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Chapter 5 - Green Ice

Chapter 5 – Green Ice

Weaver

I wanted to leave her alone today, but Francis just had to bother her about Da Vinci. We had met Da Vinci several centuries ago and we all found it interesting how the Italian's character and findings had been interpreted, or misinterpreted depending on who's listening, in so many ways. Our friend, Leo, had only wanted to paint.

Francis was intrigued. He was thinking the girl could prove the stereotype wrong and have a different view of the polymath's works.

I couldn't help smiling though—I seemed to be doing that recently. I was learning to show normal teeth and not fangs. Anyway, I wasn't sure if Francis were just pretending because had we not deduced that the girl was a writer when we first saw her?

Francis took advantage of his role as a child. He easily introduced himself to the girl and she immediately accepted him, thinking he was harmless. Oh, if she only knew what damage he had caused in the past with all his whimsical illusions. His influences had driven the greedy mad.

At least Francis gave us a way to introduce ourselves—not that Markus had needed any help. My brother was too confident and I didn't like how he held on to Selene's hand seconds longer than was appropriate.

What the hell was wrong with Markus? She was just a child!

Selene. Goddess of the moon.

Where did he get these gorgon-awful lines? I rolled my eyes at Markus' obvious attempt to flirt with the girl. She was a minor even by god-standards and he was already trying to seduce her.

I tried to distract my brother by stating the obvious, that the girl was not writing a school report, and I was mildly surprised that she admitted it.

Maybe she wanted Francis to stop bothering her about Da Vinci. I could help her with that.

"You're writing a story," I said confidently. "For sixth grade Creative Writing?"

She frowned at me. "Excuse me?" she said.

Sigh. It seemed Markus had found another victim and this girl's brain cells were fried when he sat next to her.

"Sixth grade. Creative Writing," I said a little more slowly.

And she surprised all of us when she answered, sounding a bit slighted, "I'm in high school."

Impressive. We were talking with a child prodigy who had been accelerated perhaps thrice? But that seemed unlikely. Unconvinced, I slid next to her and asked how old she was.

"I'm fifteen and I'm in 11th grade," she bit out.

Apparently not a child prodigy. Just tiny. Hmmm. I swigged some water while I pondered upon this piece of information.

Then Francis had to ask where she studied. She answered and I gagged on my drink.

I couldn't understand what happened next, but she seemed to get more upset as our conversation progressed. It was truly difficult to comprehend these human interactions. They were too subjective.

Selene got offended when I couldn't believe she was already fifteen—weren't the female species supposed to be flattered when we say they looked younger? Then she went ahead and said I looked too old.

Well, I was old! I was thousands of years old. But I did not look ancient. I was infinite. Ageless! And she, an infant, should not use that tone when she was talking with me. I wanted to growl all that at her. Instead, I said she looked like she was still in middle school.