Chrissy opened her eyes and was, for the shortest moment, concerned about her surroundings. A room that was mostly brown wood paneling, only interrupted by an ugly painting that looked vaguely like a cat. Chrissy relaxed when she saw it, as she had made it herself years back, for her grandmother. Who immediately it framed.

She checked the clock and realized it was well past four. She contemplated staying in bed for the rest of the day, then shrugged and found that four was probably a good time to get up. She sat up and let her feet dangle from the side of the bed, running a hand through her hair, to pull out one strand of the tangled red. She sighed, regretting that she had it cut short over summer, then simply shrugged and grabbed a hairbrush from the nightstand and started to count the strokes. Like every morning and night, she intended to do an even hundred strokes. As soon as she started however, she noticed rustling from the olive green curtains that barely managed to block out the afternoon sun.

Curious to find what disturbed the cloth, she got up, not stopping the brush, but losing count as she walked. She hooked the brush into her hair, pushed the curtain aside and was greeted by the judging green eyes of a fat orange tom cat that clearly took offense to his sunbathing being disturbed by the girl.

“Oh,” Chrissy said, “It’s just you, Archie.”

A vaguely insulted meow followed.

“Fine,” she sighed, tugging the brush free from her hair and placing it next to the cat and carefully enunciating every syllable of the feline’s full name.

“Ar-chi-bald.”

The cat replied by bonking his head against her thigh, then sat down and stared up at her.

“Are you judging me?” Chrissy asked, leaning down to pick up the fat animal, “Like you don’t sleep all.”

As soon as Archibald realized what Chrissy was intending, he jumped down the windowsill and bounced down the wooden stairs to the attic.

A second later it was followed by Mrs. Brigman’s voice, giving the girl the strange impression that Archibald had turned into her mother somewhere along the stairs.

“Chris? Chrissy! Christina! Are you up?”

Chrissy threw something back that was supposed to be a yes, but came out as little more than a ‘yuh’.

“Come have blinner!”

Chrissy got rid of the shirt she’d been using as pajamas, pink and decorated with bats, getting dressed at breakneck speed. She pushed her bangs back, then shoved the sunglasses in her hair as a hairband to keep them up. Only after she did that, the question clicked in her head.

What the heck was blinner?

As she lazily headed down the stairs, turning around on every third step for reasons only know to herself, she considered what blinner was supposed to be. Unfortunately, by the time she was on the ground floor, her thoughts had shifted to blimps.

“About time you woke up,” was her mother’s greeting, “Something on your mind?”

She put a plate on the table, waiting for an answer to her question, though Chrissy chose to answer the former part of the commentary first.

“I was awake,” she lied, “I was reading.”

“Which book?” Mrs. Brigman challenged.

“Dracula…”

“You didn’t bring Dracula though,” Mrs. Brigman said, giving her a smile that clearly read ‘gotcha’, “In other words, good morning, sleepy head.”

Chrissy pouted at her lie being caught that easily, then saw down, taking in the vaguely familiar surroundings of her grandfather’s kitchen. It was utilitarian. A place where a single man generally cooked and ate by himself. The only remnants of somebody else living there were the decorative plates on the wall. Hideous pastels, featuring frolicking sheep.

“There was something on your mind?” Mrs. Brigman asked, peeking in the oven as she did.

Chrissy shut up to think, already having forgotten the question.

“Earth to Chrissy?”

“I think it was about blimps,” was the conclusion.

“Blimps? What about them?”

Chrissy shook her head, “No idea.”

“Can’t have been important then,” Mrs. Brigman mumbled, checking the oven once more, “Any plans for tonight?”

“Can we rent a movie?”

“We could, but your grandfather doesn’t have a TV.”

“Guess I’ll go for a walk then,” Chrissy said, her eyes widening when an idea struck her, “Maybe I’ll see bats! I never saw bats in the city.”

“Bats, huh? That could be fun. You don’t mind going by yourself?”

“I’m fine, mom. Got my sketchbook after all.”

“How’s the hands?”

Chrissy glowered. Hands were still an issue.

It was quiet for a few minutes, until the oven let out a shrill ping. Mrs. Brigman opened it, smiled, and took out whatever she had been baking, making sure Chrissy wouldn’t be able to see it.

“What’s that?”

“Blinner.”

“That!”

“Hm?”

“That was my question? What on earth is blinner!”

“Well, you slept through breakfast, so it was going to be brunch, but then you slept through brunch...so now it’s blinner.”

“…”

“…”

“Lame, mom.”

Mrs. Brigman smiled in response, putting a plate of muffins in front of her daughter, “The special.”

Chrissy made a face at ‘the special’. To her knowledge, the main ingredients were bacon and cheese.

“No bacon in these,” Mrs. Brigman assured her, “Safe for vegetarians. So… do you want them here or to go?”

Chrissy looked out the window, finding a beautiful sunny day, “I’ll take them to go.”

“Try to be back before the street lights come on.”

“Only if I don’t get lost.”

“How would you get lost? It’s all fields.”

Chrissy shrugged, picked up her muffins, found that her mother had already prepared her satchel for her and headed out to discover the new town she’d be living in.