Triston nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She knew she had to knock, but she really, really didn't want to. What if the other girl didn't like her? What if she smelled funny? What if the room smelled funny? While she was contemplating the vast amount of smells a person could have, her hand stretched out and knocked on the cheap wooden door. Immediately she pulled it back and looked at her small fist angrily, as if it had betrayed her. Afraid of introducing herself, but also afraid of being rude, she simply called out "New bunk mate."



Certainly this was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Aurelie had been contemplating a new sour dough variation when she heard the knock at the door. It had to be her new bunkmate, she knew that even before she heard the girl speak. No one else would be so polite as to knock on her door. Her last bunkmate had been quite unpleasant, though it was still a sad and sobering even when she came back to find that the old woman had died.

"Come in if you'd like," she called, stuffing her recipe book into its hiding place.

Triston fumbled with the doorknob for a moment, a spare uniform and the few belongings she brought threatening to slip from her grasp. She peeked inside hesitantly, taking a questioning sniff. No unpleasant aroma greeted her, and she entered fully. The passive somehow looked even more petite then usual, managing to cower while still standing straight up. Her large glasses gave her a comical appearance, hiding Triston's face as they were. All in all, she looked like someone destined to be at someones elses beck and call for the rest of her life.

Triston looked around the room, eyes falling gravely on the two trunks at the edge of the bunk, one of which she would use to hold her things. One of which had belonged to a , now, dead person. "Are...Are her things still in there?" Her voice sounded vaguely horrified, but also curious.

"Oh-" She shook her head, like she'd done something particularly embarrassing. "Im Triston, Triston Bricketson. Its very nice to meet you." She looked like she was about to bow, but the dress, and vague lumpy items hidden under the dress, blocked her way.

Aurelie gave the girl who entered a once-over. She was small, though more in appearance than actual size, cowering and hesitant. Aurelie stood up a little straighter in response, absently brushing at her hair. She introduced herself with a bow, noting Triston's difficulty in doing the same. "Aurelie Steerpike." Her eyes turned to her former bunkmate's trunk. "Oh...Ah... It is more than likely her things are still in there, yes." Belatedly she realised that she probably should have cleaned it out, but she had tried to think about Gertie as little as possible while she was alive. Certain things escaped the memory. A hand was extended in Triston's direction.

"Here," she reached out to take part of her burden, "let me help you with that."

"Oh, thank you." Triston said, awkwardly handing over a few of her belongings. Suddenly her hand shot out and gabbed a book that had been nestled in between her things, handed to Aurelie by accident. It was Triston's own makeshift scrapbook, filled with spectrograms of confisalto dancers that had been clipped from old newspapers. Confisalto seemed to be more of an obsession rather then just a hobby to her. The book even had information about dancers next to their pictures, painstakingly pasted in place.

She looked first to the book, then back to Aurelie, then at the book again for good measure. "...I didn't steal it!"

Triston, master of subtlety.

Aurelie was taken aback by this girl. She was such a mess! For a moment she was stunned into silence by the outburst, but then she couldn't help it-- she laughed.

"Oooh, I'm so sorry," she said, in between giggles. "This is terribly rude of me, oh, so sorry!" She just couldn't stop. "I believe you, really." Regaining some measure of control, she opened Gertie's old trunk, which was blessedly empty. Someone else must have come 'round to gather up her things. She set Triston's down in the bottom and turned to her once more, an irrepressible grin still plastered on her face. "What is the book of?"

Triston pouted at Arelie's laughing fit.

"...Its pictures of Confisalto dancers, and a few articles about them too." Triston said, knowing full well she couldn't bring herself to lie. "Dancing is...was, a hobby of mine."

She popped open the book and began flipping through it, seemingly at random, until she found what she was looking for. Pointing to a blurry, obviously old spectrogram, Triston grinned proudly. "That's my mother, right there." She tapped the picture for emphasis. The woman on the stage didn't look very similar to Triston, but they shared petite features. It seemed the blond hair had come from an earlier generation, for the woman in the picture was a brunet.

Triston suddenly closed the book with a snap, and placed it gently into her new trunk. It was too painful to think about her family, already she was inwardly admonishing herself for bringing it up. As usual, somehow she managed to force down the memories while pretending nothing happened. "Anyway...I don't dance anymore. No time, no place, no reason."

Feeling more embarrassed by the second, Triston turned to Aurelie, smiling weakly. "Do you have any hobbies or anything like that?"

Aurelie started to say something more about the dancers, but then thought better of it. Families were... a sore point, to put it mildly.



Hobbies...? She was being asked this quite a lot, recently. How odd. "I cook," she said. "In my spare time, I mean not just, er, all the time." It was probably a little strange, she supposed, to consider something you did every day because you had to a hobby. "I, uhm, well... I'm writing a recipe book... Would you, maybe..." She sort of let it trail off. This was becoming a terribly awkward meeting.

"Cooking? Really? I didnt know that could be a hobby." Triston said this with such a genuin look of suprise that taking offense might have been impossible. "You're writing a recipe book huh?...Hey, can I be a taste tester sometime?!" While Triston wasnt entirely sure of the purpose of taste testers (couldnt a cook taste it themselves?) she liked the prospect of extra food.

She liked food.

"Oh, yes! I love cooking. I'd never done it, you know, before... Well before the test, but it really is just fascinating! Things really do interact in the most interesting ways and..." She sort of trailed off there. Triston's awkwardness was infectious. "I'd love to cook for you sometime," she finished lamely. "There's always enough left over to scrape up a meal or two, especially if you get creative."

Now what was she going to say?

"That great-" Triston said, yawning just as the last syllable left her mouth. She was tired, but that was a given.

"Do you sleep on the top bunk or the bottom one?" She asked, voice sounding muffled as she held her hands over her mouth to fight back another yawn. Triston wouldnt object to talking more, she just wanted to be laying down when she did it. Horation had been so fussy, she was on her feet the whole day taking care of him, and Ms. Denisent. It was like having two babys. One was fussy, demanding, and selfish. The other was just a baby.

"The bottom." It was starting to get a bit late, she would have to run in and prepare bread starters for the morning soon... She needed to feed the sponge, and make sure the dishes had been cleaned properly, and... Aurelie snapped her attention back to Triston with a faint reddening of the ears.

"Uhm, perhaps we should... turn in?"

Triston had already monkeyed her way up the bed, and she answered with her face in the thin pillow. "...Yes."

She was already in sleeping clothes, having changed before leaving her old dorm. (Triston would be much too shy to change in the same room as a stranger.) Weariness lay over her mind like a shroud, and her awkward shyness was as muffled as her voice coming from the pillow.

((SFSR))