Baby Penguin

The flutter of French voices around him, unintellible to the man who only spoke Russian and an accented English proved the perfect background for his easily distracted brain to detach from the world around him and hyper focus on one thing.

In this cause, it was a small drooping flower that had somehow, unlike its brothers and sisters, braved out the long winter, looking worse for wear to be sure, but it was still there. And that fact fascinated the young man.

So as other people walked on completely ignorant of the rare oddity that they were passing, Kyrie stood, completely still, marvelling.

"Why you?" he murmured slowly, tilting his head, and brushing one of the petals, "Why did you survive?"

Archer buried her face angrily in the palm of her hand for a brief moment, before dropping it limply to her side again. Her green eyes, intense with a frustrated focus, scoured the garden's landscape.

She needed this flower. And all of its magical properties. This flower could get her back on track again, back into designing weapons- back into business. She missed business. As much as the new mother loved her son- Merlin, she missed the sport of her business.

Grinding her teeth together, the woman turned around the next corner of the French garden. And of all places, it had to be France. The country had always been irritating to her- the aurors based here were particularly good.

Well, wasn't this a great first day back on the job?

"There!" The woman exclaimed, walking at a far more brisk pace- she would not run- towards the man who seemed to be intrigued by it. Did he know what it was?

She chewed the inside of her cheek, obviously irritated further.

"Using that?"

Her voice startled Kyrie to be sure; the world before that moment had ceased to exist, there was nothing but himself, the solid body anchoring his light formless soul to the ground, and the flower. Those were the only realities that made up his world.

But this woman? Her loud voice, harsh demanding burst through his clouded mind better than most people did. Blinking his blue eyes slowly he dragged his gaze up away from the flower, and towards the woman, looking at her for a long moment. Not checking out, or appraising - at least not in a obvious way - just looking. She was... unusual in a way that Ky wasn't sure he could put his finger on.

"Its odd isn't it? That this one's still here, still alive, while so many others are not." He frowned at the flower again, glancing at the woman every so often out of the corner of his eye, "What do you want it for?"

Archer looked at the man in front of her incredulously, obviously somewhat unnerved by his very demeanor. It was too- Merlin, she didn't know what it was, but it was odd.

Clicking her fingers loudly a few inches away from the stranger's face as he stared at her in silence, the woman waved her hand about before returning it to her side again.

"Hey, Prince Charming, wake up." she said lowly. His face looked vaguely familiar, actually. Perhaps she had seen him before somewhere. Although, she was fairly certain that she would have remembered this man's ....whatever it was.

"That one's different." Bree countered, crouching so she was face to face with the flower in question. "Stronger. Different species- but it looks the same." she murmured, studying the flower's health. It was true that the winter had been harsh for the little thing, but it was nothing that the woman was incapable of solving.

"For work." she replied, almost without thinking as her thumb brushed a petal that threatened to fall. Her glassy green gaze snapped upwards to his.

"I'm a gardener." she lied.

Because all gardeners wear leather jackets. Nice, Archer, nice.

He watched her as she crouched, looking at the plant with a critical eye; it wasn't how he himself had appraised the thing - with unhindered curiosity - but with practice knowledge. As he watched even Kyrie could tell that she knew what she was doing.

"Why did you lie to me?" the statement was soft, not accusatory, just curious. "You're not a gardener; gardeners do not have the look you do. You look of the world, not the plants."

He crouched down beside her, glancing at her, and then the plant again, "You're difference too. You survive - others don't, but you do. Is it hard? Being the only one to survive. It's hard to be alone isn't it?"

"I'm always alone; people are there but they don't understand... I think it should be hard, but I don't understand either."

Kyrie stopped talking then, glancing at her again with his blue eyes. Something almost concrete flashed beneath them as she looked her in. He had half a second grasp of a conscious sane thought, before it was gone again, and he was left just staring, wondering what he was looking for.

Bree rolled her eyes at the man, and shoved one hand in her black skinny jean pocket, rummaging around for the glass vial she had brought with her. Biting the lip as she plucked the flower gently away from its stem- and not giving him much time to object, before gently sliding it into its crystal container. There. Now that was done, she could leave this man-

"I look of the world?" The woman quoted with her eyebrows raised, admittedly entertained by the thought.

She turned her head around to him as he came down to her level. Who was this guy?

"I'm not alone." She retorted defensively, thoughts turning immediately to her son. She wasn't.

Not entirely.

But she still wanted someone. Another person to talk to- although she was quick to dismiss the thought. Archer had Andrei, now. To ask for anything else would be greedy.

