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With Great Knowledge...

"We need to talk, Crys."

The flower girl turned her grey eyes over to her father, feeling a twinge of guilt in her chest at those unpleasant words. While Crystal wasn't sure what he wanted to talk about, she knew that whenever he put forth the effort to sit her down like a father, it meant it was something serious. It wasn't that Samuel Beckett wasn't a wordy man - anyone who knew his profession would laugh at the idea - but his spoken words were far and few inbetween. "Yes, Father?"

A weathered face of a strong jaw and deep lines regarded the petite girl. He was an imposing figure, rarely ever seen smiling with a beaked nose, heavy brow and firm pursed lips. Samuel's hair had been starting to show grey in a rather fetching manner, lacing through the black above his temples, showing his age...or rather, his mind. He wasn't very old, but he'd seen enough in his days. He was old fashioned, blunt and had an idea of how things should be; such an idea was unshakeable, and made him hard to deal with sometimes. "Have a seat, Pea."

Crystal look a seat as instructed, feeling like a child. Sweet Pea was a nickname he'd given her since birth, and it wasn't one he used often.

The lumbering man took a seat opposite of his daughter in the flower shop, which was closed for the evening, illuminated by the light of the adjacent cafe. "What are you doing for your future?"

She couldn't stop the grimace that crossed her face. "What do you mean, Father?"

Eyes of steel regarded her blandly. "You need to find yourself a husband, Crystal. You need to be a woman and not a flower girl." He plucked a cigarette from his pocket, rolling in between his calloused fingers.

"Father, it's not like I can just waltz out onto the street and put myself on the market--"

"You can start by not hanging around those nobles."

Crystal stared. Her heart started to speed up, catching in her throat a little. "I'm sorry, I don't know what--"

"You damn well do, and don't play otherwise with me." There was no harshness to his voice, just a simple straight-forwardness that hadn't earned him many friends.

She looked aghast, her face more pale that usual against the harsh light from the other room. "Father, they're just friends. They--"

Samuel cut her off again with an indignant snort. "There is no man alive who just wants to be friends, Crystal-bear. This is what I mean," he leaned towards her, elbows on his knees, shaking the cigarette at her, "you're too naive, and you think the best of everyone. While that's all cute and nice, it's no way to live."

Her heart felt strange, and there was a burning sensation below her stomach. Give them up...? "They respect me enough--"

"One's a damn vampire and the other is a spineless cad. You shouldn't be seen with--"

"Take it back."

Thick eyebrows raised in the slightest. "Excuse me?"

"I said, take it back. Father." Crystal's face was perfectly blank, save for her eyes, which seemed unusually...cold. The grey of her gaze was like charcol, made unyielding and dark in the crude light.

"Now you listen, they're not a good influen--"

"You don't KNOW them!" It was the first time Crystal had ever raised her voice at her parents, rising from her seat as though on strings, emphasizing the point. "You have no idea what they've done for me, now take back your cruel words!"

If Samuel was one to show his emotions, he would have been gaping at her for her outburst. As it were, he was a very well contained man, his expression still neutral save for his raised brows. "You know how nobles are, Crys," he continued on as if she wasn't defying him, "those two are no different."

"Their names are Qadir Xi and Irene Jewell. They--"

"I know who they are!"

"--have given me more of a chance to be myself then you ever have." She immediately regretted the words the minute they left her lips, but it was too late to take them back. Her father was staring at her expectantly. She had no choice to continue. "Qadir has taught me many things, above all to take the most out of life. Lord Jewell has put his very name on the line for our moments together."

A grim expression is all that met Crystal's words. "Why is one Qadir and the other is Lord?"

That was difficult to explain. "Qadir is a noble in wealth only. He abhors the title. You know Lord Jewell." She dropped her gaze a bit at the last part.

"I know that whelp, and I know the rumors around him." That earned him a sharp glare, but he brushed it off. "That vampire has courted you and my wife, so what's to say he doesn't do the same to every other stack of legs with breasts?"

