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Chilly Boulder, Wednesday Afternoon

It was a beautiful day. Well, perhaps apart from the air being heavy like a thunderstorm was on its way, but even that could be enjoyed as a display of the grandeur of the natural world. Ichabod had found a table at Chilly Boulder, where he waited for miss Bowen to meet him for an introduction to ice cream, one of her favourite desserts from this time, by the sound of it. He looked forward to the experience, and even more so for sharing it with miss Bowen, the thought of whom made his face warm slightly.

The waitress stopped by his table. Ichabod looked up, and smiled at the pretty girl. "Madam, I am waiting for a friend to join me, and will postpone ordering anything until she arrives. She has promised to be my guide in entering the world of ice cream, which I have been told is an exqusite treat."

The waitress blinked. "That's ok," she said.

Ichabod adjusted the collar of his coat self-consciously. "You see, we are both from times where places like this are not to be found, but she, having been here longer than me, has kindly offered to share her experiences of the modern world with me."

While most of the customers here liked ice cream, and many were from odd places, the waitress smiled tensely at this display of enthusiasm, which seemed a little exaggregated for, well, ice cream. "I'll be back when she gets here then," she said and fled.

[Ichabod is here for Celia, but open]

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Celia, quite honestly, had been having a somewhat terrible day up to this point. She'd woken with a throbbing headache, which had dulled after a few hours (and more than a few cups of tea.) She'd had trouble making her hair behave, she'd ripped the hem of her favorite petticoat, and on her way out the door she'd managed to slam her right forefinger.

While all of those things were repairable with her magic, it still made for a slightly-frazzled Celia who walked in, still putting the last touches on her healing finger.

Stressed though she was, the sight of Ichabod waiting for her made her smile, and forget her irritation at least for a moment. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long on me, Mr. Crane."

Ichabod's face lit up when he saw Celia, and he rose from his chair to greet her.

"Certainly not, miss Bowen. It's a pleasure to see you on a beautiful day like this." With, you know, possibly thunderstorms.

He offered her the seat opposite his own, feeling himself blushing slightly.

Celia raised her brows at him as she took the offered chair (she really could get used to that), then looked back out the window. "Do you like the rain, then? I feel like it's about to storm."

Not that she minded, but that was probably what had her so out of sorts.

"Yes, but storms have their own sublime kind of beauty, don't they?" Ichabod replied, with heartfelt enthusiasm. He then remembered that possibly miss Bowen didn't usually dress for the onslaught of the elements and added: "But better enjoyed through a window, perhaps. How has your week been?"

Celia did actually tend to agree about the rain -- it helped when you didn't technically need to carry an umbrella except for show -- but she was distracted by his sheer enthusiasm. She caught herself smiling, in spite of the general grumpiness of her mood. "It's been fine," she said, shrugging a little. "This morning was sort of awful -- a series of small things, you know how that goes. But it's much better now," she added, flashing him a grin. "And yours?"

He gave her a wide smile in return. "Oh, I've been struggling with the inventions of this age, but when I awoke this morning I realized I was making it harder form myself than I had to. The world is a place of beauty and I should cherish every experience." He added, leaning forward: "But I am sorry your day has been less than enjoyable. Will ice cream make up for it?"

"If it doesn't," Celia said, leaning a bit forward in turn, as though imparting a secret, "then the company certainly shall. And really, if you're already so very entranced by all the world has to offer, then we can't possibly go wrong, here. I admit, I often struggle with cynicism, particularly when I first came here, but I'm very glad to see that your outlook is so bright. It's difficult not to get...frustrated by this place."

As Celia leaned close, Ichabod found himself thinking how nice it would be to reach out and gently caress her cheek. He didn't, of course, and feeling his face heat he looked down at the empty table. "I confess I also succumb to such feelings, but today... today I felt their burden lifted from me." He met her gaze again. "And how do you face your frustrations?"

They should probably order ice cream, but Ichabod had forgotten about that for the moment.

"I do something that I know I can do without difficulty," she said with a small, warm smile. "I read, or build something -- anything that reminds me that in 1884, I was fairly accomplished for a girl of fifteen, even if here I struggle to figure out the most basic of tasks."

