adifferentlife | A tour of sorts [[Combeferre]]

A tour of sorts [[Combeferre]]

Sybil was serious about her offer to show Henri about the city should he wish, and the hospital and college in particular. There's a cafe at the college she's suggested they meet at, a place where the tea is finally acceptable after a year of her patronage. It's a beautiful day, there's a crispness in the air that can only herald the onset of autumn. She loves this weather, it's her favourite time of year, and something she's very glad still happens here in Darrow.

She has a table outside, a pot of tea sitting half-empty in front of her. The sun is warm enough that she's slung her cardigan over the back of her chair in a manner she considers rather haphazard even still. Her notes for pharmacology lay in front of her, mostly untouched. It's too nice a day to study and she's rather looking forward to the company she's been promised.

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His words make her pause, her head at a slight tilt as she listens and considers. Could it have happened any other way? Could women have gotten the right to vote, or could those working in the awful factories of a few decades earlier have made any difference were it not for those that organised and spoke up. "You are likely very right. I imagine it's that so much has already changed in my lifetime, I cannot help but want more, to see it all different. Even if this world isn't the one I imagined, entirely."

“Nothing is ever quite as one pictures it, oui? I never thought everyone would be speaking English, for one thing.” This he said with a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye. “I have a few friends who would be utterly furious.”

Combeferre sipped his coffee and realized that in his enthusiasm for the conversation, his drink had turned lukewarm. “But in all seriousness, I do know what you mean. Even one who spends too much time thinking about the distant future cannot predict what is to come. Why, the technology alone...” He shook his head. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever entirely understand it all, a difficult thing for a scientific mind to admit.

"Nor that I would be sitting in a cafe having a conversation with a young French gentleman unchaperoned." Sybil says it playfully, far more flirtatious than she would have ever been a year before this place.

"Speaking of the technology, I believe we should see the hospital?" It was a good segue, for all that she feels she could spend hours here talking with Henri, a feeling that is unfamiliar but very welcome.

Combeferre grinned crookedly and ducked his head. “Touche. And in that case, I hope you report well on the experience.” That was very nearly bold, and grinned again, more sheepishly this time.

“Oh- yes, of course. That would be delightful.” Somewhere along the way, he had managed to forget that a tour of the hospital had been the ostensible reason for their meeting. You are absolutely ridiculous, Henri Combeferre, he informed himself, and rose, and gestured with a smile for her to lead. “It isn’t far from here, yes?”

"I think that I just may have to," she says, her smile nearly shy for the briefest of moments. Sybil put her books away in her satchel and slung it over one shoulder with ease. Was she teasing him, flirting with him? She wasn't actually quite sure, it's been so long since she's tried either. Even during her season she'd never been good at it, not like Mary was. She wasn't clumsy and overbearing like Edith either, but rather genuine and wishing to engage with those who captured her interest. She liked to laugh, but more importantly she liked to talk to people who listened to her seriously, and that was a rarer thing.

Silliness, she thinks, trying to push the thoughts away and focus instead on the tour in front of them. "It's a short walk, about 15 minutes if we cut across the lawns. You don't mind?"

"No, not in the least. I like to walk." Thus far, he had stuck to walking whenever he could. Taxis and buses - the whole army of belching automobiles that filled the streets - were a bit much, even for someone generally willing to embrace this brave new world. Not that he minded; his feet had carried him most places in his life, and he did not expect them to give out now.

For just a moment, he shifted his weight uncertainly from foot to foot, wondering if he should offer his arm, if that was even done. In the end, he clasped his hands behind his back - call it nerves, or carelessness, or merely missing the moment - and fell into step beside her. "Have you spent much time exploring the park here?" he asked. "It seems quite pleasant, from what I have seen."

"I do too. It's a relief, and sometimes I can almost forget about all of the things that are different. There's still grass, and trees." It may be a silly sort of sentiment, but it's what she feels and she's not ashamed of that in any way.

"There's a little pond in Petros park, the ducks are there. I like to feed them, even if the signs say that we shouldn't. They're ducks, just like there were ducks in a pond at Downton, and just like there they're greedy and loud. They waddle and quack and are rather like some of the men that my father knows, if I'm honest." Sybil laughs at her own description, even though her cheeks turn pink. "Have you had a chance to see much of it yourself?"

Combeferre ducked his head, but his shoulders still shook with his laughter. "They sound decidedly like some professors I knew at university," he told her with a twinkle in his eye. "Lectures might have been more enlightening at times, had they been led by waterfowl. My friends always insisted that the law professors were the worst - being lawyers, I suppose - but they never had to spend time with one while standing around a rotting corpse." He closed his eyes briefly, wanting to laugh with despair at himself. Jokes about the operating theater were generally not best shared with young women, not even those who had their own interest in medicine, he was almost certain.

He smiled sheepishly and cleared his throat. "I have sought solace in the park as well, yes. 'tis strange - when I first went to Paris to study, I found the city rather overwhelming as well. I do not know what I would have done without the parks, then. And I find the same true here. As you say, grass is grass, and tress are trees, miles or centuries apart."

Sybil laughs at that, thinking of the elderly doctor who had taught them anatomy the semester before. He'd stormed on about things before finally dragging them to see a cadaver. It hadn't surprised her, the man had a peaceful death - in his sleep. She'd wished some of the men she'd dealt with had such a luxury. "It is true, though if I burst out laughing in any of my lectures, I'll lay the blame at your feet I hope you realise."

"It's peaceful. So much of this city moves so quickly, people are in constant contact with each other." She both loves and hates the little telephone that she's gotten here. It is convenient but also an annoyance. Mostly she leaves it in her room as she would a regular phone. "Being able to step away from that is valuable."