If Crystal thought she was angry before, she was quite wrong. "How DARE you!" she seethed at her own father, feeling her world crumble, her focus on him narrowing to a point, "Qadir is more of a man than anyone I have ever met, and I will NOT tolerate you referring to him like an animal!"

The man stared, his lips parted in the most expressive display of shock he had ever shown. He didn't know what to say, and it was just as well, for his daughter barreled onwards.

"My Lord Jewell is a compassionate man, a product of circumstance, but he is learning that not all he has been taught is in truth. Perhaps you could take a lesson from that!" Crystal's pale face was flushed in her anger and hurt, the latter showing mostly in her eyes. "They have both extended their hand to me in kindness and without askance for anything in turn. That you would refute them for a mere title makes you no better than the nobles you so disdain."

Samuel stood as his daughter poured out her true thoughts, feeling his ire rise. "You have to take responsibility, Crystal," he said in a bitter calmness, "for no matter how you see the world, the rest of the world will see you the same way. Your ideas are pretty, but so are that of the girl who wants to be a princess. You have to grow up! You're not--"

"Sam, that's enough." Rose came through from the cafe side, her brows knitted in worry and sadness. It wasn't a look her husband or daughter had seen, and it sufficiently silenced the both of them. "Crystal, the reason I go by Rose--"

"Suzy, don't--"

"--Sam, be quiet." The words were snapped, cowing the larger man. Turning her attention to her angry and stricken daughter, she continued. "The reason I go by Rose is because the name Suzanne is traceable. Deschevaux-Dumesnil is a known name to most, and if the family were to search for and find a Suzanne Beckett, there would be problems."

Crystal shook her head, confusion joining the mixture of emotions on her face. "Deschevaux-Dumesnil, that's a noble house from the north. What does that have to do with anything?" Her voice was tinged with annoyance.

"It's my maiden name, Crystal. Your mother was a noble who abandoned her family in the name of love. Your father loves me, but has never felt right for all that I left behind." The portly woman shrugged, a small smile gracing her face.

Sam looked grieved; Crystal looked as though her mother had just sprouted a second head. Her eyes were wide, her breathing short; her lips pursed into a thin line, barely able to work words beyond them, "Nobility. That Father hates." She turned her accusational eyes to her father. "Any other secrets? Are you actually a King in some country?" Her growing distress was becoming quite obvious.

There was, in fact, one last secret, but given his daughter's frame of mind, he would save that for a less stressful time. Instead of answering, he merely gazed at the young girl, not willing to lie.

Crystal knew that expression, and knew what it meant. "I'm going home," she forced through numb lips, her voice on the verge of panic. Without further word, she turned on her heel and left the store, where she would not return for a week.

Samuel and Suzanne Beckett watched their daughter leave, sharing a glance that spoke all the words they would not say. It was time to see if their girl could handle the responsibility they'd forceably given her.

The young woman opened her tired grey eyes, fixating on the glass cup on her nightstand. The flame beneath was still lit, but the oil was near non-existant, starting to make noises that indicated that it was going to start burning. Crystal sat up on her bed slowly, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily; the flower girl wasn't used to all the strange happenings in her life, between the nobles, work and her family...and now her only comfort was disappearing, the tart but dusky smell heavy in the room.

In fact...it was unusually thick.

Her delicate hand slowly dropped from her face, eyes shifting around in mild confusion. The smell was near overwhelming, as though the smoke from the tealight had taken on the scent and was infusing her room. Crystal glanced to the burner in time to see the glass crack from the heat of the candle. Her hand reached out as though to snuff the flame, but there was an immense heat rolling from the burner, causing her to snatch the appendage back in bewilderment. "Strange," she murmured to herself, standing and moving towards the main bathroom that was connected to her bedroom.

She started to sing a wordless tune, retrieving a wash rag and dampening it in the sink. Grey eyes looked up to catch her reflection in the mirror; although she was tired, there were no black circles, even though the dark quality of her eye color more than made up for it. The young woman looked a bit pale, her midnight tresses only lending to the fact. She truly looked like a doll, blank and withdrawn, an alabaster shell against the black bedding of her curls, set striking against the dark red relief of the background. Crystal blinked. Red?

