The gentle trickle of students returning to Brunnhold was slowly building to a gush, and by the 11th- in one day's time, the university would once again be returned to it's usual state. Filled with young galdori, the halls would pulsate with hundreds of eager fields of different levels strengths and weakness, the passives would slink quietly around- perhaps overwhelmed by the stronger fields in the same way a younger Campion had been, their tense shoulders even tenser.

Despite being in Brunnhold for a good few days, Campion had yet to fulfill his, well mission made it sound slightly more exciting than it actually was- but he hadn't managed write his interview, though hopefully that would change when he spoke to Aurelie on the 11th. The trouble was that the 23 year old galdor really was quite easily distracted, between being punched by passives, having dinner with passives, questionable professors with questionable methods and old school mates it was any wonder he had managed to secure one interview at all.

This afternoon Campion had allowed himself one more distraction before returning to the task at hand, in the form of tea with Ms. Ixbridge. And surprisingly, he was rather looking forward to it. One could say what they liked about galdori society, but he had almost missed his own race after falling off of the social spectrum quite as spectacularly as he had done. At least this way, he could possibly have a conversation that didn't lead to violence. Ms. Ixbridge didn't strike him as the particularly aggressive type, he couldn't imagine the healer brandishing a large piece of lead piping.

It was a shame he hadn't made more of an effort to get to know her when they had been at school. But even then there had been such divides between folk, those who had money and those who didn't,those who were clever and those who weren't. There were divides between the front of the class and the back and those who were attractive or those who had really rather severe acne from the age of 13 to 17 that refused to clear up no matter how much money was spent, how much complicated spell work endured and how much foul smelling herbal treatments tolerated. But they were adults now, and while Campion could hardly deny that such divides were still in full force- if not worse now- he felt as though he could ignore them far more effectively. After all, he had sat down to dinner with passives only the evening before- a class clown taking his tea with a bookworm was hardly scandalous in comparison.

Once again, Campion followed a well worn path to the infirmary, now acquainted with Abeline's office and knocked to announce himself. "Hullo," he called cheerfully, "I was rather wondering if the offer for tea still stood? I've been having such a craving for a warm drink and perhaps a scone all morning."

"Just a moment!"

From behind the closed door came the muffled sound of papers being stashed away, the wooden thump of a drawer closing, and the telltale metallic jingle of keys. When the healer appeared, her head was bowed, but not in salutation; she was peering at her pocketwatch.

"My stars, teatime already?" She glanced up at Campion with an amiable, if mildly distracted, smile. "It seems time flies when brushing up on obscure theories of ley couverture..." Pointing down the hall with her umbrella, she added, "Scones sound delightful, Campion. Shall we?"

In little over a week, Abe had encountered morbid paranormal phenomenon, assisted in the highly classified discovery of the passive nexus, and planned a dangerous scientific expedition to capture spectragraphic evidence of ghosts. And now an idiot classmate of hers wanted to have tea. The irony was too good to pass up.

She was, in truth, grateful for the offer. Abeline stood at the edge of known science, prepared to voyage into mental territories not yet charted; this may be the last mundane social call she'd get in a long while. A little normal galdori interaction might do her some good. Not that she or Campion were exactly normal, but she didn't want to be bored out of her skull, either. He at least promised to be diverting.

"Well, it sounds as if your day off has been incredibly exciting thus far," said Campion cheerfully, though he couldn't imagine- what was it- lay overture? being anything but hopelessly dull, but then again that was probably only because he couldn't understand it. Academics really were a rather unfathomable bunch. "I will have to try my absolute best to top that."

He started out of the infirmary and begun to hold his arm out, as was customary when one acted as a companion to a lady, but thought better of it- there were many modern galdori women who didn't appreciate it and he'd already gotten himself into a lot of trouble by simply presuming things. Instead the motion presented itself as a strange chickeny motion, halfway between a gawky sort of dance and an incurable spasm.

"You'll have to forgive me," he said, settling into his usual slightly hunched stride, "I haven't been to tea in Brunnhold for quite I while, I vividly recall a fair few bars- but they were, to put it delicately, festering piles- and not places i would recommend for scone consumption unless you're also partial to a light spot of food posioning. I leave the choice utterly up to you," perhaps it would be more appropriate for him to take Abeline's arm instead, and allow himself to be led to wherever she deemed fit.

