The Odd Child - By Verity Voclain

It's easily not far, but Verity dawdles through the Garden District. It's lovely, fresh with dew and not yet overfull of people. 
Careful to walk in an expected distance from people, and casually ensuring she's not being followed through the area. Well aware at this young age that nowhere is truly safe, and no one is actually all good. 

In the back of her mind she hopes Valerian is having his cold juice and some chocolate toast and everyone is behaving. Though it was regrettable to leave without saying goodbye to everyone, she did write a note and assure them she would be nearby if they were ever scared that she didn't find a new home. Trust is hard to come by when you're a new Kitten. 

Even with her circuitous dawdling, she arrived just before opening. Waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs and examining their sign, hoping no one bothers her. Gazing around, she is caught off guard as the door opens and a curvacious, short statured woman appears with a sign board on a wrought iron stand. She seems as shocked as Verity is, pushing back her short thick fringe of black hair shot with silver and then wiping it on her serviceable grey pantsuit. A white shirt beneath and a mans tie loosely knotted very low to show off what looked to be an ancient tribal necklace. 

"Oh my goodness, hello, um.. let me put this sign down." the woman shuffles past and drops the sign in a well worn dint in the cobblestones. It reads 'Voclain Antiquities, Gifts, Verification and Restoration.' She wipes her hand again and offers it to Verity with the same level of confusion as before. "I'm Belle Voclain." 

"Hello Belle Voclain. I am Verity, from Kitten's School. I believe you have been expecting me." she replies politely, shaking her hand with dutiful respect. 

Belle seems taken aback and then motions up the stairs. "Claude is inside, we should... uh, inside." 

Verity frowns at the oddness off the conversation and the surprised nature of one half of the couple. Was she not dressed correctly? She wore the height of fashion for children this age and also made sure to prepare herself appropriately on information about their business. Dragging her case up the steep front stairs, she wished for longer legs already. 

The double doors of the white fronted mansion are painted a soft robins egg blue. The building is fetchingly symmetrical, with small balconets and shuttered windows. From the doorstep she can see all the way into an expansive back yard area. The floors are shiny dark parquetry wood and every surface has a small collection of curated items from different eras. They have notated cards with the information, like a museum. Verity gives a sigh of joy at the sight of it all. As she seeks out the elusive Belle and finds her standing next to a giant man, human, but... Sjoderford perhaps? Thick blonde hair and a neatly trimmed beard. A pale blue cotton shirt, work pants and suspenders. 

He stands with his hands on Belle's shoulders as she whispers urgently about something. It doesn't look good. 

Verity puts her case down near the door, closes it gently and then takes her hat off and holds it afront of her. Clearing her throat gently.
"Is there something I've done wrong already?" she says so her voice carries to them. Standing in the middle of four large couches, arranged conversationally for large gatherings. A low lacquered table has a series of items being labeled. 

Late into the night, it becomes clear why there are additional couches. Belle is stretched out, under a thick tapestry blanket exhausted by her ministrations to the restock pieces. 

Fourth round of tea, now with giant baguettes filled with good cheese. Claude and Verity sit across from one another. 
"It's become clear that you've been trying to fit a square peg into a round hole." she says gently. "Taking some odd routes to get to harmony?" 
Claude refills their cups and replies as quietly. "I believe for her whole life, Belle has been trying to fit in and feel normal." 
Verity considers this and eyes the reclined, sleeping woman. Fine features, a wide heart shaped face, tanned skin and a generous mouth. The black hair that is gently streaked with white in only one area, just on her left temple. 

"She looks quite regular to me. Even beautiful. I like what you both do. This was the best day." she finally replies after swallowing. Earnest. 
"I think that's the hardest thing. She looks perfectly regular, but as a person she feels singularly unique and in a way extremely lonely." He says, stroking his beard as he leans back and watches his sleeping wife with a pained pride and deep affection. 

"I don't like other people." Belle says quietly, not opening her eyes. "I just want to uncover secrets about long dead people.. and drink tea."

