Peppermint #2 + Pomelo #4
Kristopher was sulking. Today was the day they were to return to Wyndham house, and even though Karolyne hadn’t wanted to, she’d still packed their bags and fished out the keys from under the couch. Her younger blood-brother had been excited at the prospect of seeing their family again, especially Felice and Prospero, so excited in fact, that he’d forgotten to pack his favorite bandana.
It was an old, worn, pale yellow thing, and he’d clumsily stitched his name on the corner of one side the summer he went to camp. He’d cherished it; more than he did any other thing Karolyne or any of their other family members had given him. It had been a gift from Kandor, their eldest brother, and along with everything that Kandor gave, there was meaning attached to it, whether their eldest brother actually meant it or not.
Kristopher had accepted it somberly, and from then on he’d never parted with it willingly. He’d washed and dried it himself when it got dirty, and the one time that Philippa had tried to play a prank on him by hiding it, they’d all scolded him harshly for trussing the girl up and leaving her to dangle from the third-floor window ledge.
And now, on a trip that would take him face to face with the man who had given him his most precious treasure, he would be forced to admit that he’d left it elsewhere. For a boy as proud as Kristopher, it would be a miracle if he made it through the gathering without snapping at someone, most likely her or one of the younger children.
Karolyne was focusing most of her attention on the road in front of her, but the hunched, quiet form of her blood-brother was never out of her sight for long. If she had been younger, she’d have snapped at him, told him that Kandor would probably not even spare his missing bandana a second glance. But that wasn’t what her blood-brother needed right now.
“Kris?” They hadn’t spoken a word since Kristopher had noticed the absence of his bandana, half way across the bridge.
Predictably, Kristopher remained silent, his head leaning against the window. He held his Hunter’s hat between his knees, and his normally nimble fingers were still on its brim.
Karolyne tried again. “Kris.”
This time, she’s rewarded with a flat “What”. It was progress, she thought, and squared her shoulders, preparing to deliver what she hoped was an uplifting older sister-speech. She sincerely hoped she succeeded, but by the way her voice came out full of fake cheer, she doubted it.
“Kris, it doesn’t really matter if you don’t have the bandana right now. Kandor probably knows you’d lynch anyone who’d try to take it from you, prank or not, and I’m sure Mrs. Claire will have it washed and dried and in your drawers by the time we get home… Clothes don't make the man, right? Look at Miguel-- he never wears any clothes, and he's still part of the family...!”
Kristopher remained silent, and Karolyne’s mood worsened as the rain fell, as if silently agreeing to join her blood-brother in his depression.