"I am happy to take responsibility," Combeferre said with a twinkle in his eye. Especially if you always look so lovely when you laugh. He swallowed the words at the last moment. Perhaps he would say so later, if he was feeling bold enough.

He nodded in understanding. "I like the countryside, too, for much the same reason. Stay far enough from the roads, and you really can pretend you're anywhere. Or anywhen." He made a face at his poor joke.

"I will keep that in mind." Her skirts swish, her arms brushing against the fullness of them as they walk. Her step is light and even with the squat, modern building looming in front of them she feels as if they could be on a walk anywhere. Or anywhen as he put forward.

Sybil shakes her head at the face that he pulls. "It's alright. Have you been out to the country here?" The hospital sits on the edge of town, and while there are a few buildings still it's almost able to see out toward the fields and burgeoning woods. "I haven't, as of yet. It may seem silly but I don't want to explore it alone."

"I have. The woods are really quite wonderful. Scientifically uninteresting, I suppose, but beautiful, and a welcome escape from all this." Combeferre waved vaguely at the buildings surrounding them. Chancing a look at Sybil, he smiled shyly. "I would be happy to show you, if you ever found you wanted an escort."

"Does it need to be scientifically interesting? Isn't there a place for simply appreciating the beauty of things?" She chides, but not unkindly in any way. She knows that she too has gotten too wrapped up in the details of things, too many times.

Her step pauses, her head tilting as she considers him for a moment. "I would enjoy that very much."

"No, of course not." Combeferre grinned ruefully, accepting the criticism in the spirit that it was meant. "I fear I spend too much time reading scientific journals. Or did. Sometimes they invade my thoughts more than they likely should."

He brightened visibly at her reply, more delighted by her acquiescence than he had any right to be. Solitary walks were well and good, but the prospect of having someone to share them with - of having a specific someone to share them with, if he was honest with himself - was better still. Combeferre was about to say something to that effect when something up ahead caught his eye. He held out a hand and murmured, "Wait."

Just in front of them, a large butterfly had landed on a rhododendron bush.

Any comments she might have made about nursing and medicine doing the same are silenced when she sees what holds his attention. Likely she would have walked by without noticing herself, her time in Darrow having changed her in more ways than she would necessarily care to admit. With their final goal so close, the time to notice such a thing? Now that she has, she's happy he stopped them, leaning close to whisper, "have you seen one like this before?"

"Not from this close," Combeferre answered in a murmur. The whispers were needless; even the care with which he crept closer was probably unnecessary, since insects had little interest in the world of humanity. But investigations like these warranted a certain respect. "Papilio glaucus, if I am not mistaken. Sir Walter Raleigh's expedition called it Mamankanois when they discovered it. I've seen drawings."

Sybil steps behind him; careful and precise in her movements. She doesn't want to startle the creature, her memory of butterflies is mostly that they're fluttering things and quite beautiful. This one is no different, and she reminds herself that just a moment ago she spoke of stopping to enjoy things simply because they were there. "The blue at the bottom of his wings, it looks almost brushed on."

"Doesn't it?" Combeferre said, eyes alight. "If I remember correctly, that indicates that it is female." The swallowtail's wings fluttered slightly, but it stayed where it was, even as the people approached. "I believe it's very common in the Eastern United States, but I've only ever seen it in books."

"Do you know a lot about insects?" She's honestly curious, it's not something she's ever had much of an interest in except in a more practical manner. Sybil is all for keeping them out of picnics, or admiring something like a butterfly, but her knowledge of them is highly limited. "Or is it animals in general?"

"A bit. I used to collect them. I am no expert, but they interest me. Is there any creature that lives on land more different from man?" He straightened as the small creature took flight, watching as the wind and whatever instinct propelled it took her away. "They are always more interesting in person, up close. One discovers details even the most exacting naturalist ignored. No drawing could capture that color." Only then did he look at Sybil again, his expression turning sheepish. "Desole. I fear I can be... easily distracted."

His look alone is enough to make her smile as wide as she can manage. It's endearing and sweet, as well as a relief. It doesmake her feel uncharitable for wondering if he was perhaps too interested in these things a moment becore. "It's fine. Truly, I don't mind a distraction or two."

"Thank goodness." Combeferre shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, the same sheepish grin still tugging on his lips. "I suppose I should have warned you - I have been accused of madness on occasion. By my friends."

This time, as they started to walk again, he summed up the nerve to offer his arm.

The gesture is a welcome one and yet somehow still a surprise. With some friends she would not notice at all, in fact with Kaine she nearly insists that she tuck her hand in the crook of his arm when he walks her home. With Henri it seems sweeter, and as shell her hand in a familiar manner on an unfamilar

The gesture is a welcome one and yet somehow still a surprise. With some friends she would not notice at all, in fact with Kaine she nearly insists that she tuck her hand in the crook of his arm when he walks her home. With Henri it seems sweeter, settling her hand in a familiar manner on an unfamilar arm.

"Do they? Should I be worried?" She asks playfully as she leads the way across the solid drive of the hospital, pausing to wait for a car. "You've not exhibited any signs that I know as of yet, but care of patients with mental maladies isn't until next semester."

Combeferre had been half-expecting her to refuse. Not outright, of course, for Sybil was too well schooled for that. But he had feared she might look askance, or keep what distance she could, or even laugh at him. A woman might reject a man's arm in a hundred ways without outright refusing it.

But Sybil did none of those things, and Combeferre flashed her a smile full of warmth as they walked towards the hospital. "My behavior thus far does not warrant concern? Here I am in the company of a lovely woman, and all I can do is talk of insects."

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