Got the dreamer's disease
Bird is the resounding answer, and she takes this just as much in stride, because after all, she is a girl named after a plant so a bird being named bird feels plenty sufficient. "Sorry bird!" she calls up to the retreating hel, expecting that the proper use of his name will give the apology the proper weight and attention it deserves. "Such a well trained companion," she admires as attention falls back to bird-twin and all the claims of bird related jobs. "I can do bird jobs too!" As they've clearly seen. "Well, except fly." Which is unfortunately the one and only job a bird is usually hired for, which could explain her lack of employment.
Having both twins hang off her arms at the same time is a miscalculation of the weight and the drag, and for a brief moment it appears they'll be helping her down instead of her helping them up. One foot lurches forward and then plants on the ground though, and she tilts back, angling into the effort with a scrunch to all her features and a faint grunt. When they finally haul themselves back to their feet, she stumbles back a bit, white coat flapping out in front with a dramatic flare.
Quick to set the improper assumption of her medical expertise to rest, Fern swiftly and sternly says "no," alongside a vigorous shake of her head. "I am a surgeon. I also diagnose the rarest cases, help deliver babies, and give casts to broken limbs. I don't make people crazy." A moment of hesitation, as if considering something new, thoughts biting into it the way one might a gold coin to test for authenticity. She seems on the fence, mostly because she doesn't know what an authentic coin is supposed to taste like. "I mean, I don't think it was me anyway. But the sky was yelling all the time and father thought I was a cabbage." A faint giggle rises up at the notion that she could be mistaken for such a thing.
Shifting attention from one twin to the other almost feels like when she makes faces in the mirror with another mirror. She can see the repeating reflections, knows they're separate, but it's also so much the same that it feels easy to lose track and get lost in which is which. She feels her eyes slide off one boy to the other, but so little changes, that it's enough to wonder if her eyes moved at all. Fortunately, she's not concentrating as hard as she does with the mirrors, least of all when there's ghosts at hand.
She gasps the same way she's learned to do when seeing a particularly bad stitch has popped, both hands flying up to her mouth, white sleeves drooping down past her chin where they bend over her fingers. "Your babysitter is haunted!?" Her eyes widen with the proper respect of facing people so brave. "Woooooow. How did you survive?"
Having both twins hang off her arms at the same time is a miscalculation of the weight and the drag, and for a brief moment it appears they'll be helping her down instead of her helping them up. One foot lurches forward and then plants on the ground though, and she tilts back, angling into the effort with a scrunch to all her features and a faint grunt. When they finally haul themselves back to their feet, she stumbles back a bit, white coat flapping out in front with a dramatic flare.
Quick to set the improper assumption of her medical expertise to rest, Fern swiftly and sternly says "no," alongside a vigorous shake of her head. "I am a surgeon. I also diagnose the rarest cases, help deliver babies, and give casts to broken limbs. I don't make people crazy." A moment of hesitation, as if considering something new, thoughts biting into it the way one might a gold coin to test for authenticity. She seems on the fence, mostly because she doesn't know what an authentic coin is supposed to taste like. "I mean, I don't think it was me anyway. But the sky was yelling all the time and father thought I was a cabbage." A faint giggle rises up at the notion that she could be mistaken for such a thing.
Shifting attention from one twin to the other almost feels like when she makes faces in the mirror with another mirror. She can see the repeating reflections, knows they're separate, but it's also so much the same that it feels easy to lose track and get lost in which is which. She feels her eyes slide off one boy to the other, but so little changes, that it's enough to wonder if her eyes moved at all. Fortunately, she's not concentrating as hard as she does with the mirrors, least of all when there's ghosts at hand.
She gasps the same way she's learned to do when seeing a particularly bad stitch has popped, both hands flying up to her mouth, white sleeves drooping down past her chin where they bend over her fingers. "Your babysitter is haunted!?" Her eyes widen with the proper respect of facing people so brave. "Woooooow. How did you survive?"
Fern
This world is gonna pull through, don't give up