After all, with his skinny frame and his hair being in quite the state that it was underneath Margaret he may well make a serviceable lady despite the gentleman's attire- in this case a tweed waistcoat he was rather fond of, that had been tremendously expensive at the time of purchase but was now hanging rather loosely, missing a button or two, and of course stained with smatters of ink. He hoped that Abeline wasn't going to select anywhere too upmarket, as neither his attire nor his funding would be appropriate.

As she passed him, Abe watched the war between tradition and modernity play out in Campion's muddled gesture in much the way a kitten would observe a dying moth. Her already large, child-like eyes were curiously magnified by her spectacles, yet these cinnamon dots were not devoid of predatory instinct.

"Is your chronic tabella offendiosis acting up again, Campion?" The healer's voice was light, tinged with the sort of mockery that meant no harm.

Truly, she was more interested in the execution of wit than actually cutting down her target. Abeline would snipe at anything and anyone purely for the joy of calculation; however, much to her disappointment, too many galdori were easily insulted. She had to choose her marks carefully, and often she could only trust herself to play along.

In a way, her remark was a backwards display of respect. She expected her classmate to roll with the punches (he'd surely experienced much worse) and, possibly, to reciprocate in kind. Though, he struck her as the cowardly sort of gentleman, more likely to retreat and draw some horrible cartoon than deride a girl to her face. So she didn't hold out much hope.

"I was considering the Reading Room, but I'm afraid the place is full of books, which, if I remember correctly, tend to become covered in unmentionable little pictures when placed in your hands." She glanced up at the lanky cartoonist, her lips attenuated in a subtle, sly curve. "Now, I'm far from being a prude, but I doubt the proprietor would appreciate the vandalization of her texts. And I would like to go back there."

At a threshold to the damp Anaxi gloom, the healer opened her umbrella with a satisfied smirk. "The Half Moon Bakery is the place for scones. Practically an institution," she reasoned, starting to lead their irregular party to the Stacks.

"No, no," grinned Campion looking at his own limbs as though they fascinated him. "Over the years I have been studying a new, intricate, form of confisalto which from time to time presents itself within my movements. Critics have claimed that within the inherent ugliness of the dance lies a rare form of beauty, I'm quite the master of it-" he then stopped as though to appraise Abeline,

"Yes, I rather think there's some potential for the dance within you too. One day we could be the talk of the arts scene." Had Abeline been a galdori lady, the male galdor would have prepared himself for an annoyed harrumph, or some kind of fan based assault and had she been that incorrigibly violent passive Triston he would have taken off down the street for fear of a beating- all incredibly amusing reactions of course, the man was nothing if not a masochist. But he suspected that Abe, like him, had endured these comments for long enough to turn them into an amusing sport.

Campion too opened his umbrella, though the darned thing took far too much coaxing and gave a strange sort of squeal which was tell-tale of the item's rather poor quality. He flashed a flustered sort of grin at Abe as soon as the umbrella finally decided to yield and settle into it's rightful position.

"The reading room sounds a delightful spot," smiled the blond galdor, perfectly equipped to deal with such harmless teasing,
He had to be on his best behavior with the passives, but the galdori population within Brunnhold were totally fine, "and how well remembered! I rather think my deviant left arm can be trusted not to disgrace itself just this once. Do you think you can trust yourself not to dive headfirst into a large book the minute we step into the establishment or will you immediately start salivating at the thought of obscure theories again? I was hoping to have a little company this tea time."

"My company can be a dangerous thing." Abe nervously spun her umbrella, inadvertently sending droplets Campion's way. Just ask Professor Moore...

"You know, I think I'd be a natural at your newfangled form of confisalto. I can hardly pull off a waltz -- I always think it's the reverse of the way it should be." She extended her left arm into the rain, as if leading a phantom partner. "Which, as I'm sure you can imagine, results in no end of confusion." Her arm hesitantly retracted, and for a moment she seemed lost in examining the drops beaded on her coat.