Her attitude didn't bother him in the least. In fact it was the attitude he was most use to seeing. Although his sister, and even his father were prone to softening their tones towards him, his child like way provoking some natural sense of protection, there was always their usual rough way below it - and he had watched them for years, attempting to figure out how he to should be have.

This woman was part of the world he had grown up in; she made as much sense to him as any other human being he was close to did. Which albeit wasn't that much, but more than everyone else in the world.

"You've seen things, done things... know things," he clarified softly, his brain actually connecting the dots to keep up a normal conversation. "You know the truth of the world. Most people do not."

She was being defensive; he recognized that; it was odd what facial expressions, actions words the young man would understand, and which would go past him completely, "Thou doth protest too much."

Quotes, language, history made more sense to him than people. When the were written before him he could take the time he often needed to think about it - force himself to some understanding.

"Having people does not mean you are not alone; even in crowded places people are alone." He paused, humming to himself. She was so close to him now, so easy to look at. Without giving it a thought - Kyrie didn't understand the common idea of 'boundries' - her picked up a strain of her hair, looked at it for a moment in the sunlight, and then pushed it behind her ear. "Alone, you can feel alone when everyone leans on you. Who is left for you to lean on?"

"And how exactly do you know that?" She murmured, wide green eyes watching him, genuinely intrigued by the stranger before him. Bree didn't want to know the truth of the world. She didn't want to know her world. The woman wanted to know one of those story worlds- with a happy mother and her healthy child, who she was free to love and keep forever. To watch him grow into a man. She wanted to know a world that was completely opposite from the one she knew now.

And here was this man telling her it was the true world.

Suddenly cold again, the woman snapped her head away from him, looking at the spot where the flower had once been planted.

"Oh, but she'll keep her word." The woman answered wryly in reply, a sad, fond smile tugging at her lips- her tone softening noticeably. She'd always enjoyed Shakespeare.

Archer flinched slightly away at his unexpected touch, both unnerved and fascinated by this person.

No, he was wrong. She had Andrei- he was everything to her. Everything, she didn't want anything else- no one else- she didn't need-

"You're wrong." Bree retorted bitterly, surprised for a moment at her own voice.

"You watch," stated lightly, holding her green gaze with his own; something to focus on helped immensely. As long as he was focusing on her, had her in his gaze, a target for his thought, he could keep his conversation. "You watch, and you see. What you see never lies. People die, people hurt - murder, rape, maim. We lose more than we win. Even when we win there is something up ahead - we will always lose in the end."

He looked at the flower that was now clipped in her bag, "That's why we have to be strong. Those who are strong, find happiness... even in the dark."

Something almost like a smile crossed his face as she quoted back; most people didn't play along with his quotes - they took him literally, or blinked at him in confusion. He liked when people played along. Though the expression disappeared back to a thoughtful frown as she seemed to resist again. Anger was the word that floated to her brain. She appeared angry, with something. Most likely something he said - Kyrie was use to that. It didn't faze him any more than anything else.

"Maybe I am, but what if I'm not?" Kyrie paused for a moment, moved as if he were going to touch her again, but instead stood up, looking in the distance. "Its most tragic, when we make ourselves alone. They do't realize it either - the ones that do it - they don't realize they are, or that they've done it until they're gone, dead or dying. The realize it when its too late."

"We cannot see and then just believe." Archer replied, now determined to prove this man wrong. She refused- simply refused- to understand that what he was saying could even possibly be true. "What you see often lies." The woman's eyes narrowed at him, head tilted to the side. Why was she still talking to him?

It was true, this had been one of the few conversations she had not had with either Brock or her son in a while. In actual fact, she could count how many people she had spoken to in the past year on one hand. She was turning into a hermit.

Both oddly disturbed and amused at the thought, she shrugged her shoulders and stood up from her crouching position, slipping her hands into the pockets of her dark trousers

"I'm must be strong as an ox, then." Bree muttered sarcastically. Was she happy? It was hard to tell, sometimes. In moments with Andrei- she felt as if she had never been more happy in her life. And other times, with a baby to raise- and not completely trusting of his father- she felt alone. And burdened.

She looked at him as he spoke, choosing not to answer- a silent agreement.

"You're odd."

"What you see can't lie," he argued without sounding as if he was. His voice neither raised in volume or changed in tone. He was merely a man stating his thoughts as he saw them. "It's there, it cannot change; one may see it incorrectly, but the facts are there, always the same, never changing." For a man who could not grasp day to day life in anything more than simple concepts, Kyrie had always had an oddly in depth - if sometimes unique - view of grander questions of the world.

