Princess Elspeth Annarose Cullen

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It lurks. Oh how it lurks.

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"In most of the capitals I live in a little house, like this, with Elena and Tristan and Chiara," he shrugs. "I like that. I've been to New York and it had more people than I could count and all the coziness of a hole in the ground. Do you live by yourself? Are you home much? Jake just follows the Princess around all the time, but I don't know if that's compatible with whatever you had in mind."

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"I don't think I could feasibly have you follow me around all the time," she says. "A lot of it, though. Yes, I live by myself, and my apartment does not rate high on the coziness scale. My aunt's house does, though. Maybe we'll see if you like it there. How much I am home is wildly variable."

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"It won't matter that much to me where we are as long as you're usually around and you like it," shrugs Orfeo. "I could probably produce specific comments after seeing the place, if you want them."

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"Specific comments would definitely be appreciated."

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Bella walks back into the room with a tray of pancakes and some plates and forks and knives. "Carrot-cake pancakes," she says. "How are you guys doing?"

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"Those look tasty," says Libby.

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"I'm going to eat about two-thirds of those if you let me," Orfeo says. "We're talking about practical stuff for when I move. Going pretty okay."

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"I'm hungry. Bella, do you mind if I duplicate your pancakes?"

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"Do it while they're hot," Bella says, serving herself a small stack and drizzling cream cheese icing over them.

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Libby expends a square. A stack of pancakes, slightly larger than Bella's, appears on her plate; it's not immediately obvious exactly which pancakes she copied, but they appear to be selected at random rather than from an existing stack. She handles the icing the old-fashioned way, though.

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Orfeo serves himself most of the rest and - ahem - wolfs them down.

"These are really good," he remarks between pancakes eleven and twelve.

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"I pentagoned cooking a while ago," Bella says.

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"I feel like that is somehow unfair," says Libby between bites of pancake four, "and at the same time I can't bring myself to mind."

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"You could do it too, if you wanted," Bella points out. "If it was a priority. I feel iffier about having pentagoned the flute and soccer and interview skills to get into Stanford."

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"See, it's not the cheating I mind," Libby explains, eyes twinkling, "it's the fact that you can do it so much more easily than I can."

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"I give you better than even odds of getting a pentagon for something like cooking from Alice by asking nicely, and way better than even odds of getting one by offering to help him make it in some marginally creative way," Bella says.

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"There's an 'Alice' who's a 'him'?" Orfeo asks.

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"Well," Bella says, "he wouldn't mind if I called him a her. I just default to male pronouns except in cases of secretiveness."

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"I'm still entertained by calling her Whistle," Libby admits. "And it seems like he wouldn't mind, but it's hard to get a read on him sometimes. How do you usually explain him, in cases of non-secretiveness?"

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"Usually I don't explain him," Bella admits. "Insofar as he admits explanation, he's self-explanatory if you watch him be himself for long enough. Although maybe I'm biased because I can read his mind. Seriously, bet you twenty asters if you walk up to him and say 'want to try my favorite method for generating pentagons? If I can keep half I'll show you how' he says something that translates as 'yes ma'am please'."

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"I would like it very much if you would un-confuse my wolf," says Libby.

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"Why me? Isn't he your wolf?" Bella asks.

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"Because I couldn't explain Alice if I tried?"

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"Did you even explain coins to your wolf yet? And where they come from?"

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