Celia shrugged, sighing, and added, "And when that doesn't work? There's always ice cream."

"I have been reminding myself that in my time some of the more basic tasks, like lighting a candle or making a fire now only require the pressing of buttons, which I believe many here might find just as much of a struggle."

He leaned back a little, and raised an eyebrow. "But if ice cream can cure such distress, I am even more eager to try it."

"That," she said, pointing lightly at him, "is an excellent point. I'd like to see half these people try to light a fire without catching their own sleeves."

She glanced around the shop, then back at him. "So -- ice cream. Have you investigated at all, or are you unaware even to the flavors that you can choose from? Because there's a lot, and I don't want to overwhelm you. And some of them are strange and complex, so it's best to be cautious."

Because really, the last thing she needed today was to introduce him to ice cream and scar him for life and because he tried rocky road too soon, or something like that.

"I haven't," he confessed. "I waited for your guidance and I am prepared to listen to your advice on the matter of flavours."

"I am not an expert," she told him with a smile, wanting to get that out of the way. "So take my advice with a grain of salt. Or sugar, as it were. But -- all right, help me a bit here. Chocolate isn't widely-distributed in your time, is it? It's not especially common in mine, except as a luxury, but it's everywhere here, and it's a good place to start, with ice cream. And with most things, honestly."

"I will try the chocolate," Ichabod said firmly. "It is, as you guessed, very rare in my time. And yourself?"

It felt oddly intimate, sitting opposite miss Bowen and discussing the pleasures of food, and at the same time perfectly natural, as it should be. All the shared experiences, the interests they had in common, made him feel a connection he hadn't felt before. He wished he could find the words to express this in some was.

[I'm going to disappear soon, but I'll be back later]

There was something oddly comforting about not being the furthest out of place, about showing someone else the things she'd discovered about this time. And it only helped more that he seemed to share her interests, and understood her wariness about this place -- as well as the joys of little discoveries -- better than anyone else had, to date.

It was making her terrible day better, at least.

"Oh, I'm very boring and prefer the classics," Celia told Ichabod with a smile and little roll of her eyes. "Strawberry's always been my favorite, so I think that's what I'll have, probably. It helps that it's the prettiest, too." She blushed, realizing how stupid that sounded -- for whatever reason, she was very worried about sounding stupid in front of him, and today she'd been rather on a roll with mistakes as it was. "I promise I'm not as shallow as that made me sound. But there's also very adventurous flavors you should try, once you're used to the stuff -- I've a friend who introduced me to a kind that has little bits of cake in it, and raw cookie dough."

[noooooo worries!]

"Appreciating the classics can hardly be called boring," Ichabod observed with a smile. "And expecting food to look palatable is the sign of good taste." He leaned forward again. "Have you seen the frozen dinners you prepare in the microwave? They are depicted on the boxes as reasonably appetizing, but when cooked they look hardly edible."

That was what he had learnt so far in cooking class.

"Thank you," he said suddenly, "Not only for the introduction to ice cream but for your friendship." He paused, searching for words, surprised at himself for being so direct. "I have never felt as strong a connection to anyone before. Isn't it strange, in a place like this?"

It would probably take Ichabod a couple of moments to realize that what he just said was not something he had expected to say out loud.

Celia had been about to respond -- those microwavable foods did look unappetizing to her -- but was struck dumb by his confession. She stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly open as she worked through what she wanted to say.

"I don't think it's so strange," she finally said, carefully, feeling her cheeks heat up despite her better efforts. "But then I don't know much about the making of friends. But I am closer to people here than I've ever been to anyone, and -- you're very easy for me to talk to, somehow. You understand me without my having to leap through hoops of explanation and...it's easy. Connecting with others has never been easy for me, so thank you for that."

She doubted herself, abruptly, absolutely sure that she was misinterpreting simple kindness, and just wished the floor would open up and swallow her, or something. Maybe she could vanish herself. That would help with the vague, guilty feeling that was creeping up on her as well, and the general tension that was settling in her shoulders -- embarrassment and self-consciousness were compounding into that same sense she'd had all day, that she just couldn't manage anything right.