She didn't answer him, he noticed that; he merely stated a fact that he had known his whole life. If she had meant it as an insult - which many other had - it washed over the man completely. Odd was just a word he'd come to attribute to himself. If it meant not like everyone else, than it certainly fit. Years of watching people however had left Kyrie to wonder if we all weren't odd.

"And you're beautiful." Again the compliment was stated as a fact, not in flattery, flirting or charming. It was just a fact in his brain as ingrained as he was odd - she was a beautiful woman.

"You can see what is there. But that does not mean that you are seeing all of it." Archer replied, raking her hair to the other side of her neck. She regarded him for a moment, before smirking. "You should read into Plato's Allegory of the Cave. Have you?" The woman arced an elegantly shaped eyebrow at him, taking a few steps back away from him- heels clicking loudly against the paved floor.

Bree began to pace- only a few steps in each direction as she spoke to him- although her eyes remained fixed on the man's face.

"Odd and beautiful- aren't we a brilliant pair?" The woman smiled- it had been an annoyingly long time since she had been complimented. Then again, hermits often weren't- they were hardly around enough to be.

She paused, measuring him for a moment.

"What's your name?"

"Plato," Kyrie repeated the name softly as the cogs in his brain slowly dragged into gear trashing his tarnished memories for one of that name, or the cave theory she had mentioned. "I will look into this Plato. I might have seen it in the library." Though to be honest,that probably was false. If it was in the library than he probably already read it. Books were so much easier than people.

The sound of her shoes on pavement brought his gaze to the source of the sound, causing him to glance down her legs, where he frowned for a moment, pondering about the sound before she started pacing, causing his face to go back up, wishing to look at her expression. "Pair," he repeated the word, a slight nod and a little grin, "Odd and beautiful. A wonderful pair." He was possibly just making up excuses to say 'pair' now. He was gain a suddenly odd fascination with it.

Her next question was the only thing that saved him from the babbling of the word in his head.

"Oh, forgive me," he frowned. He often forgot to introduce himself unless prompted. It was such a taxing thing to do. He could hear a small voice in his head, that sounded vaguely reminiscent to his late mother reprimanding him for being rude, but that training still wasn't strong enough to get him to remember. He held out a hand, "Kyrie. And you?"

"Plato wrote it, Socrates spoke it. Spoke most of it, anyway." Bree spoke conversationally, slipping into a walking pace now- and sort of unconsciously expecting the stranger to follow. She tended to speak more openly when she was moving- her thoughts tended to be both more spontaneous and creative.

"Do look into him." The woman continued, humming softly. "His ideas were particularly innovative." She murmured, looking across the landscape of the garden, with a now mild sort of interest. If this flower had grown here, there could perhaps be other rarities within this garden.

"Odd and Beautiful- we could have our own show, couldn't we?" Bree let out a little wry laugh. Shaking his hand firmly with one of her own, and suddenly catching sight of a chipped red-painted nail, the woman introduced herself;

"Bree Archer."

He followed her without even thinking about it. Even if she hadn't still been talking, had been exhibiting signs that she wanted to be rid of him - not that she was - he would have done it anyway. He was attached to her for the moment, whatever that reason may be - he was going to follow her until she sent him away or something distracted him.

"People do not read enough," he mused softly, "But you... you knew Shakespeare..." he frowned upon this thought, a swirl of words washing over his brain. He wasn't even aware when some of them slipped out of his mouth. "Love goes towards love like schoolboys from their books, but love from love towards school with heavy looks."

The thought of having a show seemed to brighting his face a little grin coming on his face, "Will it have music? Good shows have to have music." It was an opinion he had formed long ago - mainly because the man stopped following a show if there was not something catchy to hold his attention.

"Pleasure to meet you Bree Archer."

"I know, it's awful." Bree agreed, wrinkling her nose. "Youths seem to be repelled by books." She scowled slightly, ignoring the fact that she herself was only 24. Granted, she had gone through more than someone of her age was expected to.

"Hist! Romeo, hist!" She smirked, her eyes shining with mirth as she looked over at him. It was refreshing to be in a real conversation with someone. She felt more...normal, again. Like herself again. More Archer again.

"Only good music. If I find any West End Musical nonsense- the show's over." She warned. Musicals were far too perky- and the tunes were so bloody catchy, it made her suffer even after the music wasn't being played, it was just her mind replaying it especially for her.

"The pleasure's mine, Kyrie."

"The world offers them too many simple stimulations for them to allow themselves the preoccupation of reading," the slightly intelligent comment had in fact been stolen from a book. Kyrie simply felt it sounded good, and the author of that book was far better at convey his thoughts in words than Kyrie ever would.