"It's okay, maybe I can like people for you." Verity cuts in before Claude does. "I'm very good at it and they will say things to me they don't say to anyone else."

Belle sits up and Claude frowns a little, handing his other half a plate, baguette and tea in short order - as if this nap, eating situation is fairly regular. Verity continues in an explanatory voice.

"Children get ignored a lot. Chances are I can help you navigate the social conundrums that you hate." and then immerses herself in her tiny cup of tea, giving them time to think and eat. 
The comfortable silence stretches on for a little. Sipping, chewing. The fire crackling and glowing shadows and light across the elegantly furnished room. Two small plonks as Verity slips off her ankle length heel boots and tucks her stockinged feet under herself.

"So you're a spy?" Belle says with confusion.
"Sort of. Consider me as your ears where you cannot hear. In two major languages." she elaborates.
"And you're definitely a child?" Claude says with worry. "Because I feel like you could be a construct or a... I don't know."
"I'm definitely what people would see as a child. I'm here as your child.." She says in a slightly squirmy way. "I'm slightly older than expected."

"That's, reassuring. I realised after my nap I've not wanted to take care of someone else. I'm just afraid of dying a childless shrew." Belle says bitterly. Causing Claude to make a low rumbling discontented noise.
"Who called her that?" Verity asks her new, super tall, strange parental male. 
"Just some women at a party. Their voices carried." he says coldly.
"What bitches." Verity replies acidly. 

Belle and Claude stare in shock, briefly and then fall into the kind of raucous laughter that can only come after midnight and after a lot of difficult stress. 

Sitting on the large settee in the great room, Verity gently unpicked and then set the neckline with a silver pencil. Rubbing the fragments into the fabric so that the needles could follow her guides and alternate their sewing and create a double stitched line. Using contrasting pale green and dark green threads on the black to create a double sweetheart. Her feet absently twitching to some unknown beat, creating a gentle pattering as she works. 

"Are you... sewing?" Claude says, pausing in the doorway. His huge Sjoderfordian frame filling the doorway, holding a thick pottery mug of coffee that smelt honestly heavenly right now.

"Absolutely not. Summoning demons." Verity replies immediately. Dodging the spelled needles as she does her own neat stitches of red roses along the neckline. "It's very complex, but I promise that you'll be satisfied or your house back guaranteed."

"Your sheet didn't say sassy." He says with amusement, plonking down across from her and putting his slippered feet up on the middle table. A slight scuffed indentation to prove that is his very favourite spot. For some reason this warms her heart. "Is that one of Belle's gowns?" 

"Yes, it is. I noticed that they haven't been tended to for a little while now. I thought I'd help out if I can. If she doesn't like it, I can probably just remake the old one." Verity says absently, the neckline elegantly and neatly sewn. She sets the needles to assist with the embroidery - again with the silver markings. 

"You could do that? Are you some sort of sewing pixie?" he says, peering over his cup at her work. "Also not on your sheet.

"Who's a sewing pixie?" Belle says, entering the room with a big stack of old scrolls. "Oh, hello. That is a nice dress." 

"Yes, it's yours." Claude says and obligingly hands his wife the rest of his cup of coffee as she dumps the scrolls next to him and reaches out for it. A soft, loving smile passes between them that Verity pretends not to see. Feigning intense focus on her final work. 

"I don't own a dress like that." Belle offers factually between sips of the dark brew. "Actually it looks a bit like... oh.. right, you changed it. T.. thank you." 

"I thought you might want it for the 'dinner thing'." An arched brow as she continues sewing, knotting and then biting off the thread. "Whatever it is.." 

Claude and Belle for a moment look.. a little horrified. The latter putting down the cup and dragging her hands through her dark wiry hair. "Oh my gods, I forgot almost and I just realised we can't leave you here." 

"Well yes you can, I won't burn anything down." 

"Well, no it's more of a social faux pas if we do. Everyone wants to meet you." Claude says, leaning over and checking the cup for any dregs of coffee - almost sadly. His neat blonde goatee getting a stroke of his disappointed hands as he considers. "So we'll ensure that they're aware that you only eat vegetables as well."