Her reaction, and his own feeling of having spoken too freely from his heart (and of things he hadn't even known he felt) made Ichabod turn crimson to match Celia.

"Miss Bowen, I didn't mean...," he began. "I wasn't... I am sorry to have embarrassed you. I meant no disrespect."

"It wasn't interpreted as such," she assured him, glancing up from where she'd been staring at the table. "I'm sorry, I -- I can be very bad with people, sometimes."

Today especially. Today she was bad at everything.

She worried her lower lip for a moment, feeling awkward, and added, "You can call me Celia, if you'd like."

That made her feel...forward, somehow, even if everyone here called her by her given name, but maybe it would lessen the tension.

"Celia," he repeated. At home he would have considered it forward, but it was different here, and speaking her name felt right. "Please, call me Ichabod."

He had made her uncomfortable, in what way he didn't exactly know, and he wasn't sure how ro remedy the situation.

"You have nothing whatsoever to apologize for." He wanted to reach out, taker her hand perhaps, and assure her that she wasn't at all bad with people, at least not with him, quite the opposite, but feared that would make matters worse.

Celia shook her head, curls bouncing as she did so. "I'm all out of sorts today. Half-tempted to blame the island, really," she admitted with a laugh. "Sometimes this place has a curious habit of influencing its inhabitants, but I doubt that's actually the case. But -- yes, Ichabod, I know what you mean, about feeling...connected. Forgive me if I communicated otherwise. I've spent most of my life isolated and my social skills occasionally lack for it."

She rather liked using his given name -- it felt natural, and hearing him use hers made her feel warm in a way that she was choosing to ignore for the moment lest she work herself up into some sort of fit.

He accepted this explanation, and her suggestion to drop the titles told him she did not feel offended. He half-smiled again, cautiously.

"I have not noticed," he said. "But then I grew up without siblings or other children my age, so perhaps I suffer from the same lack."

He paused. "We got distracted from the ice cream." Her company was distracting, wasn't it?

"We did." Celia was happy for the distraction, and flagged down the beleaguered young lady that Ichabod had been chatting with before her own arrival. She placed their order quickly, ignoring the waitress' mumbled assertion that their flavor choices were boring, and felt much more composed with that taken care of.

With their ice cream surely on its way, Celia turned her attention back to Ichabod, raising a brow. "No siblings? Was it just you and your mother and father, then?" She was assuming a mother, though his situation could be like her own. She hoped not, for his sake.

"Just my father and I," he said, dipping his spoon in the ice cream. "My mother died when I was very young, ~~and I hope canon won't contradict me on this later.~~ And yourself?"

[And now I need sleep!]

"Eerily similar," Celia said, smiling at him over her own spoon. "My mother died when I was five, and I was transferred to my father's custody at that point."

Which may have betrayed more of her less-than-prestigious heritage than she wanted, but at least there was, once again, a distraction before she could worry herself sick over it. She nodded at his ice cream, looking expectant. "How is it?"

Smiling back, he replied: "Delicious." He dug the spoon into the ice cream again, thinking about Celia had said. He could read between the line, but nothing of that bothered him, but he knew it would bother his father.

His father, however, was not here. "While here, how do you stay in touch with your father? I assume you do?"

"He writes me from wherever he's performing, fairly regularly," Celia replied, contentedly digging her spoon into her own ice cream. "Usually to try to make me sad I'm missing all the delights of Amsterdam or San Francisco or wherever, and to ensure that I'm keeping up with my training. Have you heard from yours since you arrived? I'm not sure how the letters make it inter-dimensionally, but they somehow do."

"I hadn't expected any letters this soon," Ichabod said, "And I wasn't sure I was to expect any at all. Do you write him back?"

What could you write to your family about from this place?

"Sparingly," Celia replied, rolling her eyes a little. "He'd probably show up here if I didn't, and that's about the last thing I want." For a multitude of reasons, really. "Apparently there's some sort of visitors' day, though, so I'm sure it will become unavoidable at some point."