His grin only widened as she continued to play his game, the simple act lighting up his undeniably handsome face in a way that no other expression could. It was a rare thing to get a genuine smile from Kyrie - so little brought about the excitement or contentment that was needed for such an expression - and the affect it had showed what a rare thing it was. There was something special about a smile only a rare few got to see.

"Yes Ma'am," Ky nodded his head solemnly, taking this statement very seriously; after all he didn't want the show being over before it had even been started. "What kind of music am I allowed?" He wanted to make sure he did not get in trouble.

"Your words or borrowed?" Archer arced an eyebrow at her newest companion, slightly amused by the tone in which he almost recited his sentence- the words seemed almost alien to his lips, as if they were not his own.

The woman's lips curved into a little coy smile as his face broke out into a grin, and she shook her head at him absently. Why was he so happy? It was both odd and strangely endearing that he was so easily and thoroughly entertained by the small charade she was participating in. Bree wandered briefly for a moment how ecstatic he would be if it would come to life.

"Classical." She replied, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her torso as a brisk, cold breeze fluttered around them. "Jazz, if I'm in a playful mood."

"Can anyone own words?" he frowned at the thought that the question had suddenly produced in him. "Are they not just... things?" In fact, Ky often had trouble understanding the concept of owning anything. It resulted in him not being very possessive about many things. On occasion, there were the objects or people who seeped through his filters and somehow made some part of his brain connect with them.

At this moment, those filters were focusing on her face, his gaze lingering again as he frowned. "You should smile more. It makes your face look..." he was struggling for words again. Although he had no concept, really, of offending people, he felt a strong need to, in this moment, come up with exactly the right one. "Otherworldly." He nodded his head, satisfied with the one he had come up with.

He continued walking then, as if he hadn't said anything at all, humming a segment of Mozart without knowing why or where he had picked it up from.

"Yes." Bree answered simply, looking straight ahead as she walked. "Why else would authors stamp their names on books?" She raised an eyebrow at Kyrie, and shrugged one shoulder. "At the very least, people- men in particular, I might add," She smirked, before continuing, "Like to own things. Or kid themselves into thinking they own things."

"There's not much to smile about." She commented wryly in response. What was there other than her son, now? Not even her business- she'd put it on hold. "I do like cats, though." Bree considered for a moment, deliberately ignoring the jerk of a black dog's head upwards, who had been otherwise preoccupied with something else. The hellhound- Geoff, as Bree had coined him- appeared to have followed her.

"But I appreciate the compliment, Ky." She inclined her head slightly out of habit. Even if the man's comment had not been intended as a compliment, it was the closest Bree had come to in a while. She needed to go out more.

That sounded reasonable enough. The words themselves Ky could understand but he still thought the concept of owning words themselves was unfounded. "They can't own the words though. They only get to own... the order, or something..." he frowned confusing himself, his own adamant argument overwhelming him for the moment.

"There should always be reasons to smile. Even when things are... not smile worthy, there should always be one thing to smile about, one thought, person, fact to smile over." He nodded his head firmly; a fact that he had learned from books he had looked over hungrily, definitely not an opinion he had gained in the world he lived in.

That world left very little to smile about, when one got right down to it.

But Ky thought everyone should be able to find something anyway.

"Like you," he said off handedly, completely unaware of how what he was saying would sound, "You make me smile."

"They own the order of the words." Archer echoed thoughtfully, glassy green eyes scrutinizing a dark blue flower they were directly approaching. She paused, before speaking again. "They own the order- and therefore the meaning." The woman concluded with a decisive nod, and threw a sideways glance at Kyrie. "Keeping up?" Bree raised an elegantly shaped eyebrow at him, her tone almost playful.

"I don't see why smiling should be such a necessity." Archer added, shrugging one shoulder. "Although I've smiled a fair few times with you, now." She considered, then stopped mid-walk to appraise the man she had befriended.

"Hm. Maybe I should keep you, then." Her head cocked to the side, giving her a sort of owlish look, before picking up her pace again.

Shaking his head, he frowned. He was in fact following her - surprising for some who knew the man well - but he didn't agree with what she was stating. There was one thing that he felt that she was missing.

"Only the meaning they meant," Kyrie stated as the idea formed all of their own accord. The message seemed to surprise him as much as anyone else, but he kept going with it. "They can't force you to believe they mean what they think they mean."

Bouncing on his heals slightly almost looking like a child preening, he let out another little grin, lighting up his face all over again. "Maybe you should."

He liked that thought. He liked it very much.