In the mirror, she could see part of her room, hosting a number of thick, smokey tendrils.

The tune died on her startled lips, turning around slowly as if in a dream, eyebrows furrowed in near fear. Moving slowly, she peeked out of her bathroom, disbelieving eyes soaking up the sight of deep garnet smoke swirling through her room. The tendrils barely reached her in the back, but it all seemed to be originating from the still burning glass bowl, which was hidden by a thick plumes of the off crimson cloud. She thought to wave her way through and use the rag, but she wasn't fast enough.

She was barely near the nightstand when she heard glass shatter. There was no crack, no breaking, but a full fledged shatter that sent a few pieces hurtling by her face; Crystal lifted a hand to protect herself, so afraid by the strange happenings that she wasn't sure what to do or how to react. Wide eyes stared at the washcloth that covered her face, staring for an uncertain amount of time. After several more heart beats, she lowered her protective shield, looking around in stark shock.

The room was clear as though the smoke were a mere figment of her imagination. In fact, Crystal was ready to dismiss the idea, pawning it off to stress...until she saw the girl sitting on the nightstand, staring at her.

The flower girl uttered a muffled cry of surprise, tripping onto her bed and hurtling herself backwards so fast that she fell right over the other side, landing hard on her knees. The pain brought her back to herself a little bit, enough for her to peer her saucer-sized eyes over the bedspread to light upon the girl who had still not moved from her perch, gazing back at the woman in turn.

"Wh-wh..." Crystal swallowed hard and tried again. "Who are you?" she whispered.

Keen eyes blinked at the older woman. In a graceful movement, she dropped her hand and picked up the washrag that had been discarded in fear, tossing it lightly in Crystal's direction. "You're bleeding."

Grey eyes that had gotten unusually light shifted to her hands; indeed, where she had blocked her face, there were small beads of blood on her knuckles. Her unharmed, shaky hand extended to retrieve the washcloth, standing slowly to regard the girl. "...thank you...?" Shaking her head, Crystal spoke firmly, her heart still racing, "Who are you and why are you in my home?"

The girl blinked again, before the most lovely smile lit her features. "I had thought from your long talks to me at night, you would recognize me. Goodness knows I've watched over you in your sleep enough."

Crystal looked at the girl. She pieced together where the girl was sitting and her words, suddenly overwhelmed by memories; May, describing Tango as the child from the Masquerade; Qadir, concerned about Orpehus and his origins; now, this girl before her, sitting where her trusted pomegranate scent had been mere minutes before.

Light grey eyes fluttered shut, and Crystal crumpled onto the bed in a dead faint.

Reference: Guardian Entry
My Ruby in the Rough

My Lord...my darling Qadir. Whatever am I to do with you two? (*an exchange is scrawled above the introduction: Your princes. Yes, dear. I can get nothing by you. : ) Good!*)

I fear I am stretching myself too thin, and I believe my mother feels so as well. More often than not, she sends me from the shop, 'to get some air and spend time with Kaoru,' or so she says. Much as my darling Kay is astute with me, I believe I am better learning the signs of worry and cover that she tries to use. She, too, is concerned, but the doctor's have already given me a clean bill of health. One worry begets another, and I sit here and fret that she can handle the store on her own. What a vicious cycle.

Kaoru has yet stunned me with her immaculate writing and reading skills, as though born with the ability to do so - and in all literal reference, she was. I wonder what other amazing feats she may yet display, beyond her remarkable compassion and protective nature, her sweet affections and curious antics. In fact, since having met Irene, she has taken up sewing. Within a handful of days, she presented me with a doll of Irene himself - detailed to the very button on his coat! I am ecstatic that she has picked up a hobby of the artful nature, and I shall only encourage such endeavours.

I am weary tonight...I shall rest, and write further another day.