The idea filled her with a sense of deep foreboding, and Celia could feel her spine tensing again at just imagining Hector here, touching everything she had grown to love and poisoning it as he did everything else.

"A visitor's day?" Ichabod suddenly looked a little worried. What would happen if his father came here? While he loved his father, Ichabod couldn't see how a visit could go well.

But this was not a day for worrying about the future. Another spoonful of ice cream, and Ichabod asked: "Do you suspect that he would have opinions on the way you have arranged your life here?"

"Innumerable opinions, and he'd make sure they were known," Celia said with a firm nod, sighing softly. "Probably that I should devote more time to training my magic than I do, I'm lazy, I'm becoming like my mother -- take your pick. If he showed up in person, I'd be half-tempted to wear one of the modern outfits I've acquired and refuse to do any magic the whole time just to spite him, though it'd effectively cripple me."

She shook her head, adding, "But it hasn't happened yet. I'm probably making much out of nothing. Do you think your father would approve of your life here, thus far?" She couldn't see how an Oxford professor from a century before her own would especially approve of the island, but stranger things had happened.

"Oh, certainly not!" Ichabod gave a small laugh. "He would consider everyone here lacking in propriety, all but a few, and I would be sent home again."

That thought, he realized wasn't funny. He might feel frightened and confused every day, but, and he hadn't considered this before, he did not want to go home.

"So I should make sure he doesn't come to visit, if there is a way to do so."

He didn't want to mention what his father would think of Celia and her family.

[night!]

It couldn't be any worse than what Celia already thought of her family, honestly.

"If you discover a way to do that," she said, arching her brows, "I think you'd be quite popular. We can't be the only two people on the island who wouldn't welcome a parental visit, considering the way some of our peers behave."

She paused, thoughtfully, and added, "But we'll have to figure something out for you, at least. I can manage my father, but I would be very distressed if you were taken home by yours."

She really would -- even past today, when nearly everything seemed to be making her very distressed.

[sleep well!]

Edited 2014-05-22 20:16 (UTC)

"At least there will be time for me to discover a solution, I hope," Ichabod said, smiling a little. That Celia wanted him so stay caused a warm happiness -- not that he had had any reason not to think so, but words spoken aloud could make a difference.

"From what I hear, it's usually something that occurs in the autumn," Celia said with a nod. "There's time to find a way to figure it out." Or worry herself sick. Either one!

She raised an eyebrow as she thoughtfully took another bite of ice cream. "So, you've been here a few weeks now. Is there anything about this place -- and this time -- that you've come to like? I really hope so. Aside from ice cream, since that goes without saying."

"I like..." you "our conversations. I like the Wikipedia. I, well not like, because it's too bright, but I appreciate the uses of electric light, as it allows for reading late at night without your eyes growing tired from candle light."

He paused, looking at Celia.

"You know, you can get dimmer bulbs," Celia said, her cheeks heating up faintly, though she ignored it. "If the lights are too bright, I mean. I had to go looking for some, being used to oil and gas lamps, myself." She worried her lower lip for a moment, adding, "I hope your list grows, though. There's so much to love about this time, once you adjust."

"I should find dimmer... bulbs." He looked down at his ice cream, which was half finished by now, and dug out another spoonful.

"I like you, Celia."

Ichabod could feel his face grow warm. He shouldn't be telling her this, not now, but he felt it so strongly and he couldn't hold back his feelings.

If Celia wasn't careful, she was going to develop an unfortunate and unattractive staring problem. But she couldn't help it -- first his admission about feeling connected to her, and now this, and....

And much though she knew there was awkwardness to be had here, not to mention a complicated personal situation for her, and a very significant part of her just wanted to bolt for the door...Celia simply smiled and softly replied, "I like you, too, Ichabod."

And she meant it, even if she said it to her ice cream. Otherwise she would have probably run away.

Edited 2014-05-23 17:15 (UTC)

"That makes me happy," he said, before falling silent. It wasn't an awkward silence, at least not for Ichabod, as he was in far too good a mood for it. The company, the food, the storm outside - and yet it surprised him how happy he felt.

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Chilly Boulder, Wednesday Afternoon

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