"Oh. You don't.. have to do that it's fine. I don't want to cause any trouble. I'm working on being less troublesome." Verity says, standing up and flicking out the dress. Offering it to Belle. Who for a moment is a little speechless. 

"It's lovely, I've never had an eye for these things. I just assumed.. a dress was a dress, you know." She replies, as Claude stands - rescuing the empty mug and wrapping his arm around his wife. 
"Anything looks lovely on you, Bee, you know that." 

At the table are two other couples. Verity deems them Bland and Blander. They seem to have married a partner who could be related to them in genetic suitability. Their whole job seems to be to laugh at everything the Ackersley's say and do. Perhaps they are constructs from another artificer. 

Leaning over and speaking in what she thinks is a conspirational tone, Bethan says to Belle and Claude "I've sorted that little problem with your daughter's eating issues. Don't worry, don't have to thank me." 

Basically as if they were waiting for her signal, the food is delivered by liveried servants who don't seem to be permitted to smile or speak. Verity thanks the lady who delivers her what appears to be a plate of what everyone else is eating, except that her peas, spinach, potato puree and pumpkin pieces are mixed in with unmistakable flecks of shredded pork and beef. As well as dripping from cooked fat. Even if she hadn't seen it, she would have smelled it. 

Politely, she smiles at her parents and pushes the food around the plate gently. Trying to appear to eat. For a little bit she drifts off into thoughts of what she might sew next to improve the fashion situation with Belle, reviewing the current feminine persuasion. Erring on the side of current, but too much décolletage and hand sewn lace. Specifically not using spelled needles, an insistence on personal labour. Poor taste in Verity's professional opinion, and then her brain cut back into the conversation - sensing discomfort. 

"And so we went to this big auction of all these things from an old house sale, and this dinner set was hidden away in crates!" Mr Ackersley says in a bellowing tone, pleased with himself, clearly. Looking down, she can see they are fine porcelain and possibly from Ochalea. 

"We were all still so young then, still living out of the dormitories and I said.. Where will you put that?? Didn't I Wes, at the time?" Bethan says, towards Belle and Claude. "Correctly! I add! Brixton had to use that crate as a chair for about a year or so - right!" The table at large laughs. A lot. Claude, does not. Belle quietly gets up and heads towards the back part of the house at a fair clip. 

Meeting her father's eyes, she drops her napkin and then slides down at the end of the table, crawling around and out towards the door. Chasing down Belle. 

Verity finds her leaning against the stair railing, enraged, hot angry tears welling and threatening to spill. "We should leave." 

"We can't just walk out, we're still on the first course." comes the anguished reply. "That'd be unconscionably rude."

"Yes well, so was whatever that was. I can ensure we leave, but I need to break my promise. What do you think?" Verity offers, glancing back to ensure no one else is following. "You just need to wait until all the noise starts. Then grab me and say we need to go. Yes?"

Belle pauses for a moment or two, clearly struggling with head and heart. "Yes, whatever, okay." 

A cause for genuine celebration now, Verity strides back into the room and climbs up on her chair. Then keeps climbing. Standing on it, with her plate of offensively doctored 'vegetables' in her hands. Holding it aloft, waiting for them to stop amusing themselves with themselves. Claude, immediately tenses pushing his chair back and putting his napkin aside. Watching the door for his beloved. 

"My mothers name is BELLE." Verity says with the perfected tone of a child having a tantrum, as she pelts the plate directly towards the expensively laquered floor. Putting a giant dent in it and exploding shards of very-expensive-plate and filthy food everywhere. 

Chaos, pandemonium. Screaming, crying. Finally, some retributio-

She is yanked off her chair and put over Claude's shoulder and hustled out of the house. Belle joining them and shouting insincere apologies.
"Sorry, it's past her bedtime! MUST GO!" 

They escape the gods-damned Ackersley's in one piece. Mostly.