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Oct. 20th, 2016 07:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fry_sandhu"Welcome to the clath of the damned." a dark-haired girl announces dramatically, as Fry goes into his speech and drama lesson one lunch break.
He blinks slightly, wondering what has prompted this response, then notices she is actually looking behind him at Pixie, who is hovering in the doorway.
"This is speech and drama." he tells Pixie helpfully. "Did your Dad sign you up?"
Pixie nods, and comes to sit next to him on one of the little chairs. The dark girl sits on her other side.
"Don't look tho nervouth." she says. "Thith ith the thpethial clath, there'th a lot leth prethure."
Pixie stares at the older girl, panicking, trying to work out what she just said without appearing rude. Fry leans over.
"She said 'this is the special class, there's a lot less pressure'." he says. "We're all in it because we're not expected to do the exams at the same rate as the others our age, for one reason or another."
"Exams?" Pixie squeaks.
"At my latht thchool they thent me to a thpeach therapitht." the dark girl says. "Here you thay a couple of paragrath to an ethaminor and you end up with a thertificate." She looks at Pixie's alarmed face and adds. "You don't have to do them, Mrth Donkey will try and get you to at thome point. Until then, if you can thay your own name right, you're in the top half of the clath."
"What's your name?" Pixie asks.
"Thethily Thuthecth." Eye roll. "I think my parenth may have curthed me at birth."
"Cecily Sussex." Fry translates. "She's in year 5. Cecily, this is Pixie."
"Pithy, ith okay to thay you don't underthand, I don't mind." Cecily says, smiling at her. "Tho long as you don't take the pith."
Between Cecily's amazing lisp, Fry's monotone recital, and the efforts of a small boy with enormous hearing aids, Pixie comes to realise over the course of her first class that perhaps, if they can do it, there is some hope for her yet to be able to talk in front of people.
She just has one more problem, which she confides in Fry at the end of the class.
"I don't have any hobbies." she says.
"I thought you did sewing." Fry says. "You and Noah are the only ones in our class who can thread a needle."
"Well I sew for..." Pixie hesitates, then says quietly. "For my dollies, but don't tell anyone, because nobody our age plays with dollies."
Fry considers this.
"Kasha has dollies." he says. "And George had dollies when I went to her house last year. And Noah has a Noah's Arc with dollies in, and Xiao has a porcelain dolly but I don't think it's a playing one, and Teddy has a Steve the Archeologist doll. So I think maybe nearly all our class plays with dollies."
Pixie digs in her pocket and brings out a tiny doll, with a porcelain face, and shows him. He takes it gently. He's never seen a doll quite like this, the dress is like a real dress, only tiny. Her head is in proportion with her body, as are her eyes. He likes it at once.
"She looks real." He says.
"Yes, she's not really a toy." Pixie admits. "She's a doll's house doll. Lots of adults play with them too."
"Is the whole house real looking too?" Fry asks.
Pixie nods. "I have a walk-in cupboard. It's more like a village now."
Fry gives the doll back, reluctantly.
"Don't tell the others, they'll laugh." Pixie says. "I keep it locked when people come over."
"I won't." Fry says. "But it would make a good talk."
"It's my special place." Pixie says. "I started building it after my Mum left. My real mum." she adds, noting Fry's look of confusion. "I call my step-mum 'Mum' in public so people don't ask me about it."
"Oh." Fry says.
"So don't tell anyone about that either." Pixie says.
"You're going to have to make a list if you give me any more secrets or I'll lose track." Fry says. "Where's your real mum now?"
"London, with her new husband." Pixie says. "Dad took me down to see her last year but she closed the door on us, so we went to the theatre instead."
Fry nods slowly.
"I think." he says. "That going to the theatre is another hobby."
He blinks slightly, wondering what has prompted this response, then notices she is actually looking behind him at Pixie, who is hovering in the doorway.
"This is speech and drama." he tells Pixie helpfully. "Did your Dad sign you up?"
Pixie nods, and comes to sit next to him on one of the little chairs. The dark girl sits on her other side.
"Don't look tho nervouth." she says. "Thith ith the thpethial clath, there'th a lot leth prethure."
Pixie stares at the older girl, panicking, trying to work out what she just said without appearing rude. Fry leans over.
"She said 'this is the special class, there's a lot less pressure'." he says. "We're all in it because we're not expected to do the exams at the same rate as the others our age, for one reason or another."
"Exams?" Pixie squeaks.
"At my latht thchool they thent me to a thpeach therapitht." the dark girl says. "Here you thay a couple of paragrath to an ethaminor and you end up with a thertificate." She looks at Pixie's alarmed face and adds. "You don't have to do them, Mrth Donkey will try and get you to at thome point. Until then, if you can thay your own name right, you're in the top half of the clath."
"What's your name?" Pixie asks.
"Thethily Thuthecth." Eye roll. "I think my parenth may have curthed me at birth."
"Cecily Sussex." Fry translates. "She's in year 5. Cecily, this is Pixie."
"Pithy, ith okay to thay you don't underthand, I don't mind." Cecily says, smiling at her. "Tho long as you don't take the pith."
Between Cecily's amazing lisp, Fry's monotone recital, and the efforts of a small boy with enormous hearing aids, Pixie comes to realise over the course of her first class that perhaps, if they can do it, there is some hope for her yet to be able to talk in front of people.
She just has one more problem, which she confides in Fry at the end of the class.
"I don't have any hobbies." she says.
"I thought you did sewing." Fry says. "You and Noah are the only ones in our class who can thread a needle."
"Well I sew for..." Pixie hesitates, then says quietly. "For my dollies, but don't tell anyone, because nobody our age plays with dollies."
Fry considers this.
"Kasha has dollies." he says. "And George had dollies when I went to her house last year. And Noah has a Noah's Arc with dollies in, and Xiao has a porcelain dolly but I don't think it's a playing one, and Teddy has a Steve the Archeologist doll. So I think maybe nearly all our class plays with dollies."
Pixie digs in her pocket and brings out a tiny doll, with a porcelain face, and shows him. He takes it gently. He's never seen a doll quite like this, the dress is like a real dress, only tiny. Her head is in proportion with her body, as are her eyes. He likes it at once.
"She looks real." He says.
"Yes, she's not really a toy." Pixie admits. "She's a doll's house doll. Lots of adults play with them too."
"Is the whole house real looking too?" Fry asks.
Pixie nods. "I have a walk-in cupboard. It's more like a village now."
Fry gives the doll back, reluctantly.
"Don't tell the others, they'll laugh." Pixie says. "I keep it locked when people come over."
"I won't." Fry says. "But it would make a good talk."
"It's my special place." Pixie says. "I started building it after my Mum left. My real mum." she adds, noting Fry's look of confusion. "I call my step-mum 'Mum' in public so people don't ask me about it."
"Oh." Fry says.
"So don't tell anyone about that either." Pixie says.
"You're going to have to make a list if you give me any more secrets or I'll lose track." Fry says. "Where's your real mum now?"
"London, with her new husband." Pixie says. "Dad took me down to see her last year but she closed the door on us, so we went to the theatre instead."
Fry nods slowly.
"I think." he says. "That going to the theatre is another hobby."
