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[plaguedrat]

He hates his cell phone, hates carrying it. It reminds him too much of the ID bracelets in No. 6 that the citizens had worn without complaint, letting the city track and own them. He barely turns it on, ever, but today he checks it and frowns, noticing the date.

September 19.

He's eighteen today.

In some cultures, that means he's a man grown, though he's been one for years it seems.

Shion would have called it a momentous occasion and put together something sentimental. Rat finds himself feeling hollow for that lack, which is stupid and weak. He doesn't know if he has the right to long for Shion, not when Rat was the one who chose to leave. But miss Shion he does and that, more than anything else, is what sends him to a local bakery to buy a small cake and then to the bookstore for a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo.

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[silenttrainbaby]

Grey is venturing farther each day, still clad in his scrubs, still wanting to make sense of this place, still missing Gilliam terribly.

When he sees Rat come from out of one of the doors, he stops, wondering if he should do or say anything. Finally, when he sees the boy look his way, he raises his cast.

[plaguedrat]

Rat nods back at him, shifting his purchases to raise a hand inacknowledgment. Grey, that's his name. Rat appreciates the similarity of their names, a creature and a color, neither fit for humans.

"You again, huh?"

[silenttrainbaby]

Grey again, yes. That he didn't see the same faces every day still disconcerted him. This place was still too big. A nod; it was Rat again, too.

[plaguedrat]

Under someone else's gaze, Rat sees how childish an idea this is. Rewarding himself for living another year? What's the point.

"They celebrate birthdays on your train?"

[silenttrainbaby]

It was acknowledged, yes, but with what? With what could pass for a small, twisted smile, Grey shrugs. Is that what this is? A celebration?

[plaguedrat]

"It's stupid," he says in ever-growing contempt for the notion. "Some people would say turning eighteen is important, but who cares?"

He looks at the tiny box of cake. What an idiot.

[silenttrainbaby]

It means they aren't dead. Grey steps closer. He's eighteen too. He smiles a little. It's not stupid.

[plaguedrat]

"Here," he pushes the box at Grey and keeps the book for himself.

[silenttrainbaby]

Blinking, Grey holds the box, looking between it and Rat.

What a strange boy.

Then he opens the box: What is inside is so pristine, so clean and it smells so sweet that his mouth waters hard enough that he has to swallow.

[likethedawn]

Ever since she first met Elsa in a bakery the other month, Aurora has become quite fond of bakeries. The fresh, warm scent of newly baked and still cooking baked goods proves as comforting as sinking into the warm waters of a bath, and the bright colors of the various toppings remind her of faerie wings. She cannot help but grin as she browses, looking for a cupcake to enjoy that particular afternoon.

She's delighted when she finds a familiar face instead of a cupcake; she sees Rat buying what looks to be a small cake, and remembering Elsa's own purchase the other month, she approaches him, her grin brightening.

"Hello again! Is it your birthday?"

[plaguedrat]

Rat shrugs, feeling as if Aurora's caught him in the middle of something embarrassing but not summoning up the venom to tell her to mind her own damn business. It's a weakness, he's finding, for the sunny girl who reminds him of Shion.

"Yeah, eighteen years not dead," he says.

[likethedawn]

"Happy birthday!" She tells him, grinning at his admission. She notices his tone doesn't seem as venomous as when she had first met him in the train station, and that excites her more. She suspects he'll never fully like the city, but she hopes she can at least prove a friend for him among the aspects of Darrow that cause him grief and discomfort. "Do you have any special plans?"

[plaguedrat]

"This is it," he says, holding up the cake and the book bag that dangles from his risk. A cake and a new book to read, it's a lot more than he's had in many birthdays.

[likethedawn]

"Cake and a book? That sounds like a wonderful birthday to me," she tells him. It is his birthday, after all, and from what she can recall since running into him at the bookstore, his fondness for books seems like an apt way for him to celebrate his birthday.

[plaguedrat]

He gives Aurora a noncommittal shrug, not terribly impressed by the idea of a birthday, good or bad. Most years, he hadn't spared it more than a nod at the calendar before going to work. This is the most he's done besides acknowledging it.

"The Count of Monte Cristo. A story of revenge and justice."

[likethedawn]

"It sounds fascinating," Aurora remarks, considering the idea of the story. In spite of the curse she'd endured on her sixteenth birthday, she still likes the idea of them and the celebrations that usually entail. Birthdays provide hope, in their own way. "And does this count find revenge and justice? Or just one of them?"

[plaguedrat]

"He does," Rat says. The count even gets a happy ending for all his suffering. "His best friend betrays him so that he may have his fiance. Our count then rots in jail for a decade, cultivating his revenge."

[happy_dsign]

Daphne had spotted the bakery while on a walk and decided to stop in and check out the competition. She entered the shop filled with familiar smells that made her think of her time on the island and smiled sadly, missing some of the people that had become family. And Wilke, she missed Wilke.

But she wasn't going to let nostalgia distract her. This was a business trip, after all. She smiled at the guy who had just gotten a pink box and caught him as he neared the door. "Hi. Do you come here often?" She laughed a little as she realized what she'd said, and added quickly, "I swear, I'm not coming onto you." Unless he wanted her to, she supposed. Maybe she shouldn't have said that just yet, after all.

[plaguedrat]

Rat raises an eyebrow at her, one that seems more concerned about why she's speaking to him in the first place than whether or not she's hitting on him. "No," he says after a long moment. "Not at all."

[happy_dsign]

"Oh." Her shoulders slumped a little. "Darn. I was hoping to get your opinion of their product. What did you get?"

[plaguedrat]

He shrugs, looking back at the store and away from her. "Red velvet cake."

[happy_dsign]

Daphne waited an extra moment when he looked back, then realized that either he had answered her question while turned away, or was simply ignoring it. Since the second option seemed unlikely, she gave him an apologetic smile and said, "Sorry, I'm deaf. I have to see your lips to 'hear' what you're saying."

[plaguedrat]

"You're what?" Rat frowns, realizing it hadn't even occurred to him. "Red velvet cake," he repeats, facing her. "It was the only small one they have."

[happy_dsign]

"Deaf," Daphne repeated patiently. "I can't hear. I read lips." She nodded at his answer, smiling a little. "Oh, I love red velvet. I have a really good red velvet recipe."

[plaguedrat]

Rat shrugs, looking down at his purchase and shrugging. "I don't have any friends. I almost never celebrate my birthday. So I got the small one." To be entirely truthful, he's not even sure he knows what makes the cake red or velvet.