"Come to think of it, I can hardly pull off the complex act of standing." Abe shot him an honestly embarrassed grin, then she breathed, "Yes.. yes, I do think we could astound the dance world." The healer predicted they'd remain upright for about two seconds, if that. Instantly, she tried to forget the foreseeable consequences; landing on various galdori gentlemen was not a habit she was looking to make regular anytime soon. She simply didn't have the time for hobbies.

Presently, they came upon a set of steps, and the scholar felt a guilty pang of deja vu. To ward off a building armada of foreign emotions, she toyed with the idea of presenting her elbow to her unlikely companion -- some kind of circus-mirror commemoration of her extraordinary day with Harper. But she decided against it. She wouldn't want to actually tease Campion, the poor thing. Instead, Abe descended on her own, free hand secreting itself into her pocket, a silent, preemptive dismissal of any misguided chivalrous notions.

"The Reading Room it is, then. I'll endeavor not to plant my nose in a book, but I make no guarantees. Theoretical thaumatology is so much more enthralling than conversation with.." she paused, taking an off-the-cuff diagnostic of the disconcertingly thin fellow, "..malnourished coat racks."

Campion brushed the collar of his shirt, as though he had just been given a massive compliment. "I try," he grinned, "Our dear Queen has made the waif look rather popular as of late. In Vienda fashionable galdori all look as though they are at death's door; men are malnourished coat racks, ladies are living skeletons." He spoke as though he had some kind of authority on galdori society, which of course he did not- being unceremoniously chucked out of it some time ago.

Following her, walking quickly down the stairs and as though reading the Healers mind he said, rather trying to sound nonchalant,"By the way, I met your Moore fellow." His umbrella had a hole in it, and was letting in water so Campion shut it rather quickly. "Goodness, I do enjoy a light spot of rain," he offered as an explanation.

Abe mused, patting her leg, "And here I thought thighs of a certain girth were in vogue. It seems I'll have to get new ones.. which will mean tailoring all my trousers again. How bothersome."

She noticed the critical defect in his umbrella, and began to raise hers to encompass his airspace. But then he claimed to enjoy the cold and wet. Whether that was in fact true or a veiled dismissal, she decided against getting involved. He was a grown galdor, after all, even if he had half the mass of one. He might have had a vestige of pride to his name. Besides, Margaret would protect him to some extent.

"P-professor Moore?" An electric zephyr clambered up her spine, forcing a tiny gasp. "A-ah." Fighting back a blush, she asked abstractedly, "And how did that go?"

Campion tipped his head to the side in quiet thought, "I rather think we've made a bad first impression on each other, perhaps due to circumstances- I'm not really sure," he said measuredly, keen to avoid any kind of upset andnot wanting to betray his suspicions about Moore's involvement with passives.

"He walked in on me holding the baby- little Ratty- Triston asked me to while she slept, and I rather think he assumed I was going to flay the child alive and turn him into a purse of some description. He was rude, but not inexcusably so, when one takes that into account."

"in my experience first impressions are rarely correct- but he does seem a strange chap. Not particularly friendly- the scientist type," said Campion as though he believed such a thing we're akin to a petty thief or a troublesome child in a way that only a wholly unscientific person could.

"Still," he said cheerfully, "I have learned nothing in the past twenty three years if not the fact that the galdori population has a very nasty habit of misjudging things, especially people."

"Especially people who liken infants to shabby rodents." She chuckled at her classmate, shaking her head slightly. Apparently, Campion still had yet to learn a lick of tact. Even Abe knew not to give a stranger's baby a cheeky nickname. Really. Ratty?

"As for Moore," she said, walking briskly through the stacks (by then, she'd memorized the route), "I'll be the first to admit, he is a bit of an eccentric. I don't think he knows how to communicate with anyone who isn't a fellow scientist or taking notes." She fiddled with her collar, frowning thoughtfully; she could just as easily be referring to herself.

How was it so painless to converse with Campion? They had practically nothing in common, and yet it all flowed so effortlessly.. Odd, that. Was it because he had so little status at school that she thought she had nothing to lose? Or was it his impish, lackadaisical reputation? She did like playful people. At any rate, he seemed mostly harmless.. so why was there a mosquito of doubt buzzing in the back of her mind?

"Ah, here we are." She slowed her pace, wondering if he would try to open the door again. She really shouldn't, but some part of her did take delight in watching him squirm. Perhaps it was those long limbs of his.