to make unaccompanied, and thinks she might enjoy the walk]

I believe I would like that, yes. I'll be there shortly.

[How wonderful it is to be able to walk around without having people question the fact that an infant is walking unattended. She takes her time, though not so much as to delay her arrival for too long. Finally she knocks politely on Mr. Snicket's door.]

[truthfully, there was another motive in play... letting Sunny walk gave him time to steel himself against the inevitable shock of her appearance. when he opens his door, his heart still does a slow, awkward arabesque of grief, but soon settles, and the weak smile he manages is fond]

I would have known it was you, even if you hadn't said anything...

[She returns that fond smile with one of her own]

Do I look that much like my sister?

Edited (icon change) 2013-06-26 21:36 (UTC)

[he shakes his head, hoping the story will be easier in its second telling]

Your mother, at that age...the last time I saw her.

[Sunny's eyes widen slightly. Violet had told her that Mr. Snicket had known their mother when they both had been young but she had no idea the extent of their friendship. The thought of someone knowing her mother from that long ago is an unexpectedly tragic one.]

The last time... [Her voice trails off] I'm sorry...

You've nothing to apologize for, Sunny. The fact that I can be here for you and Violet, now, makes up for everything that fell between.... a subject, which, I'm sure, you have several questions about. Please, come inside. I can get us some refreshments, and answer those questions, and any more you may have...

[She smiles]

Thank you very much, Mr. Snicket. [She steps inside, looking around his room as she does so. It's so strange seeing it from a completely different perspective such as this. It's so familiar and yet so different.]

I have been rather curious, yes, but I hadn't wanted to ask in the event that it was something that you would rather not speak about.

Of course. ... You and your siblings have always been very respectful, after all. [he can't help but smile sadly at that - it's just another testament to how much they are like their mother, and how well she raised them in the short time she and Bertrand had]

There is a marked difference, Sunny, between not wishing to speak about a thing, and knowing it is necessary. One may not wish to do the dishes, but sooner or later, they fill the sink, and if one wishes to eat off of a proper plate, or dye a shirt so as to cover up a stain or create a new disguise which will help them avoid the attention of certain nefarious actors and their cohorts, eventually one does have to roll up one's sleeves, take up the sponge and the detergent, and come clean.

[She gives Lemony a knowing smile as she moves towards the most comfortable looking seating in the room. That feeling of necessity is not an unfamiliar one to her. She had filtered to Church as well for the express purpose of telling him a story that would be painful both to tell and to listen to. If Lemony felt his story needed to be told she wasn't going to prevent him from doing so.]

Perhaps we should sit down and make ourselves more comfortable, then?

An excellent idea. [he waits until she is seated before taking a seat of his own.].... How much has Violet told you?

[She carefully smooths out her skirts as she sits]

She has not told me very much, I'm afraid. I do know that you knew our parents when you were younger and that Violet had seen you once in our own world.

Then we are in for quite a long and sorrowful conversation. Your mother and I were, firstly, schoolmates at the V.F.D, as children. We met when I was older than you, but younger than Klaus.

[Her eyes widen. She'd barely begun to learn about the VFD and what Violet knew about their inner workings. Being able to learn more about it was certainly a pleasant surprise.]

I had no idea you were so young when you met.

Oh, yes. We grew up together and encouraged one another in our favorite studies.... She pursued acting, opera, and bat training, while I delved into rhetoric, research, and the care of marmosets, among many other things. We were like vanilla ice cream and root beer: completely unique in our own ways, but remarkably complimentary. ... Even if the bats and the marmosets did not always agree with each other.

[the memories make him smile wistfully, a phrase which here means "wishing you were somehow here again", which is also an oddly appropriate song from a popular musical by a deservedly acclaimed composer... but like the song, the beautiful memory only serves to make him sadder, for what he has to say next]

And then the schism occurred.

[She returned that wistful smile, although in her case it meant something more along the lines of "wishing she had been able to learn more about her parents while they was still alive." It was bittersweet to learn such things now, after all. Although that's not going to stop her from listening attentively as Mr. Snicket speaks.]

The schism?

Yes ... [he sighs. by now, this was a story he had told a few times to other residents, but it seemed it would never get any easier in the telling] It's difficult to say how, precisely, it began, but there was a disagreement that split the V.F.D into two sections ... quietly at first, and then quite violently, the way a tear begins in a piece of cloth. First a thread or two unravels, and then suddenly the strain is too much and the tear grows until it threatens to ruin the fabric entirely ... and you are left with two separate pieces of cloth, one which is used to beat out fires, and the other soaked in kerosene and more prepared to help begin them.

[Her eyes are wide as she watches him, the words sinking in. The fact that an organization as good as the VFD could have had something as catastrophic pull them apart is tragic.

She opens her mouth to speak and finds that the words simply will not come. She tries a second time to no avail. There are no words to express how deeply her heart is breaking for Mr. Snicket and his companions who had been effected by the schism and her vocal cords seem unwilling to let her say any of the insufficient platitudes circling around her mind.

It's incredibly rude to stand gaping at someone so she closes her mouth, letting her head drop forward as she waits for him to continue.]

Your mother got caught in the middle of it all ... And I tried to do my best to help her disentangle herself from the frayed and ruined mess it had all become, but in the process, several members on the other side of the schism had me framed for terrible, unspeakable deeds, and I was forced to flee for my life. ... By the time I was safe, I was too far away to be of much help to her at all, and she had fallen in love with your father, as well.

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Sixth toothmark

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