Room 203

[kitchen_maid]

Room 203 is clean and light and warm, and smells, as always, just slightly of lavender, and when Amy opens the door, Mr. Pemberthy and Simon Perryvall scamper over to say hello to her and to Meg.

"Make yourself at home," Amy says.

Peter Aurelious, from his perch above the window, simply says "qwa," but it's a much friendlier qwa than usual.

Or at least, less disdainful.

Comments

[kitchen_maid]

Amy laughs. "I thought they were very . . . festive," she says. "We don't have to finish them."

There's very little chance they'll finish them.

Unless they become sixteen year old boys.

But that seems at least improbable, though not impossible.

[balletrat]

*At the moment, turning into a sixteen-year-old boy would probably not improve Meg's week.

Maybe when she's in a better mood.*

I don't think I could finish it, *Meg says, eyes round.* Seeing as I think it's larger than my stomach -

[kitchen_maid]

Let's keep Amy and Meg on the girl side of things, shall we?

"But festive," says Amy, handing a bowl to Meg.

"And Bar put very nice sprinkles on for us."

[balletrat]

*They are probably more comfortable that way.*

They are very sparkly sprinkles, *Meg agrees, with a small smile, and takes the bowl. Also, a spoon.*

Bar knows us well.

[kitchen_maid]

"Bar is such a dear," says Amy. "And she does ice cream very well."

She settles comfortably onto her bed.

"Now," she says, "what shall we talk about?"

[balletrat]

*Meg considers, for a moment.*

Tell me, *she says, eventually,* something happy - something that doesn't have anything to do with anything serious at all.

[kitchen_maid]

Amy considers for a moment.

"Very well," she says, finally, and begins to talk about the Forest of Faraway, and running off to play when she was little, and bluebells in the spring and gold-and-crimson-and-flame-colored leaves in the fall, about learning to climb trees by watching squirrels (though not Simon Perryvall or Mr. Pemberthy) and learning to swim by watching otters, and ruining a great many pairs of shoes with water and grass stains and snags on brambles.

Like the hairbrushing, it's gentle, and soothing, and almost rhythmic. Amy is a very good storyteller, after all.

[balletrat]

*And Meg listens, her head tilted and her eyes half-closed - it has, after all, been a long day - and almost-smiles at the appropriate parts.

And nearly manages not to think about anything.*