(Untitled)

[thisfatefulhour]

"--off campus next year!" Charles calls over his shoulder as he opens the door, laughing.

He turns, blinks, and if his grin doesn't get wider, his eyes are brighter.

"Well," he says, more quietly, "I could rethink the position."

Unslinging his backpack, he heads for a table, looking around in interest at new faces and old.

Comments

[lyra_silver]

A young woman nearby is wiping dirt off her tartan skirt with one hand.

A small animal at her feet looks at her, muzzle tilted, as if to say, "Keep going, you haven't gotten it all off yet."

Lyra runs her hand over her skirt again unsuccessfully, before looking up and noticing Charles's gaze. "Hello," she says, smiling. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

[thisfatefulhour]

"Oh -- it's no trouble." Charles gives her a grin.

"You might have better luck with a little water?"

[lyra_silver]

"Very likely," Lyra laughs ruefully and stands up, rubbing her hands together to shake the dirt off. "I should have thought of it myself. I'll never quite make a lady, despite all Dame Hannah's lessons. Oh, my name is Lyra, and this is Pantalaimon."

[thisfatefulhour]

"If my sister's any guide, you can get by perfectly well without being a lady."

He tilts his head. "Lyra -- I'm Charles Wallace. Do you know someone named Will?"

[lyra_silver]

"I hope you can, because otherwise I'd be in trouble." Lyra's smile warms perceptibly when Charles Wallace mentions Will's name. "You mean Will Parry. Yes, of course. How did you guess?"

[thisfatefulhour]

"We've met, and he mentioned you a few times. It's not a common name."

[lyra_silver]

"I suppose it isn't," agrees Lyra. "Will is... well. I don't think I even know a word for what Will is. I'm glad you've met him."

Even after the last seven years, Lyra is not a cautious person. She makes judgments about people quickly, and she has already decided she likes Charles Wallace.

[thisfatefulhour]

"I like him," he says simply. "We've had some fascinating conversations."

[lyra_silver]

"What did you talk about?" Lyra inquires.

The answer might tell her something more about Charles Wallace. Besides, Lyra is always glad to talk about Will.

[thisfatefulhour]

"Daemons," he replies, "and pussywillows, and poetry."

All of them equally important, says his tone, and equally fascinating.

[lyra_silver]

"Then Will did like you. I'm glad." Even now that Lyra's grown up, her face and voice still display her emotions clearly, and her gladness is unmistakable. "I guess you come from one of the worlds where your daemons can't be seen, right?"

[thisfatefulhour]

He grins; the gladness is contagious, too.

"That's right. I'd never heard the term before."

[lyra_silver]

"There are words like it in other forms of English," says Lyra. "We were confused, at first, when we heard people here using 'demon' to mean the same thing as 'rebel angel.'"

[thisfatefulhour]

A nod. "I can imagine.

"You speak a different form of English?"

[lyra_silver]

"It's complicated," Lyra explains. "Will and I, you see, we're not from the same world, and some of the things that are different between our worlds are words. I say 'anbaric' for the thing that Will calls 'electric', and so on. Most of the people we've met here speak more like Will than like me. You, now, you sound a little like someone from New Denmark in my world, but I bet you say 'electric.'"

[thisfatefulhour]

"That's right. New Denmark must be the United States? Across the Atlantic from Britain?"

This is Charles' "intrigued researcher" face.