Birthdays are fascinating little human traditions, with the perks of a physical form came the perks of watching the emotions flit through a person's features as a gift is pressed into hands forced, albeit gently, to accept.
" Look at you, another year older. " Bernadetta for all her quirks and skittish behaviours is one of the few people Arval can say make them experience normalcy, mere classmates they may be. It means the tease is second nature to all their interactions. " I have heard a thing or two about with age comes growth, maybe you'll find yourself sprouting like those plants of yours one year. "
Privately, they hope she doesn't. They quite like having a pair of eyes they can reach without straining their neck.
Plant pot is held forward, not quite touching her but perhaps encroaching a little on her space in offering.
" It's carnivorous...except it's rather awful at being carnivorous, actually. Some cross breeding attempt gone awry and now the poor thing starts to wither if you feed it the wrong insect. Picky diet, except it does not seem to register how picky till it's eaten what it's shouldn't. "
To say they had lightly grilled the salesman would be an understatement, the man was the picture of nothing but sweet relief by the time Arval had found themself satisfied.
Between their middle and index finger, folder parchment is swayed back and forth as the curl of their lips sharpens to smugness, edges softened by the little mouse before them they've grown fond of.
" Some light pestering never hurt anyone, everything the vendor had to say about our little struggler is written here. I'm not overly confident most of it is your...especially the latter half. "
A pause, and with a little less of their nonchalance, " If anyone is able to give this pitiful thing an attempt to survive the season, it'd be you. "
They almost forgot the magic wordd, for no matter how many times they do this song and dance Arval is not human and the concept of age coming with celebrations is one as foreign to them as dying is to the living. " Oh! Happy birthday, Bernadetta. "
⠀ ⚘ birthdaydetta 2k24 ♡ ⠀
"arval!" the stream from the spout of a watering can comes to an abrupt halt. bernadetta rights the can and settles it back by her feet with a low slosh.
it would seem today is special, and not for her birthday. there is always a surreptitious little treat in these meetings they share in the greenhouse, a portion of the world stolen away from lances and tomes. and true to that tradition, the mouse in front of arval bats her lashes in a way that better likens her to an owl, or a doe, but how ironic that after it all she ends up sheepish by dipping her head and rocking her weight back and forth between both feet.
"another year," she echoes in a mumble, "can't believe bernie's still here. but, um, that's life for you, huh?"
on the heels of that sentence, something like a laugh leaves her, although stilted and uncertain. always uncertain. when is she not? but if there is anything beyond the bad about herself that bernadetta does not question, it is how she feels for the ones she cares for.
arval, the proverbial ghost. arval, the metaphorical cat. arval, the enigma of a classmate who spares her their time—and ever sharp ears. it is so foreign, so surreal that she hardly knows what to do with it. because nobody wants to hear bernie blab. not about her stupid stories, her stupid crafts, or her stupid plants.
but arval does. arval asks bernie about her stupid plants, and arval always listens to bernie blab. they never complain, and simultaneously they never push. how they have existed with her so far is somehow just right. they provide her with a sliver of normalcy that she unwittingly provides them in turn—a symbiosis of sorts that just is.
enter a carnivorous plant that is awful at being carnivorous. what a gift! haywire hybrid or otherwise, it was no easy feat for nature to produce something so uniquely incapable. bernadetta's face lights up in a mishmash of curiosity, delight, surprise.
"oh, it's so cute!" she cries out, cradling the offered pot and raising it like one would their own child. "it's just like bernie! guess we're both bad at what we were meant to do... aw, it's okay, little guy. you've got me now."
and bernadetta dislikes being challenged. she dislikes being tasked with anything she does not feel secure in; anything too new, anything too scary; it is why she dodges classes and assignments more days than not. but bernadetta knows this. it's nothing useful to their society, nothing that will get her anywhere in life—playing around in the dirt, something not even ladylike—but she knows this. so it exhilarates her. it wheedles her out of her shell. arval is there waiting with nothing but acceptance.
they suspend the parchment between their fingers, but it is not the parchment that bernadetta timidly reaches to. slowly, openly, the very tips of her fingers graze their sleeve and gently pinch the fabric. the million dollar question gleams in her colorless eyes, but bernadetta uses her voice anyway.
"um, arval... thank you! i... i think i can do it. after all, it's a precious gift from you, too. so..." her head ducks. "when next year comes around, c-can i show you how much it's grown...?"
